The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (24 page)

Daewoo Hanoi Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam

Dawson stood at the doors of the elevator on the eighth floor, the
only one they hadn’t blocked, the rest all held on one of the two floors they
controlled. They had swept the upper floors and he had a spotter on the roof
just in case the Vietnamese tried to insert troops by helicopter. Medical
personnel had arrived to tend to the Vietnamese wounded, and unarmed soldiers,
as agreed to, had retrieved the bodies, all stripped of their weapons.

Dimitri
Yashkin had upped the stakes, however.

Electricity
and water had been cut off about twenty minutes ago, power just now restored
for the meeting.

Apparently
no one wanted to climb nine stories.

With
their egress halted, comm gear had been set back up again, batteries powering
it. It was almost nighttime outside now, leaving the floor and rooms eerily
dark with all the drapes closed to prevent snipers from spotting their targets
easily. The Secretary’s room had custom drapes that blocked thermal sensors
from picking up the bodies moving around, but the security meant even the light
of the city couldn’t provide comfort.

Fortunately
these were luxury suites and one of Atwater’s staff had found bags of tea
lights in the maid’s supply closet. These had been broken out and lit to
surprising effect once the eyes were adjusted.

Spock
joined him, looking at the tiny candles lining the hallway, no longer necessary
now that the power was back on. “It was almost romantic.”

“Don’t
get any ideas. I’m a taken man.”

“So how
are
things going with Maggie?”

Dawson
shrugged. “Good, I guess. We’re still seeing each other, if that’s what you
mean.”

Spock
chuckled. “Nooo, that’s not what I mean. She’s at all the events with you, so
obviously you’re still together. I mean,
how’s
it going?”

Dawson
glanced over at his friend. “How are things with your girlfriend?”

“Stacey?”
Air burst from Spock’s lips. “That’s going nowhere. We’re just having a good
time.”

“So am
I.”

Spock
cocked an eyebrow causing Dawson to immediately regret his dismissive response.
“Really? I thought you two were more serious.”

“We are.
I just mean we’re having a good time.”

“Uh
huh.” Spock didn’t sound convinced. “Wedding bells in the future?”

The
elevator chimed, saving Dawson from answering. The doors opened revealing
Sarkov and another man whom Dawson assumed was Yashkin, the man he had spoken
to earlier and Sarkov’s boss.

“I’m
Special Agent White,” said Dawson.

“Dimitri
Yashkin.”

“Follow
me, please.” Dawson was about to start walking when Yashkin stopped him.

“First I
want to speak to you.” Dawson paused, turning back toward their “guests”. “You
are in charge here?”

“No,
Secretary Atwater is.”

Yashkin smiled,
shaking his head. “I mean in charge of security.”

“Yes.”

“I have
confirmed your man escaped, disguised as a Vietnamese police officer. He also
had an assault rifle with him, and perhaps other weapons. We also found the
body of the man he killed to get the uniform.

That
doesn’t sound like Niner.

“
If
Agent Green killed one of your men, then I have no doubt it was in
self-defense.”

“They
are not
my
men, but those of the Vietnamese government, your hosts while
you are
guests
in this country.”

Dawson
said nothing, semantics a waste of time.

Yashkin waited
a moment before realizing Dawson wasn’t taking the bait. “You say your man is
innocent. Why would he run?”

“I
ordered him to.”

Yashkin’s
eyebrows popped. “Interesting that you would do such a thing.”

“My
responsibility is Secretary Atwater’s safety. By separating the two of them,
she is safer. Now that he is gone, I fully expect that our Vietnamese
hosts
will respect international law and allow us to leave.”

Yashkin
shrugged. “I have no control over the Vietnamese.”

Bullshit!

“We
expect your people to hand over Agent Green immediately.”

“I have
no idea where he is.”

“You no
doubt have some way of contacting him.”

It was
Dawson’s turn to shrug. “I’m afraid he’s gone silent until he makes it to
safety.” Dawson glanced at Sarkov. “Have you retrieved the footage from the
museum?”

Sarkov
was about to open his mouth when Yashkin replied for him. “No. Unfortunately
none of the cameras were functioning this morning.”

Dawson
didn’t believe that for a second. “Unfortunate.”

“Indeed.
This
is
Vietnam after all. The government isn’t known for its state of
the art security, especially at facilities like a museum with little strategic
value.”

“Of
course. Fortunately this hotel is private and does have state of the art
security.”

Yashkin’s
eyebrows narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“No
doubt there will be footage of Agent Green leaving the hotel in order to
assassinate your Prime Minister.”

“I
wouldn’t rely on that, Agent White. After all this is—”

“Vietnam,
I know. However I’d have to ask, if the hotel cameras are not functioning, then
how did you confirm Agent Green escaped earlier disguised as a police officer?”

Dawson
caught a slight smile almost break out on Sarkov’s face and had to admit he
took a little delight in catching the slight flare in Yashkin’s eyes.

“I think
I’ll speak to Secretary Atwater now.”

“Of
course.”

Sarkov
grunted. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m going to see to the security situation
downstairs.”

“Yes,
yes, of course, go,” replied Yashkin, dismissing Sarkov with a bat of the hand
without looking at him. It was clear he had little respect for Sarkov, the
older man bowing slightly to Dawson before disappearing into the elevator.
Dawson’s impression of the older Russian continued to be that he was interested
in the truth, rather than the message, whereas Yashkin had no interest in what
had really happened, rather he was only concerned with how to exploit the
situation.

And from
the intel reports continuing to arrive, it appeared things were only going to
get worse if this farce of an investigation continued.

Pushechnaya Street, Moscow, Russia

“What do you think’s going on?”

Jake
looked at his girlfriend, Sarah, then back at the television. “I’m not sure.”
It was still only mid-afternoon and they had a big day planned. They had
already been to Red Square after an early start and were planning to finish it
off with a tour of Saint Basil’s Cathedral after a light lunch. His stomach
rumbled, their breakfast a little too light for his liking, but Sarah was a
health nut and had him watching his calories.

A
man’s gotta eat!

Sure he
could stand to lose twenty or thirty pounds, but she had met him this way and
if she didn’t like it, why had she started dating him? He was trying, but it
was hard. She made it easier, the sexual incentives huge having a girlfriend
far hotter than he was handsome. But sometimes he just wanted to have the
double-quarter pounder with large fries and large diet coke.

And a
snack sized Smarties McFlurry.

But now
it had become something he hid.

He hated
lying to her and he knew it was wrong. But he had his addictions and didn’t
want to change, didn’t feel he had to change. The doctor said his cholesterol
was fine, he wasn’t diabetic, his blood pressure was normal.

And he
was twenty-eight damned years old.

I’m
going to eat what I want while I can!

Yet he
still hated lying to her.

And on
this trip, with them spending 24/7 together, there was no opportunity to cheat.
He was eating every meal with her, spending every waking moment with her, which
meant his caloric intake was what she had believed it had been for months.

A
pittance.

He was
starving the entire time.

And it
was ruining his dream vacation.

He had
always wanted to visit Russia, ever since hearing the stories of the Cold War
from his now retired father, a former Colonel in the Air Force. He had never
been able to visit the country due to his job but Jack had always wanted to see
Moscow. His father had no problem with it, but told him last Christmas at the
dinner table when they were all discussing it something that echoed in his head
now, as if his father’s words foreshadowed this very day.

“Do it
while you can. That country is heading back to Soviet times and pretty soon you
won’t be able to go there. It’s already not very safe, but at least they don’t
kill you for being American. I give it tops five years before Cold War Two
starts.”

His
mother had pshawed him, turning the conversation instead to Jack’s love life,
or lack thereof, his extra pounds seeming to always be a hindrance to his
success with the ladies.

He had
been proud to announce he was dating Sarah at the time. And now here they were,
spending one full week in Moscow almost a year later.

It was
the longest relationship he had ever been in.

To say
he loved Sarah would be an understatement. He adored her. In fact, he had to
catch himself on occasion elevating her to a pedestal no one could live up to.
She wasn’t perfect. No one was. And he was far from perfect, though he’d admit
to being his own biggest critic. But she was the type of girl who made him want
to be a better man, so he put up with her healthy ways, knowing her heart was
in the right place.

But when
he had seen what looked like a good Western style burger on the menu posted in
the window, he had been determined to order it, whether she wanted him to or
not.

His
stomach rumbled again. “Do you see a waitress?” he asked.

Sarah
motioned toward the television. “Everyone seems glued to the TV.”

They
finally seemed to be noticed and a waitress hurried over. Short and large, she
was the type of server he loved—you never felt guilty ordering whatever you
wanted. She said something in Russian and Jake replied with the standard
Berlitz greeting he had practiced, then asked if she spoke English.

“Da.”

And she
said it with a frown.

“Can I
get the house salad please, dressing on the side?”

“To
drink?”

“A
bottle of water, please.”

The
waitress turned to Jake. “And you?”

“Cheeseburger
with fries and a diet coke.”

“Jake!”

“Hey,
I’m on vacation.” He sighed. “Hold the cheese.” He winked at Sarah as the
waitress walked away. “That’ll save a few calories.”

“But you
were doing so well!”

Jake
wasn’t sure if this was the time to dump a truckload of truth on his
girlfriend, but he figured there probably never would be a good time. It wasn’t
like she could break up with him here in Russia. They were staying in the same
hotel room and flying back together in three days.

Perhaps
it’s the
perfect
time to tell her the truth.

“Honey,
I hate dieting.” Her eyebrows jumped, her eyes opening slightly wider. “I love
my fast food, my greasy hamburgers, my pizzas with extra cheese. It’s just the
way I am, the way I always have been. I don’t mind eating the foods you like,
but I also have to indulge every once in a while.” He slapped his belly. “I’ve
always had this and I don’t think it’s going away any time soon.”

Sarah
looked aghast.

Uh
oh.

“I feel
horrible,” he started, but was quickly cut off by her hand darting out and
grabbing his wrist.

“No,
I
do.”

“Huh?”

“For
making you do all those things.” She squeezed his wrist tighter then let go,
grabbing his hand. “I love
you
. I don’t care if you’ve got washboard
abs.”

“Hey,
I’ve got those, they’re just washboard abs for delicates.”

Sarah
laughed. “See?
That’s
why I love you. You make me laugh. If I had a
problem with your weight I never would have started dating you.” She lifted his
hand off the table and raised it to her mouth, kissing a knuckle, her eyes
glistening. “I’m so sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she whispered, her voice
cracking.

Now it
was his turn, and he was delayed by the return of the waitress.

Empty
handed.

“The
cook wants to know if you’re American.”

“Why?”
asked Jake, alarms suddenly going off as he felt Sarah’s grip tighten.

“Are you
American?” the woman demanded.

“So what
if we are?” asked Sarah.

The
woman pointed at the television, the gathered crowd of locals beginning to take
interest in the conversation. “The Prime Minister has been assassinated! By an
American!”