The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (6 page)

Gandhara Kingdom
Modern day Myanmar
401 BC, four months after the Buddha’s death

Asita dropped to his knees, burying his head in his hands as sobs
racked his body. His shoulders heaved with each cry, his chest tightening, his
stomach a knot as bile began to fill his mouth.

His
village was gone.

His
home, his family, his friends.

Gone.

His wife
and three children.

Gone.

He felt
the comforting hand of Channa on his shoulder as he too collapsed. For Channa
had a family as well. A wife and two daughters.

The two
of them were all that was left.

“We are
alone,” whispered Asita.

Channa
for once said nothing, there no words of comfort that could be said. Instead he
pushed himself to his feet, stumbling toward what had been his home, it now a
burnt out hulk, the thatch roof gone, the mud and stone walls collapsed to half
their former height.

Asita
couldn’t bring himself to look at his own home, the happy memories like daggers
to his surviving heart. The horrors his poor wife and children must have
endured at the hands of those who would have their revenge had his fists
pounding the earth over and over as grief and anger overwhelmed him.

In a fit
of anger he reached into his satchel, grabbed the bowl and flung it into the
stream that had once been a small river, just one of the curses their village
had suffered over the years. The bowl landed on its side and quickly filled
with water, sinking enough to be caught up on the streambed, it too shallow.

The
satisfaction he felt ridding himself of the albatross that had been around his
neck all these months was brief, he returning to pounding the ground in grief.

“They’re
gone!”

It was Channa’s
excited voice that had him stop, his fists shoved hard against the dirt as he
looked up through tear-burned eyes at the excited utterance.

He said
nothing.

Channa
was running to the next home, then the next, repeating his cry. “They’re gone!
They’re all gone!”

Asita’s
pulse was pounding in his ears, drowning out the words of his friend.

And they
were excited words.

Happily
excited.

It took
him a few moments to comprehend that his friend’s mood had changed and he began
to look around, to look past the horrors he had initially focused on, and to
see what wasn’t there.

Bodies.

There
were no bodies anywhere. Surely if his village had been massacred then there
should be bodies.

But
there were none.

Scavengers?

There
would be evidence. Bones, blood, something.

He rose,
joining in the search, and after examining the final burnt-out hulk of a former
family’s home, he came to a stop. Channa was standing in a clearing used only
for solemn occasions.

Cremation.

The
funeral pyres had clearly been used, a large amount of ash and dust
accumulated, more than he remembered seeing. And there were still remains
visible, as if there had been no one left behind to tend to the fires to make
certain all had been properly dealt with.

He
looked at Channa whose renewed spirit had taken a hit, he again on his knees.

But
Asita smiled, a smile that began in the corners of his mouth, then spread
across his cheeks as he realized the implications of what he saw.

Someone
had survived.

For the
dead don’t cremate themselves.

Vietnam National Museum of History, Hanoi, Vietnam
Present Day

James Acton was shoved into a simple wood chair, handcuffs, clasped
too tightly, tore into his flesh. He looked over at his wife, Laura Palmer, who
had been forced into her own chair just as roughly, and wondered where poor Mai
must be.

I
hope they don’t hurt her too much.

He had
no illusions that their passports would protect them. They were in Vietnam, not
France. Nothing beyond shouts in Vietnamese had been said to them since their
arrest, but everything said had Mai sobbing harder and harder and Acton was
pretty sure he had seen her wet her pants.

That
poor woman!

His own
bladder had wanted to let go a few times but he had managed to remember his
training, keeping calm through tactical breathing and focusing on Laura instead
of the chaos surrounding them. He had done a stint in the National Guard years
ago, serving in Gulf War One, and more recently had received intensive training
from Laura’s security team, mostly made up of former British SAS.

The
training was paying off.

The man
who had been interrogating them entered and dropped into a chair opposite them,
tossing several file folders on the table. The room was a reasonable size, some
sort of meeting room at the museum, and the fact they had been taken here
instead of some police station or worse had Acton still hopeful they might get
out of this relatively unscathed.

“I am
Captain Nguyen, Hanoi Police Department.” He opened the first folder and put a
pair of glasses on, peeking over them at Acton then back at the page as he
read, his accent thick but his command of the English language clear. “You are
Professor James Acton, American citizen residing in St. Paul, Maryland. You
teach archeology at St. Paul’s University and were once a member of your
National Guard. You have also been involved in a rather large number of
international incidents over the past few years.” Nguyen removed his glasses.
“Care to explain why you always seem to be at the wrong place at the wrong
time, as you Americans might put it?”

Acton
decided glib wasn’t the way to play it. “As an archeologist I often find myself
in parts of the world that are inherently dangerous. Unfortunately these are
troubled times and I’ve found myself caught in the middle on occasion.”

“Yet you
manage to survive. As if someone is protecting you, almost as if you were meant
to be in these situations, not an innocent bystander as you claim.”

Acton
thought of his guardian angels, the Bravo Team and CIA Special Agent Dylan
Kane, a former student of his.

And said
nothing, instead merely flashing a ‘what can I say?’ face.

Nguyen
grunted then replaced his glasses. “And you are Professor Laura Palmer,
Professor of Archeology at University College London, and now at the
Smithsonian. Recently married to Professor Acton, you now live at his
residence—”

“Our,”
interrupted Acton, mentally kicking himself for opening his mouth.

Nguyen
smiled slightly. “Forgive me. You now
share
a residence in St. Paul,
Maryland. And you are apparently quite wealthy, inheriting a rather large sum
of money from your late brother upon his death at one of your own dig sites.”

Laura
said nothing, merely nodding.

Acton
was impressed at how up to date their files were, however since American’s
visiting Vietnam were few in number, they had most likely been vetted well in
advance.

“Where
is Miss Trinh” he finally asked.

“She is
being questioned by my colleagues.”

“I
deman—” Acton stopped himself, smiling conciliatorily. “Sorry, I
request
to see her. She, like us, is innocent. We were merely bystanders.”

“So you
say.
I
say you were advance scouts for the assassin.” He opened the
third file folder. “Mr. Jeffrey Green, United States Bureau of Diplomatic
Security, attached to the Secretary of State’s security detail.” He flipped the
page and turned the folder around, the photo shown clearly Niner.

Thank
God they don’t know who he really is.

“Professor
Acton, I ask you, how are you involved?”

“I’m
not.” Acton could feel his chest tighten and he forced himself to take deep,
steady breaths without it being too obvious. He leaned forward. “Listen, can we
get these handcuffs taken off? It’s really quite uncomfortable, and I’m sure
you’re quite safe with your men on the other side of the door.

A smile
climbed one side of Nguyen’s cheek. He barked an order over his shoulder and
the door immediately opened, a police officer stepping inside, the cuffs
quickly removed. Acton rubbed his wrists as the door closed behind the officer.

“Thank
you,” said Laura, flexing her own. “Can I ask you something?”

Nguyen
leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, an amused
expression on his face. “Of course, Professor Palmer.”

“What
possible motivation would we have to assist in killing the Russian Prime
Minister?”

Nguyen
shrugged. “Revenge for what has happened in the Ukraine? Revenge for
threatening European natural gas supplies? Revenge for the liberation of the
Crimea? Revenge for not cooperating with respect to Syria?” He paused then
leaned forward slightly. “Or perhaps you just wanted to embarrass Vietnam for
you losing the war.”

Laura
smiled pleasantly. “But Captain, I’m British. We weren’t in the war.”

Nguyen
jerked back in his chair. “You live in America and are married to an American.
You might as well be American.”

Laura
shrugged. “We are two archeology professors, invited here by
your
Professor Duc Tran to visit this very museum on this very day. The plans for
this trip were begun months ago and finalized weeks ago. The Secretary of State
of my
husband’s
country announced her visit a week ago, and I never
heard that the Russian Prime Minister was going to be here. When was his trip
announced?”

Nguyen
said nothing, merely tapping on the tabletop for several seconds as he bit his
lip repeatedly, the skin turning an uncomfortable white.

Nothing
to say when presented with a logical argument?

Acton decided
to leave the talking to his wife, she apparently better at it than him.

“Captain,”
continued Laura, her voice gentle as she leaned forward, looking up slightly to
try and catch his eye. “You strike me as a very intelligent, very capable man”—
Way
to butter him up!—
“and I have no doubt that deep down you
know
we
aren’t involved. I think an officer with your intelligence and experience knows
we were simply bystanders. We’re simply teachers who were in the wrong place at
the wrong time. If we were involved, we certainly had plenty of time to flee
like everyone else did. We were too busy trying to avoid getting shot because
we had no idea what was going on. If we knew, we would have fled.” She leaned
forward even more. “Surely a man of your intelligence must see this?”

Nguyen
looked away almost as if he were uncomfortable with Laura’s proximity. He
clearly seemed flustered, unused to dealing with Western women.

Acton
kept his mouth shut and his expression as earnest yet non-judgmental as he
could while he swelled with pride for the woman he loved.

Nguyen
finally spoke, closing the folders and stacking them. “Professor, you have seen
through me. Clearly I knew you were not involved, I was merely trying to shock
your minds into perhaps revealing something you had seen, but weren’t aware you
had.”

Laura
leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands out in appreciation. “See?” she
said, looking at Acton. “I knew he was a clever man.” She smiled at Nguyen. “
Very
clever. You had me completely fooled.”

Nguyen
smiled, looking away awkwardly as he rose. “You are of course free to go. Most
likely we will need to talk to you further. Your files indicate you are staying
at the Daewoo Hanoi. This is correct?”

“Yes,”
replied Laura.

“Then
you may go, but please do not leave without permission.”

“Of
course, and we’ll need Miss Trinh to accompany us as I’m sure you’ll
understand,” said Laura as she rose from her chair. “She’s our guide and also
our ride. You wouldn’t want us to get lost in your lovely city, would you?” She
laughed, Acton joining in, Nguyen doing a chuckle-grunt.