Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers) Read online

  8

  Sabi Sabi Bush Lodge

  Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa

  Acton’s thumb rubbed over the medallion around Laura’s neck, his arm draped over her shoulders as they both relaxed in a comfortable loveseat, enjoying the idyllic setting, the sun now set, the only illumination from strategically placed candles and fires. Local Zulu dancers were providing the entertainment, rhythmic drumming forcing some who couldn’t resist the urge, to jump to their feet and join in.

  It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

  The sights they had seen had been magnificent, witnessing the breathtaking scene of a lioness on the hunt the definite highlight for all of them, though the viciousness of it still disturbed Laura. Even Angeline had turned away, something he hadn’t noticed at the time, her husband later sharing this tidbit to make Laura feel better.

  “I’ve seen it before,” was the explanation. “Once is enough.”

  He suddenly took notice of the sensations transmitted to his relaxed subconscious, and his thumb froze. “Can I see the medallion?”

  Laura leaned forward and removed it from around her neck, handing it to him. “Why?”

  He ran his thumb over the front, the image of a lioness head not of interest, though it was what had attracted him to the medallion in the first place, the perfect representation of the woman he loved, and a nice little souvenir of their time here. He didn’t expect her to wear it when they returned home, the trinket merely a curiosity that would occupy a small space in their shared office already filled with items collected over decades of two distinguished careers. Pulling a candle closer to him, he flipped the medallion over, revealing the back. His eyes widened slightly as the candlelight revealed what his thumb had suggested.

  It was engraved.

  But the light was too dim to make out what was written. He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight feature, apologizing to those around him, it nearly blinding. He quickly turned it off, though not before he got enough of a look to send a rush of adrenaline through his system.

  Could it be?

  9

  Anantachin Buddhist Monastery

  Cameron, North Carolina

  Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung gave one final bow then rose, his prayer for the dead finished. It had been his first chance to properly honor the woman who he had barely known, yet had such an impact on him—Yunhui Kim. He still found himself dwelling on the fantasy of what could have been, rather than the reality of what was—a few hours together under harrowing circumstances, ending with the promise of a home-cooked meal and perhaps something more.

  Though that hadn’t been the end.

  The end had been a bullet to the head, a bullet that if she hadn’t been talking to him, if she had instead kept her head down like the others, would have completely missed her, leaving her alive today.

  He sighed, closing his eyes once more, picturing her beautiful face, the image quickly replaced by the horror of the side of her head, matted in blood, unmoving, the smile that had won him over, gone.

  It wasn’t his fault. He knew that. The bastard operating the drones was to blame, and he refused to ruin his life because of something that wasn’t his responsibility.

  She was gone.

  And there was nothing he could do about it beyond what he had already done—put a bullet in the asshole’s head.

  He bowed slightly, clasping his hands in front of him as he closed his eyes one last time.

  Goodbye, Yunhui.

  He sucked in a deep breath then headed outside, his best friend, Sergeant Jerry “Jimmy Olsen” Hudson sitting on the hood of his black Charger, waiting patiently.

  “All set?”

  Niner nodded. “Yup.”

  Jimmy waved his phone. “Good. We’ve got an op.”

  Niner smiled weakly. “Perfect. I need something to keep my mind off things.”

  10

  Colonel Clancy’s Office, The Unit

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  “Go home, Maggie.”

  Maggie Harris looked up from her monitor, so engrossed in her work she hadn’t noticed her boss and her fiancé’s Commanding Officer, Colonel Thomas Clancy, standing at the outer door of the office. She smiled. “I will, I just need a few minutes or your schedule for Monday is going to be a mess and you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

  Clancy chuckled. “What would I do without you?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know, but you’d be lost.”

  “I have no doubt.” He rested his briefcase on the corner of her desk. “Did BD get a chance to say goodbye to you?”

  She nodded, the love of her life deployed unexpectedly, though the unexpected in his business was to be expected, and with her working for his CO, she counted herself lucky she was privy to what he did for a living, unlike most fiancées. “We got about sixty seconds. Better than most.”

  Clancy lifted his briefcase, an understanding smile on his face. “Try not to worry too much this weekend.” He was a great boss, and Dawson and the other members of Bravo Team respected him tremendously. He understood and adhered to the concept of no man left behind, and backed his men all the way, even if their government wouldn’t. He was a soldier’s soldier, and according to Dawson, the best CO he had ever worked with.

  She shrugged. “I make no promises.” She leaned back in her chair. “Plans this weekend?”

  “Sister-in-law is in town, so I’m going fishing.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It does. Unfortunately, my wife will probably nix my plans.”

  “I could always have you paged.”

  Clancy grinned. “If you receive a 9-1-1 from me, you’ll know why.” He opened the door. “Enjoy your weekend, and try not to worry.”

  She smiled. “You too. And again, no promises.”

  Clancy stepped into the hall, closing the secure door behind him, the electronic lock clicking, sealing her inside. She quickly fired off several meeting request responses, juggling the man’s busy schedule, when a pain raced up her arm, her head pounding as if it were about to explode. She gasped in pain, unable to cry out as she slipped to the floor.

  And out of sight.

  11

  Sabi Sabi Bush Lodge

  Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa

  “Good thing you travel with that.”

  Acton glanced briefly at the satchel that followed him around the world, containing all the tools any self-respecting archaeologist wouldn’t be caught dead without. At the moment, he was taking a rubbing of the back of the medallion in their hotel room, everyone eagerly anticipating the end result, not yet filled in on his suspicions. He winked at his friend. “Don’t tell me you don’t take your kit with you.”

  Gorman leaned back, a brief look of shame spreading across his face. “I’m afraid my days of crawling around dig sites are over with.” He slapped his belly. “This would be constantly getting in the way.”

  Acton grinned at him. “A few weeks on a dig and you might just leave that behind.”

  Gorman chuckled. “This is true, this is true, but I’m too old for that now. Now, I teach the youngsters who will replace us.”

  “A worthy task.” Acton lay the rubbing wax aside, holding up his handiwork. He pulled his magnifying glass from its holder and examined the writing. And smiled. “I knew it!”

  Gorman leaned forward. “What?”

  Acton handed the rubbing to him along with the magnifying glass. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Gorman peered through the lens, his eyes widening with each passing moment. “It couldn’t be.” He shook his head. “It can’t be.”

  “No?” Acton gestured toward it. “Turn it around and hold it up to the light.”

  Gorman complied, shaking his head, the reversed letters now obvious to everyone. Laura grabbed the laptop and attacked the keyboard, their satphone acting as an extremely expensive hotspot. She spun it around so her husband could see,
an image from the Smithsonian site displayed.

  Acton smiled.

  He pushed the laptop toward Gorman. “You tell me if what you’re holding isn’t an exact match to that.”

  Gorman’s jaw dropped as he leaned toward the laptop, holding the rubbing up beside the screen. Laura held the medallion on the other side. “But it can’t be! This has been lost for over a century!”

  12

  Outside Colonel Clancy’s Office, The Unit

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Jeb stood back while the security guard swiped his pass, the panel to the right of the door switching from red to green. Security was tight, whatever went on here ultra-top secret, or whatever, it far above his pay grade as a janitor. The company he worked for was contracted to push mops and vacuum cleaners, empty out garbage cans, and clean up messes should they occur.

  His job was easy, if menial.

  He had worked in all manner of buildings staffed by all manner of people over the past ten years, and these military types were the cleanest—or at least the neatest. The worst were high school locker rooms—the girls especially. He didn’t know what the hell they were doing in there, but it was nasty. This job was a dream compared to that one.

  The guard stepped back, moving down the hallway to radio in an update, their conversation non-existent, this one taking his job entirely too seriously, which suited Jeb just fine, especially today. His earbuds were planted firmly where they should be, Michael Bublé blaring.

  I’ve got to learn to like this shit if I ever want to score with Tracy.

  It was growing on him, it not that difficult, already a begrudging fan of the holographic crooner Vic Fontaine on Deep Space Nine. And whenever he heard a classic like Fly Me To The Moon, he found his toe tapping, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Bublé would have some appeal.

  But two hours at a concert, hearing nothing but?

  Ugh, why did you have to tell her you loved Bublé?

  He went to flick the lights on when he realized they already were.

  Somebody was in a hurry.

  He pushed the vacuum cleaner around the front of the outer office, the inner office, where the bigwig worked, off limits. He could feel through his hand that nothing was being sucked up, this office always nearly immaculate. He swore whoever worked the desk vacuumed herself.

  Next damned time you start dating a woman, always tell her the truth, rather than what you think she wants to hear.

  He reached around, shoving the vacuum cleaner on either side of the desk, not bothering with behind, it a waste of time.

  She doesn’t care if you love Bublé, she doesn’t expect you to. She only cares that you won’t tease her for liking him.

  And it made sense. What guy actually likes Bublé? The legends like Sinatra, sure, but Bublé?

  She just wants you to be her plus one.

  And that he was willing to do. It would be their third date. And that meant sexy-times when it was over. Two hours of some Canadian crooner was worth a night with Tracy.

  Just don’t make her think it’s a chore for you to be there, and you’re in.

  A smile crept up one side of his face.

  Literally!

  He backed out of the office when his eyes narrowed.

  Huh. That’s odd.

  The receptionist’s—or whatever they called them today—monitor was still on, though in power saving mode, something he had never noticed before. His eyebrows rose. And her cellphone sat on her desk, in plain view.

  Must have left in a real hurry.

  He paused for a moment, wondering if he should mention it to the guard, then decided against it. He had seen her before, and she was smokin’ hot, and he didn’t want to get her in trouble. He glanced over his shoulder then stepped back inside, pressing the power button for the monitor, then placing a file that sat to the side overtop the phone in case someone less honest than him should happen to come through here over the weekend.

  He flicked off the lights and stepped into the hall, starting to pull the door closed behind him.

  He paused.

  What was that? A moan?

  He removed one of the earbuds and listened, hearing nothing except Bublé in the other ear. He shrugged, shutting the door.

  Must be hearing things.

  He pushed the earbud back in and moved on to the next office, his escort swiping his pass on the next pad, Jeb picturing Tracy in the back seat of his car.

  Bublé, buddy, you better put her in the mood.

  13

  Sabi Sabi Bush Lodge

  Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa

  Acton tossed one final time, spotting a sliver of light breaking around the edges of the blackout curtains in their room. Leaping out of bed, he rushed to the window and poked his head between the fabric to make sure.

  Sunrise!

  Laura groaned. “What time is it?”

  Acton checked his watch. “You don’t want to know.”

  Laura pushed up on her elbows, staring at him. “I haven’t seen you this excited since we found Cleopatra’s tomb.”

  Acton turned toward her. “Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

  Laura gave him a look, holding out her hand. “I hardly think terrorists are going to swoop in and try to destroy our find this time.”

  Acton took her hand, shaking it. “Hi, Jim Acton, bad luck magnet. Pleased to meet you.”

  Laura yanked his hand, hauling him into the bed with her then flipped him over, mounting him. “How about one last romp before whatever horrible thing you think is going to befall us, arrives?”

  Acton grinned as she lifted the t-shirt she wore over her head, revealing her assets. “Now that’s a treasure chest.”

  She dropped on top of him, her lips slowly covering every inch of his neck and chest, half-mast not lasting long. “Ooh, somebody’s ready pretty quick.”

  Acton groaned. “Babe, small and quick, small and quick. Two words to avoid.”

  Laura reached down and squeezed. “Nothing small down here.”

  Acton groaned for an entirely different reason. “That’s better.”

  His phone vibrated on the nightstand, a text message arriving. Maintaining a firm grip, Laura leaned over and read it. “It’s Gorman, he wants to know if we’re ready.”

  “Tell him ten minutes.”

  Laura eyed him. “Hey, I thought ‘quick’ was a four letter word.”

  “Twenty?”

  Laura smiled. “That’s better.”

  14

  Outside Belfast, South African Republic

  May 3rd, 1900

  Veldkornet Voorneveld brought his horse to a halt, the horror in front of him unspeakable. Bodies were strewn about, several of the horses dead or dying, the crossroads tinged with a red that hadn’t been there before. He turned to his korporaal.

  “Korporaal, check for survivors.”

  “Ja, Veldkornet.” The man’s voice was subdued, nobody talking, an eerie calm surrounding the entire area, as if even Mother Nature knew not to disturb the newly departed. He urged his horse forward slightly as he surveyed the horizon, making certain the British rooineks were nowhere near, about to spring a trap on them.

  He saw nothing.

  These men were the best of the best. Commandos. The idea had been to send a large diversionary force to the west, their smaller force to the north, the hope they wouldn’t draw any attention clearly a mistake.

  But the gold was safe, their mission a success, though at what price?

  “Veldkornet!”

  He spun in his saddle and saw his korporaal kneeling beside a body, a body he cradled in his arms. Voorneveld leaped from his horse and sprinted toward who he now recognized as his commanding officer—his friend. “Karl!”

  His korporaal gently lay him back on the grass as Voorneveld knelt by his friend’s side, wiping the hair from his eyes. “Are you okay?” But he already knew the answer. Dark blood oozed from his stomach and he was paler than any man h
e had ever seen. His eyes fluttered open.

  “I ordered you to Pretoria.”

  “Court martial me when we get there.”

  Van der Merwe laughed then winced. “The gold?”

  “Buried where no one will find it, on Boet Swart’s farm.”

  Van der Merwe nodded slightly. “A-a good man. He won’t talk.”

  “Veldkornet! British!”

  Voorneveld spun toward his korporaal who pointed to the east. Voorneveld cursed, staring down at his commander. “They must have known, how else could they have been waiting for us?”

  Van der Merwe reached up and grabbed him by the collar. “They can’t take anyone alive. If they do, they’ll torture you until you talk.”

  Voorneveld took his friend’s hand. “I understand.”

  Van der Merwe let him go. “Now, give me a weapon, in case it’s needed.”

  Voorneveld hesitated, knowing what his friend truly meant.

  “That’s an order, Veldkornet.”

  Voorneveld nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as his men took cover, opening fire on the advancing enemy. He pulled his sidearm and pressed it into his friend’s hand. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Van der Merwe winced out a nod, his head falling back onto the grass, his chest heaving its final breaths as he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Voorneveld grabbed the reins of his horse. “Fall back to the south, away from the farm. Not a man here must be taken, understood?”

  “Ja, Veldkornet!”

  Voorneveld raised his fist in the air. “For the Republic!”

  His men roared in response, falling back along the road, using their horses as shields, knowing the moment they mounted for an escape, they’d be picked off. Voorneveld took aim and fired, downing one of the bold bastards as the enemy marched toward them in the open. His men continued to return fire, deliberately picking their targets, commandos far better shots than the frontline British, but there were simply too many.