Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (18 page)

Acton Residence, Germantown, Maryland

CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane rolled up on the scene, half a dozen
emergency vehicles peppering the street, it now a full-blown investigation. He
climbed out and flashed his fake Homeland Security ID to one of the officers
who led him to the Agent in Charge.

“Special
Agent Kane, Homeland.”

The FBI
agent in charge of the scene glanced at the badge. “McKinnon. What’s Homeland
doing here?”

“Their
son has a rather high security clearance so I was called in. You’ve still got
the lead, I’m just here as a liaison.”

McKinnon
grunted, apparently satisfied with the line of bullshit. He motioned toward the
house. “Feel free to look around. We’re running down vehicles now through
traffic cameras. We’ll find something.”

“Let’s
hope so. Any signs of violence?”

McKinnon
shook his head. “No. I’ve got a forensics team on its way, but nothing obvious.
If we’re lucky we’ll get some prints off the door.”

Kane
nodded, doubting anyone hired by the Assembly would be so clumsy. “Have you
notified the son?”

“No, we
haven’t been able to reach him. It keeps going to voicemail.”

“Not the
kind of news you want to leave in a message.”

McKinnon
grunted. “Nope. I’m sure we’ll hear back soon.”

“I’m
sure.” He tilted his head toward the house. “I’m going to take a look around.”

McKinnon
nodded, already turning away, indicating to Kane who the man perceived to be
the alpha dog. Kane ignored it, used to being treated with disrespect by men
far more dangerous and powerful than McKinnon.

The
difference was he usually ended up killing them.

He
walked up the front steps and into the home his former archeology professor had
grown up in. Kane hadn’t tried to call Acton yet, though things were in motion,
the man too influential in his life to leave him hanging. It had been Professor
James Acton that he had turned to after 9/11 for guidance. He had wanted to
serve, to fight the terrorists that had attacked his country, but hadn’t yet
finished his education. It was Acton that had urged him to follow his heart,
and he had ended up enlisting that week.

His
father had been proud and annoyed.

He had
distinguished himself, eventually becoming a Ranger then joining Delta. He was
quickly approached by the CIA and leapt at the chance.

And left
the army to become an insurance investigator with Shaw’s of London.

That was
the end of any pride his father had displayed.

If
only you knew.

If Acton
hadn’t encouraged him, he might very well have toughed it out, perhaps become
an officer at the end of it all, and never had the chance to fight in the
trenches, to join Delta, to become a spy. He owed Acton a lot, and he trusted
the man, he one of the few people outside of the CIA that knew what he truly
did.

And
helping him out now wouldn’t be the first time.

Acton
knew how to reach him, so the fact he hadn’t heard from him meant Acton most
likely didn’t know about his parents yet, or if he did, he was dealing with it
in his own way. Either way, Kane couldn’t reach out. Not yet. He needed to
determine if the Assembly truly was involved, because if they were, they’d most
likely be monitoring Acton’s communications. And if it weren’t, whoever had
kidnapped Acton’s parents could still be monitoring him, and if a CIA agent
reached out, it could sign their death warrants. He needed more intel.

He
entered the house, quickly doing a cursory once over, nothing beyond the half-eaten
bacon sandwich on a side table suggesting anything untoward.

And a
television left on that had since been turned off.

He
pulled out his phone, plugging an attachment into the bottom, an app automatically
launching after he pressed his thumb on the sensor. It immediately began detecting
signals all through the house, the software quickly eliminating identifiable ones.
He stepped into the bedroom, scanning with the device and frowned as a strong
signal was detected. It increased in strength as he approached an old phone
sitting on a nightstand.

We’ve
got a bug.

He found
no more on the second floor, returning to the main floor, putting an earbud in
as he pretended to be listening to voicemails. Two more phones had bugs though
it wasn’t until he found the one in the living room, behind a large painting of
a winter scene, an old cabin perched at the edge of a frozen river, that he had
his answer.

There
was some dust on the bug.

Which
meant it had been there for some time, though not too long, the Actons having only
moved recently.

He
frowned.

If these
bugs had been here that long, it meant it was most likely the Assembly that had
planted them, there no one else he could possibly think of that might have reason
to monitor Acton’s parents.

Kane
froze, rage building in his stomach.

If
they’re watching his parents, then they’re probably watching mine. And Chris’.

He
unplugged the device from his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he exited
the house, returning to his car. If they were monitoring the parents, then
there was a definite possibility they were monitoring him, which severely
restricted his options.

I need
someone they don’t know about.

He
thought for a moment then smiled.

Lee Fang Residence, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Lee Fang pressed the sensor, making sure her pulse rate was where
she wanted it, she at a full sprint on her treadmill, approaching the one-hour
mark. She was dripping with sweat, the endorphins rampaging through her system
giving her a natural high she thrived on. Her iPhone, strapped to her upper
arm, blared a retro eighties mix, Erasure’s A Little Respect thumping in her
ears, she discovering decades of music she had never known existed until she
arrived in the United States.

Against
her will.

She had
been a member of the Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit. Tough,
disciplined, and loyal. Loyal to a fault, as it would turn out. She had
stumbled upon some information she shouldn’t have, information that she felt
threatened her country, even though some of its top generals were involved.

And when
one of those generals tried to rape her, she had killed him.

And her
flight had begun.

Reaching
out to the only American she knew that she thought she could trust, a member of
their Delta Force that she had met on assignment in Africa, she had been put
together with a CIA agent named Kane. Kane had saved her ass and got her out of
China, and as a thank you for her providing the United States with valuable
intel that ended up saving them from a coup, she was given a new identity and a
generous pension, despite still being in her twenties.

She was
just now starting to get used to her new life, or perhaps she had just resigned
herself to the fact she could never go home. She was a traitor and a murderer,
at least in her government’s eyes. She found it frustrating, the injustice of
it all sometimes causing her to break down in tears, an uncharacteristic
reaction for her if there ever was one. She loved her country, she loved her
people, she loved her job. She had been the best of the best, and now she lived
in a small apartment in Philadelphia, living out her days exercising and
watching American television, surfing the Internet and trying to figure out
what she could do with her life that would have zero chance of her being
discovered.

She had
no friends.

And was
lonely.

Painfully
lonely.

The
treadmill beeped, her sixty minutes up and she began her cool down, reducing
her speed gradually as her perfectly timed mix slowed its beat.

Waay
too much time on your hands.

She knew
she was lucky. Many people would be thrilled to have a government pension,
guaranteed for life, with no need to work. But not her. She had to feel useful,
she had to feel like her life had a purpose. And right now, it had none, and
she could see no future that would make her happy.

You
can never go home.

And in
her new homeland, she couldn’t put her skills to use. She couldn’t join the
military, the police, paramedics, or anything. Any job that might involve
security was off limits as per her agreement with the American government.

On some
of the dark nights, curled up on her couch, tears in her eyes, she had eyed the
balcony, contemplating how easy it would be to end the pain, to end the torture
of her new reality.

But she
couldn’t do it.

It would
be the ultimate failure.

And she
was no failure.

She had
to look at this new existence as a challenge. If she couldn’t work, then she
needed a hobby. Something she could channel her energies into that would be
satisfying.

You
could always become an assassin.

She
smiled as she hit the big red button, stopping the treadmill. Unhooking the
safety key, she grabbed a towel and wiped down her face before taking a large
swig from her water bottle. She stared at herself in the mirror and flexed. She
had been told she had an amazing body, though looks had never been important to
her. She turned to the side, checking out her bum.

Not
bad.

She knew
most women would kill to have her physique, she naturally blessed with a slim
body. Her workouts however were intense, which is what gave her the six-pack
abs and sculpted arms and legs. When she went out jogging, she received a lot
of looks from men, Yellow Fever apparently an affliction among many American
men. She hadn’t known what it meant until she looked it up on the web.

It had
caused her to wear loose fitting clothing when she went out, adopting a more
tomboyish look.

A
boyfriend was out of the question. She couldn’t put anyone at risk like that,
and she couldn’t stand having to lie to them about her past.

She
headed for the shower and stripped naked, activating the Bluetooth shower
speaker, her tunes immediately piping out of the tiny speaker. Climbing into
the shower, she closed her eyes and let the hot water run over her, relaxing
her tasked muscles, her mind drifting to thoughts she fought to control, her
sexual needs unmet in so long. It wasn’t in her nature to have a one-night
stand, and having ruled out a boyfriend, she was limited to her own methods of
release.

She pictured
her desire, her mind a blur of images that eventually coalesced into the
smiling face of a man that surprised her.

Dylan?

He was
extremely fit, good looking for a Caucasian, though she had never found white
men really attractive.

Maybe
living among them for so long has changed your opinion.

She
wasn’t sure about that. She watched a lot of television and never found herself
admiring the men Hollywood presented to her hour after hour.

Maybe
it’s because he’s the only possibility.

She
reached down, realizing that he was probably the only man she
could
have
some sort of relationship with. He knew her past, he led a life where
commitment wasn’t an option, and from the obvious interest in her he had
displayed, he’d be willing.

She
moaned.

“Dylan.”

The doorbell
rang, followed by three hard knocks on the door, shattering the moment. She
turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around her and grabbing
her Glock. She peered through the peephole and saw no one.

Her eyes
narrowed.

Odd.

She
opened the door, leaving the chain in place, and spotted a small box sitting in
front of her door. She closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it again,
leaning out. Looking down both ends of the hallway, she saw no one. She knelt
down and examined the package. It was wrapped in a plain brown paper with no
markings.

Not a
delivery.

So it
wasn’t a mistake, and it wasn’t anything normal.

Her
radar immediately went up.

She did
a quick visual inspection then picked up the package, stepping back inside and
locking the door. The package vibrated and she threw it into the kitchen,
behind the counter, and dove in front of the couch, covering her head.

Nothing.

She
rose, the towel catching on her foot and falling to the floor.

It went
unnoticed.

She
tentatively stepped into the kitchen, the box on the floor, tilted against the
cupboards, still vibrating.

It
has to be a phone.

She
grabbed the package, excitement rushing through her like a muscle memory of her
former life. She tore off the paper, revealing a cardboard box with no
markings. Opening it carefully, the vibrations louder now, her eyes widened as
her suspicions were confirmed.