Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (29 page)

He
climbed out of the vehicle and headed for the front entrance when he felt the
ground shake and a screeching sound tear through the air above him. He looked
and a massive fireball erupted from the top of the building. He rushed forward,
toward the awning covering the entrance as glass and debris rained down around
him.

His
phone was already in his hand, dialing Sherrie’s number, his comm active in his
ear. “Control, Freebird-Zero-One, there’s been an explosion here. Call it in,
we’re going to need police, fire and paramedics.”

“Roger
that, contacting local authorities now.”

“Zero-One,
this is Control Actual. We’ve lost comms with our personnel. Do you have eyes
on them, over?”

Kane
immediately recognized Leroux’s voice and the panic came through the digital
equipment loud and clear. He pointed at the security guard behind the front
desk who was still half-ducking, half-staring up at the ceiling. “Do you have
an evacuation procedure?”

The man
nodded.

“Then do
it!”

Kane
headed for the stairwell, rushing up the steps as fast as he could as Sherrie’s
phone continued to ring, unanswered, then going to voicemail. He switched,
trying Fang’s, before he realized his friend was repeating his question.

“Negative,
Control, I’m attempting to access the site now. Stand by.”

The fire
alarm sounded but the stairwell was already starting to fill, panicked
residents evacuating, there no ignoring what had happened at the top of the
building. As he continued his climb, the numbers surged then dwindled and he
was soon at the penthouse level, the door blown off its hinges.

He shoved
it aside and stepped out into what could only be described as a war zone. One
entire side of the floor, where the hostiles and hostages had been, was gone,
the studded walls mere remnants of themselves, giving him a clear view of the
apartment, the devastation inside, total. The windows were blown out, the wind
whipping around the debris, there few flames, the explosion mostly
extinguishing itself as it had rapidly chewed through its oxygen supply.

It was
as if it had been designed only to take out this one penthouse unit.

A
failsafe?

It made
sense, though it meant that they were dealing with a brutal organization
willing to kill its own should it become necessary.

And send
a message while doing it.

“Control,
Zero-One. The entire penthouse level has been taken out. Looks like explosives.
Some sort of failsafe.”

“Is—is
there anyone alive? Can you contact Zero-Two or Three?”

Leroux’s
voice was cracking and it tore at Kane’s heart, his best friend going through
something that no one should have to experience.

Morrison
should never have let her help.

He shook
his head as he made his way deeper down what was once the hallway.

It’s
nobody’s fault. No one expected this.

He
spotted what appeared to be charred remains farther ahead, two bodies slammed
against the wall containing the elevators, the flesh burned crisp. He knelt
down beside them then stood back up.

There
was just no way to tell.

“Stand
by, we’re getting a call from Professor Acton.” There was a pause as Kane
continued into the apartment, stepping through an opening that was once a wall.
Remnants of furniture littered the room, an open concept kitchen to his left
charred almost beyond recognition except for the stainless steel appliances,
strangely still shining. His comm squawked. “Check the elevator! Acton said
they were in the elevator when the explosion happened!”

Kane
whipped around and jumped back into the hallway, grabbing the seam of the
elevator doors and prying them open. Inside he was greeted with cables, several
loose, cut in the explosion. He leaned in and saw the elevator car far below
him, the second shaft clear, that car looking like it was already at the
bottom.

He
stepped out, wrapping his sleeved arms then his legs around the cables, sliding
down quickly, ignoring the friction. He came to rest on the top of the car, it
protesting loudly at the shift in weight. Still holding onto the cable with one
hand, he reached over and yanked the damaged hatch open then peered inside.

“Oh no!”

Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“What did he just say?”

Leroux
was in a panic, not sure what to do. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. A hand
gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Morrison snapped his fingers,
motioning for the headset. Leroux gave it to him and Morrison fit it in place.
He pointed at a chair. “Sit.”

Leroux
nodded, dropping into the chair and grabbing his head as he squeezed his eyes
shut and tried to get control. He felt a gentle hand on his back and he looked
up to see Sonya Tong standing in front of him, her eyes filled with tears.

Not
now!

She
leaned over and gave him a hug. “Don’t lose hope,” she whispered, then let him
go, returning to her station.

“Sir,
phone call coming in on Professor Palmer’s phone.”

Morrison
snapped his fingers. “Let our agent know then route it through. Pipe the audio
through the speakers.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Leroux
sucked in slow, deep breaths, trying to remember what Kane had taught him about
combat breathing—or something like that. Tactical? He couldn’t remember, but it
was starting to work. He glanced over at Sonya, working away at her station,
and said a silent apology to her. Yes, she was sweet on him, that he knew, though
never did he think she would truly wish any ill will toward Sherrie. She was
just concerned about him.

And she
was right.

Don’t
lose hope.

The
heads-up was given to the agent, then the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Professor
Acton, your friends have failed and your parents are dead.”

“So are
you, you son of a bitch. I’m going to find you and kill you if it’s the last
thing I ever do.”

There
was a chuckle. “Professor Acton, you will do no such thing. You are going to
return home, attend your parents’ funeral, and maintain your silence.”

“Go to
hell.”

“Professor,
I think you are missing the big picture. Your parents are dead because you know
something you shouldn’t. You still know something you shouldn’t. Killing you
isn’t an option, because I don’t know who you’ve told. Even if I killed your
wife and your friends, Interpol Agent Hugh Reading, and Inspector General Mario
Giasson, I could never be sure I got everyone. But if they know your friends
and family will die if they speak, I know they will maintain their silence.”
There was a momentary pause and Leroux rose, wiping his cheeks clear of tears.
“To illustrate my point, your friend, Gregory Milton, has a child, does he not?
It will be hard for him to save her with that back of his. Perhaps we will pay
him a visit.”

The call
ended, leaving Leroux in shock for a moment.

Then he
snapped his fingers.

“Find
this Gregory Milton, now!”

Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

Greg Milton moaned in exquisite agony as his wife straddled him,
working her thumbs into the small of his back. It was aching from a long day at
work, though it was a pain he would never trade for the alternative he had been
facing.

Total
paralysis from the waist down.

He had
been shot in the back and left for dead a few years ago. He was lucky to be
alive, and a lifetime in a wheelchair had been a horrible prospect, though one
he was willing to live with if it meant spending it with his wife and young
daughter.

But the
doctors’ longshot had paid off, their “most likely” wrong, their “slim chance”
a winner. And the recovery had begun. A long, slow, painful recovery, but he
was now walking again, able to go most of the day at his job as Dean of St.
Paul’s University, though if he overdid it, like he had today standing at a
podium, delivering a speech, he would pay the price later.

He no
longer worried about losing the ability to walk. The doctors had confirmed that
was behind him. The question was now whether or not he’d stage a full recovery,
or forever experience the pain.

He was
determined to see the former win out.

Sandra
expertly worked his muscles, she having enrolled in some courses to learn how
properly to do this, and she had turned out to be a godsend. She never
complained, never asked for a night off, she just did it.

“You
have no idea how good that feels, hon.”

“Is it
working?”

“Oh
yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hang
around in your underwear watching television and eating Cheezies?”

He
chuckled. “You’re probably right.” He glanced back at her. “That doesn’t sound
half-bad.”

She
smacked his ass and he reveled in the fact he could feel it.

“Don’t
start something you’re not willing to finish.”

She
leaned over and kissed him between the shoulder blades. “You know what they say
is good for the back.”

He
grinned, closing his eyes as she continued to rain gentle kisses on him.

Something
stirred.

And his
phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Sandra leaned
over and grabbed it, handing it to him. He looked at it and shook his head.
“Don’t recognize the number. Let it go to voicemail then get back to that new
massage technique you were trying out there.”

The
phone was returned to the nightstand, the kisses continuing, full mast
achieved.

The
phone vibrated again.

Sandra
sighed, Milton groaned, and the phone demanded attention. She grabbed it again.
“Same number.”

“Okay, I
better take it.” She handed him the phone and he swiped his thumb. “Hello?”

“Greg,
it’s me, Jim. Get Sandra and Niskha out of the house, now! Get to the nearest
police station and stay there. Do you hear me?”

Milton’s
heart raced and he began to roll over, Sandra climbing off him, their fun over.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“There’s
no time to explain. Trust no one, not even the police or the FBI. I’ll send
Dylan to get you.”

“Why?
Jim, tell me something!”

“My
parents are dead. Just move, now!”

CIA Safe House, Rome, Italy

Mr. Verde shook his head, shaking his phone in defeat. “We don’t
know yet. There was an explosion and they can’t reach the agents that rescued
your parents. There’s another agent on-site trying to confirm what happened.”

Acton
gripped his hair as he bent forward, pulling hard, Laura leaning against him,
her cheek resting on his back as she gently stroked him, trying to comfort him.

It
wasn’t working.