The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) Read Free Page B

escort
vehicles, two in the front and two in the rear were manned by his team and Bureau
of Diplomatic Security personnel, the entire procession accompanied by half a
dozen Vietnamese military vehicles with police motorcycles leading, blocking
off intersections as they made the rush back to the hotel.
    “Are you
okay, Madam Secretary?”
    Atwater
nodded, visibly shaken. “Do we know what happened?”
    Dawson
shook his head, activating his comm. “Bravo One-One, Bravo One. Sit rep, over?”
    Sergeant
Carl “Niner” Sung’s voice came in clear. “Bravo One, we’re secure at Echo Two
but there might be a problem, over.”
    “Explain.”
    “My
security pass was stolen from my room. I’ve reported it and a new one is being
issued. We’re double-checking all IDs here, over.”
    “Roger
that, ETA seven minutes, out.” Dawson chewed on his cheek. A stolen ID. He knew
Niner and there was no way he had lost it or screwed up. Protocol would be to
secure the ID in the room safe, but hotel room safes were notoriously unsecure.
    The
question now was whether or not it was a targeted theft, or simply
unintentional, the thief grabbing everything he found. He had to assume
targeted. He turned to Atwater. “Once you’re secure I’ll find out what
happened, but I’m reasonably certain you weren’t the target.”
     “I’m
not waiting seven minutes, I want to know what happened now.” She snapped her
fingers at her aide. “Call the Embassy, tell them what happened and tell them I
want to know the status of the Russian Prime Minister ASAP!”
    Ronald
Greer pulled out his cellphone and quickly began dialing. Dawson frowned. “Madam
Secretary, that phone isn’t secure, the conversation could be monitored. I
highly recommend we wait until we have access to our secure comms.”
    Atwater
dismissed his concerns with a bat of the hand. “Nonsense. We have nothing to
hide.”
    Dawson
turned his head toward the window so as not to betray how moronic he felt the
Secretary’s statement was. He had lost count of the number of times they had
found themselves in hot water because some politician who thought they knew
better ignored the advice of him or one of his team.
    And this
day, he had a feeling, wasn’t going to end well.
    He had
heard four shots before they had exited the building, all from the same type of
weapon, his quick glimpse and the sound of the shots suggesting a Makarov PM,
probably a leftover from the war. The man appeared Vietnamese and it was pretty
clear he was specifically after the Russian Prime Minister.
    This
is probably going to be the biggest international incident since the
assassination of Franz Ferdinand triggered World War I.
    Another
intersection was cleared, their speed at best thirty, Hanoi’s streets not
accustomed to unexpected emergency motorcades. His mental counter ticked down
another intersection, six to go. When they arrived and the Secretary was secure
in her room, he would be recommending an immediate return to Washington, the
Russian response to the assassination of their Prime Minister unpredictable.
    But he
already knew the answer would be ‘no’.
    Greer
was speaking in hushed tones and Dawson was half-listening, updates coming
through his comm from the security detail, he more concerned with securing his
package.
    Five
to go.
    “The
Prime Minister is dead,” said Greer, fear and shock in his voice. “Along with
his entire security detail.”
    Dawson
resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. The entire detail? They were
clearly caught off guard, the four shots he had heard rapid, the four shots fired
within less than three seconds, and with there being no return fire, they were
obviously all accurate.
    “Has
there been a response from the Russians yet?” asked Atwater.
    “Not
yet. We’re not even sure if they know.”
    “Christ,
there’s going to be hell to pay, and we were there when it happened!” She
jabbed a finger at Dawson. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
    The
muscle