Read Online Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 by J Robert Kennedy - Free Book Online Page A

here!”
    “Da, da, I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled as he swung his stiff legs from the cot to the floor. He stretched and looked around.
    “Come on, I haven’t got all damned day to wait for you!”
    He eyed the cop. “Dymovsky, wasn’t it? Did you ever serve?” he asked. “You must have, you have balls of steel.”
    Dymovsky nodded. “Chechnya.”
    Yakovski’s eyes opened a little wider. “Now that’s a place I’d like to have gone to.”
    Dymovsky frowned at him. “I don’t know anyone who’d want to go there.”
    Yakovski stood and faced him. “That’s because you don’t know anyone who likes to kill camel jockeys!” Yakovski laughed heartily then coughed. I need vodka. “What time is it?”
    “Time for you to go.”
    “What?”
    “You’re free to go,” said Dymovsky.
    Yakovski smiled, knowing he was being played. “Really? Do you think I’m stupid?”
    Dymovsky yawned. “Listen, I just follow orders. I was told to let you go, so I let you go. If you want me to ask again, because believe me I asked them to confirm the order several times, then I will.”
    Now that story Yakovski did buy. Someone, somewhere, had pulled strings. He could only think of the Colonel, but how would he have found out about the arrest? He seemed to know everything, though, so it was possible.
    “Nyet, let’s go.”
    Dymovsky led him from the cell and down the long corridor leading out of the cellblock. He rapped on the metal door at the end. A small window slid open and the officer on the other side glanced around before nodding and sliding the window shut. The door opened and they stepped through to the main control area.
     One man Yakovski recognized from the arrest the night before stood there, his steeled jaw and glaring eyes told Yakovski this man was not happy about the situation. He glared at Dymovsky. “I can’t believe we’re letting this piece of garbage go.”
    “Orders,” said Dymovsky firmly.
    “Yes, but—”
    Dymovsky cut him off. “Is that his stuff?” he said, pointing at a brown manila envelope.
    The man nodded and handed it over to Yakovski. He looked inside, taking a quick inventory. “Don’t I get my gun back?”
    The man’s fists clenched into balls and his face turned Soviet red. Dymovsky shoved Yakovski forward before he got belted, and herded him toward the exit. “Don’t push your luck. We have orders to release you, not what condition to release you in.”
    Yakovski kept his mouth shut, not feeling like getting a beating today, not before a dose of vodka.
    Dymovsky opened the door in front of him, then shoved him out into the cool morning air. “Now piss off!” he said, slamming the door shut.
    Yakovski looked around the alley he was in, got his bearings, and headed to the street. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew even if there were orders to release him, he would be followed, or tracked, somehow.
    Now it was time to lose them.

 
     
     
    Knoxville, Tennessee
     
    Cole sat in a green and white lawn chair, probably out of style long before it had been manufactured, the plastic lattice torn, faded and stained by years of abuse. But it was American made. Built tough. On two stacked milk cartons sat his laptop. He re-read the email he had just received and snapped it shut.
    “They’re up to something.”
    He was sitting in the back room of a rented warehouse, a staging area for the upcoming action, with three of his most trusted advisors. Beyond the tin and frosted glass walls the bustle of activity could be heard, the sound of men shouting as they prepared for the next phase of the operation.
    “What?” asked Charlie Parker, the man who had recruited him into New Slate twelve years ago and was now his second-in-command.
    “This is too easy.”
    “Easy?” Chip McConnell yelped. “Are you kidding me? The amount of hoops we’ve had to jump through with these Rooskies and now these fuckin’ pull-starts has been ridiculous!”
    Cole smiled. Chip was extremely excitable at