The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  From the Back Cover

  ABANDONED BY THEIR GOVERNMENT, DELTA TEAM BRAVO FIGHTS TO NOT ONLY SAVE THEMSELVES AND THEIR FAMILIES, BUT HUMANITY AS WELL.

  The Bravo Team is targeted by a madman after one of their own intervenes in a rape. Little do they know this internationally well-respected banker is also a senior member of an organization long thought extinct, whose stated goals for a reshaped world are not only terrifying, but with today’s globalization, totally achievable.

  As the Bravo Team fights for its very survival, they are suspended, left adrift without their support network. To save themselves and their families, markers are called in, former members volunteer their time, favors are asked for past services, and the expertise of two professors, James Acton and his fiancée Laura Palmer, is requested.

  It is a race around the globe to save what remains of the Bravo Team, abandoned by their government, alone in their mission, with only their friends to rely upon, as an organization over six centuries old works in the background to destroy them and all who help them, as it moves forward with plans that could see the world population decimated in an attempt to recreate Eden.

  The Circle of Eight is the seventh installment in the internationally best selling James Acton Thrillers series. In The Circle of Eight J. Robert Kennedy, author of over a dozen international best sellers, is at his best, weaving a tale spanning centuries and delivering a taut thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat from page one until the breathtaking conclusion.

  Praise for J. Robert Kennedy

  J. Robert Kennedy is the author of twelve international best sellers, including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series.

  The Protocol has been on the best seller list in the US and UK since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.

  "If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

  Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

  Books by J. Robert Kennedy

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar's Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  The Circle of Eight

  A James Acton Thriller

  by

  J. Robert Kennedy

  Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada

  Copyright © 2013 J. Robert Kennedy

  Cover and Inside Artwork Copyright © 2013 J. Robert Kennedy

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  V1.6

  For the bravest girl I know, my daughter.

  You have no idea how proud I am.

  The Circle of Eight

  A James Acton Thriller

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  Preface

  In June 1979 an unknown person or group using the alias R.C. Christian, hired a granite company to build a monument to exacting specifications in Elbert County, Georgia.

  It has become known as the Georgia Guidestones, and nicknamed the “American Stonehenge”.

  The structure is inscribed in eight modern and four ancient languages including Babylonian, Classical Greek, Sanskrit and Egyptian hieroglyphs.

  To this date nobody knows who built the monument, or why. However what is clear, is whoever they were had a message to deliver to us, for carved on these Guidestones are ten guidelines, or commandments, they wish us to follow:

  Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.

  Guide reproduction wisely — improving fitness and diversity.

  Unite humanity with a living new language.

  Rule passion — faith — tradition — and all things with tempered reason.

  Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts.

  Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court.

  Avoid petty laws and useless officials.

  Balance personal rights with social duties.

  Prize truth — beauty — love — seeking harmony with the infinite.

  Be not a cancer on the earth — Leave room for nature — Leave room for nature.

  Though it is disturbing to not know who would have the gall and power to build a monument then abandon it for the State to maintain, what is more disturbing is how they intend to deliver on their guidelines. For if they were to succeed in implementing them, over 90% of the human population would need to be wiped out.

  Unknown Location

  “Professor Acton, I will count to ten, and if you do not tell me what I want to know, she dies.”

  The hood over his head was suddenly torn away, the light glaring at him blinding. Professor James Acton tried to raise his hands to block it but they were bound behind him by what felt like zip ties rather than handcuffs, the hard plastic biting into his wrists.

  “One.”

  “Wait!” he yelled, leaning forward in the unforgiving chair he was bound to, peering into the darkness behind the light, trying to find the source of the voice. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about! What do you want to know?”

  “Two,” said the voice. “We want to know where it is.”

  His heart was already slamming into his chest from their ordeal. Police had burst into their room, arrested them, thrown them in the back of a police vehicle, and then drugged them. He had been awakened only moments before with a slap to his hooded face.

  “Where is what?” he cried as his eyes finally adjusted. He still couldn’t see who was asking the questions, they were hidden in the darkness, behind the light, but he could see Laura, sitting in a chair of her own, facing him, tears running down her cheeks, her mouth gagged so she could say nothing, all he could hear were her sobs. He turned to the darkness. “If you hurt her!” But he didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Three,” echoed the voice. “We will not hurt her, Professor Acton. We will kill her. I promise she won’t feel a thing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for!” he yelled, then sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down, fearful he might anger them and speed up the count. His stomach was in turmoil, like butterflies had filled it and were now desperate to get out. He was pumped full of so much adrenaline his hands were shaking and he was sweating profusely, his chest soaked, his forehead dripping. “Please, tell me more. I’ll tell you anything you want, just don’t hurt her. I just need to know more about what you’re looking for.”

&nbs
p; Professor Laura Palmer, his fiancée, the love of his life, the first woman he had ever truly loved, who excited him in every way a woman should despite their relationship approaching three years, fixed hers on him. He looked into her eyes, trying to convey that love to her, and he could tell she knew how he felt, and how sorry he was.

  “Four.” His ears roared with the sound of his blood pumping. “We want the Catalyst, Professor.”

  “The Catalyst? I’ve never heard of it. What is it?”

  “Five.” He felt himself becoming lightheaded. He widened his stance for balance, the zip ties holding his ankles to the chair legs giving him little play. Taking in several deep, slow breaths, he tried to steady his racing heart. “It is something that we once possessed, and was lost to us centuries ago.”

  His heart was still slamming in his chest, but he was beginning to regain control. He had to be careful. It seemed apparent that every time he spoke, and they responded, their captor would increase the count. He had at most five more questions before his beloved would be dead.

  “What makes you think I have it?”

  “Six.” Acton strained as hard as he could against his bonds, but nothing. “You were seen holding it in a photograph.”

  Acton’s mind began flicking through every photograph he could ever remember having been taken of him, but there were thousands if not more, and he quickly found himself only seeing photographs of Laura, smiling, laughing, kissing him in self-shots.

  “If you show me the photograph, then I’ll know what you’re talking about.”

  He heard footsteps echo through the room, the sounds giving him the impression it was large, mostly empty, little to absorb the sounds bouncing off its walls. Suddenly a robed figure entered the light, the long flowing dark brown cloth silhouetted against the light, the face nothing more than a black emptiness.

  “Seven.”

  The voice still came from the background, not from the man in front of him. A photograph was shoved in front of his face, and it took a moment for his eyes to refocus. It was him with several of his students, each holding a different object. He remembered it instantly. “That’s from the south of France, just outside St. Tropez,” he blurted, elated he was finally able to answer a question and perhaps save Laura. “I was asked to inventory a private collection; some billionaire had died. There were hundreds of pieces. Over a thousand, actually. Are you saying that one of these items is your Catalyst?”

  “Eight.”

  “Please! Which one? Which artifact?”

  A finger pointed to a cube being held by one of his students.

  “That? That’s the Catalyst? We didn’t know what it was so we just catalogued it.”

  “Nine.” The man in the robe retreated into the darkness. “Where is it?”

  “But that was over ten years ago! I don’t know where it is,” he cried, tears welling in his eyes as he knew he had no way to give them what they wanted. All he could think to do was to keep talking, not give the man a chance to end his count. “All we did was catalog the collection, then it was sold at auction, I think. We didn’t keep any of the pieces. I’m sure if you check the auction they’ll tell you who bought it!”

  “So then you can’t tell us where it is.”

  “No, but I can find out. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please! I’m begging you! Please don’t hurt her! Kill me instead. Shoot me! She has nothing to do with this! I didn’t even know her back then.”

  “Ten.”

  “Oh God, Laura! I’m so sorry! I love you! I love you!” He struggled against his bonds, shifting in the chair, pulling with all his might, blood flowing down his wrists as the plastic sliced through the skin. He pushed forward hard, trying to get as close to her as he could, but it was all to no avail. She was sobbing freely now, her face red, her eyes pleading, crying through the gag, he could tell she was shouting that she loved him too.

  Footsteps echoed, then the dark robed figure stepped between him and Laura, a gun held in the man’s right hand.

  “No, please! I’ll do anything!”

  The man raised his right foot and pushed Laura’s chair over. It collapsed backward and Acton lost sight of her as she fell behind the light that had illuminated her. The man stepped into the darkness and Acton heard the most precious thing in his life scream.

  Then the crack of a gunshot broke his heart for the last time.

  Security Office, Le Grand Hotel, Geneva, Switzerland

  One week earlier

  First Sergeant Phil “Stucco” Reeves shivered, grabbing his arms in a hug, rubbing his hands up and down as he stood up.

  “Cold?” asked Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson as he sipped a coffee that was still piping hot. “Coffee’s fresh and a hell of a lot better than back at The Unit.” Dawson was in command of Delta Team Bravo, a unit of the elite Delta Force, arguably the best counter-terrorism unit in the world, but not necessarily baristas when it came to making coffee. At Le Grand Hotel in Geneva however, they had access to some of the best.

  Especially when the night manager was sweet on one of your men.

  Stucco, the man in question, shook his head as he continued to hug himself, walking about the tight security room, the screens flashing images of the entire hotel. They were on a babysitting mission, the Secretary of State meeting with various representatives from the Middle East and other “concerned” states. There had been a specific threat against him from reliable sources so security was beefed up beyond the normal Secret Service guards.

  “Nah, just got a shiver. Like someone walked on my grave.”

  “I didn’t know you were superstitious,” said Sergeant First Class Will “Spock” Lightman. “Explains a few things.”

  “Yeah, like how he tosses shells over his shoulder when he drops a clip,” offered Master Sergeant Leon “Atlas” James, his impossibly deep voice echoing through the tiny room.

  “Or when he breaks a mirror it’s bad luck unless he cancels it out by saving a black cat.”

  Stucco looked at Spock, mimicking his signature trademark by cocking an eyebrow.

  “You guys really need new jokes.”

  “Bah, you just want us to find a new target,” said Spock with a knowing glance at Atlas.

  Stucco turned to the screen to watch the night manager hurry down the hallway.

  “Do you guys even understand what a figure of speech is?”

  “Umm, the stripper the announcer’s talking about at Sharky’s?”

  Dawson snorted his coffee, trying to remain slightly professional as he kept his eyes on the screens. At this hour however there was little going on. He had a two man team on the Ambassador’s door full time, Atlas and Spock were manning the security room, while he and Stucco were roamers. At the moment they were taking five.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “That’ll be Maria,” said Stucco, jumping up to get the door. Spock and Atlas exchanged grins, jumping to the wrong conclusion. Stucco had already told Dawson about how much Maria Esposito reminded him of his little sister back home, almost “a spitting image” with many of the same mannerisms. Stucco now seemed to have taken on the big brother role of being her protector, though she didn’t know it, her responses to his attentiveness one of what any young girl might have to a good looking, slightly older man with a gun.

  Gaga crush.

  But Stucco, stuck in little sister mode, didn’t notice, and instead kept leading her on unintentionally by paying her too much attention.

  “Maria!” he demonstrated as he opened the door. “And how are you tonight?”

  Maria beamed a smile at Stucco then nodded to the rest of the room.

  “Tired, but hoping one day to move up to day manager.”

  “That’s life!” said Stucco, motioning to his chair. “You have to put in your dues before you get the big seat.”

  Maria’s head bounced in agreement.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right career. I should have gone into brain surgery or
something.”

  The room was silent.

  She burst out laughing.

  “You guys are too polite. You remind me of Canadians! I’m just joking. Do you think if I had the grades for medical school I would be here?”

  Stucco laughed as did the others, when Dawson saw something on the screen. He leaned forward and pointed.

  “We’ve got activity on the Ambassador’s floor.”

  Maria leaned in and looked.

  “Oh Christ,” she muttered. “That’s that asshole Martin Lacroix. Big wig at the World Bank. Completely full of himself. He’s constantly criticizing our staff, complains at all hours, makes demands, insists we make things off menu.” She shook her head. “He’s a pig.”

  “And apparently popular with the ladies,” said Atlas as they watched him groping a girl one third his age against the wall next to his room. “I’d say ‘get a room’ but that would be redundant.”

  “Does this guy not have any shame?” asked Spock.

  “I don’t know about shame, but he should know that all this stuff is on camera,” said Dawson.

  Suddenly the girl pushed Lacroix away, slapped him, and stormed toward the elevator.

  “Spock, Niner here. We’re hearing some shouting from our position. Do you have anything on camera, over?”

  Spock activated his mike.

  “Just a lovers’ quarrel. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Roger that.”

  The girl left on the elevator and Lacroix entered his room, the excitement over. Maria looked at the coffee service.