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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  But the cost had been his soul.

  He had sworn to remain a bachelor, to devote himself to the sciences, and to commit, for life, to The Order. Naively he had agreed, and the rest was history. And now that he was a doctor, and understood what The Order was, what the Circle of Eight were, and his future within that, and what the consequences were, he was filled with a horror of regret, not only at the cost he had already borne, but what his future of loneliness would bring.

  And tonight, with the knowledge he had nothing to live for except The Order, he made one final commitment, then a silent prayer for his lost Heike.

  He stepped through the entrance of his master’s home, and resigned himself to his fate.

  Westover Hills Blvd, Richmond, Virginia

  Sylvia Dawson-Biggs entered the driveway and sighed. Every time she pulled up to her house lately it pissed her off. Things had been tight since her husband George had lost his job. He had looked for almost a year for something in his field, banking, but as their savings rapidly dwindled, and their house barely maintained a value above their substantial mortgage, he had finally announced he was going to take anything, even minimum wage, just to start bringing in something.

  She had been the sole breadwinner that year, and for the past three years might as well have been. She had a decent paying job as a nurse, but their lifestyle demanded more, much more. They had cut back everywhere they could, including house maintenance. The lawn wasn’t getting mowed by a service anymore, the weeds weren’t getting sprayed, the gardening wasn’t getting done, and the driveway hadn’t been sealed since he had been laid off. They needed a new roof, the shingles curling badly, and the trim desperately needed a paint job.

  It was embarrassing.

  They kept driving the same cars, the Jaguar already paid off, but the constant repair bills now that it was out of warranty were higher than the monthly payments they were supposed to be now saving. It was bankrupting them faster than the house, but George insisted on keeping it, wanting to maintain appearances. She begged him to sell the albatross to some other poor fool, but George wouldn’t hear of it.

  Instead he had set up an eBay account and was selling off everything that he could to try and make ends meet so they could pay their mortgage and keep food on the table. Neither of them had parents with enough money to help out, no rich aunts or uncles, no big inheritance that might be just around the corner.

  They were screwed.

  If George couldn’t get a better job soon, they’d have to sell the house. She had long argued they should—it didn’t matter to her. It was just a building they lived in. But to George it was a sign of failure to give up. To drop from high-middle income to low middle-income was just something he couldn’t bear.

  Eventually things will come to a head.

  She reached up and pressed the garage door opener out of habit, then cursed as it did nothing. The opener had stopped working two weeks ago. No money to have it repaired.

  She climbed out of her car, grabbed her gym bag from the backseat and released her nine year old Jenny from the booster seat. She followed Jenny up the front walkway, eyeballing the weeds and lack of flowers. No money for annuals this year. Or last.

  She unlocked the door and went inside, Jenny sprinting up the stairs to her room, she entering the code in the unmonitored security system. The panel beeped twice, then she closed the door. The answering machine sitting on a console table near the door was flashing with several messages. She prepared herself for more bill collectors as she pressed the button.

  The machine beeped and the misery began as she kicked her shoes off and made her way to the kitchen.

  “This is Franco from Tim’s Autopalace. The new ABS module for your Jag is in. Can you give us a call at 555-7838 to arrange an appointment to have it installed?”

  George had learned how to do his own oil changes and basic maintenance like topping up fluid levels, rotating tires, and what not, but not the big things, which were constant. Her car needed new tires, his were probably on their last five thousand miles and with the damned Jag it was one thing after another. ABS module, new battery, alternator, electrical problems coming out of the woodwork. And a leaking roof. The thing that had finally told her the Jag people hadn’t a clue was when they said all convertible roofs leaked in car washes. She had screamed at them. “This is our fourth convertible, and it’s the only one to have ever leaked! And you’re telling me that’s normal?”

  George had had to lead her out of the dealership before she started throwing things.

  “Argh! That stupid car!”

  She opened the fridge and pulled out the casserole she had prepared the night before during a few minutes of lucidity.

  “Sis, it’s me, Burt. You there? Pick up if you are, it’s important.”

  Sylvia paused. Burt? He never calls during the day. Her thoughts immediately went to her mom and dad. Something’s happened!

  “Okay, well, as soon as you get this message, I want you to take George and Jenny to the nearest police station, okay. Don’t stop to pack, just go. Once you’re there, call me and let me know where you are. This is urgent, Sis, it’s important. Please don’t ignore it. Love you.”

  The casserole was forgotten in her hand. Sylvia simply stood, frozen, as she repeated the message in her head. Her brother wasn’t a practical joker, not in his business. She knew he was army, in logistics, but with the amount of times she had called him where he wasn’t home for extended periods, and the fact he was stationed at Fort Bragg, she had put two and two together years ago.

  He was Delta Force.

  She had confronted him on it once and he had denied it.

  “I wish!” was his response.

  Yeah, right!

  She knew from the look he had given her when she pushed him that she was right, and when she mentioned it to her husband that night, he had told her to back off.

  “The less we know the better. It’s for his protection, and ours.”

  She put the casserole down on the counter, left the kitchen and went into George’s study. She pulled a hinged painting from the wall, keyed in the security code of the safe, and removed a Glock 22 then loaded a clip, stuffing another in her pocket.

  Her hands shaking, she headed for the stairs, for the first time noticing that Jenny wasn’t making any noise, which was rare for her.

  Please, Lord, let her be okay. Please let this be Burt just being paranoid.

  But she knew the truth. Burt had never called her with something like this during his entire career, never even said a word about being careful. This was an out-and-out warning, and as she climbed each step, wincing with each creak of the wood, the gun grasped in front of her, ready to blow away anything that came around the corner, she realized she had to calm down. Her heart was slamming so hard and so fast that she couldn’t keep her hands steady, and could barely focus.

  And if Jenny were to come around the corner, she’d blow her away by accident, she was so wired.

  She dropped her hands, the gun now at her side, slightly behind her in the hopes her brain would have the time to recognize her daughter before she could raise the weapon to shoot.

  The final step.

  She looked to her right, down the hallway toward Jenny’s room but saw nothing. Her door was closed, which was unusual. The rule was the door stayed open. She heard a whimper to her left and spun.

  Then nearly vomited.

  A man in a black suit was standing in the hallway, Jenny beside him, her face red, tears streaking her cheeks, the man’s hand firmly on her shoulder, holding her back as she tried to run to her mother.

  “Mrs. Dawson. Let me tell you why I’m here. Your brother—”

  She didn’t care. She raised the weapon, single handed, took a quick bead on his chest, the laser sighting making it dead easy as the red dot bounced on the man’s crisp white shirt, her hands still shaking.

  She didn’t see his eyes bulge as she squeezed the trigger twice. He fell backward, two fre
sh red stains rapidly expanding from his chest as he hit the floor, his hand letting go of Jenny, the little girl racing toward her mother the moment the hand gripping her had fallen away.

  “Mommy, look out!” she cried before she reached her.

  Sylvia spun around, squeezing off round after round before even seeing her target, another suit coming out of Jenny’s room. Her last shot caught the man in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor.

  Picking up Jenny, she raced down the stairs, grabbed her purse off the console table and rushed out the door toward her car. She pulled the fob out of her purse, unlocked the doors, and pushed Jenny into the backseat, slamming the door behind her.

  She climbed in the driver’s seat, jamming the keys in the ignition and started the car as she closed the door. She began to back out when Jenny’s face blocked the rearview mirror.

  “But, Mommy, you forgot to strap me in!”

  “Do it yourself please, you know how. We need to get out of here now,” she replied, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

  “But, Mommy!”

  “Jenny, just do it!” she yelled, immediately regretting it as Jenny began to bawl. Her head disappeared as she climbed over to the booster seat, Sylvia revving the engine and backing out of the driveway, cranking the wheel to the left, then putting it in drive and flooring it, praying her tires would hold out. She checked her rearview mirror and could see Jenny buckling herself into her seat, still sniffling.

  “That’s good, baby. Just as good as Mommy or Daddy could do!”

  Her voice was shaking, but Jenny didn’t seem to notice, instead beaming in pride at her successful attempt. As Sheila’s eyes shifted from Jenny to the road ahead, she saw something in the rearview mirror.

  The man she had shot stumbling toward a black SUV parked on the road, its passenger door already open.

  God please help us!

  The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Dawson gave his Godson Bryson Belme a hug, then pushed him toward the other children who were now playing outside, the families safely moved onto the base, a squad of military police surrounding the area for additional security. He turned to Bryson’s father, and Dawson’s best friend, Mike “Red” Belme.

  “He seems to be handling it well.”

  “He’s got no idea what’s going on. Shirley on the other hand is a mess, but is hiding it well.”

  “She’s a brave woman. She’ll be fine.”

  Dawson’s phone rang and he grabbed it, looking at the call display.

  His heart leapt as he took the call.

  “Sis, are you okay?”

  “No! Oh God no! There were two men in the house, they had Jenny! Oh God, you’ve gotta help us!”

  “Where are you?” asked Dawson as he motioned for Red to follow him.

  “I shot one of them! Oh God, I don’t know how you do it! I shot one of them! I killed him! And I shot the other one too but he didn’t die.”

  “Are you out of the house?” asked Dawson as he sprinted toward the Op Center. Red pulled his pass out and ran ahead of Dawson, clearing a path for them, occasionally none too gently.

  “Yes! We’re in my car, but they’re following us!”

  Red slid his card through the security scanner and the door beeped, Red pulling it open. Dawson ran inside, followed by his friend.

  “Trace this call!” yelled Red, pointing at Dawson’s phone, shouting the number to the room of techs manning terminals. The Ops Center Chief, Sarah Michaels, pointed to one of the techs.

  “You take it.” She turned to Red and Dawson. “We’re in the middle of an op, Alpha Team. What do you need?”

  “Do you know where the nearest police station is?” Dawson asked his sister.

  “Yeah, yeah, I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, head there now, but leave this call connected, okay?”

  “Yes. Oh God, Burt, what have you done? Why are they after us?”

  “Don’t worry about that now, just let me do my job.” He turned to Michaels. “I need this call traced, then geo tracked so we can get her to a police station. My sister is being chased by the same people responsible for Stucco’s death.”

  Michaels nodded, pressing a button on the control panel in front of her.

  “This is the Ops Center Chief. Send in the secondary team, I need more resources.” She pressed another button. “Colonel Clancy to the Ops Center.”

  She turned to Dawson and pointed to the tech she had assigned.

  “He will assist you. Anything you need.”

  Dawson nodded in appreciation as he and Red took up positions over either shoulder of the tech. On the screen they could see a map rapidly drilling down until it reached street level, a red dot indicating his sister’s car.

  “Put up the nearest police stations.”

  A flurry of keystrokes, and several police stations, all several miles away, appeared.

  “Map the closest based on current traffic.”

  More keystrokes then a blue line appeared and a set of instructions appeared on the side of the screen.

  “Sis, you still there?”

  “Yes! Yes Goddammit! Where the hell would I have gone?”

  He knew telling her to calm down would set her off even more, so he chose to ignore it.

  “Take your next right at the intersection, okay? If you have to go through the red or take the sidewalk, you do it. Just make sure you don’t get hit by any oncoming traffic, okay?”

  “Okay.” There was a pause. “Oh God, they found us!”

  There was a crashing sound and the call went dead.

  Hull Street, Richmond, Virginia

  Sylvia Dawson-Biggs screamed as the SUV slammed into the back of her car, throwing her body back into her seat, then forward, the only thing saving her from slamming into the steering wheel her seatbelt. Jenny was screaming, but she didn’t have time to comfort her as she looked in the rearview mirror to see doors open on either side of the dark black vehicle, it huge compared to her Mercedes C300.

  Two men were now approaching, one on either side. A small group of onlookers had gathered on the sidewalk, lookie-loos who delighted in other’s misery. She looked for the phone. It had flown out of her hand and was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed her purse and felt the gun inside as there was a tap at the window. An ID was being shown to her.

  FBI? Were these the same people from earlier? Was it the same vehicle?

  “Thank God!” she exclaimed, deciding it couldn’t be, pushing the button to roll down her window. “You’ve got to help me. Two men tried to kill me and my daughter earlier.”

  “We’re aware of what happened, ma’am.”

  “Did my brother send you?”

  “Yes he did, ma’am. If you’ll come with us, you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Of course, yes, of course!” she cried, joy and relief spreading through her as the adrenaline high she had been on began to slowly subside. Her happiness seemed to extend to Jenny who smiled at her and handed over the phone Sylvia had dropped in the crash.

  It rang.

  She answered it as she unbuckled her seat belt.

  “Hello?”

  “Sis, are you okay.”

  “Oh thank God, yes. It was the FBI. They’re here now!”

  “What was the FBI?”

  “That hit us from behind,” she replied, then paused. “You know, you sent them.”

  “Sis, listen to me very carefully. Is the car still running?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I want you to put the phone down, put the car in gear, and get the hell out of there. Take the sidewalk if you have to!”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice quavering as her fear began to build again.

  “Because I didn’t send any FBI to help you, and FBI don’t ram the vehicles of the people they’re trying to help.”

  The phone dropped from her ear and between the seats. She reached for the gearshift when she felt a hand on her left shoulder. She yelpe
d, reached over for her purse and pulled the gun as the man on the passenger side pulled his. She raised the weapon, the loop of her purse draped over the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. The man flew backward, a new hole in his stomach as those gathered screamed, rushing in every direction but hers.

  The hand on her shoulder slid up to her neck and squeezed. She swung the gun around but he grabbed the barrel, deflecting the weapon, his grip too strong for her to break. She let go of the gun and put the car in gear, hammering on the gas. The grip on her neck broke and several shots were fired, her rear windshield bursting as the glass was taken out.

  A car in front of her blocked her way and she cranked the steering wheel to the right, hopped the curb, and raced down the sidewalk just as her brother had told her to do, all the while laying on the horn, pedestrians scrambling to get out of the way. She burst onto the road again and turned right, rushing toward the police station she knew was only two blocks away.

  The phone rang but she couldn’t reach it. Remembering the Bluetooth in the car, she hit the button on her steering wheel.

  “Hello?”

  “Sis, what’s going on?”

  “I shot another one, Burt. The other one got my gun. I did like you said and drove on the sidewalk. I don’t see them anymore!”

  “Okay. Just keep driving straight and you’ll be at the police station. We’ve already called ahead. They’re expecting you. Just stop in front of the station, get out of your car, and go inside, okay?”

  “Okay, I see it. I see it!” she cried, the police station parking lot coming into view as she caught a green light on the final intersection. She screeched into the parking lot then hammered on her brakes as her ABS brought her to a shuddering halt. Turning off the vehicle, she jumped out of the car.

  “Help us! Please help us!” she screamed as she opened the back door, unbuckling Jenny and pulling her into her arms. She rounded the back of her car and rushed toward the steps as several officers ran toward her.