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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  “The feudal system.”

  “Exactly. Subsistence farmers working the Lord’s land in exchange for a share of the crop and a roof over their heads. But if the worker can go into the town and get a reasonable wage and buy his own food, what do you think happened?”

  “The Lords had to pay more for someone to work their lands?”

  “Correct. So essentially the feudal system began to slowly break up as the availability of people willing to work for slave wages dried up, especially after the Peasants Revolt in 1381. Farming techniques were changed to less labor intensive forms, the migration to the cities began, and the reformation eventually occurred with the church having lost much of its influence.”

  The door to the back of the room opened and Acton nearly fell off his perch as he recognized Niner and Jimmy sitting down in the back row.

  Something must be wrong!

  “So, I want you all to think about what would happen to America, and the world, if half the population were to die off. Not from the negative side, but from the positive side. What good would come out of a mass die off in let’s say five, ten, fifty and a hundred years out. Two thousand words on my desk by Monday, then be prepared to discuss it.

  “And don’t just go on the web and pull down a list. That’s where I get all my information, so I’m liable to recognize it.” Laughter and some averted eyes greeted his closing statement. “Dismissed.”

  The room emptied and Acton motioned for Niner and Jimmy to join him. They came down the steps toward the pit where he taught, and he knew something was definitely wrong. There were no smiles, none of the usual Niner joviality.

  Acton extended his hand.

  “Niner, good to see you.”

  “You too, Doc.”

  “Jimmy,” said Acton, shaking Niner’s traditional partner’s hand.

  “Doc.”

  “What can I do for you guys?”

  “We need your help.”

  Acton’s heart skipped a beat. The last time these guys had needed his help he had been flown halfway around the world in a race to find a nuclear weapon and save his fiancée, Professor Laura Palmer. Whatever had happened to his nice, cozy life as an archeology professor he had no clue. It seemed more often than not he was dodging bullets or worse from either terrorists or some ancient cult determined on maintaining a millennium long status quo.

  But if it weren’t for those adventures, he never would have met the love of his life, and his classes wouldn’t have been half as popular as they were now.

  “It’s not another nuclear weapon is it?”

  Niner shook his head.

  “Sorry, Doc. This one’s different.” Niner and Jimmy then gave him the rundown of what had happened over the past week. The rape, the threats, the murder of Stucco and his family, the victim, the cop’s family and now Dawson’s sister and niece’s kidnapping. But through it all, he failed to see anything he could possibly help them with, and said so.

  Niner opened a file folder he was carrying, and placed it on Acton’s desk. His eyebrows immediately shot up.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked, his heart pumping a little harder.

  “BD said he first saw it on a table in Lacroix’s room. Lacroix got really pissed when BD looked at the papers,” replied Niner.

  “And this one,” said Jimmy, pointing at the photograph, “was nailed to a telephone pole outside of Stucco’s house.”

  “Clearly he was sending a message,” commented Niner. “I’m willing to bet that symbol is at the other two murder sites, they just didn’t know to look for it.”

  “Sounds probable,” agreed Acton, his mind racing.

  “So, Doc, what are we looking at?”

  Acton crossed the floor to the door and locked it, pulling down the blind. He returned to the two soldiers and lowered his voice.

  “If this is genuine, and I do mean if, you may be dealing with one of the most dangerous groups to have ever graced the face of this Earth.”

  Pentecostals of Richmond Church, Pickens Road, Richmond, Virginia

  Something forced Sylvia to wake. She heard it again, a loud bang, screams, her daughter crying. Her eyes shot open and she found herself being dragged by the legs, Kurt and another man pulling her between two rows of pews, Jenny trailing behind her, shielded by an elderly lady, her hair so thin and grey it was almost a remembrance of what was, rather than a leftover. As she was pulled between the thick benches she saw the door swing open and the few that remained scattering for their lives as the driver limped in.

  The pastor stepped forward, his hands held out wide to show he was no threat, but his voice stern nevertheless.

  “This is a house of the Lord,” he said. “How dare you fire a weapon here!”

  A shot rang out and she heard a gasp, her view blocked, now all that was visible were feet. Then the body of the pastor collapsed onto the floor, his head twisted toward her, the look of horror on his face heartbreaking.

  Why is this happening?

  Several people cried out and she saw feet, fleeing moments before, rushing toward their fallen leader, cries and wails echoing through the large building. The hands pulling her legs let go and she looked to see Kurt stand, his teeth clenched, jaw tight as he stepped over her and put himself squarely between her and her abductor.

  She watched the man’s feet slowly make their way down the aisle, then looking over her shoulder from the floor, she could see him standing in front of Kurt, his weapon raised, the proud veteran not budging.

  “Out of my way old man, or you die.”

  “If you want them, you have to go through me.”

  “Me too,” said the other who was dragging her moments before. He stepped around her, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kurt.

  “And me,” said another, his footsteps echoing up the next aisle.

  “How touching. Your war is long over. Go home and soak your tired bones in a hot bath, otherwise those bones are going six feet under.”

  Kurt took a small step forward.

  “Sonny, we fought to protect the innocent and the weak. Our buddies died for a country that was better than those we fought. If I walk away today, I betray not only my country, but those men who died by my side, and my God who gave me the strength to get through that hell. There’s no way I’m going to let you harm this woman or her child.”

  She heard a hammer cock, and she cried out.

  “No, wait!” She grabbed Kurt’s pant leg, pulling at it. “No, I won’t have anyone die because of me.” She tried to look at her abductor, to make eye contact with him. “Just let them take my daughter. Whatever this is about, it can’t involve her. She’s just a kid!”

  She felt Jenny squeeze on her leg, but remain silent as she lay on the floor at her side.

  The sound of sirens and the squelch of tires on pavement distracted everyone, their accoster rushing for the front doors to prevent anyone from leaving, slamming shut the doors he had shot open only minutes before.

  “Mommy?”

  She looked at Jenny and felt the world swim as her grip on Kurt’s pants loosened and her head, held above the floor through sheer willpower, dropped with a thud, the world a blurred mass of confusion as she passed out yet again.

  Chesterfield County Airport, Richmond, Virginia

  The Cessna Turbo Skylane JTA bounced to a landing, their pilot, Charlie Wilson, a local “friend” of The Unit, guiding it expertly off the runway and toward the private terminal. Thor waved from the tarmac, a grim expression on his face. This wasn’t a reunion, this was business. Personal business. One of the many unwritten rules in The Unit was ‘don’t mess with a man’s family’. If Lacroix had killed Stucco, that would have been one thing. But to kill his family, to kidnap and possibly kill Dawson’s family? That was personal. The gloves were off, and this would be ended, one way or the other, off the books.

  Dawson had every intention of killing Lacroix and whoever had planted the bombs and even laid a finger on his sister and niece.
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br />   Charlie brought the plane to a halt near Thor and dropped the engine down to idle, his orders to immediately return in case any more of the team needed transport. Dawson and Red climbed down from the plane, Thor walking forward, his hair still gold, its luster a little dimmer than years ago.

  “Good to see you, BD, Red. I wish it were under better circumstances,” he said, shaking both men’s hands then leading them toward a nearby black Ford Expedition. “I got you the biggest engine I could find just in case you need pursuit capability. Lots of cargo space, seats up to eight. She’s topped up with gas, and I took the insurance option, so feel free to beat the shit out of her if needed.” He tossed Dawson the keys, who flipped them to Red.

  “You drive; I’m going to be making phone calls.”

  They both climbed in the SUV, Red firing up the engine and Dawson rolling down his window.

  “One more thing,” said Thor, leaning on the truck. “Just as you were landing I got confirmation that Niner and Jimmy are with that Professor of yours now. They were able to charter a jet—a little faster than your Cessna.”

  “Thanks for the update. We’ve got your number if we need anything else.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call.” He motioned to the rear seat with his chin. “I put together a care package for you. Now go get your sister.”

  Dawson’s lips pursed and he nodded.

  “Thanks.” He turned to Red. “Let’s go.”

  Red peeled off the tarmac and toward the side road of the airfield as Dawson punched the location of the crash where his sister and niece were last seen into the GPS. It had been less than ninety minutes since the crash, his team efficient to say the least. There had been no word from the Richmond police since he had left, Detective Lewis merely saying he was on his way to the crash site to check on Sylvia and Jenny.

  “According to this we’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” said Dawson, glancing at the map on the navigation display.

  “Really?”

  “Stop.”

  Red hit the brakes and Dawson opened his door, stepping out onto the running board, pushing himself to his feet as he looked about the airport. Red did the same.

  “What’s on your mind, BD?”

  “I’m thinking they were headed here.”

  Thor pulled up in his Honda Civic, his wife in the passenger seat.

  “What’s up, BD?”

  “I think they may have been on their way here,” he said. Dawson scanned the tarmac filled with a mix of Cessna’s and other similarly sized airplanes—one stood out.

  A Bombardier Learjet 45 XR.

  “Any idea who owns that?” asked Dawson.

  Thor took a look and shook his head.

  “No, but it’s not unusual to have them here. Want me to check it out?”

  “Yeah. Get the details to the guys. If it’s in any way connected to our situation, I want that plane stopped, understood?”

  “Consider it done.”

  Dawson climbed back in the Expedition as did Red, and they were underway again, Red flooring it, shaving a couple of minutes off the NAV computer’s estimate.

  What they saw when they arrived cleaved a hole in Dawson’s stomach.

  St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland

  Niner frowned, Jimmy bit his lip, neither saying anything. Professor James Acton had the distinct impression that what they had just heard wasn’t something they had wanted to hear.

  And he didn’t blame them.

  “Who are they, Doc?” asked Niner finally. “Who are we dealing with here?”

  “They’re known by many names. Most people that have heard of them have heard them referred to as the Rosicrucians.”

  “Rosicrucians?” asked Jimmy. “Can’t say as I’ve ever heard of them.”

  “Me neither,” agreed Niner.

  “Not surprised. Little is known about them due to their founding being near the end of the dark ages. It’s believed that they were founded around 1407 by a German doctor named Christian Rosenkreuz. In German, Rosenkreuz roughly translates into ‘rose cross’.”

  “That would seem to match this symbol,” said Niner, shaking the printout.

  “Indeed,” agreed Acton.

  “So what makes them so bad?”

  “You’ve heard of the Black Death?”

  The two soldiers nodded.

  “Well, at the time, Europe was just coming out of the Black Death. Nearly half their population had been wiped out, and over the next fifty to a hundred years, tremendous progress was made in science, medicine, personal freedoms, and in overthrowing the almightiness of the Roman Catholic Church.

  “Dr. Rosenkreuz grew up during this era. The Rosicrucian’s own manifesto, Fama Fraternitatis, gave his birth date as 1378, and said he lived to be one-hundred-and-six years old, nearly unheard of in those days. It is said that he travelled to the Middle East and beyond to study under the masters there, but when he returned to Europe to spread his medical and scientific knowledge, he found none of the aristocracy willing to learn from him. So instead, in 1407, he gathered a group of men willing to listen, doctors who were sworn to uphold his ideals, and remain bachelors until their death. And before their deaths, they were required to find their own replacements, so the order could survive. It was called the Rosicrucian Order or Brothers of the Rose Cross.”

  “What happened to them?” asked Jimmy, now sitting at one of the desks.

  “They practiced their craft, said to be some sort of mystical forgotten science, and used it to try and advance mankind. They were willing to teach those who would listen, but few did, and after several centuries they were rumored to be alchemists and sages—so not very well respected. They released several manifestos, written almost as parables, demanding change in Europe that were widely spoken of, and taken quite seriously at the time by some. They believed that through their science and teachings, they could advance mankind to a higher level of being, closer to God, and through their ancient knowledge, create a better world.”

  “Sounds like hocus pocus to me,” muttered Niner.

  “Eventually most tended to agree, and they seemed to have disappeared over the years, but not before a set of beliefs attributed to them were made known. These beliefs have been refined over the centuries to more accurately represent the modern world, but their spirit remains the same. Who has refined these is unknown. It was always thought it was people who had taken the Rosicrucian beliefs and adopted them as their own, without any of the rumored ancient science the beliefs were founded upon. But if what you have here is true, and I really do mean if, then it would tend to suggest that the real Rosicrucian Order still exists to this day.”

  “Real?” asked Jimmy.

  “There are a lot of wannabe’s, none genuine.”

  Niner leaned forward.

  “How were they dangerous? It sounds like they were just some whack-jobs spreading mystical stories.”

  Acton smiled.

  “True. Their beliefs were summed up in ten guidelines. One of which, and the most important of which, is population control. This is thought to have come from the times Dr. Rosenkreuz was raised in. After the Black Death came many advancements for mankind, and it was an era of increased prosperity and decreased misery. It could be likened to after World War Two. Think of the fifties and how everybody has this nostalgia for it being one of the greatest eras in history.

  “The same could be said for this period of rebuilding after the Black Death. Things were better for those who were left, better than they had ever been. Were they fantastic? Of course not, but that’s all relative. You can’t compare their living conditions then to ours now. But after that horror, and the changes that were brought about as a result of it, there was renewed optimism in Europe, and this would have infected Rosenkreuz’ beliefs, and he would have wanted to maintain that progress.

  “And in his mind, maintaining a smaller population rather than letting it get out of control as it had in the past, would be a central pillar to any
belief system. Some who interpret their beliefs think that it wasn’t necessarily a specific number of people, such as five hundred million, but rather a number that would be in harmony with what the Earth could provide for naturally, without having to rape the land. This number might indeed be five hundred million, or a billion, or even more.

  “One thing is for certain, our current population level is not sustainable without damaging the environment, which would mean it is too high for those who follow the Rosicrucian beliefs.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that if the Rosicrucian Order does exist today, it is their mandate to reduce the population of the planet to a number that they believe is ecologically sustainable.”

  Chippenham Parkway, Richmond, Virginia

  Dawson jumped from the SUV before Red had brought it to a complete stop, running over to a gurney holding a body, the sheet draped over the victim’s face. He pulled the sheet aside and sighed in relief when he saw a man, his neck obviously broken by what looked like handcuffs or some other metal chain.

  Way to go, Sis!

  “What do you think you’re doing?” asked a uniformed officer.

  Dawson turned to him, changing his body language to defer to the officer, his shoulders slumping slightly, turning inward to make him seem shorter and less of a physical threat, his arms at his side, his hands empty, and a worried expression on his face—that part not needing any faking.

  “Is there a Detective Lewis here? He told me to meet him here, something about my sister?”

  The cop shook his head.

  “Naw, he was here but there’s something going on up the road. Shots fired so most everybody redeployed.” He paused. “Was your sister in this vehicle?”

  Dawson shrugged.

  “I don’t see why. She’s a nurse. The detective didn’t say why he wanted to see me, just that this was where he’d be. I don’t think it’s related.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why, was there a woman in the accident?”