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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  “Yes, but she ran away before paramedics could get here.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Not if you’re a fugitive.”

  Dawson smiled.

  “Now I know we’re talking about two different people.” Dawson turned to Red. “Let’s go see if we can find the detective up ahead.” He turned back to the officer. “Thanks, Officer, you’ve been a big help.”

  “No problem, just keep out of the way when you get there. Last thing they need is amateurs backseat quarterbacking.”

  “Good advice on any day,” said Dawson with a grin.

  He and Red returned to their vehicle, slowly passing through the accident scene, the upturned SUV unsettling, but the large pool of blood near the rear passenger side door even more so.

  “She’s injured.”

  “I saw that,” agreed Red as he cleared the scene. “But if she were able to run away, we know your niece is okay as well—she’d never leave her.”

  “True. But that was a lot of blood and she couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

  “That what we’re rolling up on involves her?”

  “Yup.” Red pointed with his chin. “There it is.”

  Along the highway were several police vehicles, then on the other side of the grass berm were another half dozen or so vehicles in a church parking lot.

  “There’s no way in there,” said Dawson, scanning the road ahead. “Just park up there by those trees, far enough so they don’t feel like walking and checking us out.”

  Red parked as close to the guardrail as he could and put his flashers on then popped the hood. The traffic was light as he climbed out to prop the hood up, hoping anyone passing would simply think they were a broken down vehicle with an owner who went to look for help.

  Dawson unzipped the loot bag in the backseat that Thor had left and smiled. Pretty much everything from hand guns to hand grenades was inside. If they were pulled over, they’d have one hell of a time explaining it. He pulled the bag out of the backseat, closed the doors and climbed over the guardrail, disappearing into the trees with their supplies. He heard the vehicle chirp as Red locked it up. Just before the edge of the trees opened up into a cleared area that appeared to be part of the church property, Dawson dropped the bag and began to gear up, as did Red.

  Body armor, Glock 22 with a few clips, and shades. Nothing more. Shotguns and submachine guns might attract the attention of the gathered law enforcement. Body armor hidden behind civilian jackets, clips in the pockets and a piece tucked into the waistband didn’t.

  Dawson and Red casually walked across the clear area to a large tree standing in the middle, several cars parked around it to take advantage of the shade it provided, no longer a concern this late in the evening. Dawson wondered if they belonged to potential hostages inside.

  Dawson took a knee behind the tree and pulled out his cellphone, dialing Detective Lewis’ phone.

  “Lewis.”

  “Hello, Detective. This is Burt Dawson, Sylvia’s brother. What can you tell me?”

  “Not much, Mr. Dawson, except that the vehicle your sister was taken in was in an accident. One man is dead, your sister and niece ran away and were pursued by another occupant of the vehicle. We’ve had a report of shots fired at a nearby church and believe she and at least a dozen others are being held hostage inside.”

  “Has he made any demands yet?”

  “No. One person who managed to escape through a back door said he kept checking his phone, as if he were expecting a call.”

  “He’s awaiting instructions,” muttered Dawson.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know more, Mr. Dawson.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dawson killed the call and turned to Red.

  “They’re inside, one gunman apparently awaiting instructions from his handlers. My guess is those instructions will be to kill Sylvia and Jenny, then try to negotiate his way out. If I were them, I’d be bringing in a clean-up crew, at least one sniper in case he gets captured. They won’t want him talking.”

  Red nodded in agreement.

  “How do you want to handle this?”

  “He won’t get his instructions until the sniper is in place, but once they’re in place, it’s too late. We can’t outrun a phone call. I say we go in, take him out now, get Sylvia and Jenny out of there, worry about the sniper later.”

  “Okay, I’ll go get the truck.”

  “Good. Grab some door busters for us, we’ll probably go through the back. And a couple of flashbangs.”

  Red nodded, strolling across the covered area and disappearing into the trees as Dawson walked toward a building to the left. A quick survey of the area showed only two police officers covering the back, one at the two-three corner in the back closest to him, the other at the three-four corner, but both were moved toward the front number one wall, distracted by all the action.

  If we play our cards right, we can enter and no one will ever know.

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

  “All I know is we’ve got one guy, some high up snob who thinks he’s above the law and is killing our people. We’re going to take him and his organization out—six hundred years old or not, I don’t care,” said Niner.

  “You should,” said Acton. “We have no idea who they are, where they are, or what they’re capable of. You may just piss them off and they come after all of you. Or worse, you advance whatever plans they might have.”

  Jimmy sighed.

  “Why does everything have to be so difficult with these guys? That’s why I prefer attacking government or terrorist targets. It’s nice and easy. You know what their agenda is, you know what they’re capable of, and with so much infighting amongst themselves, killing a bunch of them usually wins you tacit thanks from their rivals, or empty threats.”

  “So how big is this group, you figure?” asked Niner. “Are we looking at something massive like those Triarii guys, or something nice and small?”

  “No way to know for sure. I’d suggest that they would have kept their structure over the centuries, so there will be one at the top, another seven senior brothers, all in the medical profession, all bachelors, all probably over fifty years of age. Each will have an underling they are training to replace them, then any number of operatives helping them accomplish their goals.

  “And don’t forget, these guys will be extremely well funded. They will have pooled the resources of eight doctors for centuries, all working toward a common goal which would require massive amounts of financing.”

  “In other words they’ll be well equipped and well protected.”

  “Extremely.” Acton clasped his hands, leaning forward slightly. “Listen, if you’ve found them, and they’re genuine, we need to stop them.”

  Niner crossed his arms.

  “Why now? What’s so important about stopping them now and not ten years from now? They’ve been around for hundreds of years; why would you think they’re about to act?”

  “Because there’s never been a time in history where it was possible to enact their plan.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jimmy.

  “We have never been more connected as a society than we are now. We have three billion people flying a year. That’s almost ten million people a day. Put a virus on one of those flights, it’s spread around the world in days. Our food supply is global now, our populations live in cities that can’t feed themselves, we are so dependent upon computers that EMP weapons could wipe out our economies—there’s an infinite number of things that could be done that would have global repercussions and result in massive die offs. Fifty years ago we weren’t globalized, now we are. This is when they would act, because they can act. And the reaction you’ve had to just seeing some folders on a desk tells me they’re up to something.”

  “So you’re in?” asked Niner.

/>   “Huh?”

  “You said ‘we’ need to stop them.”

  Acton smiled.

  “I meant the collective we, as in the societal we.”

  “We could use your help, Doc.”

  “Use your help in what?”

  They all turned to see Professor Laura Palmer enter the lecture hall from the rear door—a door Acton realized he had forgotten to lock—her auburn hair down around her shoulders, lightly curled, her alabaster skin as perfect as the day he had met her. She never ceased to make Acton’s heart skip a beat every time he saw her, which it did just now. He held out his hand and she joined them, grasping it and giving it a squeeze.

  “There’s a situation,” said Acton.

  Laura placed a kiss on her fiancé’s cheek, then turned to face the two soldiers she had come to know over the years.

  “What kind of situation?”

  “With the Rosicrucians.”

  Laura’s face slackened, her skin paling several shades.

  Elk Road, Richmond, Virginia

  Dawson’s phone vibrated with a text message.

  Walk south.

  He strolled from the scene of the standoff and walked down a small road past the cleared side parking lot and a minute later saw Red and the truck parked, facing the opposite direction it had come for a quick exit.

  Red stepped out, handing a flashbang to Dawson along with some detacord and detonators.

  “I called Ops. They can’t task a bird obviously, but one is over our area for the next fifteen minutes.” He handed him a comm unit and Dawson hooked it over his ear, Red hooking his own on.

  “Overseer, Bravo One. Do you read, over?”

  “Bravo One, Overseer. Reading you five by five, over.”

  “Overseer, watch for a lone target, hidden. We’re expecting a sniper and cleanup crew at any moment, out.”

  They made their way along the side of a nearby house then on the left side of a row of trees that ran behind the several buildings making up the church complex. Dawson motioned to where the first cop was, and noted that he was now almost all the way to the front of the building, his corner now uncovered.

  They stopped directly behind a rear door. Dawson looked to their left but couldn’t see the other officer. He quickly prepped some detacord to breach the door if necessary, then sprinted across the twenty feet of dry grass, unseen. He tried the doorknob and it turned. He pushed gently and the door opened.

  No blowing up shit today.

  He motioned for Red to join him, and moments later his friend was inside the building with him, the door closed, the police “covering” the back none the wiser. They were in some sort of utility room with another door at the opposite end. Dawson tried it, and it too was unlocked.

  Trusting lot.

  He pushed the door open enough to find a well-lit area behind it. Poking his head out, he found an empty hall and continued forward, Red closing the door behind them. As they advanced Dawson heard something through a door on his left. Taking a quick look he spotted a terrified woman huddled in a corner of what appeared to be a kitchen or food prep area. She nearly yelped at the sight of him but Dawson had his finger to his lips before she even saw him. Nodding, she covered her mouth and they moved on, around a corner where the hallway revealed several doors, but only one seeming to lead toward the front of the church.

  The door was ajar, and sounds of general human suffering could be heard on the other side. Dawson dropped to his knees and pulled an extendable mirror from his utility belt. Pulling on the arm he extended it enough to stick it past the door, slowly angling it. He could see one man standing with a gun pointed at a group of people, a cellphone in his other hand and his back to their position, his attention focused on the front door where a voice was blasting on a megaphone, asking him to please take their call. A lonely phone rang in an office somewhere in the complex.

  Dawson took a chance the man was acting alone and pushed the door open enough to fit through.

  It creaked.

  The man’s head swung around as Dawson tossed the mirror aside, raising his weapon. The man began to spin around, wincing with the effort, his gun rising, Dawson’s left hand grasping the butt of his own weapon as he took aim then squeezed the trigger.

  The man’s eyes bulged and he gasped in pain as the round shattered his right shoulder, his weapon dropping uselessly to the ground as he lost control of the hand gripping it. Dawson and Red rushed forward as the man stood in shock, then suddenly there was a shattering of glass followed immediately by the explosion of the man’s head, a bloody, pulpy mass sprayed over the crouching parishioners.

  The distinct clap of a round fired from a sniper rifle echoed outside.

  “Sniper!” yelled Dawson. “Everyone down!”

  He hit the floor, crawling toward the now dead man and pried the cellphone from his hand. He looked to his right and saw Sylvia lying on her back, covered in blood, too much of it her own. He scrambled to her side and took her hand.

  “Sis, it’s me.”

  “I know, I’m not blind,” she said, her voice weak, but a look of relief on her face.

  “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” She nodded as he tousled Jenny’s hair. “Ready to be brave princess?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He turned back to his sister. “This might hurt like a mother. Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He put both arms under her, one under her knees, the other under her shoulders, then lifted her from the floor, still on his own knees, crouching, his muscles screaming at the unnatural position. Several elderly men helped by putting their hands under her, supporting her body as he advanced, their help relieving some of the weight he was carrying. As he cleared the pews, there was another clap and the corner of the last one shredded.

  “Keep your head down, princess,” he said to Jenny. “Crawl on the floor like a snake, okay?”

  The little girl dropped to her belly and pushed herself with her elbows. As they cleared the pew Red reached forward and grabbed Jenny by the blouse, yanking her forward, then pointing to the door they had come through.

  “Go toward the door, just the way you’re doing it.”

  Another shot tore into the floor about five feet away. Outside shouting could be heard as the police assembled tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “Overseer, Bravo One, we’re taking fire from a sniper, over.”

  “Bravo One, we’re trying to pinpoint him now, over.”

  “He’s got a bead on us through the south side window. Look for him south of our position, less than a mile, then phone it in to the locals outside, over.”

  “Roger that, Bravo One.”

  He stepped forward on his haunches, his upper body lowered over his sister to protect her and his own head as he inched forward, his thighs burning with the effort as the parishioners crawled for the door and hopefully safety, Red guiding them along. These were all elderly people, people who had been through hell, people whose joints and muscles were no longer meant for this level of exertion.

  But none said a word of complaint, and it wasn’t until several minutes of crawling that he realized three of the men had intentionally positioned themselves between his sister and the window, providing cover for her with their own bodies. He met the eyes of one of the men, his expression grim, and gave him a nod of gratitude, the man returning an expression that immediately told him he was dealing with a vet.

  They reached the altar at the front of the church and another shot rang out, blasting apart one of the pews behind them.

  “He’s got no angle, BD!” yelled Red, standing by the altar, pulling up the people as they reached him.

  “Let’s go!” yelled Dawson as he pushed to his full height, every muscle in his body screaming for relief as he sprinted the final few paces toward the door. He burst through it, little Jenny standing on the other side rushing forward and hugging his leg. He placed his sister on the floor and examined their surroundings. Where
they were assembled had no windows so they should be safe, but his sister was pale, far too much blood having been lost. He knew she only had minutes before she would die without a paramedic.

  “Bravo One, Overseer, we’ve got him located. He’s in a grove of trees south-east of your position, on the move. Locals have been informed but they’re taking their sweet time responding, they’re just taking cover, over.”

  “We’ll take care of it. Tell them to get paramedics inside now, over!” He turned to his sister. “I’ll be back.”

  “I know.”

  Dawson sprinted for the rear entrance, Red hot on his heels. Reaching the door to the outside, Dawson activated his comm.

  “Overseer, report!”

  “Still on the move, now swinging south-west of your position, advancing. Locals are starting to redeploy as we update them, over.”

  “Roger.”

  He pushed open the door then rushed for the trees, taking a knee behind the thick trunk of one of them. If he were the sniper, he would take the same route as he and Red had taken earlier. He couldn’t spot him, the tree cover and fences blocking the view, but if they acted quickly, they could get the drop on him. He turned to Red, pointing at a large building south of the church.

  “Let’s end this thing. You take position at the three-four corner there, I’ll hold this position. Whoever gets the shot, takes it. I want him alive though.”

  Red nodded then sprinted toward the corner, taking cover, the cop covering the south side of the church long gone. Dawson watched several police cars pulling away, racing toward the road their SUV was parked on.

  “Overseer, report.”

  “We’ve got you and Red in view now. He’s coming right toward you, hundred yards. You should see him when he clears the next fence, over.”

  Dawson shifted farther behind the trunk and into the shadows, only a slight bit of his profile showing as he waited for his target to come into sight. Suddenly a head leapt into sight as a pair of hands grabbed the top of the fence and a set of very fit legs swung over in a smooth motion. The man’s feet hit the ground and his MAC 10 was at the ready nearly instantly.