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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  This guy’s a pro.

  The man advanced cautiously, but blindly, the eye in the sky not helping him. Suddenly he raised his weapon and fired at the very corner Red was behind causing Dawson’s friend to leap backward as the man’s weapon swung toward Dawson. He could feel the tree vibrate as the trunk was torn apart by perfectly placed shots.

  Dawson held his position then noticed the sound changing as the man repositioned toward the building Red was using for cover. Shifting to the left, Dawson tried to maintain the angle between him and the shooter so the trunk would continue to protect him.

  He knows exactly where we are.

  “Overseer, he’s got a spotter somewhere, over!”

  Dawson glanced over his shoulder and saw Red falling back, taking up position behind a large HVAC unit attached to the building. The bullets stopped slamming into the tree and Dawson took the time to flip around so his stomach was now against the trunk, then switched his Glock to his left hand. He poked his head out just as the gunfire resumed, the man having reloaded quickly.

  This guy is definitely Special Forces trained.

  Dawson got a bead on where the man was heading by the sound of his shots, the shooter angling toward the same line of trees Dawson was using as cover, increasing the angle he would have to engage Red with.

  “Red, get ready. He’ll be in your sights any moment.”

  He watched Red take a knee, poking out from behind the metal HVAC unit.

  “Don’t worry about taking him alive. Just take him,” added Dawson.

  “Roger that.”

  A shot every couple of seconds continued to slam Dawson’s position, keeping him pinned down and helpless to return fire.

  “Got him.”

  Red opened fire, rapidly emptying his clip at the target as Dawson jumped out into the grass, rolling and firing at the same time, coming to rest with a clean shot.

  He squeezed.

  The man dropped to his knees, then forward onto his face. Red rushed him as did Dawson. Red, arriving first, disarmed the man just in case he wasn’t as dead as they assumed, then Dawson quickly began to search his body for anything that might be of use. He found nothing but a cellphone. He stuffed it in his pocket just as several police officers rushed their position, weapons raised.

  “Freeze!” yelled the first. “Don’t move a muscle or you’re dead!”

  Dawson lowered his left hand to the ground, placing his weapon on the grass, then slowly raised his hands, clasping them on top of his head, Red doing the same.

  “Is there a Detective Lewis with you?” asked Dawson.

  “I’m Lewis,” said a voice Dawson recognized from the phone conversations he’d had. “Are you Dawson?”

  Dawson nodded.

  “I think you have some explaining to do.”

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

  Niner’s phone rang and he answered it, walking away from the two professors and Jimmy. Laura’s heart was pounding a little harder than normal now that she had been brought up to speed on what was happening. And once again she knew they were going to get caught up in something as usual. What is it about us? She had thought about it once and realized it wasn’t her and James that were the problem. It was the people they had met during the incident with the Triarii and the crystal skulls.

  They were the ones attacked, and in the process met their now friends from Scotland Yard, DCI Reading and DI Chaney. Her mind flashed to Chaney, still in a coma, wondering if he’d ever come out.

  And what was his message?

  They had also met these Delta Force soldiers and the rest of their unit, under orders to kill them, being told they were on a termination list of terrorists. It wasn’t until after they realized what had been happening and how they had been manipulated that these men had become their closest allies over the years, going out of their way to help them when needed, in their minds perhaps atoning for the horrors they had committed during that mission.

  The Brass Monkey incident she certainly couldn’t blame on Scotland Yard or the Delta Force, but they had dragged James into it, albeit willingly when he found out what had happened to her. The Broken Dove incident was pure Chaney! Same with that Templar relic. Now China, that was nobody’s fault. We were on vacation! Same with Egypt, though it was a dig.

  She sighed.

  Maybe it wasn’t always someone else’s fault. Maybe they were cursed to live this life.

  And she had to admit it was thrilling every time it was over, but terrifying while it went on. She sometimes debated whether or not she would rather lead the nice, simple life she had before—a mega-millionaire archeologist teaching eager students and funding various digs around the world—or her current lifestyle, which was much the same, except for the number of bullets, grenades, fighter jets and tanks.

  And nuclear weapons.

  And James.

  If it weren’t for all this, they never would have even met.

  And she loved him with all her heart, more each and every day. She had popped in on a private jet a few days ago to surprise him, their dig in Egypt put on hold due to the upheaval there. And they had celebrated.

  She tingled.

  “And what do you intend to do about it?” asked Acton.

  “We’ve been suspended and are all on vacation,” replied Jimmy.

  Laura smiled slightly.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning we’re going hunting.”

  Laura bit her lip then looked at her fiancé.

  “And what do you intend to do about it?”

  “Well, I was thinking of going with them to help. Just in case they need my advice on anything else that might help track down where the Rosicrucians have been hiding.”

  Laura shook her head. She knew James. Knew him far too well. He was a fabulous archeologist, fabulous teacher, fabulous fiancé, and he had a penchant for doing the right thing, even if it meant risking his own life to save others’, including her own.

  And she knew there’d be no talking him out of it, because he secretly loved the adrenaline rush the action brought.

  The professor in her also understood the intellectual intrigue. To find the Rosicrucians, to prove they still existed, would be incredible. But once found?

  “So you’re going to kill them?” she said, turning to Jimmy.

  “Yes.”

  “All of them?”

  “I’m thinking just the head is all that’s necessary. Those eight doctors you mentioned might be a good place to start.”

  Niner returned.

  “BD’s sister’s family is secure. He wants us to join Spock and his team and head to Geneva.” He turned to James. “Are you coming?”

  James nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “And so am I,” said Laura. She expected objections perhaps from the Delta team, but she knew her love wouldn’t bother. It was an argument he would never win.

  “Happy to have you aboard,” said Niner, “I’ve seen you shoot. This should hopefully be a little tamer than China was.”

  “God I hope so,” said Laura and she felt James take her hand and squeeze.

  Köln, Germany

  1472 AD

  “Do you require time, or are we finished with this evening’s business?”

  Dietrich stood in his master’s chambers, his head bowed, his eyes almost closed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, and though he knew it was impossible, he could still feel Heike’s soft fingers between his. This evening’s business? Is that all it was to him? A little bit of business? The death of an innocent woman whose only crime was to love a man in The Order?

  His blood boiled.

  “No, it’s over,” he replied, his voice calm, cold, his emotions held in check by the knowledge there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

  “Excellent.” His master stood from the chair he had been occupying, his arm extending, quickly finding its way across Dietrich’s shoulders. “I have tremendous news.”

  �
�What news, my master?”

  The hint of excitement in his master’s voice had him intrigued. He was usually devoid of most emotions, as were most in The Order that he had met that weren’t young like him. Those who had been in for decades like his master seemed strangely subdued. It was as if emotion were the enemy, something to be purged from your soul so you could function better, could understand the forgotten sciences better and fulfill the goals of The Order to one’s fullest potential.

  “We have been bestowed a great honor,” said his master as he led his apprentice down a hall toward the stairs that led to the basement, and an area all were forbidden to enter except for he and his master. His master produced a key from around his neck and unlocked the door, then, taking a lantern from the outside wall, he descended the stairs into the darkness, the sole light the flickering flame from within its glass enclosure.

  Dietrich followed, trying to keep within the circle of light so he could maintain his footing on the tight stairs. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he felt the floor under his feet. His master struck a flint hammer to his right, igniting a thin trail of black powder that ringed the basement. As the trail burned along its route, various torches sprung to life, and within minutes the entire basement was bathed in light.

  It was impressive, but it meant that Dietrich later would be required to replenish the black powder for the next time his master deemed it necessary to use.

  He thanked God every day that it was a rare occurrence to visit the basement.

  At the end of the large room there stood an ornate cabinet, its hard oak impossibly old and impossibly solid, the walls on it so thick that when tapped, there was little if any echo from inside. Dietrich had never seen it opened, having only admired its craftsmanship when attending to his duties in the basement.

  His master produced a key from his robe he had never seen before. A previously unnoticed cover was slid aside revealing a keyhole. His master inserted the key and twisted, a heavy mechanism echoing as what must be a substantial lock was opened.

  Silence.

  A door was pulled open revealing a dark hollow inside. His master reached into the dark and pulled out a cube shaped box that Dietrich had never seen before, but knew immediately what it was.

  “The Catalyst!” he gasped.

  His master held the cube out in front of him as he walked to a table on the right. He gently placed the Catalyst on the empty table, then stepped back as Dietrich advanced in awe.

  “I never thought I would see it in my lifetime,” he whispered.

  “If you are to be my replacement, you will see it many times. But it will be rare that you have the honor of being its keeper. This is only the second time I have been given the honor. The Founder is traveling to the Holy Lands again to seek council with the elders. It is essential that we determine how the device works so we can unlock its secrets and fulfill our destinies.”

  “May I?” asked Dietrich, his hands tentatively reaching out for the cube.

  “Yes.”

  Dietrich’s hands caressed the cube, his fingers tracing along its smooth edges, his fingertips outlining the strange markings that adorned its entire surface.

  “Is this writing?” he asked.

  “Yes, but we’ve been able to translate very little. The Founder has taken pressings and will be attempting to find someone who knows the ancient tongue this was written in.”

  “How do we know it’s genuine?” asked Dietrich. “I mean, how do we know it does anything?”

  “Because the Founder saw it demonstrated and claimed it held a great power, a forgotten power, that once unleashed, could shape matter into all things and control the thoughts of man.”

  “How did the Founder come to possess it?”

  “He liberated it from heathens during his travels as a young man through the orient and the Holy Lands.”

  “He stole it?”

  “Crudely put, but yes.”

  “And what is our job while he is gone?”

  “To secure it at all costs. There will be extra guards at the house until the Founder returns.”

  “Where? I did not see any.”

  “They are about. Inside and out. They will make their presence known if necessary.” His master stepped forward, retrieving the Catalyst and returning it to its hiding place. Dietrich watched as the key was carefully returned to the small pocket on his master’s robe. “And now I think it is time for bed.”

  “Yes, my master.”

  Dietrich followed the man up the stairs, his mind racing with what he had just witnessed.

  Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Centre, Richmond, Virginia

  Present Day

  “The FBI has no clue who these guys are.”

  Dawson looked up as Detective Lewis entered the hospital room. Dawson’s sister was hooked up to a few machines, her surgery complete with a full recovery expected and little Jenny was sitting in a corner chair, fast asleep, refusing to leave her mother’s side.

  “Oh my God, Sylvia!”

  Dawson looked past the detective to see his brother-in-law George appear in the doorframe then rush toward his wife.

  “Is she going to be okay?” he asked, searching the room for an answer, his eyes settling on Dawson.

  “She’ll be fine,” replied Dawson. “We just need to let her rest.”

  “What happened?” he asked, holding his wife’s hand and pushing some stray hairs from her face.

  “She was injured in a car crash and lost a lot of blood.”

  “But she’ll be fine?”

  “Yes, don’t worry, George. She’s tough, she’ll get through this.”

  “I don’t understand, there were police at the house and there was a body being taken out.” He stopped, then turned to face Dawson. “What the hell are you doing here? Does this have something to do with you?”

  Dawson nodded slowly, a frown creasing his face.

  “I’m afraid it does. I can’t get into it, it’s classified, but there will be a twenty-four hour guard placed on all three of you, and as soon as she’s strong enough, you’ll all be brought back to Bragg until this is over.”

  “So this has to do with”—he lowered his voice, glancing at the detective—“you know, your, umm, job?”

  “Yes.” Dawson gave him “the eye” and George backed off, returning his attention to Sylvia.

  Detective Lewis cleared his throat.

  “I’ve got two of my best outside the door, plus another two on the floor. Hospital security has been notified to be extra vigilant as well. According to the doctor she should be safe to transport tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said Dawson standing. “I’d like you to have a unit escort George and Jenny to their house so they can pack, then return here. When they’re ready to transport, call this number”—he handed a card to the detective—“and within an hour a team will arrive to transport them. Please provide them with an escort to the airport.”

  Lewis nodded.

  “And these men are yours?”

  Dawson nodded.

  Lewis pursed his lips then put the card in his wallet.

  “Listen, I think I know who and what you are. Officially, I can’t sanction what you did, unofficially, I think you did a hell of a job and I thank you. The official report will have to be written up a little differently. Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out and keep your names out of it. I’m thinking a couple of bystanders got involved then disappeared before we could secure the scene.”

  Dawson smiled as he stepped over to his sister’s bedside.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  Detective Lewis left the room, closing the door behind him. Dawson noted the head of a uniformed officer as he moved in front of the door. Dawson leaned in and gave his sister a kiss on the forehead, then turned to George.

  “I have to leave, but some of my men will be here tomorrow to pick her up, okay?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To put
an end to this, once and for all.”

  He stepped out into the hall and found Red waiting, a concerned look on his face.

  “What’s up?” asked Dawson.

  “You know that private jet you wanted Thor to look into?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it just took off, unauthorized.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the tower was stonewalling them, delaying them as long as possible, and finally they just taxied onto the runway and left.”

  “What’s happening now?”

  “Nothing. We could have them intercepted and forced down.”

  “No, that’s too public. Any idea how many are onboard?”

  “Apparently another jet arrived and was met by a vehicle, then immediately departed. Two people got off that plane, then the same vehicle returned just after our incident, and three people got aboard the original jet—one looked wounded.”

  “So the cleanup crew came in, removed anybody that could damage them, then left in a hurry. Where to?”

  “Looks like they’re landing on a private strip in New York.”

  “Any chance we can get there beforehand?”

  “Funny you should ask,” said Red, grinning.

  Adirondack Regional Airport, New York

  Spock and his team watched as the Bombardier Learjet landed then taxied toward the tarmac. Prearranged with the tower after some arm twisting and fake credential flashing, the plane was now holding position awaiting permission to approach the small terminal as the runway was inspected for debris seen falling off the plane upon landing.

  The idea was Zack “Wings” Hauser’s, their resident expert in flying anything that could fly. They just hoped it would work on their target.

  “Any pilot worth his salt is going to be concerned if something fell off his aircraft,” Wings had said.

  But this pilot had proven to be someone willing to break the rules, so they weren’t going to wait too long to test him. Spock looked at Trip “Mickey” McDonald, his prominent ears tucked behind a bandana today and nodded. Mickey pulled their airfield maintenance vehicle out of the hanger and toward the runway. Within moments they were driving from the opposite end. About two thirds of the way down Mickey directed the vehicle to the left and stopped. Wings jumped out and pretended to pick something up on the blind side of the vehicle. He held up the piece of palmed plastic and waved toward the tower.