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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  Soon they were around another bend, the castle lost in the snow.

  “There’s a village coming up in about half a mile,” said Niner, eying the GPS as he transmitted the coordinates of the castle to the rest of the team. “Let’s see if we can find somewhere to stay there.”

  Mickey nodded, continuing to grip the wheel tightly as the road wound along the mountainside, finally opening into a small valley, a picturesque slice of history being revealed, a village that if it weren’t for the electric lighting, would fit perfectly into another century. It was the very picture of the perfect romantic getaway, and here he was, sharing it with Niner, who was to his dismay already transitioning into his character.

  As they drove deeper into the village, they encountered a smattering of locals, all seeming to stop and stare at their vehicle as they drove by.

  “You’d think they’d never seen tourists before,” commented Mickey.

  “Maybe they’re just stunned we were stupid enough to drive up here in this weather, at this time of the day.”

  “Perhaps.” But as he watched in the rearview mirror, he saw people going inside their businesses and homes, lights being turned off, shutters closed, and the general appearance of a village from the Old West closing up as a gunfight at high noon was about to begin. “Something’s not right.”

  “There’s a hotel,” Niner said, his intonation already changed, Mickey shaking his head as he pulled in front of the building, it too seemingly dark.

  Mickey climbed out, pulling the collar up on his jacket and shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed Niner up the few steps and toward the double front doors. The wood steps creaked under their feet and the shutters smacked against the timber framed sides of the three story building.

  Niner pulled on the doorknob and to Mickey’s surprise it actually opened. They stepped inside to find a welcoming fire roaring to their left and what appeared to be a landlady standing behind a counter, her expression of surprise mild to say the least.

  In German, rather than French, she asked, “May I help you?”

  Mickey, fluent, responded.

  “Do you have any rooms? Just for tonight, we’re passing through and want to ride out the storm.”

  “Storm? Bah, this is nothing,” replied the woman, batting her hand at the wind outside. “Tomorrow is the real storm. You should turn around and go back before you get stuck here.”

  Mickey smiled, thankful Niner was playing his part quietly right now, not sure how tolerant these people might be despite the pleasant demeanor.

  “All the same, I think we’d rather take our chances. Do you have a room? Two if possible?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Sorry, but we are sold out.”

  Mickey’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

  “Sold out? But there are no cars outside? How can you be sold out?”

  “This is the annual fest, people come from all over the valley, mostly hiking or skiing in. You won’t find a room anywhere.”

  Mickey frowned, looking at Niner. If this village was having some annual festival, there certainly was no evidence of it. The streets had seemed fairly quiet, and there were no decorations or banners suggesting any type of gathering.

  They were being lied to.

  If it weren’t for the reaction of the villagers who had seen them arrive, he might have thought it was discrimination, but Niner had played it quiet, beyond his loud colors there was no other evidence of the part he was playing.

  “Ya vol!” he heard a voice say, muffled through a doorway, then the distinct sound of a receiver being slammed on an old style phone. A door behind the desk suddenly opened and an older man, perhaps early sixties, walked through with a distinctive limp. He whispered to the woman, something Mickey couldn’t pick up, then she nodded as the man disappeared back through the door.

  “You are fortunate. We have a last minute cancellation. We can give you a chalet if you don’t mind driving up the mountain a short way.”

  “A chalet sounds perfect,” said Mickey, signing the guest book as it was spun around. As he put his alias down, he noted the date of the last arrival was two days ago, and they were signed out the next day.

  Full?

  Geneva Cointrin Airport, Geneva, Switzerland

  Dawson, dressed in a black suit and tie, stood beside the coffin, his head bowed in remembrance. Behind him Red did the same, his hand resting on the coffin of his friend, the somber look of Dawson mirrored. The rest of the team were already aboard the private plane, but moving dead bodies from Switzerland to an international destination still involved some paperwork, even if not flying commercial.

  Paperwork that was taking longer than Dawson liked.

  Two airport security personnel were talking in whispers behind the special luggage counter, a lineup of at least a dozen waiting to check their own special items from pets to corpses.

  Finally one of them stepped out with a sheaf of papers in their hands.

  “I apologize for the delay, Mr. White. Per procedure, I will need to see each of the deceased so I can compare it to the photo ID.”

  Dawson nodded, knowing this was coming, but dreading it nonetheless.

  “Of course.”

  He undid the screws holding the top half of the coffin, then lifted the lid as Red did the same behind him. He looked down at the light grey face of Jimmy, the makeup Jagger had applied garish, overdone to the extreme as if he were a gag corpse at a Halloween party rather than the real thing. The man held the passport up to the face then nodded, moving on to the next casket. Dawson closed the lid and suddenly there was a stifled sneeze from inside.

  The security guard spun around as Dawson rubbed his nose.

  “Sorry, must be the dry air,” he said, sniffing.

  The guard’s eyes remained narrowed, but Dawson stifled a second forced sneeze, praying Jimmy would keep it together, this idea no longer seeming like such a good one.

  Thankfully Jagger had no involuntary spasms or twitches, and they were on their way to the tarmac with their two caskets. Minutes later the caskets were loaded into the underbelly of their plane, then they themselves joined the rest of the team.

  Dawson didn’t breathe easily until the plane’s landing gear had cleared the runway.

  “Okay, get them out of there,” he said as the team jumped to their feet, removing floor panels and gaining access to the storage compartments. Spock and Red climbed down into the small compartment, these private jets never designed to move a lot of cargo, and quickly unscrewed the lids.

  Jimmy was the first to push himself up and out of the casket, hands pulling him into the passenger compartment, his makeup smeared under his nose where he had wiped it earlier.

  “My God, remind me to update my paperwork so I’m cremated if I die. There’s no way in hell I want to spend eternity in one of those!”

  Jagger joined him in his displeasure.

  “That had to have been the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had, and I had to bunk with Niner and his fart jokes for two weeks in Baghdad.”

  “Well, in about twenty minutes you’re over the border, hopefully thinking about how next time you won’t become wanted men in a friendly country where we can’t go in guns-a-blazin’ to rescue you,” said Red.

  “Yeah, yeah. It wasn’t all chocolate bars and yodeling in there, you know. There was some really disturbing food served. They eat sauerkraut with everything! My delicate stomach still hasn’t recovered.”

  “Next McDonald’s we see, we’ll stop so you can soothe your sophisticated palate,” said Spock.

  “Thank you very much,” replied Jimmy with an exaggerated bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take my makeup off.” He made a show of flicking non-existent hair off his shoulder, then super-modeled it toward the bathroom, Jagger aping him all the way.

  As the team roared in laughter, Wings cut through the frivolity with a toss of a comm unit to Dawson.

  “It’s Atlas, he has an upd
ate.”

  Dawson fitted the earpiece in place.

  “This is Bravo One, go ahead, over.”

  “Bravo Seven here. I’ve got some updates for you. Niner and Mickey are situated and have relayed their coordinates, along with our target’s. Apparently the gathering is at some sort of castle. I’ve sent satellite imagery to your accounts. Unfortunately there are no birds scheduled to pass over that area until tomorrow so I won’t be able to give you numbers. I’ve passed the advance team’s location on to our supplier. He says he can be there before you arrive. Also, the professors and Special Agent Reading have landed in Barcelona. ETA at their target ten minutes, over.”

  “Okay, if we’re hitting a damned castle, make sure our supplier has a lot of C4. The walls tend to be thick on those things.”

  “Already done.”

  “Any luck on that intel we gathered?”

  “Not really. It’s like trying to put a puzzle together where you haven’t got a clue what the end product looks like. So far everything is World Bank related, but they’ve got their fingers into so much, there’s no way to know if it’s something we should be paying attention to. We’re trying to flag anything that might deal with population control, but I’m not confident at this point.”

  “Okay, keep at it. It might just be that these guys are fanatics with a pipe dream, but I’m not willing to risk it. Out.”

  Dawson looked up as Jimmy exited the bathroom, his old self again.

  “Looks like we’re hitting a castle, gentlemen.”

  “Oh, goody,” said Jimmy as he took a seat, sounding anything but thrilled at the prospect.

  Sarrià, Barcelona, Spain

  “That’s odd,” said Reading as they arrived at their destination. “The gates are open.”

  Acton shrugged. “Maybe they’re just welcoming people?”

  “This isn’t Maryland,” said Laura. “This is Spain. With the economy the way it is, there’s no way they’d leave their door basically open.”

  Reading pulled up to the intercom rather than just drive in, his manners demanding it. He pressed the button to buzz those inside and waited. And waited. He pressed again.

  Nothing.

  “Either no one is home, or we’re already too late,” he said.

  Nobody said anything, all probably thinking the same thing. Acton was already picturing a bloodbath, the only question in his mind how large of one. As Reading navigated the winding drive to the front entrance, Acton began to feel even more uneasy than he already had since the airport.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said as they pulled to a stop.

  “Now you finally come to my side,” said Reading, throwing his hands up in the air. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that now?”

  Acton nodded. “Oh, it’s too late all right,” he said, pointing at the doorway.

  Blood covered the porch, drag marks where a body had been pulled inside ending at the closed door.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Reading as he stepped out of the car. “We have to check it out, there may be injured.”

  “Agreed,” said Acton as he joined Reading, Laura right behind them. “Just remember we don’t have any weapons.” Reading grunted in acknowledgement, then pushed the front door open, tentatively poking his head inside.

  “We’ve got a body,” he said quietly, opening the door all the way, then stopping to listen. “I don’t hear anything.”

  He stepped inside, Acton and Laura following, tip toeing through the front hall and past the body of what appeared to be a maid.

  “Do you think they’re still here?” whispered Laura.

  Reading shook his head.

  “No, the only cars outside were in the garage. These guys wouldn’t park there, they’d be out front.”

  “Maybe they didn’t take the car through the gates?”

  “Then why were they opened? There’s a side gate for pedestrians.”

  Laura flashed a look at Acton.

  “I guess that’s why he’s the detective and we’re not.”

  Acton flashed her a grin, catching something in a reflection. He turned into a room and found another body, this time a man.

  “Looks like a gardener,” he said.

  “This is going to take too long,” said Reading. “We can safely assume that they have been here, are probably gone, and they got what they were looking for. We’re just looking to see if anyone is alive that needs help. I’ll start upstairs, you two finish this floor then check to see if there might be someone in the basement.”

  Acton and Laura spread out, taking a room at a time as Reading trotted up the stairs to the upper level. No more bodies were found, and as they were about to head to the basement, Reading returned.

  “Anything?” asked Acton.

  “Nil.”

  “Where’s the family?” asked Laura. “We’ve only found staff.”

  “Maybe they’re out?”

  “Could be, but there are two vehicles in the garage and no more spaces,” replied Laura.

  “Look who’s the detective now,” smiled Reading as they descended into the basement. They didn’t find anything until they reached a door at the end of the hall. Reading entered first and gasped, holding out his hand, blocking the others. “You don’t want to see this.”

  Acton shook his head.

  “We’ve come too far to stop now.”

  He stepped inside and nearly cried out at the horror. What looked like a mother was lying across a desk, her body riddled with bullets, and a small boy, no more than ten, was draped over her, as if to protect his mother, he too shot.

  By a single bullet to the forehead.

  He spun to stop Laura from entering the room but it was too late. She cried out and turned her body away from the sight, covering her eyes with her hand in a useless effort to block what she had already seen. Acton turned away, wrapping his arms around his fiancée as he looked about the room, avoiding the bodies.

  “It must have been here,” he said. “This is the family. The family must have taken them to where the Catalyst was, then they killed them.”

  Laura pointed to a bookshelf opposite the desk.

  “It looks like something is missing on top.”

  Acton looked and saw four artifacts across the top, a gap between the third and fourth that looked like it might have held something. He grabbed a chair and stepped up so he could see the dust covered top of the bookshelf. There was a clear square shape in the fourth spot, the perfectly clean area leaving little doubt the Catalyst had been here.

  He stepped down and nodded to the others.

  “They definitely have it.”

  “What now?” asked Laura.

  “Well, if I had just found a long lost relic that my Master and my Order had been looking hundreds of years for…”

  “I’d make a phone call,” finished Laura.

  Reading speed dialed their mini ops center, putting the phone on speaker as Atlas immediately answered.

  “This is Reading. We’re here and everyone’s dead. We’ve confirmed they found and have the artifact. Is there a way for you to tell if a phone call was made from here?”

  “I can do better than that,” said Atlas. “We just tracked it down now and I was waiting for your call. The Master’s phone was just called from Barcelona. We have the number and are tracking them now.”

  Reading motioned for Acton and Laura to follow him as he stepped out of the office, rushing down the hallway and up the basement stairs as Atlas continued to talk, much of it lost to Acton as Reading held the phone out in front of him. It wasn’t until they climbed into the car and Reading handed the phone over that he was privy to the rest of the conversation.

  “I’ll need you to contact the local authorities and tell them there’ve been multiple murders here.”

  “Will do.”

  Reading pointed at the GPS in the dash.

  “Okay, feed me those coordinates,” he said as Acton selected the appropriate menu
and typed in the relayed coordinates. The GPS programmed a route and displayed the result.

  “Looks like they’re only ten minutes ahead of us,” said Acton.

  “It appears they’ve been stopped there for over thirty minutes,” replied Atlas. “Probably either to eat or to admire their prize.”

  “Okay, we’re on our way to those coordinates. We’ll call you to get new ones in case they’ve left.”

  “Roger that, out.”

  The call ended as Reading pulled through the gates, leaving the horror scene behind. Acton looked back at Laura who gazed out the window, her eyes glassed over.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Her head turned slowly, nodding.

  “Just thinking of the mother and her boy.”

  A single tear rolled down her cheek and Acton reached back, taking her hand and squeezing. He didn’t bother saying anything, he knew words of comfort weren’t possible. There was nothing positive to take from the situation. Instead they drove in silence as they all paid homage to the massacre victims they had left behind.

  The silence was finally broken by Reading.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “Call Atlas and see if he’s got an update for us.”

  Acton nodded and dialed, Atlas answering right away.

  “We’re almost there, any updates?”

  “They left not even two minutes ago. I’ve got your position on my screen. Turn left at the next intersection,” he said.

  Acton put the phone on speaker.

  “Turn left at the next intersection,” he repeated.

  Reading turned, just making the light, and accelerated.

  “They’ve just left the city. They don’t seem to be in any hurry on the highway, so you should be able to catch up to them no problem.”