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

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  “Now what?” asked Mickey as he looked out the ancient bars of their prison cell, nobody in sight.

  “I don’t know, I was thinking of taking off my pants.”

  Mickey mocked horror.

  “Do you have any C4 in those?”

  Niner’s eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Mickey.

  “I barely have a pulse in these pants. Where the hell would I hide a brick of C4?”

  Mickey shrugged, eyeing the pants again.

  “Are you staring at my ass?”

  “It looks good in those jeans.”

  Footsteps pounding down the hall ended their jibes as they both ducked to either side of the bars and out of sight. Niner pressed himself into the corner, Mickey doing the same as the footsteps skidded to a halt, gunfire erupting as their cell was sprayed, bullets and shards of stone ricocheting indiscriminately, Niner dropping to the floor in pain as he took a hit in the thigh.

  The barrel of the gun extended into the cell and twisted toward him, their attacker finally realizing where they must be hiding.

  Niner lunged forward but faltered, his thigh wound worse than he thought, the trigger squeezing as he fell to the ground.

  His eyes rose to meet Mickey’s to say a silent goodbye to his friend but Mickey had already leapt.

  Mickey suddenly leapt, his arms extending out in front of him. The weapon began to fire as he grabbed it, pushing the barrel up then his momentum twisting it out of the man’s hands. He hit the ground, rolled, the gun now his and spun, firing at their attacker before he knew what was happening.

  Niner pushed himself to his feet, jumping forward on one leg and reached out, grabbing the now dead man before he could fall backward and out of reach. He pulled him toward the bars as Mickey slung the weapon over his shoulder. Niner quickly found a set of keys, tossing them to Mickey, plus several clips.

  He let the body slide to the ground as Mickey unlocked the cell door.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here before more come,” he said, draping Niner’s arm over his shoulders and helping him over the body and out into the hall.

  Niner winced with each step.

  “Good thing I wore these tight pants. There’s no way I can lose any damned blood since there’s none left down there.”

  Mickey chuckled.

  “I think the four horsemen of the apocalypse could charge by and you’d have something funny to say about it.”

  Spock popped back up, took aim and removed another target from the census database. He was hidden behind the front tire of a large SUV near the front of the line of vehicles, Wings doing the same at the lead vehicle but from the rear, giving him a nearly full view of those guarding the front of the castle. As soon as the gunfire had begun in the back they had started taking out targets. At his count he had eliminated six before they even began returning fire in any method other than blindly. Wings had counted out seven kills.

  There appeared to only be three remaining, all behind a large fountain, now frozen, in the front of the castle. Three guards didn’t bother him necessarily; he was certain more were inside. What concerned him was the fact that their escape route was right past these three men. They had expected those they didn’t kill to retreat into the castle, or around the other side, but these three had either decided through bravery to stay outside and fight, or through cowardice to remain behind cover.

  “We need a tank!” yelled Wings, firing a few rounds to keep their enemies’ heads down.

  “One tank, coming up!” promised Spock as he eyed the SUV behind him. He pulled his scanner out and hit the button for it to start probing the frequencies, the vehicle quickly chirping as it unlocked. “Cover me!” he yelled, and Wings fired off several more rounds as Spock pulled open the door and crawled inside, keeping himself below the windshield. He hit the start button in the dash and the vehicle roared to life. “You navigate!” he yelled, using the comm as he put the vehicle in gear and let the automatic pull him forward, one hand ready to push a pedal, the other up grabbing the steering wheel. The vehicle moved forward, quickly gaining speed as he heard Wings’ voice.

  “Hard left now!”

  Spock spun the wheel one handed.

  “Straighten out in three…two…one…now.”

  He let go of the wheel and it spun above him, the vehicle straightening out with a jerk.

  “I’m behind you, using you as cover, turn right until I tell you to stop.”

  Spock turned the wheel, a little more gently this time as bullets pinged off the hood, the windshield taking several hits, the safety glass splintering into thousands of pieces still held together by the laminate.

  “Straighten out!”

  He let go of the wheel and felt the SUV slowly align itself.

  “Little to the left.”

  He adjusted with a tweak.

  “Perfect. Floor it!”

  The gunfire the SUV was taking was now steady, and due to their enemies’ restricted angle, either they didn’t have a clear shot at the tires, or were just poor marksmen. Spock pushed himself up into the seat so he could take advantage of the airbags, keeping his torso low, then pulled his right leg into position, flooring it.

  The vehicle surged forward, causing him to roll back into the seat, the console painfully jabbing his ribcage, but he continued to press on the accelerator. He felt the gears shift and he estimated he had to be at thirty by now.

  “Hold on!” he heard Wings’ yell and he braced himself as best he could.

  The crash was tremendous, far more jarring than he had expected. The front of the vehicle almost came to a complete halt for a moment, then the rear wheels, still with traction, pushed it up and over the fountain, the gunfire stopping. Airbags popped, the engine cut off and he found himself momentarily dazed as several bursts of gunfire erupted outside his window, then suddenly the door was pulled open.

  His foot drew back and he was about to nail whoever was stupid enough to poke their head in when he heard Wings.

  “Take it easy, it’s me.”

  Spock breathed a sigh of relief as he felt hands pulling him out. His feet hit the ground and it took him a moment to regain his bearings. The SUV’s front wheels were propped up on top of one of the tiers of the fountain, and three freshly bloodied corpses lay on the other side.

  “Let’s get out of here before somebody decides to check how the front is holding.”

  Spock nodded and Wings helped him back to their original position, Spock finally able to run on his own as they arrived.

  The gunfire inside continued.

  Acton popped Reading’s seatbelt and pulled him toward the center console then handed him back as Laura pulled. Together they got him in the rear seat just as the crowd enveloped the vehicle, fists pounding on every surface as Acton climbed into the driver’s seat. The vehicle was still running and he put it into reverse, flooring it, the sound of the rear smacking against bodies, the tires bouncing as they drove over the villagers, disconcerting to say the least.

  He had no plan, he had no idea what to do, and at the moment didn’t even know where to go. He spotted the chalet in his rearview mirror and decided it might make a good destination, its position elevated. He spun the wheel and shoved the stick into drive, hammering on the gas as the four wheel drive pulled them through the snow and up the slippery lane to the chalet, leaving the villagers behind.

  Arriving at the drive in front of the chalet, he saw two SUVs parked for a quick getaway, but judging by the chalet’s smashed in windows and blown apart front door, there was no way the Delta team was there. He spun the vehicle around, angling the front to point down the hill as he watched the villagers racing toward them, slipping on the snow and ice.

  He turned to the backseat.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Laura had already ripped off Reading’s shirt and tied a tourniquet.

  “He’s losing blood. We need to get him to a doctor.”

  “That’s not happening soon,” said Acton, turning back t
o see the villagers were now halfway up the hill. “Do what you can, and buckle up. This is going to get rough.”

  He gunned the engine and braced his arms against the steering wheel.

  Here goes nothing.

  Lacroix, being at the head of the table with Number One, had been amongst those to hear the news first. But rather than stand and stare out the window like most did, he had spun out of his chair, and at a crouch ran toward the nearest exit. Gunfire had torn into the massive windows that looked out upon the mountains and he had hit the floor, covering his head as the shattered shards scattered in every direction including his.

  His robes had proven useful in protecting him from the glass, the hood having flipped up and covered his head as he hit the ground, his hands tucked into his long sleeves. The gunfire was far more terrifying than the glass. He looked back as he crawled toward the door and already saw several of The Circle on the floor, or still in their chairs, dead. Guards poured into the room from the side areas, adding to the deadly crossfire he found himself under.

  “Help!” he yelled, and three of the guards advanced toward him, their weapons belching lead toward the window, their attackers still unseen. He felt hands grab his shoulders and then his body being pulled toward the line of guards slowly advancing, determined to reach whoever might still be alive, their own lives inconsequential to that of The Circle.

  He felt one hand let go, the sound of a body dropping to his left, then the grip on his other arm lost as the other guard was felled. He looked up and saw two more rushing forward, both gunned down within inches. He pushed against the marble floor with his sandaled feet, using his bare hands to try and create some traction, pulling himself along, the tiny shards of glass ripping at his hands. Within moments he was in agonizing pain, a bloody trail slowly being left in front of him as his robes then mopped up the mess. The guards had advanced past him now, rushing toward the table where dinner had just finished minutes before, aperitifs being enjoyed as they all spoke of what they might learn from the Catalyst when it arrived.

  A servant darted from a nearby alcove and grabbed his arm, pulling him the final few feet to safety.

  “Thank you, my son,” said Lacroix as he was helped to his feet. “We must get out of here, quickly.”

  The young man nodded, pointing at a door on the other side of the area they were tucked away in. A door that lay out in the open.

  Lacroix cursed, poking his head out to see what was happening. The line of guards had reached the table, two of his brothers being pulled back to safety, but there were less than a dozen men left, and they were dropping like flies as they tried to save The Circle.

  “Let’s go!” ordered Lacroix, grabbing the boy and positioning him between himself and the attack. They made it half way before the boy took a hit, crying out. Lacroix grabbed him, holding him up as a human shield as he continued for the door. He tossed the body aside as he burst through to safety.

  Dawson popped up from below the window, firing another spray of gunfire at floor level, taking out a retreating guard and the now bloody corpse he had been dragging. They hadn’t expected this many guards on the inside, so their plan to charge in and eliminate the soft resistance had been halted, and instead they remained outside using the castle wall itself as cover while those inside willing to die for their masters did just that. If their opponent had been smart about it, they would have sent most of their team outside and around the castle to engage the enemy.

  Instead, they were clearly either poorly trained, or poorly motivated. If you don’t value your own life, and instead believe another’s is more important, you don’t take the necessary precautions to protect yourself so that you can actually fulfill the mission to save the other.

  As a soldier Dawson was willing to die to protect another, but that didn’t mean he ignored the value of his own life. If he did, he would have died years ago trying to save someone, rather than surviving, and actually succeeding.

  The gunfire quickly dwindled, then stopped.

  “Clear!” yelled each of his team.

  “Spock, report.”

  Spock’s voice came over the comm.

  “Front is clear for the moment, over.”

  “We’re heading inside now, out.”

  Dawson flipped up onto the floor as did the others. Glass crunched under their feet, blood soaked the marble.

  “Check the honored guests. See how many we’ve got, and if any are alive. They might know where the eighth guy is.”

  They quickly cleared the room, six brown robes, all dead, along with several dozen dead guards. It seemed nobody who had entered the room had survived, except for one man.

  “Are any of them Lacroix?” he asked.

  The round of negatives and shaking heads had him cursing.

  “Of all the ones to escape!”

  He pointed toward the rear of the room.

  “Let’s get our men, then find Lacroix.”

  Dawson gritted his teeth, advancing with his team, fuming.

  There’s no way in hell Lacroix escapes tonight.

  Niner hobbled forward, Mickey carrying much of his weight, when the gunfire above stopped. They paused to rest and listen, both looking up the stairwell they had begun to climb.

  “Who won?” winced Niner.

  “Those were MP5’s firing at the end, not the Uzi’s these guys are packing,” replied Mickey. Niner had to admit the pain in his thigh was preventing him from being as aware as he should be in their surroundings.

  Footsteps rapidly descending the stairs had them both scrambling back. Mickey pushed Niner into a dark corner, covering him with his body as a robed figure burst past them.

  “Hands up!” ordered Mickey, stepping from the shadows.

  The man came to an abrupt halt, his hands shooting up over his head.

  “Turn around.”

  The man slowly turned and Niner smiled when he saw who it was.

  “Dr. Lacroix! You have no idea how happy we are to see you.”

  His pain momentarily forgotten, he hobbled out into the dim light as Mickey advanced, weapon raised.

  “There’s a lot of people who are looking very forward to meeting you,” said Mickey as he quickly patted down the man, relieving him only of a cellphone.

  More footsteps could be heard from above and Mickey kicked Lacroix in the nuggets, putting him on the floor as Niner took up position on one side of the stairs, Mickey the other, his weapon raised.

  Niner couldn’t see who was coming, but Mickey tensed up as the steps suddenly seemed on top of them, the winding stone stairs hiding everything to the last second.

  “Flash!” yelled Mickey, stepping back.

  “Thunder!” came the reply and Niner grinned as Mickey lowered his weapon. Four of their comrades burst into the hallway, relief clearly written on their faces at the recovery of their friends. Within seconds Jagger had Niner on the ground, taking care of his thigh wound.

  “I see you found somebody in your travels,” said Dawson, standing over Lacroix, his weapon trained on the man’s chest. Dawson placed a boot on the man’s right hand and pressed down, the man crying out in pain.

  “Ready to talk?”

  Lacroix shook his head vehemently.

  “Never.”

  Bodies bounced off the large bumper and the crowd slowly parted as the momentum the SUV had built up racing down the hill proved to be too much. What Acton couldn’t understand was the motivation of these people. How deep did the blind devotion to The Order have to extend for ordinary people to be willing to sacrifice themselves to capture or kill strangers? If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were drugged, but he did know better, their reaction times too swift. What it seemed to him was that these people were willing to sacrifice themselves perhaps not to serve The Order, but rather to escape it.

  The crowd suddenly parted at the bottom of the hill and Acton’s eyebrows shot open as the well at the center of the square was suddenly revealed in front of them. He hammered
on the brakes, the entire vehicle shuddering as the ABS kicked in and he cranked the wheel to the right. The left wheels skidded into the base of the fountain and the vehicle tipped slightly to the left, then stabilized.

  Instantly they were surrounded, hammers, axes, clubs, swinging at the vehicle, the windows smashed out within moments as hands reached inside, grabbing at them, tearing at their clothes and hair. Several shots fired from the backseat caused a momentary pause and Acton tore himself away, pushing again on the gas, grabbing his weapon as he fired blind out his window when suddenly a large hay cart was pushed in front of them.

  He hammered on the brakes, but it was too late. They hit the side of the cart, pushing it between the very buildings lining the street they needed to clear.

  They were immediately surrounded by villagers, this time with guns pointing directly at all three of them.

  Acton raised his hands, as did Laura. He looked at her through the rearview mirror.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lacroix stood against the stone wall, doubled over in pain as yet another blow buried itself into his stomach. He had refused to answer any questions so far, and had no intention of changing that position, no matter what these men did to him. Even if they killed him, he didn’t care. His position in history was clear. He had found the Catalyst. His team had retrieved it, and even if he were dead, his name would go down in history.

  He would never be forgotten.

  “Where’s the eighth member?” asked the man he recognized as Command Sergeant Major Dawson, leader of this group.

  “I will never tell. I can never tell. No one knows where the eighth member goes when we are at our retreat. If we knew, it would defeat the purpose of them not being here.”

  Another blow landed and he doubled over again, the taste of blood now in his mouth.

  “Do what you want with me, it doesn’t matter. There is no way you can stop us, we have the Catalyst now. No matter what you do now, we are unstoppable.”

  Dawson grabbed him by the chin, holding him up so he could look him in the eye.