The Templar's Revenge (A James Acton Thriller, #19) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Someone must have kicked it back.

  And my money’s on Palmer.

  A smile spread across his face as he thought of her.

  My kind of woman.

  He glanced at his shredded leg.

  If you’re gonna be taken out, it might as well be by a beautiful woman.

  He propped himself up against the wall, the pain subsiding as soon as he stopped dragging the damned thing. “Professor, are you all okay in there?”

  “Peachy. You?”

  Something was wrong. Acton’s voice had changed, his stress level high. “Please tell me your lovely wife is okay.”

  Acton’s voice cracked. “No, you bastard, she’s not!”

  Schmidt genuinely felt bad at the news, his chest tightening slightly. “Is she dead?”

  There was no response. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out an emergency medical kit. He leaned over and tossed it into the room. “Here, this might help.” He heard noises as someone grabbed it. Schmidt’s upper body collapsed on the floor, too weak to sit back up.

  Lovely.

  Footfalls echoed to his right, and he forced himself back to a sitting position, holding his MG4 as high as he could. He dropped it to the ground with relief as two of his men appeared.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Schmidt was growing weaker. “Grenade.” He motioned toward the door. “They’re still inside. We’re trapped. Need to blow the wall to get to the secret chamber.”

  “What about them?”

  “Kill them.”

  Spencer clasped a hand over his mouth as he heard the order. He had no choice. He had to act. He checked the weapon the wounded police officer had dropped, confirming the safety was off, then squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, holding it.

  What would Dad do?

  He smiled.

  He’d keep firing until they were dead.

  He opened his eyes and slowly exhaled, wishing he had a pint for courage right now. He stepped around the corner, weapon raised, clasped tightly in both hands as he took aim. The two new arrivals were standing with their backs to him, unaware they were about to die.

  He squeezed the trigger, and kept squeezing, trying to remember to keep his eyes open. The first bullet hit one of them square in the back, but the next several missed, his aim lost after the first kickback. The second spun toward him as he re-aimed, and a lump formed in his throat as he realized he was about to die. He kept firing, moving his hands slightly to the left and right, then as a muzzle flash from his opponent lit up the dim hallway, one of his bullets finally found its mark, nailing him in the chest. He fell backward into the doorway, still alive.

  Acton and Reading both shielded Laura with their bodies, careful to not touch the long sliver of stone embedded under her chin. Someone was firing at the newly arrived hostiles outside the door, and Acton said a silent prayer of thanks to the French police.

  Suddenly the gunfire stopped, then one single shot fired, inside the room, causing him to flinch. He searched for where the sound came from and found Laura’s right hand gripping a weapon, pointing at the door, the barrel smoking. He looked where she was aiming and saw one of the hostiles lying in the doorway, the upper half of his body inside the room, a fresh hole in the top of his head.

  Acton took the gun and jumped to his feet, rushing toward the door as he gripped his side. Another hostile was on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He reached for his weapon and Acton put a single bullet in his skull. Somebody groaned to his right and he spun, aiming his gun at the man who had captured them at the restaurant.

  “Professor Acton?”

  Acton spun toward the voice, his weapon raised, then sighed, returning his aim to the lone survivor. “Spencer, thank God! Where have you been?”

  “Umm, lost? Is my dad okay?”

  “In here, son!”

  Spencer grinned at Acton then rushed past him and into the room. A relieved reunion took place inside as Acton disarmed the man then made sure everyone else was dead. He checked the man’s wound. “Looks bad.”

  “It is bad.”

  Acton frowned, then pulled a belt off one of the dead bodies. He wrapped it around the top of the leg and tightened the makeshift tourniquet. “You might live.”

  “Thanks.” The man looked at him. “It was never personal.”

  Acton frowned. “That’s what makes it worse. You did it for money. Most people that try to kill me, do it for something they believe in.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you people?”

  Acton chuckled. “An American and two Brits who don’t take shit from no one.”

  Giasson sat in the back of a police van with the rest of his detail, unceremoniously handcuffed, two police officers with submachine guns keeping a close eye on them. His discomfort was forgotten as he watched the surviving helicopter bank away, making a run for the water as the two jets turned hard for another pass. A missile streaked from one of their wings, quickly closing the distance with the chopper. It tried to evade the missile uselessly, the rocket slamming into the hot tail rotor, the fuel igniting, the helicopter erupting then dropping into the sea below.

  A round of cheers erupted from the police surrounding them, at the mercy of the two craft only minutes before.

  “Let’s get in there!” cried someone, and the two long lines of men, one on either side of the gates, surged through, weapons blazing revenge on those inside. Giasson closed his eyes and said another silent prayer for his friends, the risk of getting caught in the crossfire increasing with every moment.

  65

  Off the coast of Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Bernard Ridefort stood in their boat, the waves gently rocking them, as they all watched the battle rage in their former home. He sighed with relief as the second helicopter was downed by the Air Force, and watched as a stream of police officers cleared the front gates. He bore them no ill will whatsoever, the police having done nothing wrong, even those who had held them at gunpoint earlier.

  They were just doing their job.

  As was his family.

  What had transpired was all Pierre’s fault, and he was determined to make the boy pay if they should ever find him. But time was limited. For now, while his brother Jacques was still alive, Pierre was a traitor to the Order, and could be killed for those crimes. Though should his father die first, Pierre automatically inherited, despite his crimes, and it would create a schism within those few who remained, for he had no intention of ever swearing an oath of allegiance to Grand Master Pierre Ridefort.

  “Father, look.”

  He lowered his binoculars and stared toward where his son was pointing, a boat approaching from the southwest.

  “Isn’t that one of ours?”

  Bernard peered through his binoculars and his heart leaped as a smile spread across his face.

  Pierre!

  Someone he didn’t recognize was piloting the craft, but Pierre was sitting in the back, appearing rather smug. Bernard hit the speed dial on his phone, placing it to his ear.

  “Allô?”

  “Do you see the boat approaching us from the south?”

  There was a pause as his lookout on the shore sought the target. “Got it. Is that who I think it is?”

  “Yes. Can you make the shot?”

  “Yes.”

  Bernard closed his eyes for a moment as the debate raged within. This was his nephew. He loved the boy. His brother still loved him, despite the hatred displayed by his son over the past several years. But he had betrayed the Order, had betrayed his family, and had betrayed his father.

  He opened his eyes and focused on Pierre through the binoculars. “Take the shot.”

  He ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket as he continued to watch. Pierre jerked, then slumped in his seat.

  And Bernard felt sick.

  66

  Ridefort Residence

  Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Acto
n rushed back to Laura’s side, Spencer kneeling behind her head, holding it in place. The blood continued to ooze slightly, though there didn’t appear to be much, Reading having wiped it clear with some gauze from the med kit.

  “Is she okay?”

  Reading nodded, staring down at his friend. “She’s going to be fine, right?”

  Laura’s eyes focused on Reading. “Stop asking me questions I have to answer ‘yes’ to. The temptation to nod is almost overwhelming.”

  Reading laughed, and a smile spread across Acton’s face. “How about we take a closer look at that. I’m a surgeon, you know.”

  Laura’s eyes moved to her husband. “Just because you pulled a piece of wood out of your side against medical advice, doesn’t mean you’re licensed to operate.”

  He knelt down beside her, gripping his side, the pain temporarily forgotten with the adrenaline rush of the attack over just moments ago. He leaned in and examined the wound. “I think the shard nicked your neck then embedded itself under your chin as you fell backward. Does it hurt?”

  “Not at all, actually.”

  “And you don’t taste any blood?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not thinking of doing what I think, are you?”

  Acton grinned at Reading. “If it were you, I’d yank the thing out in a heartbeat, but this is the woman I love.”

  “Glad to know where I stand.”

  Acton eyed him. “You’re a handsome man, but you’ll always be at least one rung lower.”

  Reading grunted, Spencer grinning at the exchange.

  “Nooo, what I’m proposing is that it’s perfectly safe to move her. I say we get her on the gurney and get her out of here.”

  Reading looked at Laura. “What do you think?”

  “If it stops the bloody questions, then let’s do it.”

  Acton rose then gasped, falling back to one knee. Laura sat up, reaching out for him, and the shard in her neck fell onto her blouse. Reading reached out and pinched it between his fingers, holding it up.

  “I guess that settles that.”

  Laura felt for the hole it had left, now bleeding slowly, and pressed on it. “I guess it does. Let’s get him onto the gurney. He needs it a hell of a lot more than me.”

  Acton was in no position to argue, the pain threatening to overwhelm him as he grew weaker. Reading and Spencer lifted him by the legs and shoulders, as Laura held the gurney in place. They gently lowered him, then Laura grabbed the compression bandage from the med kit, placing it over his wound. “Let’s get the hell out of here. He needs medical attention.”

  Reading cocked an ear, Acton hearing it too. The dull thuds they had been feeling the entire time were fading, though hadn’t yet stopped. There was still a battle raging outside, so where they were this very moment might be the safest place to stay.

  Acton looked at Spencer then Reading. “It’s too dangerous. Let’s stay here until that”—he pointed at the doorway—“stops.”

  Reading frowned, glancing at his son then at Laura, who said nothing, leaving the decision to him. “I’ll go see what’s happening,” he finally said. “You stay here.”

  Spencer followed him to the door. “I’m coming with you.”

  Reading shook his head. “No, it’s not safe.”

  “But—!”

  Reading put a hand on his shoulder, pointing at the dead piled outside their door. “You already saved us once, now it’s time to keep being smart. Take one of their weapons and guard this door.”

  Spencer nodded. “You can count on me, Dad.”

  Reading slapped him on the back. “You’re going to make a fine copper.”

  Durand gasped for breath as the life left his body.

  “Captain!” cried one of his men from a ladder, those who had made it to safety apparently wondering what had happened to him. The young officer rolled to the floor then crawled rapidly toward him, the bullets no longer focused on the garage, as those outside engaged his fellow officers at the gate, now that both choppers were down.

  This battle would soon be over, yet at what cost? His eyes burned as he pictured his wife and three little girls.

  “Sir, are you okay?”

  He reached up and grabbed the man by the shirt. “Tell my wife…” But he no longer had the strength, his world fading to black as the last of his strength left him, the dull thuds of the firefight dying in the distance.

  “Captain!”

  He jolted awake, a tremendous pain searing through his body as he gasped, his eyes shooting wide open as light flooded the darkness that had been.

  “He’s back!” shouted someone, the voice quickly fading as the adrenaline rush he was experiencing faded. His eyes were blurry, but as they focused, he saw people surrounding him, the walls of the chateau moving rapidly, several moments needed before he realized he was on a gurney. He felt himself drop then lift as he was shoved into the back of an ambulance.

  “Don’t worry, Captain, you’re going to be all right. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

  He said nothing, instead focusing on the light shining through the open doors of the ambulance, and wondered why he hadn’t seen a light when he was dead.

  For he was sure he was dead. There were no dreams, no sensations, just nothingness. And the very idea that there was nothing after this life, caused an overwhelming tightness in his chest.

  “His BP is spiking.”

  “Captain, you’ve gotta calm down. Just take deep, slow breaths.”

  The giggles of his daughters echoed in his head, a reason to live remembered. He drew in a deep, slow breath, and the monitors he was hooked up to slowed their beeping as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance jerked forward.

  “I died.”

  The paramedic leaning over him smiled. “Just for a couple of minutes, if that.”

  “I saw nothing.”

  The woman paused. “What did you expect to see?”

  “Heaven.”

  She laughed. “You weren’t finished here.”

  He nodded, the idea comforting.

  My job isn’t done.

  And right now, the only job he was interested in was being a father and a husband. He sighed, closing his eyes. “I need a vacation.”

  Giasson watched as the latest of many ambulances blasted past with the wounded bound for the hospital. He had decided to simply remain seated, there still too much adrenaline in the fingers of those guarding them to bother challenging them once again.

  “Hey, I need some help over here!”

  Hugh?

  Officers rushed toward the voice, Giasson leaning as far forward as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. He smiled. Reading was standing near the main doors, his hands up.

  “I’m Agent Hugh Reading, Interpol. I’m going to reach into my left pocket and get my ID. Everyone remain bloody calm, and somebody please tell me at least one of you lot speaks English.”

  Somebody said something that Giasson couldn’t hear, but it was enough for Reading to produce his ID without getting shot. An officer inspected it, and weapons lowered.

  “I’ve got a wounded man in here. Two actually, but one’s the bastard responsible for this, so take your time with him.”

  Paramedics were called for, two gurneys pushed toward Reading’s position. He disappeared through the doors, and Giasson smiled. His friend was too calm for anything serious to have happened to the professors. He closed his eyes.

  Thank you, God.

  “Someone’s coming!” hissed Spencer. Laura headed for the door and peered down the hallway.

  “It’s me!”

  She reached over and pushed Spencer’s gun toward the ground. “Better give me that.”

  He nodded, his entire body trembling as he handed it over. She ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber, tossing the weapon aside as Reading rounded the corner, several armed police behind him.

  And four paramedics with gurneys.

  She heard their kidnapper gro
an and smiled as Reading arrived, giving his son a quick thumping hug. She pointed at the wounded man. “Watch him, he’s one of the hostiles.”

  Two of the officers trained their weapons on the man who appeared in no condition to fight, a large pool of blood surrounding his leg. Laura urged the paramedics into the room, and they went to work on her husband as she held back, out of their way.

  She chewed on her knuckle as Reading helped sort out the mess in the hallway, Spencer watching him like a proud son. She had hoped that their vacation would draw them closer together, and had hoped perhaps she and James could help in some small way. Never would she have thought that the two of them would charge to their rescue, bonding in the process.

  Did he say he’d make a good copper?

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched the boy for a moment.

  I’ll have to ask Hugh about that.

  She chuckled.

  His mother’s going to hate that.

  It had been the job that ended Reading’s marriage, and Laura was certain his ex wouldn’t want to lose her son to the job as well. She knew from Reading it could be a lonely life, an all-consuming one.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  She turned to see the paramedics rolling James toward the door. “Is he going to be okay?”

  The paramedic nodded. “He’ll be fine. He’s got the start of an infection, but he’s stable. Some good drugs, lots of fluid and rest, and he’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  James raised a thumb, smiling weakly. “You don’t know me very well. I’ve never been normal.”

  Laura grinned, taking his hand as they maneuvered around the bodies, their attacker already taken away, his wound far more critical. “You know me, darling, I abhor normal.”

  She led the paramedics through the winding corridors, and they soon emerged outside, the sun just starting to fade in the west, the shadows from the tall stone walls casting long shadows across the courtyard, hiding some of the carnage. James was loaded into the back of an ambulance, but she was waved off from joining him.