The Ninth Circle
World on Fire, Side Jobs
By
Lincoln Cole
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher
Published by Lincoln Cole, Columbus, 2015
[email protected]
www.LincolnCole.net
Cover Design by M.N. Arzu
http://www.mnarzuauthor.com/
YOUR FREE BOOK IS WAITING
“UAV is reminiscent of a James Rollins adventure, and I found myself staying up with it into the night, until I finished it.”
- Richard Becker, author of The Catch
When mercenaries kidnap two drone operators and steal the software that can control drones anywhere in the world, Kate Allison is called to action to try and stop them before they can use the drones against civilians. Kate is a strong woman with a sordid history who is trying to make up for past mistakes.
She teams up with the unlikeliest of partners in her mission: Lyle Goldman, the application developer who designed the drone software. He’s her only hope of finding a way to shut down the mercenaries and figure out who is behind the attack. Unfortunately, Lyle is also being hunted by the FBI in connection with the stolen software and is being framed for the crime.
Can they stop this attack and clear Lyle’s name before it is too late?
The Ninth Circle
Arthur Vangeest ran the wet sharpening stone down the edge of his sword, feeling it glide along the razor-sharp finish. His motions were practiced and precise, yet his mind was far away in his own thoughts.
The blade didn’t need the honing: he could have shaved the stubble off his face with it if he was willing to risk cutting his head off.
But he needed it: the action served to keep him from being idle. This was something he did before every battle, a superstitious ritual. He did it in an effort to maintain calmness and composure in the face of adversity while he risked his life for the Council. Right now, however, he was sharpening his sword to control the horrible despair and anger raging in his heart.
It wasn’t working.
“Are you all right, Arthur?” Frieda asked. Her voice was tender, as though she were afraid to speak up around him because he might break.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong. He glanced at her, meeting her eyes, but his hands kept gliding the stone down the blade. Frieda was wearing a black leather suit and had dyed her hair crimson in preparation of the upcoming mission.
She was beautiful and austere with a mole on her left cheek and eyes that pierced into whoever she looked at. She was, Arthur knew from personal experience, an incredibly dangerous woman.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You haven’t been—”
“I said I’m fine,” he reiterated.
She pursed her lips, thoughtful. “You don’t need to go in with us,” she said. “After everything—”
“I’m going in,” he interrupted. “When we breach the building, I’ll push for the ritual chamber and search for survivors. I am not staying behind.”
Frieda hesitated but didn’t object. “Very well. From all reports, there should be four or five innocents trapped inside, so we need all the help we can get.”
“How many hostiles?”
“Somewhere in the range of fifty, but we can’t get an accurate count. At least nine are possessed. The rest are zealots.”
They were sitting on a park bench just outside Allison Falls in Virginia. It was beautiful in the midafternoon. They were waiting for three more Hunters to arrive from out of state before they attacked the Ninth Circle. Frieda had called in a team, Charles and Mildred Greathouse and Dexter Colson, to deal with this cell. They were flying in from around the world, the Greathouse family from Europe and Dexter from Brazil.
This was one of the biggest cells they’d ever located, and removing it from play would severely cripple and diminish the cult. This was a longtime project of Arthur’s, a venture he had dedicated years of his life to and risked everything to find.
He had, in fact, lost everything.
He underestimated the resourcefulness of the cult in finding out information about him. Someone within his own Order had betrayed him, and The Ninth Circle discovered where he lived. His wife and child were murdered in their sleep and left horribly butchered for him to find. It was the worst sight he’d ever experienced, and it was waiting for him when he’d come home.
That had been two weeks ago. He hadn’t discovered who betrayed him inside the Order yet, but he intended to pay them back in full. He knew that Frieda felt the same way, and she’d been cautious and withdrawn since the murder had taken place.
“How long?”
Frieda checked her watch. “We can start moving,” she replied. “The second plane touched down ten minutes ago. I can direct the other Hunters to meet us at the site. If we leave now, we will arrive about twenty minutes ahead of them.”
“All right,” he said, standing up and sliding his sword away. He dropped the sharpening stone onto the park bench and started walking toward her car. “Let’s go.”
They climbed into the little Chevy and headed down the road to the west. Frieda drove in silence, occasionally glancing sidelong at him like she was afraid he would break down and cry at any moment. He kept his expression calm, giving her no reason to suspect his motives.
She didn’t want him here, he knew. She thought he should still be recovering from his loss; his wife and daughter were gone, and she felt that he should still be paying his respects to their memories.
But she didn’t understand that he was doing exactly that by being here. The Ninth Circle had taken everything from him. He wouldn’t be done paying his respects until everyone who had done this to his family was dead and buried.
They stopped along the road about two kilometers from their destination. It was an old manor built in the mid-nineteenth century that had long since fallen into disrepair. It wasn’t near any cities and was difficult to get to with thick forests and terrain in the way, which made it the perfect place for the Ninth Circle to hole up.
Arthur climbed out of the car and started walking toward the manor.
“Wait,” Frieda said. “The others aren’t here yet.”
“I’m just going to scout the area,” he lied. “Make sure there aren’t any surprises waiting for us.”
She looked like she was going to argue but didn’t. Instead, she nodded.
“Be careful,” she said.
He nodded back and then headed off into the woods. He strapped his sword to his hip as he walked and forced his body to relax. He needed to be limber and ready when he reached the manor.
The air tasted pure out here, untainted by the smoke and exhaust of the city. He loved the outdoors. He loved camping and hiking and wandering through the forest simply experiencing nature. More than anything else in the world, he loved bringing his daughter out and exposing her to these things…
He felt his knees start to wobble and a tear slipped down his cheek. The pain felt like a blade in his chest, white hot and angry. He stifled his emotions, but he knew it would be impossible to bear for much longer. There was no escaping the pain because he had caused it.
If he had been at home with them instead of out w
orking, he could have stopped the cult. He could have saved his family. Or, if he had figured out that there was a traitor in the Order he could have dealt with it and kept them alive. Or, if he hadn’t pushed so hard and made so many enemies there would be no reason for anyone to harm his family.
There was an endless supply of reasons for why he was to blame. He had completely and utterly failed. He promised to keep them safe, to protect them through everything, and now they were dead.
How could he possibly go on?
This would be his last job. It wasn’t something he could explain to Frieda. He trusted that she would find the traitor in their midst and deal with it, so he could leave this world knowing his family would be avenged. But still, Frieda would never understand or agree with his decision: it was just something he had to do.
He saw the manor rising in the distance through the trees, a broken down and heavily overgrown two-story affair. It had been a proud home, once, but the family who owned it died out or moved away a long time ago. Now it was just a broken down shell, pathetic and unwelcoming.
Much like himself.
He slipped his revolver, a forty-five caliber Colt, out of his pocket, drew his sword, and walked calmly toward the entrance. There were too many cultists inside for him to deal with on his own, but that was the point. He would take as many of them with him as he could before breathing his last.
The door started to open just as he reached the front steps. He leapt forward onto the landing, stabbing with his blade into the partially open doorway. He felt the sword bite into something and heard a grunt of pain.
It finished swinging open and he saw a man standing there, holding a shotgun in one hand and clutching his stomach with the other. Blood ran out of the wound and was staining his shirt. He was wearing old and dirty clothes and his eyes were bloodshot.
Arthur twisted the blade and jerked it back out, watching the man slide to the floor. Farther in the foyer he saw another man rising from a chair. He grabbed a rifle leaning against the wall beside him. This one had a shock of crazy hair atop his head and a look of terror on his face.
Arthur rushed forward, stabbing him in the throat before he could raise the weapon. He glanced to his left and saw a roomful of people sitting at a table and playing cards. They were frozen in various awkward positions, staring up at him. A half-naked woman leaned against the wall, tied up and gagged and visibly beaten.
One of them was leaning forward to collect the pot of wagers—which included fingers and teeth as well as crumpled up bills and cigarettes.
Six of them. The surprise passed and everyone exploded into motion. Arthur strode into the room and they scrambled to grab weapons. Two guns were lying on the table and their owners reached for them. Arthur raised the revolver in his left hand and squeezed off a pair of shots, hitting both of the men in the chest.
Arthur quickly stepped up to the table and slashed twice with his sword, cutting another man in the stomach as he rose from his chair and then beheading a fourth man where he sat.
That left two more men ready to fight. Both were able to find weapons, one a short knife and the other a beam of wood that looked to have fallen from the ceiling some time ago.
The man with the knife was missing half of his teeth as he grinned at Arthur. He passed the rusty knife from hand-to-hand and bobbed back and forth, clearly untrained in fighting. Arthur watched his pathetic display and began closing the distance.
The man seemed to realize he was outmatched and glanced at the girl on the ground next to him. She was a captive, nearly unconscious and unaware of what was happening. He glanced back at Arthur, grinned again, and leaned down toward her. He was planning to use her as a hostage.
He didn’t get the chance. Arthur raised his revolver and fired, putting a bullet in the man’s temple. He collapsed to the ground, blood spewing from the wound and his entire body twitching.
The other opponent rushed forward with a shout, hoping to take advantage of Arthur’s distraction. He swiped his beam down in an overhead attack. Arthur side-stepped easily, moved in, and kneed the man in the stomach. He followed this by kicking him in the back of the leg.
The man collapsed to a kneeling position with a scream. Arthur bashed him in the temple with the butt of his gun, silencing him.
Everyone in the manor knew he was here now, but that didn’t matter. He slipped his revolver away and picked up the guns from the table. One was old and looked likely to jam, but the other was a nine millimeter pistol he could use.
He moved to a hallway leading farther into the manor and started walking, stepping quietly and listening for movement. Doorways led off to the right and left into side rooms, and he took a few seconds to clear each of them before moving on. He didn’t want any surprises behind him.
Through the windows in the right-hand rooms he saw an overgrown courtyard. The manor was built around it, encircling it, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in years.
A gunshot sounded from farther down the hall as he cleared the third room and he heard buckshot tear into the wall over his head. He ducked and moved into one of the left-hand rooms, sliding out of sight.
He heard more gunshots, followed by shouting. He waited, counting to three, and then stepped out of cover. He walked quickly but calmly, heading across the hallway toward another room closer to the shooter.
One man was running toward him and jerked his gun up, but Arthur was faster. He put two bullets into the man’s chest and then fired over the man’s shoulder, forcing three other men farther away to duck back into their hiding places.
And then Arthur was to the doorway of the right-hand room. A woman was sleeping here, dirty and bedraggled, and she was climbing out of her grimy bed and looking for some weapon to use against him.
Arthur stepped forward and bashed her with the hilt of his sword. She collapsed back onto the bed, unconscious.
More gunshots sounded down the hall as the three men came toward him. Two shot while a third ran, and they were moving closer to his position.
He went to the wall of this room and glanced it over. Most of the wood was rotten and deteriorated and it was pockmarked with holes. He backed away, loosening his muscles and preparing his body. He listened to the gunshots, waiting until the men were closing in. He had to time this perfectly.
Gunshots sounded from nearby. Satisfied, he rushed forward and kicked the wall. Part of it crumpled, and he pushed the rest out of his way as he strode through. Two men were in this adjoining room, one leaning out and firing down the hall and the other reloading his weapon. Both were wearing dirty pajamas and looked to have been sleeping.
Neither was prepared for him. He raised the pistol and fired off several shots. Both men collapsed to the ground, and Arthur’s gun clicked as the last shell was spent.
He dropped the gun to the floor and drew his revolver once more. The third man came running into the room just as he raised his own weapon. The attacker fired off a shot, but the bullet went wide. Arthur’s didn’t. This man fell as well, dead before he hit the ground.
Arthur walked to the door and stabbed his sword in to hold it in place. He spun open his revolver and dropped the spent shells out, holding the last two live rounds in with his thumb.
The empties clanked against the wooden floor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose bullets, slipping them into the chambers with practiced ease.
Reloaded, he grabbed the sword and then listened at the doorframe.
It was quiet, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. He’d dealt with twelve, none of which were possessed, but it was impossible to tell how many might be left. Some could be out on a job right now, or they could all be waiting for him up just up ahead. There was no way to know. He stepped back into the hallway and kept going.
With each passing second his advantage diminished. He rounded a corner and saw a flight of stairs heading up. He crept up, hearing the old weak creak underfoot, and reached the next landing. He hesitated, li
stening, and heard another board creak farther down the hall.
He darted forward, revolver ready, and saw a woman poke her head out of cover ten meters away. He fired off a shot, forcing her to duck back and then he reached the corner.
The woman stepped around the corner once more, but too late. Arthur was already there. He stabbed her in the shoulder, pinning her to the wall, and then bashed her with the butt of his gun. She staggered to the floor, and he kicked her in the temple, knocking her out. He finished by stabbing her in the heart, giving her a quick and painless death.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see a man throw himself at Arthur. This was one of the possessed cultists and the body looked to have been dead for a few weeks. The clothes were dirty and the skin was covered in maggots and starting to slough off.
Arthur raised his sword, stabbing the man in the chest, but the attack actually worked against him. The sword caught in one of the ribs and was jerked out of his hand. The dead man swung at him and Arthur dodged, stepping out of the way and putting distance between them.
If his opponent even noticed the sword lodged in his chest, he didn’t show it. More footsteps sounded as cultists charged into the room. Arthur stepped back and shot the attackers as they spilled into the room, firing off his remaining five shells and dropping a man with each one.
The demon charged at Arthur and punched. Arthur scrambled, shifting to the side and keeping his distance. The demon pursued, still attacking, and more enemies were rushing into the room behind it.
Arthur dodged, keeping the demon between him and the enemies, but he misjudged. It didn’t try to punch him this time: it tackled him instead.
He felt it hit him in the chest, pushing him back toward the window. He hit it hard and felt glass break behind him. They fell out into empty air. He pulled the demon closer and rotated his body, putting it toward the ground instead of himself. He took a moment to curse in frustration.
And then he hoped for the best.
They hit the ground hard, from about eight meters up, but the demon padded his fall. He rolled to the side, getting his bearings. It was the courtyard of the manor, maybe fifteen meters square with brick walkways running through it. At one point it had been a garden, but now it was overgrown with weeds and vines.
The Ninth Circle (World on Fire - Side Jobs Book 1) Page 1