The Circle of Eight (13 page)

“Uh
huh.”

“Why,
was there a woman in the accident?”

“Yes,
but she ran away before paramedics could get here.”

“That’s
strange.”

“Not if
you’re a fugitive.”

Dawson
smiled.

“Now I
know
we’re talking about two different people.” Dawson turned to Red. “Let’s go see
if we can find the detective up ahead.” He turned back to the officer. “Thanks,
Officer, you’ve been a big help.”

“No
problem, just keep out of the way when you get there. Last thing they need is
amateurs backseat quarterbacking.”

“Good
advice on any day,” said Dawson with a grin.

He and
Red returned to their vehicle, slowly passing through the accident scene, the
upturned SUV unsettling, but the large pool of blood near the rear passenger
side door even more so.

“She’s
injured.”

“I saw
that,” agreed Red as he cleared the scene. “But if she were able to run away,
we know your niece is okay as well—she’d never leave her.”

“True. But
that was a lot of blood and she couldn’t have gotten far.”

“I know
you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“That
what we’re rolling up on involves her?”

“Yup.”
Red pointed with his chin. “There it is.”

Along
the highway were several police vehicles, then on the other side of the grass
berm were another half dozen or so vehicles in a church parking lot.

“There’s
no way in there,” said Dawson, scanning the road ahead. “Just park up there by
those trees, far enough so they don’t feel like walking and checking us out.”

Red
parked as close to the guardrail as he could and put his flashers on then
popped the hood. The traffic was light as he climbed out to prop the hood up,
hoping anyone passing would simply think they were a broken down vehicle with
an owner who went to look for help.

Dawson
unzipped the loot bag in the backseat that Thor had left and smiled. Pretty
much everything from hand guns to hand grenades was inside. If they were pulled
over, they’d have one hell of a time explaining it. He pulled the bag out of
the backseat, closed the doors and climbed over the guardrail, disappearing
into the trees with their supplies. He heard the vehicle chirp as Red locked it
up. Just before the edge of the trees opened up into a cleared area that
appeared to be part of the church property, Dawson dropped the bag and began to
gear up, as did Red.

Body
armor, Glock 22 with a few clips, and shades. Nothing more.
Shotguns and submachine guns might attract the attention of the gathered law
enforcement. Body armor hidden behind civilian jackets, clips in the pockets
and a piece tucked into the waistband didn’t.

Dawson
and Red casually walked across the clear area to a large tree standing in the
middle, several cars parked around it to take advantage of the shade it
provided, no longer a concern this late in the evening. Dawson wondered if they
belonged to potential hostages inside.

Dawson
took a knee behind the tree and pulled out his cellphone, dialing Detective
Lewis’ phone.

“Lewis.”

“Hello,
Detective. This is Burt Dawson, Sylvia’s brother. What can you tell me?”

“Not
much, Mr. Dawson, except that the vehicle your sister was taken in was in an
accident. One man is dead, your sister and niece ran away and were pursued by
another occupant of the vehicle. We’ve had a report of shots fired at a nearby
church and believe she and at least a dozen others are being held hostage
inside.”

“Has he
made any demands yet?”

“No. One
person who managed to escape through a back door said he kept checking his
phone, as if he were expecting a call.”

“He’s
awaiting instructions,” muttered Dawson.

“What
was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll
call you as soon as I know more, Mr. Dawson.”

“Thank
you.”

Dawson
killed the call and turned to Red.

“They’re
inside, one gunman apparently awaiting instructions from his handlers. My guess
is those instructions will be to kill Sylvia and Jenny, then try to negotiate
his way out. If I were them, I’d be bringing in a clean-up crew, at least one
sniper in case he gets captured. They won’t want him talking.”

Red
nodded in agreement.

“How do
you want to handle this?”

“He
won’t get his instructions until the sniper is in place, but once they’re in
place, it’s too late. We can’t outrun a phone call. I say we go in, take him
out now, get Sylvia and Jenny out of there, worry about the sniper later.”

“Okay,
I’ll go get the truck.”

“Good.
Grab some door busters for us, we’ll probably go through the back. And a couple
of flashbangs.”

Red
nodded, strolling across the covered area and disappearing into the trees as
Dawson walked toward a building to the left. A quick survey of the area showed
only two police officers covering the back, one at the two-three corner in the
back closest to him, the other at the three-four corner, but both were moved
toward the front number one wall, distracted by all the action.

If we
play our cards right, we can enter and no one will ever know.

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

“All I know is we’ve got one guy, some high up snob who thinks he’s
above the law and is killing our people. We’re going to take him and his
organization out—six hundred years old or not, I don’t care,” said Niner.

“You
should,” said Acton. “We have no idea who they are, where they are, or what
they’re capable of. You may just piss them off and they come after all of you.
Or worse, you advance whatever plans they might have.”

Jimmy
sighed.

“Why
does everything have to be so difficult with these guys? That’s why I prefer
attacking government or terrorist targets. It’s nice and easy. You know what
their agenda is, you know what they’re capable of, and with so much infighting
amongst themselves, killing a bunch of them usually wins you tacit thanks from
their rivals, or empty threats.”

“So how
big is this group, you figure?” asked Niner. “Are we looking at something
massive like those Triarii guys, or something nice and small?”

“No way
to know for sure. I’d suggest that they would have kept their structure over
the centuries, so there will be one at the top, another seven senior brothers,
all in the medical profession, all bachelors, all probably over fifty years of
age. Each will have an underling they are training to replace them, then any
number of operatives helping them accomplish their goals.

“And
don’t forget, these guys will be extremely well funded. They will have pooled
the resources of eight doctors for centuries, all working toward a common goal
which would require massive amounts of financing.”

“In
other words they’ll be well equipped and well protected.”

“Extremely.”
Acton clasped his hands, leaning forward slightly. “Listen, if you’ve found
them, and they’re genuine, we need to stop them.”

Niner
crossed his arms.

“Why
now? What’s so important about stopping them now and not ten years from now?
They’ve been around for hundreds of years; why would you think they’re about to
act?”

“Because
there’s never been a time in history where it was possible to enact their
plan.”

“What do
you mean?” asked Jimmy.

“We have
never been more connected as a society than we are now. We have three billion
people flying a year. That’s almost ten million people a day. Put a virus on
one of those flights, it’s spread around the world in days. Our food supply is
global now, our populations live in cities that can’t feed themselves, we are
so dependent upon computers that EMP weapons could wipe out our
economies—there’s an infinite number of things that could be done that would
have global repercussions and result in massive die offs. Fifty years ago we
weren’t globalized, now we are.
This
is when they would act, because
they
can
act. And the reaction you’ve had to just
seeing
some
folders on a desk tells me they’re up to something.”

“So
you’re in?” asked Niner.

“Huh?”

“You
said ‘we’ need to stop them.”

Acton
smiled.

“I meant
the collective we, as in the societal we.”

“We
could use your help, Doc.”

“Use
your help in what?”

They all
turned to see Professor Laura Palmer enter the lecture hall from the rear
door—a door Acton realized he had forgotten to lock—her auburn hair down around
her shoulders, lightly curled, her alabaster skin as perfect as the day he had
met her. She never ceased to make Acton’s heart skip a beat every time he saw
her, which it did just now. He held out his hand and she joined them, grasping
it and giving it a squeeze.

“There’s
a situation,” said Acton.

Laura
placed a kiss on her fiancé’s cheek, then turned to face the two soldiers she
had come to know over the years.

“What
kind of situation?”

“With
the Rosicrucians.”

Laura’s
face slackened, her skin paling several shades.

Elk Road, Richmond, Virginia

Dawson’s phone vibrated with a text message.

Walk
south.

He
strolled from the scene of the standoff and walked down a small road past the
cleared side parking lot and a minute later saw Red and the truck parked,
facing the opposite direction it had come for a quick exit.

Red
stepped out, handing a flashbang to Dawson along with some detacord and detonators.

“I
called Ops. They can’t task a bird obviously, but one is over our area for the
next fifteen minutes.” He handed him a comm unit and Dawson hooked it over his
ear, Red hooking his own on.

“Overseer,
Bravo One. Do you read, over?”

“Bravo
One, Overseer. Reading you five by five, over.”

“Overseer,
watch for a lone target, hidden. We’re expecting a sniper and cleanup crew at
any moment, out.”

They
made their way along the side of a nearby house then on the left side of a row
of trees that ran behind the several buildings making up the church complex.
Dawson motioned to where the first cop was, and noted that he was now almost
all the way to the front of the building, his corner now uncovered.

They
stopped directly behind a rear door. Dawson looked to their left but couldn’t
see the other officer. He quickly prepped some detacord to breach the door if
necessary, then sprinted across the twenty feet of dry grass, unseen. He tried
the doorknob and it turned. He pushed gently and the door opened.

No
blowing up shit today.

He
motioned for Red to join him, and moments later his friend was inside the
building with him, the door closed, the police “covering” the back none the
wiser. They were in some sort of utility room with another door at the opposite
end. Dawson tried it, and it too was unlocked.

Trusting
lot.

He
pushed the door open enough to find a well-lit area behind it. Poking his head
out, he found an empty hall and continued forward, Red closing the door
behind them. As they advanced Dawson heard something through a door on his
left. Taking a quick look he spotted a terrified woman huddled in a corner of
what appeared to be a kitchen or food prep area. She nearly yelped at the sight
of him but Dawson had his finger to his lips before she even saw him. Nodding,
she covered her mouth and they moved on, around a corner where the hallway
revealed several doors, but only one seeming to lead toward the front of the
church.

The door
was ajar, and sounds of general human suffering could be heard on the other
side. Dawson dropped to his knees and pulled an extendable mirror from his
utility belt. Pulling on the arm he extended it enough to stick it past the
door, slowly angling it. He could see one man standing with a gun pointed at a
group of people, a cellphone in his other hand and his back to their position,
his attention focused on the front door where a voice was blasting on a
megaphone, asking him to please take their call. A lonely phone rang in an
office somewhere in the complex.

Dawson
took a chance the man was acting alone and pushed the door open enough to fit
through.

It
creaked.

The
man’s head swung around as Dawson tossed the mirror aside, raising his weapon. The man began to spin around, wincing with the effort, his
gun rising, Dawson’s left hand grasping the butt of his own weapon as he took
aim then squeezed the trigger.

The
man’s eyes bulged and he gasped in pain as the round shattered his right
shoulder, his weapon dropping uselessly to the ground as he lost control of the
hand gripping it. Dawson and Red rushed forward as the man stood in shock, then
suddenly there was a shattering of glass followed immediately by the explosion
of the man’s head, a bloody, pulpy mass sprayed over the crouching
parishioners.

The
distinct clap of a round fired from a sniper rifle echoed outside.

“Sniper!”
yelled Dawson. “Everyone down!”

He hit
the floor, crawling toward the now dead man and pried the cellphone from his hand.
He looked to his right and saw Sylvia lying on her back, covered in blood, too
much of it her own. He scrambled to her side and took her hand.

“Sis,
it’s me.”

“I know,
I’m not blind,” she said, her voice weak, but a look of relief on her face.

“Let’s
get you out of here, okay?” She nodded as he tousled Jenny’s hair. “Ready to be
brave princess?”

She
nodded.

“Good.”
He turned back to his sister. “This might hurt like a mother. Ready?”

She
nodded.

He put
both arms under her, one under her knees, the other under her shoulders, then lifted
her from the floor, still on his own knees, crouching, his muscles screaming at
the unnatural position. Several elderly men helped by putting their hands under
her, supporting her body as he advanced, their help relieving some of the
weight he was carrying. As he cleared the pews, there was another clap and the
corner of the last one shredded.