The Cleric's Vault (5 page)

Chapter 8

Atlanta, GA

Tommy
carefully plugged in the narrow computer tower and connected it to a
monitor.
 
They’d taken the brain of
the unit to a separate office from where the crime scene investigators were
still working.
 
He wasn’t even sure
what he was looking for but he knew that whoever had killed Terrance was
looking for the same thing.
 

Tommy
clicked the mouse on a few different files hoping to find something, anything
that might be related to what Nichols had been working on.
 
He went into the recent files that
Nichols had been working on but noticed nothing unusual there.
 
Thinking back to a few weeks ago, he
remembered Sean telling him how they had found something at Borringer’s house.
 
The old man had hidden it on a shelf,
in plain sight.
 
He typed in a
search for files with the word
decipher
in them.
 
Nothing came up.
 
Then he tried typing in
code breaker
.
 
Again, nothing.

Minutes
went by as he kept hammering away at the keyboard trying to find any clue as to
where the files could be.
 
Finally,
he leaned back and let out a huge sigh of frustration.
 
“I have no idea what he had or where he
put it,” Tommy said with resignation.

Will
ran his hand through his hair.
 
He was pretty sure Tommy Schultz and his
friends still had no clue he was working for the Order.
 
But he still had to be careful.
 
In the background, a few other CSI
workers were busy finishing up, packing cameras, tools, and other technical
devices.

He
racked his brain to come up with an answer, but these types of things weren’t
Will’s strong point.
 
He hated
riddles.
 
The more straightforward
things were the better.

Then
Tommy had a thought.
 
He sat
forward again and clicked on the search bar, this time entering his own
name.
 
T-O-M-M-Y.
 
The screen blinked for a second and
then one file appeared in the left hand corner.
 
It read, “Tommy’s project.”

Will
scooted in closer.
 
“You got
something?”

“Looks
like it,” Tommy answered, annoyed that he’d been concerned with some complex
combination of words when the answer was actually very simple.

He
clicked on the file.
 
A dialogue
box opened.
 
The words inside it
were not what they’d wanted to see.
 
Password required
.

Chapter 9

Las Vegas, Nevada

Sean
was angry at himself for being so stupid.
 
He should have seen what they were doing.
 
Should have seen it from a mile away.
 
Maybe he had gotten rusty.

A
young man in a suit stood at the end of the corridor with a smug look on his
face.
 
Something about him seemed
familiar but Sean couldn’t place it.

“Your
luck has run out, Mr. Wyatt,” the suit yelled down the glass hallway.
 
“Throw down your weapons.
 
There’s no way out of here.”

Sean’s
eyes darted around trying to find an escape route but there was none.
 
The tower bridge was encased in glass
and steel, ten floors above the ground.
 
A jump would be suicide, if he could even get the glass to shatter.
 

“Who
are you?” he shouted back.
 

The
man didn’t answer at first.
 
He
wasn’t into conversations.
 
Instead, he raised his weapon.
 
“Last chance, Wyatt!”

Suddenly,
the suppressed sound of a small, automatic weapon could be heard off to the
right the enemy position.
 
A bullet
tore into the suit’s left shoulder and sent him reeling back, taking his aim
away from Wyatt and Starks.
 
A
barrage of bullets sliced through the other four men as they all turned, too
late to react.
 
The first three
were sent flying backwards with round after round riddling their bodies.
 
The fourth dove out of the way but had
launched himself directly at Wyatt.
 
Sean snapped out of his trance and finished him with a single shot to
the head and he fell face down on the thin carpet.
 
“Go!” he yelled at Emily.
 
She didn’t wait to hear it twice and took off towards the
pile of bodies.

*****

Angela
and her remaining men heard the chaos around the corner.
 
They’d taken up a position at the entrance
to the tower bridge and waited to see if their quarry would try to
backtrack.
 
She’d heard the
exchange between James and Wyatt.
 
Idiot.
 
Why hadn’t he just shot them there?
 
Now there was someone on the other side with what
sounded like an automatic weapon.

 
She shoved one of the men aside and
stepped to the corner to take a peek at what was happening.
 
As she leaned her head around the edge
of the wall a shot rang out and erupted the wall right in front of her
face.
 
Her reaction was quick and
she ducked back out of sight immediately.
 
That was too close.

*****

Sean
had barely missed the target’s head, but he’d sent a message.

While
Emily ran forward towards the Venezia Tower, he’d covered the rear in case any
of the men waiting behind them decided to get brave and move up.
 
To his surprise, it looked like a woman
had taken the quick look around the corner.
 

All
of the enemies lay motionless.
 
Suit and tie was gone but Sean realized there was no time to look for
him.

Standing
twenty feet away down the hall on the right was a woman in a pair of khaki
shorts and a black v-neck tank top.
 
She was holding a HK-5 sub-machine gun with a silencer equipped on the
end.
 
Over top of her shirt hung a
thin, black leather coat that stopped just above her knees.
 
Sean stared at her for a moment.
 
Her black hair was down to her chin in
the front and a little shorter in the back with tanned skin that spoke of years
spent in the sun, probably on a beach.
 
Deep, brown eyes stared back at him, sizing him up.
 
When she spoke, her lips seemed to move
in slow motion.
 
“We should
probably leave,” she said in a distinct, Spanish accent.

Emily
was less mesmerized by the strange woman’s beauty and more by her impeccable
timing.
 
“I agree.”

Just
as she spoke, a shot popped from the other end of the corridor.
 
She tucked in behind the corner of the
bridge wall.
 
The Spaniard loaded a
fresh magazine into her HK-5 and cocked the mechanism.

“What
happened to the guy in the suit?” Sean asked.

“I
shot him but he got away,” the mysterious woman answered.
 
“Follow me.”

Sean
gave one quick look at Emily and nodded.

The
woman took off, leading them down a long, lavish hall of the Venezia
Tower.
 
Huge windows to the left
opened into a pool area filled with wrought iron fences, gazebos, and vine
rails.
 
Above, on the domed
ceiling, were more ornate frescoes done in the Venetian style with more
cherubim, warriors, and bare-chested women.
 
Seemed to be a common
theme.
 
Along the walls, gas
powered sconces burned flickering flames constantly.
 
Their savior stopped and cut into an alcove where a
concierge desk was unoccupied.
 
Sean and Emily followed.

“What
are we doing?” Emily asked, confused.

The
chiseled, feminine face turned.
 
Her dark eyes peered at Starks.
 
“Making sure they don’t follow us.”

With
that, the woman peeked around the corner at the five men charging recklessly
towards their position.

She
pulled up her weapon and trained a laser site on one of the sconces close to
where the men were running.
 
She
waited a moment then squeezed the trigger.

The
candle erupted sending a jet of flame across the room.
 
One of the attackers was caught by the
burst, his upper body disappearing in the fire.
 
He emerged on the other side and tried to douse the flames
by rolling on the floor but the damage was done.
 
The rest of the men stayed back, not seeing a way around the
fire that continued to pour from the wall at shoulder level.
 
All they could do was listen to their
comrade screaming in agonizing pain.
 
The Spaniard looked satisfied and glanced back at the other two.
 
“Let’s go.”

*****

A
sharp, burning pain radiated from James’s shoulder.
 
He’d turned just as a woman had started firing on his
position.
 
The bullet had ripped
through a part of his shoulder’s skin but fortunately was not a direct hit.
 
Amid the chaos, he’d retreated around a
corner behind the restaurant, trying to take up a better position until his
partner’s unit moved in to assist.
 
He hoped they would arrive soon.

He
listened as her group pursued the targets down the large corridor.
 
Just as he decided it was safe to join
them in the chase, a bright orange flame reflected down the hallway walls
accompanied by a flash of heat.
 
Ducking back for a second, he then peeked around the corner to see the
wall of flame engulfing one of Angela’s men and sending her and the others
falling backwards.
 
Sprinklers on
the ceiling overhead began to shower the area with water.
 
Perhaps he would need to head off their
quarry by taking a different route.

*****

Angela
had jumped back as the bright flames roared across the hall.
 
She lifted one arm to protect her face
from the sudden surge of heat.
 
As
she turned her head away, she thought she noticed something near the corner at
the end of the hall but had to dismiss whatever it was.
 
Sprinklers had come on soon after the
explosion.
 
She could hear sirens
in the distance, which meant they were running out of time.
 
One thing she liked about the
casino-hotels was that all of their surveillance efforts were concentrated on
the gaming floors.
 
Very little attention
was paid to the hallways or adjoining corridors so at least they wouldn’t be
identifiable.
 

Through
the flames, she could make out the outline of the man that had been burned and
knew she couldn’t risk leaving him there to possibly survive.
 
So, Angela raised her weapon and fired
two rounds through the inferno planting a bullet into the man’s chest just as
he rolled onto his side.
 
The
wailing faded away sharply.
 
She
turned to the remaining men and pointed around the corner to the rear.
 
“That way.”

Chapter 10

Nevada Desert

Alexander
Lindsey began to open the passenger door to the helicopter before it had
completely touched down.
 
He was
outraged that his subordinates would undermine his intricate plans.
 
He would need to put them both in their
places so that such an occurrence would never happen again.

Rosicrucians
had been extremely secretive in the middle ages.
 
If the sacred bond of trust was broken, a terrible fate
awaited the offender.
 
When the
Order of the Golden Dawn was founded, they adopted many of the sacred rites and
rituals of the Rosicrucians, including their laws and punishments.
 
Throughout their history there had been
few challenges to authority.
 

In
the early days of the Order, some celebrities were permitted to join.
 
Temples were opened in various parts of
England, Scotland, and France.
 
Just like any empire, they’d overextended themselves.
 
It was difficult for the three primary
adepts to maintain control of all the different temple followers.
 
Some of the underlings had wanted to
know more than they were permitted by their sacred documents, The Cipher
Manuscripts, allowed.

Lindsey
strode across the stone landing platform and through a recessed entrance on the
side of the mansion that led to a large wooden door.
 
He swung the heavy thing open and stormed inside to a dark
hallway.
 
The air inside was much
cooler and damp than the desert outside.
 
One of his bodyguards hurried to keep up and closed the door behind him
while the Agusta’s engine began to wind down on the helipad.
 
“I want you to call the others and have
them here within the hour” Alexander said to the bodyguard.
 
“They have some explaining to do.”

“Yes
sir,” the man nodded and veered off down a separate hallway.

A
few steps later, Alexander turned into a much larger, vaulted corridor.
 
It was lit with electrical wall sconces
and the illumination revealed cherry-wood paneling that matched the floor.
 
He slowed down his pace slightly,
walking by old paintings along the way.
 
The portraits seemed to be arranged in a sort of chronological order,
from oldest to newest.
 
He’d had
all of the paintings brought over from Europe.
 
It had taken quite a bit of work to find them all.
 
But, with some diligence, he’d
recovered the pictures of every Imperator of the Order since its
inception.
 

The
Imperators were the unquestioned leaders of the society.
 
Although the two other adepts were of
nearly equal authority, the Imperator made command decisions whenever the need
arose.
 
Their Cipher Manuscripts,
however, never called for anything like what his two adepts had done, a fact he
was going to remind them of shortly.

After
making his way beyond the portraits, he turned into a room furnished with a
lavish, oak desk, and a stone fireplace in the center of the outer wall.
 
His feet carried him, almost
unconsciously, over to the bar he’d had installed when the home was built.
 
The study was his favorite place to
forget everything in the outside world.
 
It was also his favorite place to drink, usually alone.
 
Although, from time to time, he would
allow himself the less discreet pleasures the world possessed.
 
He was the Prophet, not the Saint.

His
bodyguard entered the vast chamber as he finished pouring himself a glass of
scotch.
 
He loved the drink.
 
Single malt, eighteen year.
 
Not like the crap they served at most
restaurants.
 

“Would
you like some ice, sir?” the guard asked.

He
waved his hand signaling that he didn’t.
 
Instead he asked, “Are they on their way?”

The
strong, young man nodded, his expression never changing.
 
“They should arrive within the hour,
sir.”

“Good,”
Lindsey said with a sneer.
 
His
eyes narrowed at the thought of putting his associates in their place.