Still only silence.
Very well, the hard way.
He leaned forward quickly and grabbed Jimmy’s hands, yanking them. Jimmy fell forward, his head smacking the table as Reading pushed the pill into the man’s hand. Jimmy’s fist closed over the device and Reading let go of the hands, leaning back in his chair as Jimmy recovered, rubbing his chin then licking his lips as if searching for blood. Reading saw the pill go into his mouth.
“What did you do that for?”
“To get your attention.”
“Well you got it, and that’s all you’re getting. Save your questions for when our lawyer gets here.”
Jimmy stood up, as did the other man.
“Guard! Take us back to our cell!” yelled Jimmy.
A moment later the door opened and they were led out, followed by Reading who yelled after them, “This isn’t over!”
He went to the front desk to retrieve his belongings.
“Any luck?” asked the old officer at the desk.
“Nil. As expected I guess. But now that you’ve got them, I’ll have them put under surveillance. They’ll slip up at some point.”
Reading stuffed the last of his personal items in his pockets, then gave the officer a final nod. He left, a cab already waiting for him, and returned to his hotel room, his mind filled with thoughts of his friends and what they could possibly have gotten themselves into now. As he entered he paused.
Something’s not right.
Suddenly a head poked out from behind the wall of the L shaped room and Reading jumped, nearly filling his trousers.
“Good morning, Special Agent.”
Reading shook his head then kicked the shoes off his aching feet.
“Good morning, Sergeant Major.”
Unknown Location
James Acton reached for the handle in front of him, his ear still pressed against the door. And still he heard nothing. He gripped the knob and twisted, but it didn’t budge. It was locked. Shit! He couldn’t risk kicking it open—that would certainly bring everyone down on him. He had searched the only other room that had been unlocked and found nothing beyond an extensive wine cellar. There was nothing he could use as a real weapon and he knew he had to escape. Avenging Laura was of course at the top of his agenda, but in order to do that, he needed manpower and firepower, and that lay in Geneva. If he could escape from wherever he was, he could bring the Bravo Team back here and remove those responsible from existence for his beloved Laura’s death.
They were going to die, even if he didn’t get any help from the Delta team.
At the end of the hallway he had found a set of stairs leading up, at the top of which was this locked door. He examined the lock and decided lock picking would be on the agenda the next time he received training from Laura’s security team, but for now, beyond fiddling with hairpins he didn’t have, or jimmying it with a credit card he didn’t have, he was stuck.
Time to try the locked rooms.
Forcing those doors hopefully wouldn’t make enough noise to attract any attention. He was about to turn and descend the stairs when he heard voices. He pressed his ear to the door and could distinctly hear footsteps and whispering.
And they sounded like they were coming directly toward him.
He rushed down the steps and into the hallway just as he heard the door above being unlocked. His heart pounding, he scrambled down the hall and opened the door to the one room he had found unlocked, the wine cellar, as footsteps echoed on the stairs. He closed the door behind him, then pressed his back against it.
Two voices vibrated through the door as they passed. A key hit a lock and he heard a door open, the voices disappearing as it was then closed. He pulled open the wine cellar door, stepped out into the hallway, closed the door then ran as quietly as he could to the end of the hall. The door at the top was closed, but there was a chance they hadn’t locked it. He took the steps two at a time, reaching the door and grabbing the knob. He twisted, and it turned, his heart slamming repeatedly against his ribcage as his adrenaline rush almost overwhelmed him.
He pushed the door open slightly and peeked out through the sliver. He could see what looked like a large foyer with a double staircase leading to a second floor, several suits of armor from the middle ages standing guard in the corners, but nobody in sight.
A door closed below and he jumped. He stepped into the foyer then closed the door behind him as gently as he could. Looking around for a place to hide, he could see nothing, donning a suit of armor in comedy movie style the only thing occurring to him. It unfortunately took more than the ten seconds he figured he had, and knights back then were far too short to be wearing armor that would accommodate him.
He moved along the wall, away from the basement door, but toward what appeared to be the front door. As he got a better angle he noticed the front entrance had closets recessed on either side. The door behind him opened and he darted into the nearest closet, pushing himself behind the coats that filled it.
The two sets of footsteps faded away, the whispered voices seeming to have never stopped, but were quickly replaced by another set approaching rapidly, with purpose. It was an older man talking to an underling, Acton could recognize the tone from anywhere. He pushed deeper into the corner, the view now blocked.
The footsteps stopped in front of the very closet he was hiding in.
“I trust you’ll have an enjoyable trip, Master.”
It must be one of The Circle with their apprentice!
“To be honest, my son, I look forward to it being over. It has been a trying week, and I feel this will be a trying weekend. But by this time next year it will be forgotten, and all those who currently pose a problem will be no more.”
“Speaking of, Master, what do you want done with the prisoners?”
There was a pause as Acton felt a rustling to his right, a hand reaching in the closet. He heard a coat lifted off the rack, the thick wooden hanger returned a moment later.
“Make sure the bodies are never found,” came the reply as a jacket was donned.
“Very well, Master, I shall take care of it personally.”
Acton wanted to jump from the closet, tear the two of them into pieces and stomp on their twitching carcasses. He didn’t care if he died, he just wanted to make sure that the “master” died a horrible, terrifying death like his beloved Laura. His foot inched forward, he could feel the adrenaline fueled courage pumping through his veins as he reached to push the jackets aside and fling himself at those responsible.
The sound of a door opening to the outside cut his offensive short as he caught a glimpse of the two men stepping out, the door closing behind them. He fell back against the wall, his heart still slamming, tears of anger and frustration and sadness welling at the opportunity lost.
An opportunity that would most likely have had him killed without anything beyond a few good blows being landed.
He was armed with chair spindles, in a house with an unknown number of hostiles, most likely with real weapons.
Hostiles who would soon discover he was missing once the apprentice went to fulfill his orders.
I need to get out of here!
Hotel Lido, Geneva, Switzerland
Reading sat on the edge of his bed and lifted a foot, massaging life back into it then doing the same with the other as Dawson poured himself a glass of water from what would probably be a five quid bottle of water from the minibar.
“Want one?” asked Dawson, holding up the bottle.
Reading shook his head.
“I’m on a budget.”
Dawson looked at the bottle then the glass.
“Umm, how much do you think this is?”
Reading shook his head.
“No bloody idea, but I’m sure it would be cheaper if it were airdropped in.”
Dawson looked at the rate card perched on top of the minibar and his eyebrows shot up.
“How much?” asked Reading.
“Enough for politi
cians to be fired by an ignorant public.”
Reading chuckled.
“Sixteen dollar orange juice?”
Dawson nodded. Reading was surprised the Sergeant Major was aware of the political scandal that had begun in London. Nobody outside of England realizes a glass of orange juice at a fine London hotel is actually ten quid.
Dawson held up his glass.
“Well, I might as well enjoy it.” He took a sip and made an exaggerated sound of enjoyment.
“Good?”
He smiled.
“Best damned water I’ve ever had,” said Dawson, rolling his eyes. He sat down in one of the two chairs in the room. “Now down to business. Did you make the transfer?”
Reading nodded, taking his suit jacket off and flinging it into the other chair.
“I assume it’s some sort of tracking device?”
Dawson nodded.
“We’ll be able to track him for about thirty-six hours, then we’re tracking his sewage.”
“Pleasant. What’s your plan?”
“Go in, get them out, hopefully clean with no casualties on either side.”
“Unlike Scotland Yard.”
Dawson pursed his lips.
“I think even you know we went to great lengths to not hurt anyone.”
Reading waved his hand, cutting off the conversation.
“What about Jim and Laura?”
“We assume they’ve been taken by the Rosicrucians. We snatched a load of intel last night that’s being reviewed now. No luck so far, just routine World Bank business, but we’re trying to find a pattern.”
“To hell with the Rosicrucians. I don’t give a damn about them. I want to get my friends back, then go home to my other friend who’s still in a coma, fighting for his life.”
“I understand that, but you’re wrong to ignore the Rosicrucians. If you pursue your friends, they just may take notice of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Many have died in the past few days at their hands, including friends of mine.”
Reading sighed, dropping his head and massaging his temples.
“Do we have any idea where they were taken?”
“We’re assuming San Marino. That’s where this Martin Lacroix guy lives. If they’re not there, then somebody there might know where they’ve been taken.”
Reading stood up and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.
“I guess I’m going to San Marino.”
Dawson rose, draining his water.
“Do you need anything?”
Reading tossed his phone to Dawson.
“Put your contact info in there in case I need to reach you. You have mine already?”
Dawson nodded as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Finished, he tossed the phone back. Reading caught it one handed and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Anything else?” asked Dawson.
“I’d ask for a weapon but I’d never get it on the plane.”
Unknown Location
Acton remained hidden in the closet, it too close to the front door and potential freedom to abandon to the vast unknown of the house. He heard doors opening and closing outside as an automobile was loaded with luggage and its passenger, then the sound of an engine as it pulled away. Moments later the door opened then closed, the apprentice walking by Acton’s position, the footsteps fading away.
Acton listened, but didn’t hear a door open. He was quite certain he would have heard the basement door being unlocked and opened from here, which meant he had some time before they would discover he was gone. He pushed the coats aside and peered out to find nobody. Taking a tentative step, he leaned forward, his head poking out into the open, and still he could see no one.
He extricated himself from the closet as quietly as possible, evening out the hangers to disguise his having been there, then stepped toward the door.
Footsteps echoed from somewhere.
He grabbed the door knob and twisted, pulling open the door and stepping outside, gently closing it behind him. He ducked to the side, away from the windows framing the large carved wooden door and pressed himself against the wall. Surveying his surroundings, he found himself looking upon a large front yard with a circular gravel driveway leading to a road several hundred yards distant. A statue of a robed figure sat in the center of the driveway near the house, surrounded by rose bushes, the bright red flowers in full bloom. He couldn’t make out the details as it faced away from him, but he had little doubt it represented Rosenkreuz himself.
Footsteps on the gravel had him jumping over the railing and hitting the ground, ducking. He shuffled away from the steps and hid behind several large bushes. A figure, robed in dark brown, his head hidden from sight, walked by, then climbed the steps and entered the house. Slowing his breathing, he looked out at the yard. It was immaculately maintained, a brilliant green stretching uninterrupted to the road below, the rolling hills dotted with farms, vineyards and large homes.
The style of homes reminded him more of Italy than Switzerland. It was definitely a possibility. He had no idea how long they had been unconscious, and Italy wasn’t that far a drive from Geneva, definitely less than ten hours if he remembered correctly. The sun was high in the sky, suggesting early afternoon.
A lone car drove by on the road below.
If he did escape, he’d have a hell of a time making any distance, especially since he had no clue where he was or which direction to head.
All he did know was that if he tried to cover that lawn, the likelihood of him not being seen was slim to none.
He skirted along the edge of the house, ducking past each window until he reached the corner. Peering around the corner he found it clear, as was the lawn, stretching to a nearby vineyard with rows of grapevines less than a hundred yards away. Reachable if no one were looking, and if he were spotted, he could at least hide for some time.
But would probably still be caught.
He needed a phone, or a guaranteed clear way out of here, but he knew time was at a premium. They would discover he was missing any minute now.
He looked at the house. There were no video cameras on this side. He had to admit he hadn’t thought to check the front. There were four windows on the ground floor, and four matching above. Lattice work covered most of the side, vines spreading out from the ground to the roof, a look Acton encountered often in his work, but never really liked. To him it looked unkempt, especially during the winter, giving a home a bleak, desolate look of abandonment.
He crawled to the first window and took a peek inside. It was a dining room, empty, with no phone or weapon in evidence. He moved to the next window and found the kitchen. Knives stored in a large wood block were prominently displayed on the counter, a phone on the wall, and a chef with his back to the window preparing lunch.
Acton dropped.
The third window revealed an informal dining area, probably for the help. It too was empty but he assumed not for long. If he were lucky, they would have lunch before killing him.
He was rarely lucky.
His heart raced, his chest tightening as he thought of the luckiest thing to happen to him.
Then he heard a woman’s cry above him.
And he’d recognize it anywhere.
There was a window open on the second floor, only several inches, and as he cocked an ear he heard nothing else.
Was I imagining it?
He continued to the fourth window and peered inside but found thick curtains blocking his view. Around the corner was a large patio, swimming pool and all the luxuries he would expect in a house of this size, clearly owned by one of The Circle, most likely Lacroix, richer than rich.
There was a shed about thirty feet away, on the same side of the house as the vineyard was. If he could make it there without being seen, he could use it to hide his escape.
He glanced back at the partially open window on the second floor, pausing for a moment, then shook his head.
Yo
u imagined it. She’s dead.
He sprinted for the shed.
Unknown Location
Professor Laura Palmer lay flat on the bed, her muscles aching from her ordeal. She still sobbed at the thought of her beloved James thinking she was dead. Her chair had been kicked over and a cloth with something pungent on it shoved over her mouth. She had been out cold within seconds, barely hearing the shot that had been fired. Since she hadn’t been wounded, she assumed it was a blank, or fired into the floor near her.
When she had awoken she was lying in this room, still gagged, still bound. But alone.
After a few minutes of self-pity, she realized her only hope was to escape and find James or find help. She had climbed out of bed and made quick work of the zip ties behind her back, her retired SAS man Lt. Colonel Cameron Leather having explained that most zip ties were rated to 180 pounds of force if not much lower, an amount easily generated by pulling the wrists apart and shoving your bum out while smacking the outstretched hands against the buttocks.
With her hands free, she had loosened the gag, leaving it around her neck, then used the broken zip tie to shim the one around her ankles. It had taken moments, but now she had to not only escape the room, but whatever building she was in, and then find help.
She peered out the window and saw a lawn that abutted a vineyard. There were vines with lattice work that she could easily climb down. She unlocked the window then began to push it open when she heard a key at the door. She darted for the bed, shoving the gag back in her mouth and bouncing onto the mattress. The door began to open as she crossed her ankles and shoved her hands behind her back.
A robed figure entered sending her heart into her throat. Her eyes darted to the open window, then quickly returned to the man now approaching. He tossed his hood back, a smile she could only reveal as wicked smeared across his face, the lust in his eyes obvious.
“My master says I am to kill you and make sure the body is never found. He is gone for three days and never told me when to do it, or what I could do in between.”
The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 18
