The woman smiled at him.
Niner flashed her one in return.
“Would you like Heinrich to put your luggage in your vehicle?” she asked, pointing to the old man.
Mickey shook his head.
“No, I think we can manage. Thank you very much.”
Niner walked over to the two bags and stood beside them. Mickey picked up his own bag while Niner stared at his, hands on his hips. Mickey shook his head and picked up the second bag as Niner skipped behind him, wiggling his fingers at the lady behind the counter in a fabulous goodbye.
Moments later they were in the SUV, the engine running, a feeble heat pushing through the vents as the cooled engine slowly warmed up. Niner pointed at a set of landing lights in the distance.
“That must be Lacroix.”
Mickey nodded toward a convoy of three black sedans that had just arrived.
“I’m guessing those are for him.”
Niner nodded.
“It’s good to be the king.”
On route to Barcelona, Spain
One of the many things Acton loved about Europe was the size. From Barcelona to San Marino, the Alsace in France to Switzerland, it all fit in the size of Texas, with heavy populations throughout, which meant plenty of fast, regular flights.
As soon as his good friend Greg had found the photo, he was able to use it to track down where and when the auction had been held, then the Delta guys had been able to find the purchaser located in Barcelona.
After a brief debate, Reading the only dissenting opinion, they were on a flight for Barcelona, hopefully ahead of their opponents, but most likely not. The Order would have operatives scattered throughout the world. Most likely they had already dispatched a team, and perhaps even had the item in their possession. And if they did, any hope of stopping the Rosicrucians might be lost.
Acton wasn’t one to believe in magic or special powers, but he was one to believe in science and the fact some knowledge was lost over time. A prime example being Damascus steel. An advanced form of sword making employed for centuries, now lost, no one knowing how the swords were made, or what made them of such strength, the gun having replaced the need.
How much other knowledge had been lost to history? How many claims had been made over the years of rediscovered technology, rediscovered methods or medicines? As an archeologist he could think of dozens off the top of his head. But a magic cube? That he doubted just as he doubted the power the Triarii claimed the crystal skulls possessed.
To him the Catalyst, as The Order called it, provided a golden opportunity. To him it was bait, pure and simple. If they could possess it, then use it against The Order, they just might be able to stop them from whatever it was they were trying to accomplish.
They just had to get there first.
The seatbelt indicator chimed and a flight attendant who spoke an impressive number of languages began to announce their descent into Barcelona. Acton prepared himself as Laura and Reading continued to sleep. How either of them could was beyond him.
He decided to let them rest for an extra few minutes, now wishing he had been able to relax enough to do the same.
Looking at Laura, her head lolled to the side, facing him, he felt an overwhelming rush of emotions as he recalled how he felt when her death had been faked, at how close she had come to being raped repeatedly then murdered, and how he had left her behind, convinced she was dead, despite his hearing her cry out.
He still felt ashamed.
He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes dry. As he stuffed it back in his pocket he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to look at Laura who had a concerned expression on her face.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded.
“Sorry, just remembering.”
She sat up and took his arm in both hands, squeezing as she leaned over and gave him a comforting kiss.
“It’s over. Forget about it.”
He nodded, placing his forehead against hers.
“It would be over if it weren’t for you two,” muttered Reading, apparently not as asleep as Acton had presumed. “If it weren’t for you two, I’d be in London, relaxing in front of the telly, watching Foyle’s War or some other fine example of British television, while I devoured a bag of crisps. But no! Here I am on some foolhardy journey to Spain, chasing down a magic box, so you two don’t get yourselves killed.”
Laura reached over and squeezed their friend’s arm.
“And we appreciate it very much, don’t we James.”
“Absolutely!” he said, grinning. “We’d appreciate it even more if he stopped bitching about it!”
Reading glared at him and Acton laughed, reaching over Laura and giving the man a gentle punch in the shoulder as their plane touched down.
“Into the thick of it again,” muttered Reading as the plane turned onto the taxiway.
Acton kept the smile on his face as he peered out the window, but deep down, he couldn’t help but wonder if Reading were right, and that they shouldn’t be here. They had escaped the Rosicrucians once almost through blind luck. With their precious Catalyst retrieved, they might very well have forgotten about them, relegating them to history as they looked to the future.
But if they interfered?
They’ll kill us for sure.
Sarrià, Barcelona, Spain
Carlos Mendoza eyeballed the house from the passenger seat, double-checking the brass numbers on the gate against the address they had been sent. It matched. His heart jumped in excitement. The honor he and his partner Juan Delgado had been bestowed was incredible. It would cement their names in the annals of The Order for eternity, and might even allow them to move up within the organization, perhaps enough to be noticed by a Master looking for an apprentice.
Becoming an apprentice was all he had ever thought of when he had found out the true organizational structure of The Order. He was a medical doctor with a thriving practice, as was Delgado. They had cofounded their clinic six years ago almost immediately after medical school, their aim to help the poor. The recession had hit Spain particularly hard, the country’s foolish dalliance with green energy causing businesses to flee the high energy prices, taking their precious jobs with them.
It had nearly bankrupted the country, and now with youth unemployment approaching fifty percent, doctors willing to devote some of their time for free to those without medical care were in high demand. They profited while those around them suffered.
It was a conversation between them and a former medical school friend that led them into The Order after several years of vetting, vetting they hadn’t even known was occurring, their opinions being tested, their beliefs challenged.
But eventually The Order’s existence had been revealed, and when he heard about what they could offer, he jumped at it. It wasn’t until recently he had caught wind of their secret agenda, and even that didn’t really bother him as he saw the misery day in and day out at his clinic.
Population reduction executed quickly and in a controlled manner.
Leaving the planet to return to the paradise it once was.
It was a fantastic idea, if you were on the right side of the equation, and being a member of The Order guaranteed that.
Especially after today.
Delgado pressed the buzzer at the front gate. A moment later it was answered.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“Police, we need to ask the homeowner some questions.”
“Come right up,” said the voice, a buzzer sounding as the gates slowly opened.
Delgado pulled through and up the winding, treed drive to the massive house. Mendoza looked up at it in awe.
“I really hope we don’t have to search it.”
They had been sent a picture of what they were looking for. When they had been fully initiated into The Order they had been taught the history and featured prominently was the Catalyst. Legend had it that the Founder, Rosenkreuz himself, had stolen it from h
eathens in the Middle East, but was never able to unlock its powers, despite having seen them demonstrated. It was on his journey back to get the writings on the cube translated that it had been lost to the Rhine River in Germany, half a millennia ago. The Order had hunted for centuries for it, and the hunt continued to this day, unabated, but with little hope that it could be found.
And now today, out of the blue, Mendoza received the call, the excited call, that it had been found, and the search, with no leads in over five hundred years, was now only ten years behind, and perhaps today, if they were fortunate, they would possess what was lost to them due to revenge by an apprentice over his master’s killing of a girl.
Mendoza had to admit the bachelor rule was trying at times. It meant dating, not relationships, and if he liked someone, he’d have to cut it off before true feelings developed. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, but after going out with someone, someone he could see spending time with, and the doubts began to creep in, he’d review the latest research on The Order’s secure website, and realize it all was worth it.
Especially after the plan was executed.
And if he and Delgado retrieved the fabled Catalyst today, they stood good chances of being leaders in the new world order that would prevail. But they had to retrieve the item, with their instructions followed to the letter. The Catalyst had been bought as part of a lot at an auction in France almost a decade ago, its importance unknown to the purchaser. To Mendoza it looked like an ornate cube, and if it weren’t for knowing it was the Catalyst, he too would probably have paid it no more mind than any other box. He might have even tossed it in the trash.
He shuddered at the thought.
What if they did do just that? Then it could very well be lost forever.
Then again, knowing The Order, they’d probably track the garbage truck to the dump, purchase the dump, then mine it until they found what they were looking for.
For The Order would stop at nothing to retrieve the Catalyst, and no one, including the current owners, were exempt, their death warrants already issued, regardless of whether or not they still possessed the item.
It was strange how the idea of letting billions die affected him less than the thought of killing a handful of innocent people he was about to meet.
Treat them like patients. Don’t form any attachments. It’s just a job.
Delgado stopped in front of the large front doors where a woman was standing, a young boy, perhaps eight, beside her, his head cocked to the side as he took in the sight of the new arrivals.
“May I help you?” asked the woman, her expression curious but in no way fearful.
Mendoza smiled, holding up his fake Cuerpo Nacional de Policía ID.
“CNP, Ma’am. Are you Señora Ortega?”
She nodded.
“What is this about?”
Her expression had definitely changed, more concerned now but still no fear. For what had she to fear from them? They were the police, so he was certain she was perfectly content helping them. Any concern might be that they were here about a loved one being hurt.
Mendoza held out the photograph, cropped, of the item they had been instructed to retrieve.
“We’re looking for this item,” he said. “It was purchased by your husband almost ten years ago at an estate auction in France.”
“He bought this?”
Mendoza nodded, already fearing they might be wasting their time.
“You haven’t seen it?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“It was part of a lot. There would have been perhaps another dozen pieces with it.”
She shrugged.
“Antiques were my husband’s interest, not mine. After he died this household’s interest died with him.”
“So you don’t recognize the item.”
“I’m sorry, no.”
The boy tugged on her shirt and she bent down. He whispered in his mother’s ear, then she stood upright with a smile on her face.
“Lalo says he has seen what you are looking for,” she said, tousling the boy’s hair as he buried his shy face in her leg. “Follow me, I’ll show you where.”
Mendoza looked at Delgado and could sense the struggle Delgado was undergoing. It was the same one he was battling. The battle to hide their elation. Could they about to be the first in The Order to see the Catalyst after all these years? Could their names about to be remembered forever in the history of The Order? Could the Catalyst have the rumored powers, be the source of the Lazarus myths, eternal life through some ancient science forgotten to man?
His control cracked as he followed the woman and her son inside, a smile breaking out. The boy looked over his shoulder at Mendoza and his eyebrows narrowed. Mendoza immediately wiped the smile off his face, instead turning his head away to look around the beautiful home filled with antiques and artifacts from around the world, an eclectic collection whose very diversity seemed to result in each piece fitting in with every other piece.
It was breathtaking.
They descended a set of stairs into the basement, the air a welcoming cool, the boy now eager to get to their destination, running ahead to a door at the end of a short hall. He opened the door and went inside, holding it open for them. Mendoza followed the mother inside, Delgado behind him, as the boy rounded a large, dusty desk, jumping in the high back leather chair that sat behind it, a grin on his face.
“This was his father’s office,” said the mother. “I haven’t been in here since he died. I apologize for the mess.”
“No need to apologize, ma’am,” said Mendoza. “So, little man, where is it?”
The boy pointed behind them and as Mendoza turned a smile spread across his face. On top of a bookshelf filled with tomes perhaps as ancient as the relic they sought sat the Catalyst, one of five pieces spread across the top, the dust thick, cobwebs stretching from it to the items around it.
Mendoza looked at Delgado whose smile was even bigger than his. Mendoza turned to the mother as he reached behind his back.
“Thank you so much, Señora Ortega, you have no idea how important a day this is, and how your names shall be remembered throughout history for the small part you played, and the sacrifice you made.”
“Sacrifice?”
His hand whipped from behind his back, his Beretta gripped tightly, the safety flicked off. Her eyes bulged as she froze momentarily then dove toward her son, screaming in horror as she realized what was about to happen. Mendoza emptied his clip at the diving form, Delgado doing the same.
It was over in seconds.
Her bloody, twitching body landed on the desk, her blood mixing with the dust as the boy jumped on the body, trying to cover her, trying to protect his mother from a resumption of the assault he had just witnessed. Mendoza stepped over to the boy, looking him the eye as he raised his gun to the youngster's forehead.
“I truly am sorry for this.”
Entering the Vosges Mountains, Alsace Region, France
“These roads are starting to get bad,” commented Mickey as he pushed forward through the snow, the convoy they were following mere taillights in the distance. According to the GPS there were no roads for their targets to take, so Mickey wasn’t worried about losing them, but he did press a little harder on the accelerator each time they rounded a bend in the winding pass through the mountains.
It was becoming quite evident this meeting Lacroix was attending was somewhere very exclusive, very secluded. The towns ahead were few and far between according to their GPS, and with the roads getting worse, Mickey was beginning to wonder if the rest of the team would be able to make it through.
The taillights rounded another bend ahead and disappeared. Mickey gave their SUV a little more gas, but not much as the traction control kicked in, warning him his attempts to overcome physics weren’t appreciated.
Niner was uncharacteristically quiet as they proceeded, even he apparently sensing the need for Mickey to concentrate. He
was jacked into the comms as was Mickey in case any new info was to be broadcast. The last bit was the successful departure of Professor Palmer’s plane. Assuming the rest could get out of Geneva successfully, then they should be here in three, maybe four hours.
By then hopefully they’d have some intel of their own to share.
He was a little worried for the professors and that Interpol agent. He understood why they were doing what they were doing, but they weren’t trained for this, although he did have to admit they were a hell of a lot better trained than pretty much any civilian he had encountered. He just felt this mission they had taken upon themselves should wait until these Rosicrucians were taken care of.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“Huh?” Mickey glanced over at Niner who still had his eyes on the road ahead. “Sorry, just thinking of the professors. I think they should be waiting. They don’t know what they could be getting themselves into.”
Niner nodded. “True, but after what they’ve been through, I think a little leeway might be in order.”
“Leeway usually gets people hurt, or worse.”
“True, but retrieving that artifact could be critical, and we aren’t exactly swimming in resources here. Three extra sets of hands shouldn’t go to waste.”
Mickey frowned at Niner’s comment as he regained sight of the convoy.
“Agreed. I just hope they’re not walking into something big.”
Niner shifted in his seat.
“Do you really think it would still be there after all these years?”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s there. What matters is if the Rosicrucians think it’s there. They have the photograph, so they know it’s out there. There’s no way in hell they aren’t tracking it down and sending a team.”
Niner nodded, biting his lip.
“True.” He pointed ahead as brake lights and signal lights flashed through the rapidly encroaching darkness. “Something’s up.”
“Anything on the GPS?”
“No roads indicated. Maybe that’s their destination?”
Mickey continued forward and soon they passed a large gate, fresh tire tracks slicing through the several inches of snow, the taillights visible farther up a long laneway, at the top of which stood what appeared to be a large castle, older than anything back home probably by hundreds of years. Its façade, bathed in electric lighting, indicated modern renovations. Mickey kept on moving, barely slowing down as Niner held his phone up, holding the button to take a rapid series of pictures at high resolution.
The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 22
