The Templar's Revenge (A James Acton Thriller, #19) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  He focused his eyes on the man holding the gun as Reading approached from behind.

  You need to give him cover. Talk!

  “You don’t have to do this. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “I thought you might.”

  Reading picked up a glass bottle from a case put out for recycling.

  “Where is it?”

  Acton frowned. “Well, I don’t know exactly where it is. I’d have to show you.”

  Reading was less than fifty paces away now. Laura sucked in a quick breath.

  She sees him. Don’t give him away!

  “Bullshit. No games, Professor, or she dies.”

  “I mean it. I don’t know this area. We pushed the crate through the water as it sank. I know where we came out on shore, and it’s only a couple of hundred feet from there. I can show you, and you’ll find it easily, but I have to see the beach.”

  Twenty paces.

  “You expect me to believe you were able to relocate the crate, while it sank, underwater?”

  Ten paces.

  “We had scuba gear.”

  Reading stepped on something and it snapped, something insignificant, a stray plastic bottle cap perhaps. It didn’t matter. The man spun toward the sound as Reading swung. The gun went off, a window shattering to their left as the bottle slammed into their abductor’s forehead, breaking into dozens of pieces. He dropped in a heap and Acton stepped forward, pressing his foot down hard on the man’s wrist as Laura rushed past him and grabbed the gun. Reading knelt down and checked for a pulse.

  “Dad!”

  Acton looked up to see Reading’s son rush toward them from the hotel.

  “Just stay there!” said Reading, holding up a hand. He searched the pockets, finding only a phone, a second gun confiscated from Laura earlier, and a money roll. Nothing that could identify their assailant. Reading rose, taking the gun from Laura, who appeared reluctant to give it up. “Any idea who he is?”

  Acton shook his head, gripping his side as a sharp pain jolted his body. “None, but he works for Pierre Ridefort.”

  “The son of the man you were supposed to meet.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, this guy’s a pro, and probably has friends. Let’s get the two of you to safety. I’ve got a car out front.”

  “I think they’ve got eyes on the hotel.”

  Reading frowned for a moment, then reached into his pocket. He tossed a set of keys to his son. “Bring the car around.”

  Spencer grinned then sprinted back toward the hotel. Reading glanced at his friends. “They don’t know who we are, so he’s safe.” His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out. He held it up so they could see the display.

  Milton, Greg.

  “Put it on speaker,” said Acton as they huddled closer. Reading swiped his thumb then tapped the speaker icon.

  “Greg, this is Hugh. I’ve got them.”

  Acton grinned at the phone. “Hey, buddy!”

  “Hi, Greg!” waved Laura.

  A sighed burst of static erupted from the phone. “Oh thank God! You’ve had us worried sick. Are you guys okay?”

  Acton shrugged. “I’ve got another heroic wound, but we’re okay.”

  “Are you safe? I mean, where are you?”

  Reading held the phone closer to his mouth. “We’re not secure yet. We’re waiting for our car, then will be leaving shortly.”

  “Okay, where will you be going?”

  “I’m not sure. Right now I just want to get out of town, then we’ll regroup.”

  “Well, I have a thought on that. I just talked to a Captain Durand of the French National Police. He’s at your chateau, investigating what’s going on. He’s urged me to have you turn yourselves in.”

  Laura exchanged a look with Acton then leaned in. “I have no problem with that, but I don’t think this town is safe. Our driver was taken out by a sniper, and he’s probably still out there. I think we’d be safer to get on a plane for home, then talk to the authorities from there.”

  Acton held out a hand, gripping Laura’s shoulder as an idea took hold. “Wait a minute. You said he’s at the chateau?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “That’s maybe ten minutes from here. And with the police already there, I’d say it’s probably the safest place to be right now.”

  Reading grunted. “Anything’s better than this alleyway.” He pointed to the far end, Spencer nudging the nose of the car in, waving. “Let’s get our arses out of here and discuss it in the car.”

  Schmidt kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady as he came to, the phone conversation occurring nearby too important to risk ending. Besides, he was outnumbered three to one, and they had all the guns. When he was in the military, he never had any intention of dying for his country, and he certainly had no intention of dying for his client. But these idiots were giving him everything he needed.

  A destination.

  The chateau. He had to admit, it was probably the best place they could go right now. It had high walls, was defensible from a ground assault, and if he weren’t listening to their decision-making process right now, he’d never have guessed to search for them there.

  He remained lying in the filth as they passed him, the wounded Acton slowing them down. As their footfalls faded, he risked opening his eyes slightly, and got a good look at the car they climbed in, a mid-sized green Peugeot. The car pulled back onto the road, several horns blaring at them, then disappeared.

  Schmidt rolled to his feet and activated his comm. “All units report to rendezvous point Charlie. I want both choppers ready in ten minutes. Prepare for another aerial assault. Out.”

  Reading slammed his door shut. “This is my son, Spencer. We’ll handle the introductions on the way. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Spencer tossed a wave to the back seat as he pulled into traffic. “Hey, Professors, nice to meet you.”

  Laura reached forward and squeezed Spencer’s shoulder. “Nice to finally meet you too, Spencer.”

  “Where are we headed?” asked the boy, tossing a grin at them over his shoulder.

  Reading looked back from the passenger seat, Acton gripping his side. “Are you okay?”

  Acton nodded unconvincingly. “I will be. Let’s just get to that damned castle. They can call me an ambulance there.”

  Reading frowned. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea of going to the chateau, but it did make sense. There would be a heavy police presence, and in France, that meant guns. There was no pussyfooting around with the police here. They were all armed, quite often to the teeth. And Acton was right. Medical personnel would already be there, or could be summoned quickly.

  Acton pulled away his hand, blood visible. “I think I tore my stitches.”

  Laura leaned over him to look at the bandage. “I think you’re right.” She turned toward Reading. “Let’s get to the chateau, now.”

  Reading nodded then his eyes narrowed. “How the hell do we get there?”

  Laura leaned forward and pointed out the front windshield at a hilltop to the northeast, a castle sitting in plain sight. “Just aim at that.”

  Spencer grinned. “No problem. I’ll have us there in no time.”

  62

  Ridefort Residence

  Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Captain Durand stared at the impressive array of weapons one of his officers had discovered. Dozens upon dozens of machine guns, submachine guns, handguns, grenades, flash-bangs, knives and more, along with body armor, night vision goggles, and every other piece of equipment a modern army required. He shuddered to think what could happen if a cache like this fell into the hands of Islamic terrorists.

  He had little doubt these men weren’t crazed zealots out to destroy Western civilization, yet that didn’t justify them possessing these illegal weapons. They had obviously been acquired on the black market, and from what they were discovering, they had an apparent need for them.

  A cr
ypt had been uncovered earlier with half a dozen bodies, including one with a head shot, dressed as a chauffeur. Something had happened here last night, something big, and the residents of this medieval maze of secret chambers and twisting corridors, had done a remarkable job of covering it up.

  If they had just left the horses in their stalls.

  If it weren’t for that one mistake, that one step too far, he never would have thought to look at the floor.

  “Captain, those two professors just showed up, along with an Interpol agent.”

  Durand’s eyes narrowed. “Interpol?”

  What the hell are they doing here?

  “I’ll be up in a minute.” He stared at a recently discovered lockbox cut open earlier, dozens of fake passports and IDs inside. Whoever lived here had the ability to disappear without a trace, and no matter what they found here over the coming days, it was unlikely any of them would be brought to justice.

  Earlier, he had been willing to forgive some of their transgressions, self-defense providing some excuse. But these fake IDs changed everything. Only criminals had fake IDs. Though the weapons cache was illegal, it at least could be explained away as necessary for self-defense—and whatever had happened here certainly suggested they had the need. But the IDs were too much. It redefined who they were.

  Yet despite his anger, his rage at their escape, he’d exchange their capture for answers.

  Real answers.

  What is this all about?

  He inhaled deeply, then headed for the courtyard, hoping he might be about to finally get some.

  Acton lay on a stretcher, two medical personnel tending to his wound, both again insisting he go to a hospital, and again he refused. “Not until I know everyone is safe.”

  “You’ll be safe at the hospital, I promise you.”

  Acton shook his head. “No, I won’t. These are pros. You don’t think they’re watching the hospitals? Right now they could have a sniper in position, ready to take any of us out.”

  Both of them paused their work, glancing about.

  “I doubt that, Jim,” said Reading as he stepped over. “We’re too high, and so are the walls.” He raised a finger, cutting off one of the paramedics. “But, leave these walls, and you’ll be exposed.”

  The paramedic frowned, checking Acton’s vitals once again as the other finished hooking up an IV.

  “I’m Captain Durand, in charge of the investigation. And you are?”

  Acton turned his head to see a new arrival, prim and proper as good a description as any to describe the man.

  “Agent Hugh Reading, Interpol.” Reading stepped forward and extended a hand. “I’m here in an unofficial capacity. These are friends of mine. I understand you’re interested in talking to them. Professor James Acton”—Acton raised a hand in a half wave—“and Professor Laura Palmer.” Laura leaned forward and shook Durand’s hand.

  “Well, professors, do you care to explain to me what happened here last night?”

  Acton nodded toward Laura, too tired to bother. He just wanted to recover the True Cross and get out of Dodge. And into his own bed back home.

  “Well, Captain, we were invited here by Jacques Ridefort, under the pretense that he was going to provide us with information proving who the four Templar Knights were buried under the Vatican.”

  “That business with the Koran and the Muslims a few years ago?”

  “Exactly. On our way here from the airport, we were attacked. Our driver was killed, and we barely escaped with our lives, saved by the men in this very chateau. We then met our host and were shown a room with a relic he claimed had been protected by his family for some time, when they fell under attack. He claimed it was his son. Pierre, I believe he said his name was—”

  “Yes, Pierre. I’m familiar with him. A bit of a troublemaker, but harmless.”

  “Well, last night he graduated from troublemaker to murderer.”

  Durand frowned. “I must admit I have a hard time believing that. We had reports of helicopters, automatic weapons fire, explosions. Where would Pierre Ridefort get access to such things?”

  Laura shrugged. “Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy weapons. We’ve been pursued by several men all day, and I’m guessing they’re not locals. I would assume he hired outside help.”

  Reading grunted. “Mercenaries.”

  Durand sighed. “Wonderful. That’s all we need. Men with no morals and machine guns, during tourist season.” He glanced at Acton, then back at Laura. “So, why do they want you two?”

  “They think we have something they want.”

  “And what is that?”

  The thunder of chopper blades suddenly filled the courtyard and gunfire erupted. The police scattered and Reading grabbed his son, shielding him as best he could. Durand ran for the side of the ambulance as Acton struggled to get off the buffet tray he was lying on. Laura shoved him back down and pushed the gurney toward the entrance of the chateau where they had met Jacques Ridefort the night before.

  Someone cried out and Acton spun his head to see an officer drop, writhing in agony. Spencer ran toward him and grabbed him, hauling him behind a police vehicle before scrambling back to retrieve the man’s weapon. A second chopper appeared over the opposite wall, and Spencer sprinted after his father. Acton heard the crackle of service weapons returning fire, but it was disorganized and ineffective, as two sets of heavy machine guns rained lead on the courtyard.

  Laura yelped, jerking the gurney to a halt as the cobblestone was torn apart just in front of them. Acton felt a surge, and tilted his head back to see Reading shoving the gurney toward the doors, Spencer grabbing Laura and shielding her as best he could.

  He’s his father’s son, all right.

  As they cleared the doors, he caught a glimpse of Durand, on his radio, crouched behind the ambulance as bullets tore it apart.

  “We need backup, now!” shouted Durand into his radio. “And we need air support. Military air support. We have two choppers attacking our position!”

  The gunfire let up for a moment, at least from one of the choppers, and he took the opportunity to peek out from behind the shredded ambulance. Men were rappelling down, and once on the ground, they didn’t stand a chance, not with their weapons.

  A thought dawned on him.

  He took one glance at the other chopper, still firing, as it banked for another pass. “Get to the weapons cache!” he shouted as he sprinted toward the gaping hole of the secret chamber. Gunfire tore at the ground and he dove, sliding on the hay-strewn floor, gasping as he fell into the pit, slamming hard into the roof of the Maybach then falling unceremoniously onto the floor.

  He lay for a moment, groaning in agony, then shoved himself to his feet as two more officers dove into the hole, one crying out, something snapping with the impact. Durand ignored him, instead sprinting down the corridor toward the illegal weapons that might just save their lives.

  He entered the room, soon followed by several more of his men, and geared up. He loaded an FN P90 and flicked off the safety, then turned to the others who had made it.

  “Kill anything that has a gun and isn’t in uniform.”

  Mario Giasson rolled down the window of their diplomatic vehicle and poked his head outside. “What in the name of God is that?” He pointed, the others in the security detail leaning over to see what had caught his attention. To their left, atop a hill with the chateau the Actons had apparently had their altercation in last night, two helicopters were circling the ramparts, muzzle flashes evident even from this distance, the echoes of gunfire reaching his ears.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Reading’s number. The phone went directly to voicemail. He cursed as he stared at the battle raging only a few miles away. He knew the professors too well to know they weren’t mixed up in this. His reports had indicated that the police were now in control of the chateau, which meant it was fellow officers that were under attack by what appeared to be overwhelming forces.

  They
had to help.

  It was a matter of duty, of honor.

  And it was the right thing to do.

  “We need to get in there, now!”

  The driver looked back at him in his rearview mirror. “Are you kidding? We’re barely armed, and this is a diplomatic mission.”

  Giasson growled in frustration, the driver correct. This was technically none of their business, yet he was also certain it had everything to do with the business at hand.

  And he was powerless to stop it.

  They couldn’t intervene, and even if they could, what could they possibly do? His security detail had a few handguns with a handful of magazines, and if they were to fire them in anything other than self-defense, it could cause an international incident. And if that castle atop the hill was under attack by two armed helicopters, they wouldn’t last a minute in that fight.

  He slammed his fist against the headrest in front of him, then tried the new number he had for the Actons, receiving an offline message. He punched the headrest again. “Why is everyone’s cellphone turned off when we’re in the middle of a crisis!”

  Reading covered their escape, turning to watch as half a dozen hostiles hit the ground at the far end of the courtyard, spraying a steady stream of lead as they descended. The second chopper continued to provide cover, most of the remaining police hiding behind columns, or simply cowering behind the handful of police vehicles strewn about the area. He noticed several running toward what appeared to be stables, the ass end of a horse visible. One was mowed down, two others oddly disappearing from sight.

  He took aim at the black-clad group systematically making their way through the courtyard, but thought better of it. They had two guns, and only the bullets in them.

  And it would draw attention to their position.

  He stepped back into the shadows, closing the door, Spencer flipping a large, heavy drawbar in place, something left over from medieval times.

  Reading frowned. “I doubt that’s going to hold them for long.”

  “Come on! Hurry!”

  Reading turned to see Laura pushing the gurney down a long hallway, dimly lit with ornate sconces at regular intervals, dozens of suits of armor visible. He jogged after her, Spencer following. “Where are you going?”