The Circle of Eight (35 page)

“Check the honored guests. See how many we’ve got, and
if any are alive. They might know where the eighth guy is.”

They quickly cleared the room, six brown robes, all
dead, along with several dozen dead guards. It seemed nobody who had entered
the room had survived, except for one man.

“Are any of them Lacroix?” he asked.

The round of negatives and shaking heads had him
cursing.

“Of all the ones to escape!”

He pointed toward the rear of the room.

“Let’s get our men, then find Lacroix.”

Dawson gritted his teeth, advancing with his team,
fuming.

There’s no way in hell Lacroix escapes tonight.

Niner hobbled forward, Mickey carrying much of his weight, when the
gunfire above stopped. They paused to rest and listen, both looking up the
stairwell they had begun to climb.

“Who won?” winced Niner.

“Those were MP5’s firing at the end, not the Uzi’s these
guys are packing,” replied Mickey. Niner had to admit the pain in his thigh was
preventing him from being as aware as he should be in their surroundings.

Footsteps rapidly descending the stairs had them both
scrambling back. Mickey pushed Niner into a dark corner, covering him with his
body as a robed figure burst past them.

“Hands up!” ordered Mickey, stepping from the shadows.

The man came to an abrupt halt, his hands shooting up
over his head.

“Turn around.”

The man slowly turned and Niner smiled when he saw who
it was.

“Dr. Lacroix! You have no idea how happy we are to see
you.”

His pain momentarily forgotten, he hobbled out into the
dim light as Mickey advanced, weapon raised.

“There’s a lot of people who are looking very forward to
meeting you,” said Mickey as he quickly patted down the man, relieving him only
of a cellphone.

More footsteps could be heard from above and Mickey
kicked Lacroix in the nuggets, putting him on the floor as Niner took up
position on one side of the stairs, Mickey the other, his weapon raised.

Niner couldn’t see who was coming, but Mickey tensed up
as the steps suddenly seemed on top of them, the winding stone stairs hiding
everything to the last second.

“Flash!” yelled Mickey, stepping back.

“Thunder!” came the reply and Niner grinned as Mickey
lowered his weapon. Four of their comrades burst into the hallway, relief
clearly written on their faces at the recovery of their friends. Within seconds
Jagger had Niner on the ground, taking care of his thigh wound.

“I see you found somebody in your travels,” said Dawson,
standing over Lacroix, his weapon trained on the man’s chest. Dawson placed a
boot on the man’s right hand and pressed down, the man crying out in pain.

“Ready to talk?”

Lacroix shook his head vehemently.

“Never.”

Bodies bounced off the large bumper and the crowd slowly parted as
the momentum the SUV had built up racing down the hill proved to be too much.
What Acton couldn’t understand was the motivation of these people. How deep did
the blind devotion to The Order have to extend for ordinary people to be
willing to sacrifice themselves to capture or kill strangers? If he didn’t know
better, he’d think they were drugged, but he
did
know better, their
reaction times too swift. What it seemed to him was that these people were
willing to sacrifice themselves perhaps not to serve The Order, but rather to
escape it.

The crowd suddenly parted at the bottom of the hill and
Acton’s eyebrows shot open as the well at the center of the square was suddenly
revealed in front of them. He hammered on the brakes, the entire vehicle
shuddering as the ABS kicked in and he cranked the wheel to the right. The left
wheels skidded into the base of the fountain and the vehicle tipped slightly to
the left, then stabilized.

Instantly they were surrounded, hammers, axes, clubs,
swinging at the vehicle, the windows smashed out within moments as hands
reached inside, grabbing at them, tearing at their clothes and hair. Several
shots fired from the backseat caused a momentary pause and Acton tore himself
away, pushing again on the gas, grabbing his weapon as he fired blind out his
window when suddenly a large hay cart was pushed in front of them.

He hammered on the brakes, but it was too late. They hit
the side of the cart, pushing it between the very buildings lining the street
they needed to clear.

They were immediately surrounded by villagers, this time
with guns pointing directly at all three of them.

Acton raised his hands, as did Laura. He looked at her
through the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry.”

Lacroix stood against the stone wall, doubled over in pain as yet
another blow buried itself into his stomach. He had refused to answer any
questions so far, and had no intention of changing that position, no matter
what these men did to him. Even if they killed him, he didn’t care. His
position in history was clear.
He
had found the Catalyst.
His
team
had retrieved it, and even if he were dead, his name would go down in history.

He would never be forgotten.

“Where’s the eighth member?” asked the man he recognized
as Command Sergeant Major Dawson, leader of this group.

“I will never tell. I
can
never tell. No one
knows where the eighth member goes when we are at our retreat. If we knew, it
would defeat the purpose of them not being here.”

Another blow landed and he doubled over again, the taste
of blood now in his mouth.

“Do what you want with me, it doesn’t matter. There is
no way you can stop us, we have the Catalyst now. No matter what you do now, we
are unstoppable.”

Dawson grabbed him by the chin, holding him up so he
could look him in the eye.

“I have some bad news for you.”

Lacroix looked at him, the smile on his opponent’s face
a little too satisfied for his liking.
What possible news could have this
man so happy, so self-satisfied?

“There is nothing you could tell me that could possibly
matter to me. I know I am to die, and I have accepted my fate. My name will go
down in history as one of the greatest masters to ever serve The Order. The
Order has always been, The Order
will
always be. It is your destiny,
should you survive, to praise us and our brilliance when we release our
knowledge to the world. It is the betterment of mankind that drives us, and
there is nothing you or your pathetic team can do to stop us.”

“You don’t have the Catalyst.”

Lacroix froze, a surge of fear and doubt propping him
up.

“What? I don’t believe you.”

“Your two operatives were intercepted outside of
Barcelona. We killed them. Your precious Catalyst is gone. You will never see
it. Your Order will never see it. It is once again lost to history, never to be
found by your kind.”

The words were spat out, each sentence jabbing at him as
his confidence waned, as his future faded, and as his name, moments ago to be
engraved into the permanent history of The Order and the world, now turning to
mere dust, blown away by the sands of time.

He was to be forgotten to history, his name a whisper of
embarrassment, his example used as a screening criteria to make sure others
like him never joined The Circle.

Tears welled in his eyes, then the sense of satisfaction
he could see in his opponent’s backstopped his will, a rage slowly building.

“We survived half a millennia without it, we will
continue on,” he sneered. “There is nothing you can do to stop us.”

“What are your plans? What is it you are trying to
accomplish?”

“I will never tell. I don’t care what you do to me. You
can’t stop it, it’s too late.” Lacroix stood as erect as his sore body would
allow him. He squared his shoulders and looked at the faces surrounding him,
finally settling on his nemesis, Dawson. “You might as well kill me.”

Dawson looked directly in his eyes then raised his
weapon, pushing it against Lacroix’s forehead.

“Very well.”

Lacroix never heard the shot.

“Ready the vehicle, we’re on our way out, one wounded, over.”

Dawson’s status caused the hair on Spock’s arms to stand
up as he exchanged glances with Wings, both concerned over the casualty report.
He fired up the vehicle and pulled around to the front of the castle as the
doors burst open and the rest of the team rushed out and down the steps, Mickey
and Jimmy carrying Niner by the shoulders. Wings jumped into the back, pushing open
doors as everyone piled into the rows of seats.

Gunfire rattled in the darkness and Dawson, now in the
passenger seat, motioned for Spock to move.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before they discover our
surprise!”

Spock floored it and spun around the crushed fountain
and down the winding drive toward the gates at the bottom as more gunfire
erupted from behind them, Spock watching in the rearview mirror as more guards
poured out the entrance.

“Everyone get on the passenger side!” he yelled as he hammered
on the brakes, the slippery drive providing little traction as they slid through
the metal gates, the ABS vibrating to no avail as the team jumped to the right,
grabbing onto anything they could to redistribute the weight. The two sets of
wrought iron gates burst apart in the center, the mass of metal flung to the
sides as Spock fishtailed through and out onto the road at far too high a
speed. He was already cranking the wheel to the right before he even hit the
gates, jamming the brakes into the floor as he forced the vehicle into a
sideway skid toward the precipice on the other side.

The SUV was now perpendicular, aimed up the road toward
the village, still sliding toward the guardrail as it suddenly regained
traction and began to climb, gravity killing much of its speed as his tires
spun up the hill, the wheel still cranked to the right as he continued to try
and turn the skid so the rear end would hit the guardrail as gently as possible.

“This isn’t going to work!”

The rear quarter smacked the guardrail, too hard. There
was a jerk from the rear end then the truck slipped, and a series of “whoahs!”
erupted from the back as everyone realized what was happening. “Everyone out!”
yelled Spock as he continued to apply gas, the vehicle no longer moving
forward, it instead starting to slip backward, its rear driver side tire over
the edge.

Dawson jumped out the passenger side as the rear doors
opened, the men climbing out as quickly as they could, Niner still needing to
be helped. A crunching sound had them all spinning as the guardrail gave way.
Spock felt his other front tire slip over the edge, the vehicle beginning to
tip. He turned to Dawson, their eyes meeting, and for the first time that he
could remember, he was certain he was going to die.

“Tell my family—”

Dawson leapt forward, his left hand extended, and Spock
reached for it on instinct alone, not even registering what was happening. He
felt the iron grip of his friend wrap around his wrist as the SUV tipped some
more, dragging Dawson farther into the vehicle, his feet now off the ground.
Spock could feel Dawson tugging on his arm and Spock reached over with his left
hand and grabbed hold of the dash, twisting himself so his feet were on his
door, now at a 45 degree angle. He could hear shouting from the other side,
then Dawson suddenly jerking as someone pulled on his legs.

The SUV slipped some more, then tipped over the edge,
Spock staring at Dawson.

“Let me go or we both die!” he yelled, not wanting to be
responsible for his friend’s death. He let go of Dawson’s wrist. “Please BD!”

Dawson’s face was red, veins popping, as he reached
forward with his other hand and grabbed hold of Spock’s free hand.

“No more die!” he grunted, and Spock knew there was no
reasoning with him. He wrapped his fingers around Dawson’s wrist again as the
SUV slipped away. The passenger side door dragged along their bodies, tearing
at Spock’s left arm and breaking the grip he had. He felt his body continue to
fall, Dawson right with him, then suddenly jerk to a halt. He looked up,
dangling by one hand to see Dawson holding onto him, Wings hanging onto
Dawson’s belt, completely over the cliff edge, and two pairs of hands holding
his legs, their saviors out of sight.

“Grab my hand!” yelled Dawson.

Spock flung his left side up, Dawson catching the hand,
and they both crawled their fingers to each other’s wrists and grabbed on.

“Let’s go!” yelled Jagger from out of sight. “Pull
together now!” There was a tug, and they all moved up several inches. Another
tug, another few inches. Spock could feel his grip loosening.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on!” he yelled,
his arm sore from where the truck door had hit it.

“I’ve got Wings’ belt!” yelled Jagger. “Spock, can you
climb?”

“I think so.” He looked at Dawson. “Swing me up.”

Dawson nodded and they swung to Spock’s right, then to
the left, and back. As the momentum picked up Spock let go of Dawson with his
right hand on the upswing, reaching up and grabbing a fist full of ass, his
hand then slipping down and hooking onto the belt, his fingers bent inward like
claws.

“Got it!” he grunted. He immediately reached up and
grabbed onto Wings’ left arm with his free hand, Dawson letting go then
clasping both hands under Spock’s foot.

Spock straightened his leg, pushing against Dawson’s
hands and shot up half a body length, grabbing onto Wings’ belt, letting go of
Dawson. His left arm screamed in protest, but there was no way he was quitting
now. If he did all three of them were liable to go over the edge, and like
Dawson had said, Stucco was enough.

No more die!

Spock looked to the left and right, then spotted a small
foothold in the rock. He shifted his body weight to the right, extending his
boot, and planting it on the several square inches of rock, relieving much of
his body weight from the human chain.