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
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.