Chapter 35
35
By the time Finn reached the top of the cliff, he wanted to murder Ronan with his bare hands. When they’d planned their ascent from the beach, Ronan had made it sound easy, but it had taken Finn all of five minutes to realize it was going to take all of his concentration not to end up swinging from the rappel line, the wind slamming him against the cliff face.
He’d taken it a step at a time — something that wasn’t easy even with his headlamp — putting one foot in the sling created by the rope and pulling upward, then repeating the motion a hundred times before Ronan, looking like he’d hardly broken a sweat, finally pulled him over the edge of the cliff.
Finn collapsed on the dirt, dripping sweat even though he’d been freezing his ass off on the beach a half hour before.
Ronan held out his hand. “We have to move.”
Finn took his hand and pulled off the climbing equipment. It was still black as pitch at the top of the cliff. Finn could hear the surf crashing onto the beach below, but he couldn’t see it.
“Goggles,” Declan reminded him.
Finn pulled the night-vision goggles from his pack and slipped them over his eyes. The surrounding landscape was suddenly illuminated in a wash of green.
“Let’s move,” Ronan said.
Finn fell into line behind him as they started away from the cliff, toward the trees surrounding Castle Blackridge.
As they moved through the forest, Finn was almost grateful for the ascent at the cliff. The woods were dense, with no defined path. They had to zigzag their way through the trees, dodging low hanging branches and stepping over the thick tree roots that rose out of the ground, threatening to trip them.
But after the ascent, it felt like a cakewalk. At least he wasn’t dangling hundreds of feet above the ground.
Finn lost track of time as they walked. The sound of the ocean grew more distant, their footsteps through the underbrush blocking out everything but the scurry of animals in the trees that formed a canopy overhead.
At first he thought it was his imagination that the surrounding scenery was growing brighter. Then Ronan’s voice sounded in Finn’s earpiece.
“We’re almost to the tree line. Stick to the plan. And keep talking.”
Finn decoded the instructions in his head: he and Ronan would head to the back of the castle while Nick and Declan took the front. They should communicate anything pertinent to keep each other apprised of the situation.
Finn followed Ronan to the left.
“See you on the flip side,” Declan said as he and Nick peeled off to the right.
About ten minutes later, Nick’s voice cut through the silence. “We’re in position. Let us know when you’re ready.”
They’d known Nick and Dec would reach their position first. To get to the back of the castle, Ronan and Finn had to continue through the woods, around the massive field leading to the manicured lawn.
“Will do. Hold your position,” Ronan said.
They had to enter the castle at the same time or risk the perimeter guards notifying each other that there was a breach. Nick and Dec would wait until Ronan and Finn reached the back of the castle.
Then they would go inside and get Achilles.
Finn knew they were close even before he spotted the castle. Light leaked into the woods from the clearing leading to the castle, and the trees thinned out along the tree line.
“There she is,” Ronan said when it finally came into view through the trees.
Finn sucked in a breath, wishing they’d taken Nico Vitale up on his offer of extra men. The place was massive, a stone structure four stories high, complete with a square turret that must once have been used for defensive purposes.
“You sure these guys aren’t going to throw hot oil on us or something?” Finn asked.
Ronan grinned through the dark, his teeth shining in the night-vision goggles. “Define sure.”
“Asshole,” Finn muttered.
Ronan slid off his goggles and put them in his pack. “I’m not saying it’s going to be a walk in the park, but Clay didn’t see any activity in the turret in the sat images. It’s a castle, and Cromwell lives there alone. I doubt he uses half the stuff in it anymore. Trust me, keeping it low-key is the way to go here. If we’re lucky, we could be in and out without anyone being the wiser.”
Finn could only hope it was that easy.
“We’re in position,” Ronan said into the comms system. He removed a pair of binoculars and scanned the rear of the castle. “Dec, Nick, what do you have?”
“Two guys,” Nick said. “Just like Clay said, patrolling in twenty minute shifts.”
“Looks the same back here,” Ronan said, still looking through the binoculars. Finn strained to see what Ronan was seeing but the castle was still too far away to spot movement from the trees. “How long since you’ve seen the front patrol?”
“Twelve minutes, thirty-two seconds,” Declan said. “How about you?”
“Just rounding the corner now, which means we’ve got less than seven minutes to make a coordinated approach, unless you want to wait out another round,” Ronan said.
Finn followed along. If the guards were patrolling at twenty minute intervals and the rear guards just cleared the area, it would be twenty more minutes before they returned.
But the guards in front had left almost thirteen minutes ago, which meant they’d be back in seven minutes. After that, Finn and his brothers would have to wait until the rear guards finished their next patrol.
“Fuck no,” Declan said. “Seven minutes is plenty of time to reach the target. Why should we sit here with our thumbs up our asses?”
“Cool your jets,” Ronan said. “Just want to make sure everybody’s ready. We have to move fast.”
“We’re ready,” said Nick.
Ronan looked at Finn. He nodded.
“Get your weapon ready, stay behind me, and move fast,” he said to Finn.
Finn tightened his hand around his weapon, glad for all the training he’d done at the firing range since he’d come home. It had felt like overkill in Boston, but now the weapon felt familiar and reassuring in his hands.
“On my count,” Ronan said. “Three… two… one.”
Finn sprinted through the trees behind him.
Once they were inside the castle, it looked almost like any other house. A giant house, but a house just the same. Finn stepped carefully and quietly behind Ronan, through a darkened kitchen and a massive formal dining room, down a hall past several sets of double doors that were closed.
They’d crossed the field and lawn leading to the castle without having to fire a shot, the benefit of getting the timing right. By the time the guards returned to their perimeter patrol, Finn and Ronan were inside.
Ronan came to a stop and Finn almost slammed into his back. “Hear that?” Ronan’s voice was a whisper in his ear.
Finn froze, listening.
Music. Classical music. It was faint, but Finn heard it.
“Where’s it coming from?” Finn asked.
“Let’s find out.”
Ronan resumed his forward movement.
They came to the end of the hall and Ronan stopped Finn with a hand gesture, the music slightly louder. They flattened themselves against the wall and Ronan counted down on his fingers before stepping around the corner.
Finn heard the muffled thud of Ronan’s silenced weapon firing before he got around the corner.
One guard was down on the stone floor of a small vestibule, blood seeping from his neck. A narrow staircase wound upward — an old servant’s staircase, Finn guessed.
“Got one down at the bottom of a staircase at the back of the house,” Ronan said. “No time to move him.”
“Roger that,” Declan said. “Keeping an eye on the ground floor rooms.”
They had one target. No reason to kill the guards if they didn’t have to. Better for them to find Achilles’ body when Finn and his brothers were long gone.
Ronan tipped his head at the staircase. “Music’s coming from upstairs.”
Finn nodded.
Achilles.
Petro’s face flashed in his mind and all the noise inside him stilled.
He followed Ronan up the stairs.
The staircase opened directly into a wide hall lined with patterned carpets, the walls lit with iron sconces that looked almost as old as the castle. Doors marched down either side of the hall, but only one of them was partially open, light spilling into the hall, the classical music rich and loud from inside the room.
“I’ll keep an eye on these rooms,” Ronan said. “You go.”
Declan’s voice sounded in the comms system. “Uh… we’ve got company outside.”
“What kind of company?” Ronan asked.
“Looks like a ragtag bunch of mercenaries. They’re coming out of the woods at
the front of the house,” Nick said.
Finn looked at Ronan. “The terrorists from the Boxgrove gala.”
Ronan looked torn, then tipped his head at the half open door. “Take care of business. I’ll help Nick and Dec.”
Finn hesitated, then nodded and started for the open door.
The room was some kind of den, the walls paneled in rich mahogany, the floors covered with the same kinds of carpet that lined the hall. Bookshelves lined all four walls, but it wasn’t the books that got Finn’s attention: it was the artifacts scattered throughout the room — animal bones and human skulls and pieces of broken pottery and rudimentary tools and weapons.
Aldrich Cromwell — Achilles — was sitting in a wing chair near a record player, his eyes closed as the strains of music washed over the room. Light from the chandelier caught the crystal tumbler in his hand, making the amber liquid in it look otherworldly, reminding Finn of the sample still in the safe at the mountain house.
The sample Achilles had killed for.
Finn could hardly believe this was the man who’d haunted him for almost a year, the man who had so ruthlessly murdered Petro’s parents. He was just an old man.
Just a small, balding old man.
Finn took a step toward him, then raised his weapon when Achilles opened his eyes.
“Ah, here you are,” he said, looking at Finn. “I’ve been expecting you. Or someone anyway.”
Finn was shocked into silence. He’d expected Achilles to be scared when he saw him with the gun, or defiant at least.
“You don’t even know who I am,” Finn said.
Achilles held his gaze. “No.”
“You murdered people I care about,” Finn said. “Murdered the parents of a little boy right in front of him, in Ukraine.”
“Ah.” Understanding lit his eyes. “A country rich with treasures for a man like me, a man who appreciates history.”
“Appreciates?” Finn shook his head. “You can’t appreciate history without appreciating human life. You’re a murderer, plain and simple. And a greedy one at that.”
“Greed?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Is that what you think this is about? Greed?”
“What else?” Finn asked. “You wanted to dig in Ukraine, wanted more of whatever is in that amber sample you were having analyzed.”
Achilles set his drink down on the end table next to his chair, and Finn took a step closer, his weapon still aimed at the man’s head.
“Well yes, of course, but that wasn’t about greed ,” he said. “That was about the history of man, about understanding our origins. An important task for anyone who appreciates life, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Finn said. “History is by definition the past. You can’t honor the past by murdering flesh and blood people living in the present.”
Achilles rose to his feet with effort and reached for a cane Finn hadn’t noticed propped against the chair. “That’s where I must disagree.” He walked slowly to one of the shelves and picked up a human skull. “This skull is over two thousand years old, and yet, because it was found, because it was saved , this human being is remembered. In that way, we will all be remembered.”
“Is that what this is about?” Finn asked. “Being remembered?”
Glass crashed from the first floor, followed by the sound of gunfire.
“Don’t worry about that,” Ronan said in his ear. “We’re just letting these guys have a little fun.”
“Yeah, but we can’t hold them off much longer,” Dec added. “You should probably finish the job before they get up there and do it for you. They’re out for blood.”
Achilles, unaware of the conversation playing out on the comms system and seemingly unperturbed by the sounds of destruction coming from the first floor, continued.
“I won’t deny that legacy is something that matters to me. I have no heirs, no one to carry on my work, but I will leave behind something for all of humanity. You can make me out to be a villain all you like, but that is an irrefutable fact.”
“You’re not a villain. You’re a monster,” Finn said. “A psychopath.”
“You’re the one standing in my home with a gun.” Achilles said, his voice hard and flat. “Proof that we’re all monsters when you get right down to it."
Images flashed through Finn’s mind.
The man who’d been in the armored truck in New York, his blood staining the snowy ground.
Eudorus immobile on the floor of the garage, chains wrapped around his hands and feet.
Petro’s face on the computer, his eyes hollowed out by loss.
And then Elise, her face relaxed in sleep, eyelashes casting shadows on her soft cheeks, her body warm — alive — in his arms.
Glass shattered on the second floor, closer now. They were coming for Achilles.
Finn lowered his weapon.
“I don’t believe that. But feel free to contemplate it in your final moments.”
He turned to leave and heard the volume of the music increase as he reached the door. When he stepped out into the hall, he was face-to-face with five large, bearded men dressed in black and carrying an assortment of automatic weapons.
One of the men looked at the gun in Finn’s hand, then raised his weapon at Finn’s chest.
Finn raised his hands on a gesture of surrender, then carefully set his gun on the floor.
He nodded at the open door behind him, the music reaching a crescendo. “He’s all yours.”
He was halfway down the back stairs when shots rang out from the second floor.