The Circle of Eight (20 page)

“It looks like one of those legal briefcases,” he said.

Red stepped over.

“Okay, BD, spill. Why are we not running like pansies?”

“It came with a note,” said Dawson, pointing at a bright
yellow Post-it note stuck to the top.

“What’s it say?” asked Laura.

“
A gift from Langley
,” said Dawson, “with the
initials D.K.”

“Who’s that?” asked Acton, then it dawned on him and his
jaw dropped. “Dylan!”

Dawson’s head whipped around at Acton.

“You know him?”

Acton was taken aback.

“
You
know him?”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

Acton shook his head.

“Either we both have to break promises of secrecy, or
this question goes unanswered.” He looked at Dawson. “Do you really need to
know how I know him?”

Dawson frowned.

“He’s a national security asset that you seem to know
about.”

“He was my student. I helped him with his decision to
join the army.”

Dawson visibly relaxed.

“We’ll leave it at that,” he said. “So, yes, we’re
talking about your former student, who miraculously knew we would be here
needing toys.”

“He’s who you contacted on the plane!”

“No comment,” said Dawson as he opened the case,
revealing a contraption unlike anything Acton had ever seen. It was a
combination of composite fibers and metal, probably making it fairly light for
its size. Dawson unfolded the device, revealing what looked like a metal frame
on one side, with a series of round metal feet, a glass surface within the
frame, and circuitry behind that. Dawson placed it face down on the feet,
revealing a control panel and a screen.

“Is that a computer?” asked Laura, taking a nearby seat.
Acton sat on the arm, overcome by a sense he shouldn’t be seeing this piece of
technology.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Red, stepping
forward.

“Yup,” replied Dawson.

“I’ve only ever read the briefing notes on that thing. I
never thought I’d get to see one.”

Dawson leaned over the device, running his hand over the
surface. He pressed a green button and the device powered on. His fingerprint
was scanned, and the display popped to life.

“Christ, he’s even got it programmed for you,” said Red.

Dawson pressed a red button, then motioned for Niner to
come over.

“Try it.”

Niner pressed the green button, his thumb being scanned
as he did so. The device activated.

“Good. Everyone check themselves so we know who can use
it,” said Dawson, stepping aside. “This”—he pointed at the machine—“ladies and
gentlemen, is a file scanner. And I do mean that literally. The base has
magnets. You simply mount the device to a drawer of a filing cabinet, activate
it, and it scans the entire contents, separating everything into individual
pieces of paper. No longer do you have to open cabinets and photograph every
sheet of paper, you just attach the device, hit the button, it scans in about a
minute, then you move on to the next drawer.”

“How the hell does it work?” asked Jimmy as he tested
his thumb. The machine activated.

“I have no freakin’ clue, but all I know is it does.
This will come in extremely handy when we hit the World Bank tonight.”

“It’s like he knew,” said Red.

“He probably just put two and two together,” replied
Dawson. “He knew we would be seeking intel, he knew who Lacroix works for, so
he figured we’d be hitting his office.”

“I don’t buy it,” said Niner. “I don’t care what any of
you say, the guy’s magic. Pure, dreamy magic.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up.

“Dreamy?”

“Have you seen those abs?” asked Niner. “If he was on
the other team, I’d switch for a shot at those.”

Acton shook his head, laughing.

“You have no idea how far away Dylan is from that team.”

“I know,” sighed Niner, walking over to the window and
looking down at the street below. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

Jimmy threw his knife at him, embedding it in the wall
by Niner’s hand.

Niner gripped his chest.

“Oh, another dagger through my heart. You men are
so”—his voice cracked—“cruel.”

Dawson’s eyes popped open and his lips pushed out.
“Oookaaay, and on that note, how about we get to work?”

Martin Lacroix Residence, Republic of San Marino

Martin Lacroix was so excited he had almost forgotten to put his
robe on, the impromptu meeting he had called of the Circle of Eight about to
start. Fortunately his apprentice still had his head in the game, and he was
properly cloaked just as the computer beeped to indicate the final Circle
member had logged in.

“What is the purpose of this interruption, Number
Eight?”

He could hear a slight tinge of annoyance in the usually
monotone voice.

“I assure you honored members, that once you hear what I
have found, you will remember this day for the rest of your lives. Lives that
may, perhaps, be far longer than any of us had ever anticipated possible if the
legends are true.”

“To what legends are you referring?”

“To the legend that the founder, Dr. Rosenkreuz himself,
lived a healthy lifespan three times that of which he should have.”

“We are decades away from those types of advancements,”
said one of the others. “Has there been some new breakthrough?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” replied Lacroix. “Something
far more spectacular.” He paused for effect, then resumed. “But let me start at
the beginning.”

“Must you?” asked his most regular detractor.

“If you have no desire to hear what will undoubtedly be
our generation’s greatest contribution to The Circle, you are welcome to crawl
into some lonely corner somewhere and die a natural death.”

“Proceed,” rumbled Number One, this time clearly
annoyed.

“Thank you, Master. As you are aware, we have had the
first Delta team under surveillance, and as a result, discovered the arrival of
a second unit several hours ago. With them were two archeologists.”

“Archeologists?”

Number One sounded surprised—something he had never
sounded that Lacroix could recall.

“Yes. Professor James Acton, and his fiancée, Professor
Laura Palmer. I had a background check done on both, and in reviewing the
information, we found this.”

He motioned to his apprentice to transmit the image.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed one, then others with their own
reactions, all of which were flabbergasted.

“Could it be?”—“It has to be!”—“But we thought it was
gone forever!”

“Do we have any idea where it is?” boomed the voice of
Number One, excitement lacing his voice, even he unable to apparently control
his emotions, some even beginning to sob in excitement.

“No, but this professor must, and he’s in Geneva right
now.”

“Pick him up immediately.”

Lacroix smiled.

“I’ve already given the order.”

Chemin des Colombettes, Geneva, Switzerland

Wings sat at the controls of the Agusta Westland AW109, its rotors
pounding the air overhead, the roar unbelievable compared to the Ghost Hawk “Jedi
Rides” Dawson had been riding in lately. How the guys in Vietnam with those
Hueys ever survived an insertion he’d never know. It was almost as if they made
them loud on purpose, as if it would intimidate the enemy rather than let them
know exactly where they were.

Stealth back then was for the soldier already on the
ground, not in the air.

“Sixty seconds!” announced Wings.

Dawson pulled open the door and put a foot out on the
skid. At this altitude it was fairly dark, the glow being emitted by the city
almost unnoticeable if he looked up. But down, the streets and buildings were
well lit, if not busy. It was a little after two in the morning, and the
streets were fairly empty, Geneva turning into a sleepy town at night in this
area.

“Ten seconds!”

Dawson leaned forward and saw their target, a large
tower that housed the World Bank offices in Geneva. They didn’t have the entire
building, only one floor about a third of the way down. Security would be an
obstacle from a technological standpoint—security passes and cameras, as well as armed
guards, the only challenge they would provide would be to not kill them.

The point of this operation was to get in and get out
with nobody ever knowing they were there.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Wings.

Dawson jumped out, hitting the roof with a roll as Red,
Niner and Jimmy followed. Dawson waved at Wings who immediately banked,
dropping out of sight as the team sprinted for the door nearby.

Dawson activated his comm.

“Bravo Six, Bravo One. We’re in position, over.”

“Roger that, cutting power now.” The block went dark as
a pre-positioned Mickey did his job, emergency lighting kicking in almost
immediately. “Overriding security system, now.” Fire alarms began to beep and
the red light on the pass control turned to green. Dawson pulled the door open
and the four of them entered the stairwell, closing the door behind them. “Camera
feeds are tapped and stairwell feeds are looped all the way down to the twelfth
floor. Count them off as you hit the landings, and I’ll loop them. Keep tight,
I don’t want your asses getting caught on camera as I reactivate, over.”

“Roger that, out.”

Niner led the way, Taser extended in front of him should
they encounter anyone. The building should be mostly empty, but with the fire
alarm going off, any poor souls still there should be heading for the stairwells
to evacuate. Mickey was in position nearby, tapped into all the security feeds,
the emergency call for the fire service intercepted.

There would be no one coming to answer the call.

Outside communications should also have been cut, now
all that was needed was for them to get to Lacroix’s office without being
detected.

Niner’s fist shot up and they all froze. A door one
flight down opened, a man and a woman, the woman giggling as she tucked her blouse
in, he still struggling with his belt, stepped out onto the landing, then with
one more passionate kiss, rushed down the stairs.

“Mickey, we need some warning on these things,” said
Niner over the comm.

“Sorry about that, I’m having trouble maintaining the
overrides. Someone is trying to reboot the system, over.”

“Bravo One here, how long have we got, over?”

“You better hustle, BD, this isn’t looking good. It’s
this damned equipment, it’s too old, over.”

“Shit!” muttered Dawson. “Let’s go!” he said in a harsh
whisper that sent Niner sprinting to the next landing as the two office lovers
continued their descent, giggles continuing, the sound of other doors opening
below them as cleaning staff and those pulling all-nighters evacuated.

They continued their descent, Niner whispering each
floor number, Mickey hopefully flipping the cameras, hiding their advance. A
door above them opened and Dawson looked back to see a pair of feet through the
railing. They kept moving, pacing themselves between the lovers and the
descending feet above.

Fifteen.

They cleared the landing, only three flights to go.

“What’s the status on the twelfth floor, over?”

“All clear so far, BD. But hurry. We’ve got security
coming up from the ground floor. I think they might have caught a break in the
feed, over.”

Niner  continued forward.

Fourteen.

The footsteps behind them were getting closer, the
lovers not keeping pace. Dawson caught up to Red a bit, tightening up the team
slightly, Red carrying the CIA scanner on his back.

The footsteps continued to get closer.

Dawson pulled a flare off his utility belt and removed
the caps, grinding the striker against the top of the flare. It immediately
sparked, a red glow filling the dimly lit corridor, a trail of smoke now being
left behind them.

A women yelped above them, the footsteps stopping.
Dawson could hear her run back up a flight then open the door to the fourteenth
floor, his fake fire having its desired effect.

“We’re here!” whispered Niner. “Mickey, report!”

“You’re all clear, but security is on the eleventh
floor, going office to office. You’ve got maybe three minutes to get inside, over.”

Niner burst through the door, sprinting to the right
then coming to a halt at a large glass wall in front of the elevators, “The
World Bank, Geneva” frosted into the glass in large letters. He immediately
dropped to his knees, his lock picking kit already in his hands and opened.

Dawson covered him, his back to Niner while he did his
work, mentally counting the seconds in his head. When he reached two minutes he
began to get antsy.

“Mickey, report.”

“They’re coming up the stairwell, you’ve got about fifteen
seconds.”

Dawson heard a click behind him.

“Got it!” Niner rolled aside as Red and Spock entered
through the now open door, spreading out. Dawson followed, Niner bringing up
the rear and closing the door behind them.

“They’re on the floor!” hissed Mickey through the comms.
“Five seconds and they’re looking in that fishbowl!”

“Everything’s locked!” said Spock as he and Red tried
several doors at the rear of the reception area.

“There’s no time to pick another one,” said Niner as
Dawson looked around.

“Everyone behind the reception desk,” he said, his team
immediately rushing toward the only substantial piece of furniture in the
waiting area that could provide cover from the hallway windows. Dawson dropped,
pulling the late arriving Spock under the cramped desk.

“They’re right on you, keep still.”

Dawson looked over his shoulder and cursed. The back of
the desk, providing them with the only cover they had, was made from a single
piece of gently curving frosted glass.