The Circle of Eight (21 page)

He clenched his fist and could see everyone tense up,
freezing. A rattle at the front door had Dawson thanking God that Niner had the
presence of mind to lock it behind them. Niner cleared his throat.

Dawson looked over at him, moving only his eyeballs, and
could see Niner staring at the wall that backed the waiting area. Dawson looked
to his left and nearly shit.

It was wall to wall glass. Mirrored glass. And sitting
right where they should be, were four Delta team members huddled under a desk,
as plain as plain could be.

The door rattled again.

Rue du Mont Blanc, Geneva, Switzerland

Acton rubbed his eyes, the jet lag hitting him hard, and the screen
he had been staring at for hours not helping. Laura had already given up,
curled in a ball beside him, gently breathing, gorgeous as ever.

His eyes drooped.

On the other side of the room Jimmy was asleep, lying on
a cot, the space Spock had rented for them definitely commercially oriented as
opposed to residential. It made sense, comings and goings at all hours were
less noticed in a commercial district. They had equipped it with cots and
sleeping bags, lots of bottled water and food that didn’t need to be cooked
like protein bars and dried cereals.

It was adequate for their purposes, and being used to
living at dig sites in the middle of nowhere for weeks or months on end, it
didn’t bother him at all.

Because there was a bathroom.

A clean bathroom with running water. No shower, but they
could wash themselves enough to not stink in a crowd. There was a sound at the
door and Jagger rose.

“Could they be back already?” whispered Acton, reaching
for the Glock 22 that sat on the table in front of him.

“Only if they had to abort,” said Jagger, shaking his
head. He kicked Jimmy’s cot and the man bolted upright, immediately alert.
“We’ve got company,” whispered Jagger.

The door suddenly burst open, men in what looked like
military or police gear bursting through, one of them yelling, “Police!” along
with something in French.

“Stand down!” yelled Jimmy as the room quickly filled
with armed men, their automatic weapons raised. Acton raised his hands, the
Glock still gripped tightly, and positioned himself in front of a startled
Laura.

“Take it easy,” said Jimmy, trying to calm the room.
“Professor, Jagger, just lower your weapons very slowly, let everyone know
we’re friendly here.”

Acton changed his grip, pinching the weapon between his
thumb and forefinger, slowly lowering it to the table he had just picked it up
from. Once laid down, he raised his hand back up, then stepped away from the
table.

“You are all under arrest for the possession of illegal
firearms,” announced a man in plainclothes. He looked around the room. “Where
are the others?”

“What others?” asked Jimmy.

“There are six other men with you. Where are they?”

“I think you have bad information there, officer,
there’s just the four of us, and those two”—he nodded toward Acton and
Laura—“are our prisoners.”

“Yes, I too give all my prisoners their own
semi-automatics.”

Jimmy shrugged and gave Acton an “it was worth a try”
look.

Handcuffs were slapped on all four of them, then they
were patted down, Laura and Acton clean, but several knives and other
accoutrements of the trade discovered on the Delta operatives.

They were led out and down the stairs to the street
below. Acton and Laura were loaded in the back of a paddy wagon with metal
seating along the sides. Two officers joined them. The doors closed and the
vehicle began to roll.

Suddenly the two men leapt forward. The one nearest
Acton pressed his service weapon against Acton’s temple, the other doing the
same to Laura.

“Don’t move!” ordered Acton’s man. Something jabbed in
his thigh. He looked down to see a needle stuck in his leg, the plunger being
pushed by his captor, and as he spun to see the same thing being done to Laura,
his world faded to black, only one thing clear in his mind.

These are not police.

Chemin des Colombettes, Geneva, Switzerland

Dawson held his breath, praying the dim lighting and the fact nobody
was looking for them would trick the guards into not noticing the four figures
reflected in the mirror, huddled under the reception desk. Every muscle in his
body tensed as he tried to freeze, and he could tell the others were doing the
same, terrified a single movement would be noticed and they’d be forced to
engage these two innocent men.

Suddenly, after what seemed an eternity but was only
seconds, the guards stepped away from the door and continued on. Dawson watched
the shadows move away, the pounding in his chest easing as they eventually disappeared.

“You’re all clear,” announced Mickey.

Dawson scrambled out from under the desk and pulled Red
out as Niner did the same for Spock. Niner raced for the first locked door and
jimmied it.

“Bingo!” he hissed. They all quickly entered the office
area and closed the door behind them, momentarily safe from the guards. A
hallway stretched in three directions, with no indications on where to go
except for red exit and blue bathroom signs.

Dawson used hand signals to send the other three down
each hall, and within seconds Spock’s voice was heard over the comm. “Got it.”

Footfalls filled the hallways as they all converged on
Spock’s position, the opened door labeled “Dr. Martin Lacroix, Chief
International Funding” and translated into French and German underneath. Dawson
waited for everyone to enter then he closed the door. Niner dropped into the
bastard’s chair, inserting a device into one of the USB slots and booting the
computer.

Dawson helped Red unpack the cabinet scanner from
Langley and within moments the first cabinet was being scanned, page after page
flipping by on the display.

“Remarkable,” muttered Red. Dawson and Spock began
rifling through drawers and other personal belongings, looking for anything
useful.

“I’m in,” said Niner. “I’ll just download everything
from his local hard drives, pull all his emails, contacts and calendar;
anything else will be gravy.”

“Do it,” said Dawson, kneeling to Niner’s left as he
went through the last drawer in the desk, having found nothing so far but
office supplies, and a few bottles of scotch. “Hello.” Dawson held up a Glock
that had been stuffed in the back of the drawer, hidden behind several boxes of
Cuban cigars. He quickly removed the firing pin, Niner grinning as he did so.

“Mickey, status.”

“They’re about to find your flare,” replied Mickey.
“That should set off a shit storm.”

“Roger that.” He looked up and saw Red already moving on
to the final cabinet. “Red, time?”

“Three minutes.”

“Niner?”

“On to the gravy already.”

“We’re out of here in three,” said Dawson to everyone
including Mickey.

“Not sure if you’re going to get it. The woman you
scared off with the flare is talking to the guards in the lobby. The guards
will find the flare in about five seconds”—he drew out the word—“and they just
spotted it. They know someone’s here.”

“How long can you maintain control?”

“I’ve already lost it. I’m just an observer now, they’ve
rebooted their system and now have complete control. You might not have noticed
but the fire alarm hasn’t been going off the past minute.”

Dawson paused to listen and realized Mickey was right.

“Options?”

“Plan B.”

“Plan B it is.”

“Done!” announced Red, packing the machine back in his
bag and slinging it over his shoulders. Niner yanked the USB scanner from the
slot and zipped it in one of his pockets. Dawson opened the door then waved his
men through.

“Status!”

“You’re clear on the twelfth floor for the moment, but
guards are converging from upper and lower floors. They’ll know for sure where
you are once you enter the hallway.”

“Left or right.”

“Left. Get to the stairwell and haul ass down.”

“Roger that.”

They entered the outer office and Niner tossed a spray
paint can to Spock who quickly laid down a little art.

World Bank = New World Order!

Dawson opened the outer door as Spock discarded the can.
They exited the office, sprinting toward the stairwell doors at the end of the
hallway.

“You’re still clear,” said Mickey.

Dawson pulled the door open, letting the other three go
by, then followed. He popped a smoke grenade and tossed it onto the landing,
then dropped another down the gap between the railings, the metal casing
clanging against the rails, a trail of smoke obscuring its final resting place.
He pulled a face mask down that would filter his breathing from the non-toxic
smoke, then pulled a rifle scope from his pocket with a thermal imager. Holding
it up to his goggles, he was able to see clearly through the smoke, quickly
rushing after the others who were now a flight below him, their own scopes out.

“You’ve got company coming from two floors below, but
they’re confused. Exit on the next floor then cut across to the opposite
stairwell.”

Niner pushed through the door to the eighth floor, the
others disappearing through the doorway. Dawson took a peak down and could see
the guards waving at the smoke and coughing. He went through the door and
gently closed it, then sprinted after the others.

“You’ve been spotted,” said Mickey. “Two guards are
crossing from the seventh to the same stairwell you’re about to hit.”

“Roger that,” said Dawson. “Keep going.”

A little more gas was applied and Niner reached the
door, pulling it open then racing down the stairs, the others close on his
heels. Dawson hit the door, his foot bracing in the jamb, then pushing off
toward the stairs, he dove through the air, his left hand grabbing the railing
then pulling his body so his feet hit the landing below, then swinging around
to the next flight of stairs with his momentum carrying him.

His foot hit a step about half way down and he jumped
again, releasing his grip on the railing above and dropping his hand, grabbing
the next railing below. Just as his feet hit the seventh floor landing the door
opened. Dawson twisted and grasping the railing hard enough to let his hand
slide down it, he swung his feet out, planting them hard against the door,
slamming it shut, then pushing off to resume his descent. He tossed a smoke
grenade behind him as the door opened again.

“You’ve gained a level on them,” announced Mickey.
“You’ve got four waiting for you in the lobby, armed. One is at the security
desk monitoring the cameras, the other three are at your door, weapons drawn,
over.”

“How many above us?” asked Dawson as they passed the
third floor landing.

“Two.”

“Red, hold up,” ordered Dawson as he spun around,
drawing his Taser. He took a knee as Red joined him on the landing, his own
Taser out. “I’ll take the left, you take the right.” The footfalls above them
neared and Dawson spotted the boots of the first one rounding the landing, then
their owner’s face gasping in surprise as he tried to hold up, the other rounding
the railing with him.

Dawson squeezed the trigger, the probe firing, embedding
itself in the first man’s chest, the wires conducting the 50,000 volts to the
man’s body.

He dropped, tumbling down the stairs as Red fired into
the second target. Dawson grabbed the first man, throwing him over his shoulder
and carrying him down the remaining flights as Red did the same with his. Niner
was at the door with Spock.

“Status?”

“You’ve got them confused,” said Mickey. “They know
you’ve got two of their guys.”

“Okay, meat shield time,” said Dawson, handing his spent
Taser to Niner who reloaded it, handing it back as Spock reloaded Red’s. Dawson
swung his man’s feet to the ground as he slowly began to regain control of his
body, then looked at Niner. “Ready?”

Niner nodded then pulled the door open. Dawson pushed
his man out in front of him, Red following, quickly advancing toward the three
guards now joined by the fourth. Red was beside him, his man barely able to
walk as Niner and Spock ducked behind them.

Dawson whispered into the comm. “By the numbers, left to
right. Three…two…one…execute.” He squeezed the trigger on his Taser and the probe
burst from the tip, hitting the man second from the left in his chest. Red took
out the man immediately to the right as Niner and Spock leaned out and
incapacitated the two on the ends. All four men dropped to the floor, shaking.
Dawson shoved his man on top of the mass of electrified flesh, then ejected his
cartridge, his feet already pounding toward the front doors.

“You’re all clear from here, but police are on the way,
ETA one minute,” said Mickey.

Dawson pushed through the first set of double doors,
then the next, the crisp night air a welcome feeling. He checked left and
right, a single car heading the opposite direction the only traffic, no
pedestrians in sight. He sprinted across the street, fishing a fob from his
pocket and pressing the button. A van pre-positioned earlier for their Plan B
option chirped as the doors unlocked. Dawson jumped in the driver’s seat, Red
the passenger as the other two climbed in the back.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Spock from the back as he closed
the door. Dawson hit the gas, pulling out from the curb and gunning it toward
the intersection ahead just as the flashing lights of a police car swung around
the corner. Dawson eased off the gas but didn’t hit the brakes, the harshness
of brake lights perhaps arousing suspicion. He came to the intersection just as
the lights turned green and immediately made a right, heading away from the
building and the source of more police cars in the distance.