The Circle of Eight (16 page)

“Four shooters, left side, behind a town car,” yelled
Spock.

“We’ve got three minutes until this thing lights up!”
reminded Wings.

“And they know it.” Spock knew all these guys had to do
was keep them holed up in here for a few more minutes and the bomb would do
their job for them.

“Got an emergency exit over here,” said Mickey. Spock
glanced and saw Mickey pulling on the mechanism. Spock turned back to the door
and sprayed some fire blindly in the direction of their attackers.

“Got it!” announced Mickey. Spock fired again then took
a look as the window fell outward, leaving a gaping hole in the right side of
the cabin. Mickey went first followed by Wings.

“Let’s go!” yelled Jagger, firing out one of the
shattered windows. Spock fell back toward the emergency exit, then slapped
Jagger on the back. Jagger turned and dove out the hatch. Spock fired several
more rounds then grabbed the briefcases piled in the middle of the plane and
threw them out the emergency exit. He stuffed the wallets in his jacket then
jumped through the hole, landing on the wing and sliding down to the ground. He
felt a hand grab him, pulling him behind the landing gear.

Spock flipped to his belly as Mickey and Wings made
quick work of the four men still firing. He scrambled forward and found the two
prisoners they had bound earlier dead, shot by their own men.

The gunfire stopped.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” he yelled as he jumped
to his feet, grabbing one of the briefcases. The others each grabbed a case and
sprinted away from the plane. Spock was out front slightly and glanced over
each shoulder to make sure no one was being left behind when the plane suddenly
erupted from within, the bomb tearing at the air, the sound horrifying, the
plane suddenly bulging, bursting its seams as the fuselage tore apart.

“Keep going!” he yelled, the worst yet to come. The
sound of the fuel igniting and erupting in a massive blast sent Spock diving
for the ground and covering his head. The others dropped around him as the
shockwave rolled over them, the heat licking at them as if it had a taste for
flesh, then within moments it was over, the blast collapsing back in on itself.

Spock pushed himself to his feet to see the passenger
cabin torn open as if clawed apart by an angry beast hell-bent on escaping. The
entire plane was now aflame, the dark black smoke billowing into the evening
sky as the airfield’s disaster response team raced toward the smoldering mess.
The Lincoln with the four new arrivals was no more, merely a twisted seething
mass of metal, its occupants charred to the point no useful intel would be
found on their bodies.

“Everybody okay?”

Three acknowledgements and he began to walk toward where
their plane was waiting.

“I’ve got a hankering for chocolate. Switzerland
anybody?”

“Forget chocolate. I want one of them fancy knives that
MacGyver uses,” said Mickey. “With that, some twine and a box of toothpicks we
could get out of pretty much anything.”

Spock smiled as the theme song for one of The Unit’s
favorite shows played through his head. They hadn’t watched it in at least a
year.

“Whose got the DVDs?” he asked.

“I think Stucco had them,” said Mickey, his voice
suddenly subdued.

Spock nodded.

“Then in his honor, I say when we’ve put these bastards
six feet under, we buy the collection again and start watching from Season One,
Episode One.”

“Sounds like a damned good idea to me,” replied Jagger.

The group became silent, Spock was sure with the same
thoughts of Stucco flashing through their minds. He was a good man, a good
soldier, and a good husband and father. He had only been with them a few years,
but had become one of Spock’s best friends.

A friend who would now be avenged.

Köln, Germany

1472 AD

Dietrich lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling above, his mind
sharp, fatigue a faint memory that had yet to arrive, his mind consumed with
thoughts of Heike and how her family must be so worried. He ached to go tell
them what had happened, that their baby would never be home again, that her
life had been snuffed out by a madman whom he was essentially bound to in
servitude until death.

But whose death?

The thought had him bolt upright in his bed, the slats
underneath protesting loudly, filling the room with their angry creaking. He
froze, hoping he hadn’t woken the household, then carefully swung his legs out
of the bed and stood, realizing the noise couldn’t have been as bad as he
feared since even his breathing seemed loud.

He tried to calm himself, to resolve himself to the
decision he had just made. He looked out the window, the sky clear now, the
rain’s only evidence the glistening stone below. He stared up the road to the
top of the hill and could see various houses still well lit, and he knew it was
most likely Heike’s family and the neighbors beginning a search.

A search that would lead to nothing, for there was
nothing to find unless her body had snagged on a tree root or something. If it
hadn’t, it would be far from here by now, not to be fished from the river until
a passing boat spotted her in the daylight, if at all.

He dressed himself properly, ran his fingers through his
hair to try and straighten it, then flipped up the hood of his robe. He knew
there were others about the premises now that the Catalyst was here, but that
shouldn’t matter. This was his house, not theirs.
How would they know what
is normal routine and what isn’t?

He opened his door carefully, thankful the old hinges
didn’t squeak. He had rubbed goose fat on them just this week to keep them
quiet so he didn’t wake the master when he woke to prepare the master’s
breakfast. He knew as soon as he officially became the apprentice tomorrow, or
rather today, he wouldn’t need to perform any of the menial tasks again—his
entire life would be devoted to learning, rather than proving humbleness in the
eyes of his master.

He walked with purpose down the hall toward his master’s
chambers lest anyone be watching and a furtive gait arouse suspicion. He
reached the end of the hall and turned right. He saw something in the shadows
and he nodded at it, not even knowing if it was a person or a trick of the
shadows, but he continued and moments later was at his master’s door.

What if he’s awake?

The thought hadn’t occurred to him. He would have to
fight him, and the master was a powerful man. Dietrich had little doubt he’d be
made quick work of, his frame comparatively tiny.

The black powder!

He hadn’t yet replaced it and knew his master would want
to admire the Catalyst when he awoke, so retrieval of the basement key was the
perfect excuse.

He pressed down on the handle, and the door opened
silently. He stepped inside, the chambers lit gently with several candles,
enough for his sensitive eyes to see clearly. His master’s steady yet gentle
snoring could be heard from the bed, the curtains drawn around it as he had
left him.

The dagger his master regularly carried would be on the
dresser at the opposite end of the room. He slowly crept toward it, cautious of
one area of the floorboards that had a tendency to creak, and arrived without
incident, the loudest noise the pounding in his ears.

He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. There was no
movement to be seen through the thick curtains, however the steady breathing
continued. He reached for the gold plated dagger, grasped it in his now shaking
hand, then turned toward the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, the snores getting louder the
closer he got.

They stopped and he froze, as did his heart.

Had he made a noise?

Had the master sensed his presence? After all the man
seemed to be able to read minds.

There was a snort, then a shift behind the curtains, and
the snoring resumed.

Dietrich almost let out a sigh of relief, but stifled
it. He stood frozen for several more minutes, his muscles aching as he held the
slightly crouched position, terrified to move.

He willed himself forward.

The dagger was at the ready in his right hand, the blade
turned downward so he could plunge it into the man’s chest. He reached forward
with his hand, grasping the curtain, then slowly pulled it aside, the wood
hooks sliding silently along the polished mahogany rail above.

He let go, the man’s back revealed to him.

He hadn’t counted on this. He would either need to roll
him over, exposing his chest, or thrust from behind, through the back.
Confusion began to consume him.

Then he paused.

The key for the basement sat where it always sat when
not around his master’s neck, on the nightstand to his right. But the key used
to open the cabinet where the Catalyst lay hidden had slipped out of his robe
pocket and lay on the bed not an arm’s length from where Dietrich stood, poised
for his kill.

And he smiled as a new plan formed.

Martin Lacroix Residence, Republic of San Marino

“What are we looking at?”

Number
One’s voice rumbled through the room, Dr. Martin Lacroix using the speakers
this time instead of headphones. The room was soundproofed from eavesdroppers,
and shielded from electronic surveillance. He was alone save his apprentice,
both robed for the formality of the meeting with The Circle who were dialed in
from around the world.

“Footage
from our cleanup efforts,” replied Lacroix. “The woman at the hotel has been
eliminated. The Public Prosecutor has dropped the case without even filing the
charges. This means there will be no negative publicity.”

“Assuming
the others remain silent,” interjected one of The Circle.

“I have
had one of the Delta Force members eliminated with his family. He was the one
that assaulted me.”

Lacroix’s
blood boiled at the humiliating memory. It was one thing to be beaten, an
entirely different thing when you were naked and too drunk to defend yourself.

Then to
be put in a cell at the police station in nothing but a robe, mixed with hard
core criminals and junkies—he shivered at the memory. His robe hadn’t remained
on his person long before it was “borrowed” by someone far bigger than him. He
had sat curled in the corner, covering his genitalia until his lawyer had
finally arrived.

Which
was why Inspector Laviolette had to pay.

“Was that
wise?” asked a voice.

“He was
a witness. One of the ones in the room who could have seen our material.”

“Yes,
but now you’ve pissed off the most highly trained military unit in the world.”

Lacroix
nodded.

“Yes,
but they have no way of finding us.”

“They
can find you.”

“I’m far
too public for them to do anything to. Besides, with today’s events we’ve
proven we aren’t to be trifled with. One family is dead, another was nearly
successfully kidnapped—”

“By
‘nearly’ you mean the mission was a failure and resulted in us having to clean
up the mess so none of our operatives could be captured. A complete fiasco!”

“Piss
off!” exploded Lacroix, the voice of Number Three, a constant thorn in his
side, grating on his nerves. “If you don’t have anything useful to contribute
to this conversation, then shut it!”

“Enough!”
roared the voice of Number One. Silence followed. He finally spoke after there
was no noise coming from the speakers. “I was particularly intrigued by what
you did to the detective’s family.”

Lacroix
smiled.

“My
idea. I wanted a message sent that this should never be pursued, lest it happen
to someone else’s family. The fact the inspector reacted the way he did—well, I
was pleasantly surprised at that.”

“Can we
consider this matter closed, then?”

Lacroix
wished they could, prayed he could hide the latest information that had just
arrived, but he knew the same resources used by him to garner the intel could
be used by them.

And
knowing them, somebody was probably back checking everything he did.

“No,” he
finally said. “My sources inform me that at least four Delta Force members are
on their way to Geneva. The same four that assaulted our plane in New York.”

“And the
rest?”

“We’re
not certain, but we’re monitoring all inbound Geneva traffic. We think as many
as four more may be on their way. We should know more shortly. We suspect
they’ll rendezvous with the first group that should be landing in the next
couple of hours.”

“And
what do you intend to do about it?”

“Make
sure they never see the light of day again.”

Köln, Germany

1472 AD

Dietrich had a new plan. A bolder plan. One that would not only give
him his revenge, but torture and destroy the man who had killed his beloved
Heike. And it didn’t involve anyone’s death except perhaps his own, which he could
live with should he succeed.

He slowly reached forward, his heart slamming against
his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears as he tried to make no sound, not even
the creak of his own bones. His fingers grasped the small chain the key was on
and he pulled. It didn’t move.

He pulled slightly harder, and he felt a tug on the
master’s robe, it obviously clasped to something inside the pocket.

He felt sweat forming on his forehead as his plan hit
its first literal and figurative snag. He gently tugged on one end of the
chain, slowly pulling it through the small pocket that lay partially hidden
under the master’s sheet, and was rewarded with the clasp. He squeezed the tiny
device and unhooked the two ends.