The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  He dropped to his knees to get a better look at the device. There was a pressure cord around the two of them that if broken or stretched too far, would most likely detonate the weapon. Both of their chests were heaving, stretching on the cord, and Stucco put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  “Now listen to me very carefully. I need you to control your breathing, okay? It’s very easy. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath in through your nose, all the way into your stomach while counting to four, then hold it for four seconds, then slowly let it out through your mouth, counting to four.” She sucked in a breath, and he counted off with her. “Good. Now just keep doing that for me until you feel your heart rate start to slow down. I’ll keep working.”

  He listened to the rhythmic breathing, and smiled as he heard little Christa trying to do the same thing, and soon heaving chests were calmer and sobbing had stopped.

  Screeching tires outside were ignored as he examined the device. It was advanced. Very advanced. It was out of his league, and the fact there was an antennae sticking out the top of it made him think there might be a remote detonator involved.

  There was noise at the front door as it was pulled open.

  And a beep from the device.

  “Stucco, you in here?”

  “Kitchen!”

  Boots hammered on the parquet flooring then came to a halt.

  “Jesus!”

  Stucco looked over his shoulder and saw Dawson standing there in shock.

  And another beep from the device.

  “Sit rep.”

  Stucco pointed at the device.

  “Enough C4 to take out the block, pressure trigger joining the two of them, mercury switches if they move too much, and probably more. Plus there’s this.” He pointed at the antennae sticking out the top.

  “Looks cellular,” said Dawson.

  “Agreed.”

  “Okay, I’m going outside to get a landline, I don’t want to risk using my cell here or your phone again. I’m going to get the bomb disposal equipment, evacuate the area, jam any cellphone signals and solve this problem.”

  “Okay, thanks BD. And BD?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know damned well who’s behind this.”

  Dawson nodded.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit. I’ll get word out to Inspector Laviolette to warn the other witnesses.”

  “Make sure Maria is safe.”

  “Worry about your family, let me worry about the rest.”

  Dawson left and Stucco heard the front door open then close.

  And the device beep each time.

  Outside Stucco’s Residence, Maas Drive, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Dawson strode across the street as Red and several of the others arrived, most running on foot from their homes or nearby barracks. What he had seen was disturbing. Innocent people, innocent children, terrified. His friends, terrified. It was wrong, and if that bastard Lacroix was behind it, he would pay.

  Dearly.

  Dawson pointed at Danny “Casey” Martin. “Call the MP’s. No cellphones. Have them cordon this entire area off and begin evacuations. Tell them we’ve got a large amount of C4.”

  Casey nodded and ran up the steps of the nearest house, hammering on the door to use their phone.

  “Atlas, call the Colonel, tell him Stucco’s wife and daughter have been bound to two chairs, back to back, with a bomb strapped to his wife’s chest. The trigger looks professional. Very well done.”

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Atlas. “Is this because of what happened in Geneva?”

  “We’ll worry about that later,” said Dawson. “Just contact the Colonel, but let him know that we think it might be connected, and that the other witnesses should be contacted immediately so they can be taken into protective custody.”

  Atlas ran to the next house as the residents of the house Casey was borrowing the phone from exited, jumping in their car and pulling out of their driveway. The man driving who Dawson recognized but couldn’t remember the name of, rolled down his window.

  “You need anything, you take it. Once I get my family out of here, I’ll come back and give you guys a hand with whatever you need.”

  “Thanks,” said Dawson, turning to Niner.

  “Niner, contact the bomb squad, give them the rundown and tell them to get their asses out here ASAP. We need cellphone jammers, the works.”

  Niner sprinted to the next house without the usual wisecracks, concern for his friend and his family the only thing apparently on his mind. In the distance the sound of sirens could be heard as the base scrambled, police, fire and ambulance services being deployed. Within minutes the place would be crawling with people.

  And if Dawson were a bomber, that would be exactly when he would trigger the device.

  Inside Stucco’s Residence, Maas Drive, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  “What’s this all about, honey? Who’s this Maria girl?”

  Stucco was lying on his back, looking at the bottom of the chair to see if there were any triggers there, but it seemed clear. As he was about to push himself out from the chair, he paused, noticing a strip of tape, white, the same color as the legs of the kitchen chairs, running from the seat to the floor. He flipped over on his stomach and examined the bottom of the leg but couldn’t see a pressure trigger.

  “Talk to me!”

  The device beeped, and Stucco paused.

  “You have to calm down, babe, or this thing might go off.”

  “Who’s Maria?”

  Is she jealous?

  Stucco didn’t discuss his missions with his wife, and despite what had happened in Geneva, hadn’t planned to now. But she did deserve a little tidbit since Maria’s name had been mentioned.

  “I can’t talk about the mission—”

  “Don’t give me that, mister! I’m strapped to a bomb here!”

  Another beep.

  It had to mean something. It had beeped when Dawson had left. Twice. Was it hooked into the front door somehow? It beeped when Sheila got excited, suggesting a pressure trigger or a mercury switch being activated by her movements.

  But if things were being triggered, why wasn’t the device going off?

  Maybe they’re warnings?

  That was possible, but to what purpose?

  Stucco thought about it. Most bombs he dealt with were basic. They were meant to be triggered and once triggered, detonated. That was the entire purpose of a bomb. To go off. Why delay it then?

  More victims.

  The amount of explosives here would certainly wipe out the house, and the shrapnel it would create could injure or kill those gathered outside. He could hear the sirens in the distance and knew the homes would be evacuated, but he also knew his team.

  They’ll stay until the end.

  “Are you going to tell me who Maria is?”

  Another beep.

  Christ, she is jealous.

  “She was the night manager at a hotel we were at. She got raped and we helped her. I beat up the guy who did it, and now it’s going to court.”

  He eyed the floor. The linoleum had a cut in it. He followed it all the way to the hallway where the flooring turned into parquet.

  “Oh.”

  Her voice was subdued, almost embarrassed.

  Yup, she was jealous.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Pretty beat up, but she’ll live.”

  Bingo!

  There was a wire running all the way to the front door, neatly tacked along the baseboard. Something he wouldn’t notice in his rush from the door to the kitchen.

  It’s wired to the door.

  He stood up and went to the back door at the rear of the kitchen. He immediately noticed the wire coming up from under the linoleum and the pressure switch it was wired to.

  The front door opened and the device beeped.

  “Wait!” he yelled, but it was too late, footsteps already stomping down the hall. He rushed toward the hallway as the dev
ice beeped again with the closing of the front door. He nearly ran headlong into two men in full bomb squad gear. He noticed another man heading up the steps and Stucco yelled, running for the front door. “Stop! It’s wired to the doors!”

  The man outside heard him and froze, backing up several steps. Stucco turned back to the two new arrivals and realized it was Dawson and Casey.

  “It’s wired to both doors. I’m not sure what else. Each time a door opens or closes, the device beeps.”

  “Sounds like an event countdown trigger,” said Casey.

  Stucco’s stomach flipped.

  If it were true, it most likely meant there were a built in number of warnings, then the explosive would be detonated.

  “How many warnings have you heard?”

  Stucco shook his head.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Take a breath, and think,” said Dawson calmly.

  Stucco closed his eyes and began to tally everything in his head.

  “I came in, then you did, BD. Then you left, then you guys came in. So that has to be eight right there. I heard it go off three of four times when my wife was talking, so maybe eleven or twelve.”

  “It went off once before you got here,” said Sheila. I tried moving and it beeped, so we froze.”

  “Twelve, maybe thirteen.”

  “If I were a gambling man…” began Casey.

  “Which you are…” continued Dawson.

  “I’d be betting on thirteen,” finished Stucco.

  Dawson and Casey nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, we can’t risk triggering any more warnings. We’ll have to wait until the evacuation is complete, then we’ll start looking at this a little closer.”

  “But what if it’s on a timer?”

  Casey shook his head.

  “I doubt it. They had no way of knowing when you’d be home.”

  Dawson disagreed.

  “No, he’s right. The first time the door opened it might have started a timer. I don’t think we can assume there isn’t one.”

  Casey sighed.

  “You’re right.” He shook his head. “This thing is deadly sick. Whoever designed it is twisted. They want you to be here, they want the first responders to be outside, but they also want the civilians in the area out. This is targeted at you. They want you to be here, you to go through a delayed trauma, then for you and your family to be killed when we try to deactivate it.”

  Stucco’s daughter whimpered.

  “But don’t you worry, little girl, we’ll get you out of this,” said Casey, patting her head.

  The two men began taking pictures and video of the device.

  “I’ll transmit these to HQ and get some other eyes on it.”

  “Is it safe to transmit? I mean, there’s an antennae on that thing,” said Stucco, pointing.

  “There’s so much cellphone traffic in this area, if it were one of the event triggers, this would have gone off long ago. More likely this is a decoy,” replied Casey.

  Stucco sighed in relief. At least as long as they did nothing, and there was no timer, they would be safe, but the question was whether or not there was a timer.

  “Jesus!” muttered Casey.

  “What?” asked Stucco, looking over to see his friend had flipped what appeared to be some sort of night vision gear down.

  “I can see through the tape. There’s two LED displays on the front of the unit. The first, on the left, has the number ‘two’ displayed.”

  “That’s probably the event countdown. We were close on the thirteen guess, or we counted wrong in the first place.”

  “Yeah, but the other one is a timer. Counting down.”

  The room became silent, even Sheila and Christa holding their breaths.

  “How much time do we have left?” asked Dawson.

  Casey looked up at him and shook his head.

  “Not enough.”

  Palais de Justice, Geneva, Switzerland

  Public Prosecutor Yves Benoit shook Maria Esposito’s hand, clasping it tightly in both of his as they stood on the steps leading into the Palais de Justice where the trial would be held.

  “Thank you very much for being so brave,” said Benoit. “We have been trying to put M. Lacroix behind bars for years, to no avail. Your testimony, your courage, will finally let us put this man where he belongs so he can no longer hurt anyone else.”

  Maria smiled slightly, embarrassed at the man’s words. If truth be told, she was terrified. Her courage, her bravery, were fronts. If she had been raised differently she would have quit her job and disappeared into the mass of humanity that was the European Union.

  But instead she had decided to stand up for what was right. To fight back against this man, regardless of who he was. The prosecutor had assured her she would be safe, and so had Inspector Laviolette. She would have a detail assigned to her at all times once the charges were filed later today. At the moment she had been assured that Lacroix had no way of knowing what was coming. And it was that surprise they were counting on. Once the charges were filed, the press would have a field day with it, and the media firestorm would be her protection.

  “He won’t dare touch you once it’s in the press.”

  She hoped his words were prophetic.

  “I hope so,” she murmured as he let go of her hand. “I have to get to work.”

  “Have a good day, Mademoiselle.”

  She turned and took the stairs two at a time as she eyed her watch.

  You’re going to be late.

  She knew she wouldn’t get in trouble. The hotel was backing her on this, they had no choice. Once the United States government became involved and insisted the tapes be turned over, they became very cooperative. It wasn’t every day that officials that high up called the hotel.

  She was pretty certain it was those Secret Service agents that were helping move things along. They had seemed like nice guys. Stucco had seemed really nice. And cute. She wondered what might have happened if the rape hadn’t occurred. Would they have perhaps gone out on a date? He had seemed interested, but in a strange way. Almost as if he was oblivious to the fact he was showing her more interest than any man had in months, and that she was returning the interest.

  Maybe he’s the shy type? And what kind of name is Stucco?

  She smiled then winced, her bruising still fresh, her broken nose still aching. She ignored the looks of those around her, it difficult for most to hide their shock at seeing a young woman in her condition. She had offered to work behind the scenes at the hotel, and they had gratefully accepted her offer, even moving her to the day shift to make life easier for her.

  The most difficult thing had been talking to her mom and dad on Skype the day after it happened. They immediately caught a flight to be with her, and were still staying with her in her tiny apartment. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her mother had cried, her dad had kept the proverbial stiff upper lip, but his glassy eyes had revealed everything she knew he was feeling deep inside. She needed them now more than she had ever before. She was certain there was no way she’d be able to sleep alone in her apartment, not with knowing that man was still out there, and that the people that worked for him were still on the streets, perhaps looking for her.

  She reached the curb and heard a horn honk. She looked and saw her father and mother in her car on the other side of the street, her father in the driver’s seat, her mom standing beside the car, waving. Waving back, she briskly made her way to the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

  A city bus picked up its passengers in front of the court house then accelerated toward the light. She could hear the engine strain as the driver tried to make the green. She glanced to the right and saw it turn orange. The engine didn’t ease up, instead it whined louder. She waited for the bus as it rushed toward the intersection, then suddenly felt someone shove her from behind.

  She stumbled out into the road, spinning toward the bus as it rushed at her. She screamed and
she saw the bus driver’s eyes shoot wide open. The sound of brakes being applied was cut off as she felt the large windshield slam into her entire body, the glass splintering with the impact, the front of her body roaring in agony as every nerve caught fire, her pain receptors sending an inferno of signals to her brain.

  She didn’t register anything beyond the pain until she felt the bus come to a halt, her own body continuing with the transferred momentum into the center of the intersection, her head slamming into the ground.

  Her head lolled to the right and she saw a large pool of blood rushing out onto the asphalt, then in the distance, her mother rushing toward her, screaming in horror as her father struggled to get out of the car.

  Then nothing. Nothing but the ever growing darkness, and the flashes of bright lights that came with it, as her life slowly, completely, drained from her.

  A witness for the prosecution no more.

  Inside Stucco’s Residence, Maas Drive, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Stucco looked at Dawson then Casey.

  “How much time?”

  Casey shook his head, not saying anything. Stucco grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “How much!”

  Casey had been his friend since he arrived at The Unit with him, almost straight out of Delta training. They were both experienced soldiers, you had to be to get into Delta, both Sergeants—another requirement—and had bonded well with the long established Bravo Team over the past couple of years. They were part of the family, but Casey and Stucco would always share a slightly closer bond as the outsiders who had joined a tightknit group, earning their way into the circle that was The Unit.

  And the look in his trusted friend’s eyes was horrifying.

  “Less than five minutes.”

  His wife gasped a cry, his daughter thankfully oblivious as to what that meant.

  “Is the block cleared?” asked Stucco, his mind racing as to what they could do.

  Dawson nodded.

  “Yes, it’s all clear.”

  “Then get out of here.”

  “What?” Casey stood, shaking his head. “We’ve got five minutes, give me time to figure it out.”