“I’ll meet you outside,” said Atlas, his impossibly deep voice not so deep on the tiny phone speaker. “I’ve also got your ‘go’ bag here for you.”
“We found yours too, Red,” said Niner.
Red turned the phone slightly toward himself. “Good. ETA three minutes.”
“I’ll be outside,” said Atlas.
Dawson spun the wheel as he gunned it out of the parking lot.
“Jimmy, Niner. You two find out where Professor Acton is. This has something to do with that damned symbol. I want to know what the hell it is, and he’s the man most likely to know.”
“Will do.”
“Spock, pick three men, meet us in Geneva. I want all the traffic camera footage you can find of Maria’s supposed suicide, and all the data you can find of the murder of the Inspector’s family. Keep an eye out for that symbol. They don’t know to look for it.”
“Got it, boss.”
“The rest of you I need here. Casey, I assume you’re going to want to work on the funeral arrangements for Stucco. The rest of you help him when he needs it. But I need you guys to be our Ops Center. Set up in a secure location, tap into anything you need to tap into. I want to find this bastard Lacroix, what kind of connections he has, what his game is. We’re taking him down. Understood?”
A cacophony of replies came back, the individual responses hard to hear, but their meaning clear.
“Good. Atlas, you’re in charge here. Red and I are going to secure my sister then we’ll join Spock in Geneva. Good hunting gentlemen.”
Red ended the call as Dawson screeched to a halt in front of Red’s house, Atlas waving them down. The massive man tossed the two go bags in the trunk then took the files from Red.
“Red filled us in earlier so we took action. Charlie’s plane is waiting for you at Fayetteville Regional with instructions to get you to Richmond ASAP. I’ll copy these then have a set waiting for you when you land. Thor will meet you with a vehicle.”
Dawson shook Atlas’ hand then floored it, pleased that Brad “Thor” Inglethorp, a retired member of The Unit from about ten years ago was their point man in Richmond. He was a good man who had lost part of his foot on an op when a stray 50 caliber round had found him. Dawson wondered if his thick mane of long blonde hair that had earned him his nickname was still as golden as it once was.
Or as grey as he now felt.
He glanced at Red.
“Call the Op Center and see if there’s any word on my sister.”
Chippenham Parkway, Richmond, Virginia
Sylvia groaned, her head pounding, the taste of iron on her lips. She opened her eyes and blinked her surroundings into focus, and as she did so, realized why she felt so disoriented.
She was hanging upside down. There was no movement in the vehicle, their two abductors still in their seats. Her hands were still hooked around the passenger seat occupant’s neck, her wrists aching from the strain.
“Mommy?”
Her heart leapt as she heard Jenny’s voice. She looked to her left and Jenny was still belted in, her two hands hanging onto her mother’s seat belt to stop herself from falling down to the roof of the upturned vehicle.
“Are you okay, honey?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“But you’re bleeding.”
“I just bumped my head, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“But you’re bleeding from your arm too.”
She looked and saw a lot of blood on her left arm, dripping down onto the clothed roof liner. Something was sticking out of it, a piece of wood or something. She followed it and realized it was a piece of a traffic sign that had punctured the front window, the shredded end where it had broken in half now partially stuck in her arm.
This isn’t good.
She examined the wound as best she could with her hands cuffed. It was bleeding, but not profusely, suggesting it had missed the artery. A moan from the driver seat made her decision for her. They had to get out of here, which meant the pole had to be removed.
“Mommy needs your help, okay?”
Jenny nodded.
Terrified.
“I want you to take the piece of wood that’s in Mommy’s arm, and pull it straight out, okay?”
Jenny nodded, letting go of the belt with one hand, then unbuckling her own belt, flipping head over heels and landing on her knees as only young children could without hurting themselves. She grasped the pole and Sylvia nodded.
Jenny yanked and Sylvia screamed as the pole came out.
“Don’t stop!” she yelled as she felt Jenny hesitate.
She continued to pull and Sylvia felt the pain immediately ease. She opened her eyes and saw her arm was free of the pole. It looked like a broken shard had embedded itself about two inches. She knew enough to know that her brachial artery wasn’t severed—if it were, she’d be dead—but it might be nicked.
“Can you reach Mommy’s belt buckle?”
Jenny nodded, her face tear stained.
“Unbuckle me.”
“You’ll fall.”
“It’s not far.”
She heard shouts outside then saw feet and legs through the window.
“Are you okay in there?”
“Help!” she yelled. “We’re trapped in the back!”
She saw two people at her window and heard the door being yanked on. Suddenly it opened, fresh air and the evening sun pouring in.
“I’m wounded in the arm,” she said. “I’m a nurse, I’ll need—”
“I’m an off duty EMT. Don’t you worry, ma’am. I’ll have you out of here in a few seconds. Can you move your arms and legs?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain anywhere?”
“Just my head from where I hit it, and my arm where the traffic sign punctured me.”
“No pain when I do this?” he asked as his hands went over her body, feeling for broken bones.
“No.”
“But you can feel it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’re going to get you out of there now.”
He unclipped her seatbelt, his arms gently lowering her. He freed her of the belt and she was able to reposition herself so she could free her cuffed hands from around the throat of her abductor without anyone noticing.
Two sets of hands lifted her out then lay her on the pavement. Jenny scrambled out on her own, holding his mother’s hands.
“Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?” asked the EMT.
“Fine,” replied Jenny, looking away.
“Hey, this one’s dead!” called another voice. She looked to her right and saw someone had the passenger side door open, shaking his head at what he saw.
She felt the EMT tie off her arm with a tourniquet, wincing as he did it.
“That should hold until the ambulance gets here. She could hear sirens in the distance.
“Hey, what’s with the handcuffs?”
Her heart raced and her eyes flooded with tears.
“Are you a prisoner?”
The EMT seemed to back off a bit, his face one of shock.
“We were kidnapped,” she said.
“Uh huh.”
It didn’t sound like he believed her.
“This one’s alive!” called the other voice, sounding more distant. She looked to see several people gathered on the other side of the vehicle.
“Help Mommy up,” she whispered to Jenny. Jenny pulled on her good hand so that she was now sitting up. She rolled onto her knees, Jenny pushing with all her might to keep her from falling forward, then between the two of them, she managed to sit up right on her haunches. One final push and she was on her feet, rushing across the road, Jenny in tow, toward a row of thick trees.
“Hey, where are you going?” yelled someone.
She didn’t look.
“Keep going!” she said to Jenny in a harsh whisper. “Don’t look back!”
They made it to the trees and through an o
pening revealing some sort of abandoned construction or demolition site, packed dirt and rubble strewn about. The trees continued to the left, blocking their view from the road they had just crossed. Ahead she could see a house and other buildings they might be able to hide in.
Fortunately her legs were working fine, but she was weak. She couldn’t raise her cuffed hands to apply pressure to her wound, the blood still dripping from her elbow onto the ground.
A trail!
There was nothing she could do about that. She needed to get to a phone and call Burt. That was her only hope. She reached the house, the driveway empty save a covered car that looked like it hadn’t been moved in years. She hammered on the door, but the only answer was the bark of what sounded like a huge dog. She knocked again, and there was no retort of an occupant telling the dog to be quiet.
And with the dog, there was no breaking in.
They rounded the house, a quick glance behind her showing no one pursuing them. Behind the house was a large yard then open space, a few cars parked to the side of a thin paved portion, this obviously meant to be used as a parking lot, for what she didn’t know.
Then she gasped as she saw the spire proudly thrusting into the air.
A church!
She ran as fast as she could toward the carport at the front, then leaned on Jenny’s shoulder with her elbow to climb up the few steps to the large front doors. As she entered, she heard a shout and she looked to her right to see the driver of their SUV stumbling past the corner of the house.
He raised his weapon and fired, the bullet slamming into the brick railing sending shards of sharp rock blasting in all directions. Sylvia pushed Jenny inside then jumped across the threshold as another bullet tore into the door.
“Somebody help us! Please!” she yelled as the few inside turned toward the commotion. She stumbled forward, down the aisle of the church toward the altar, her body weakening rapidly, the adrenaline she had been running on waning in its effect, forcing her to lean on Jenny more and more, Jenny’s tiny body struggling under her mother’s weight, the little champion not saying a word in protest.
A man near the front, kneeling deep in prayer, looked then jumped up as fast as his old bones could manage as the pastor ran toward them from a side room. There were only a few worshippers here, it not Sunday, and almost all were retirees well into their final years.
But every one of them moved to help.
The pastor quickly took control.
“Was that gunfire I heard?”
“Yes,” gasped Sylvia as she finally fell to her knees, her body too weak to continue.
The pastor turned to his parishioners.
“Call nine-one-one, tell them we need police and ambulance, shots have been fired.”
One of the women pulled her phone out of her purse, dialing as she walked away from the commotion.
“Kurt, you were a medic in the war, weren’t you?”
The first man to have reacted nodded as he struggled to kneel on the floor. The pastor helped him then ran for the doors. Sylvia heard the clicking of locks as Kurt quickly looked at her wound, then noticed her cuffs. Loosening the tourniquet, he quietly said, “Who’s after you?”
“Some men pretending to be FBI. They tried to kill us. It’s something to do with my brother’s work.”
“What’s he do?”
“I’m not allowed to say. It’s military though.”
“Ahhh, one of our Special Forces boys. Enough said.”
“I need to call him.”
“What’s the number?” he asked as he tore her sleeve off. She gasped in pain and passed out as hammering could be heard at the doors.
St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland
“Let’s talk the Black Death.”
Professor James Acton sat perched on the edge of his desk, legs extended out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He faced a class of over one hundred students, most of whom actually seemed to want to be there. Eager heads popped up at the mention of one of his favorite topics in history.
“Who can tell me why it was called the Black Death?”
A hand shot up.
“Wasn’t it something to do with these black things growing under their armpits?”
“Very good. One of the symptoms was the infection collecting in the lymph nodes, some of which are located under the arm pits. These would swell, filled with a black puss that would darken the skin. The doctors at the time would slice them open, letting the infected blood out. It would be this nasty thick, black, horrible smelling ooze that would cure you of eating anything for a few days.”
There was laughter from the students, and a little queasiness.
“But, keep in mind that’s a new term. At the time it was called many things such as The Pestilence or The Great Mortality.” He paused and took a sip of water from a glass on his desk. “So, where did it originate?”
Silence.
“It was thought to have originated in the Orient, probably China, then made its way along the trade routes, and eventually to Europe. Any idea when it hit Europe?”
“Wasn’t it in the dark ages? Like thirteen hundred something?”
“Yes. The first case was believed to have happened in 1328, and the plague ravaged Europe until 1351. Over the next sixty years there were additional outbreaks, but none like the first. Some estimates put the death toll at as much as sixty percent of the European population, most of that toward the end.”
That got a reaction.
“Now imagine a plague hitting us, killing off half of America in just a few years. What kind of impact would that have on us?”
“Our economy would be screwed.”—“We’d be open to invasion.” —“China would take over.”
Acton nodded.
“I hear mostly negative things. In fact, I think everything was negative unless you really like Chinese food.” Laughter. “How about we learn from history? It’s hard to believe that having half your population die horrible agonizing deaths in a few short years could produce anything good, but it did. In fact, the Black Death eventually led to many advancements that still impact us today.”
“You mean like how war spurs technological progress?”
“Yes, in some ways, but also in others. The obvious was advancements in science in general. Once cases started to show up, doctors were trying to figure out ways to cure it. They experimented on patients, and in doing so, came up with the scientific method. Before that, most experimentation was haphazard guesswork with no method. But by the end of the Black Death, many new methods of experimentation were developed that evolved over the centuries into our modern scientific method.”
“What caused it?”
“Great question. For centuries no one knew. There were crazy theories out there. Wrath of God, bad air being released by earthquakes. As well, Jews were often blamed.”
“Man, can’t those dudes ever get a break?”
More laughter, and Acton smiled, but became serious.
“Jews were tortured into confessing that they had caused the plague to destroy Christians, then were put to death or expelled by the thousands. In Strasburg, Germany, they gave Jews a choice. Convert to Christianity, or be burned at the stake. Thousands chose to die rather than give up their religion.”
The laughter was gone.
“The Black Death was a period of fear. Much of it fear due to ignorance. Back then they encouraged people not to bathe for fear it would open up the pores on the skin which would let the plague in.”
“Very Klingon!”
Acton chuckled. “Very! So, guess what came into use around that time?”
“Deodorant?”
“Close. Perfumes and colognes to cover up the stench. But we’ve since determined that the disease was carried by infected fleas on rats. The rats were aboard the ships that spread it to rats all along the trading routes, and eventually to Europe. It never occurred to anyone at the time that it was rats spreading it. The rats spread the fleas to other
rats, the fleas jumped onto the people and bit them, infecting them.”
“Besides questionable advances in medicine and stench maskers, what possible good could killing off half of the population have brought?” asked a skeptical voice from the back of the room.
“Well, for one thing it loosened the grip religion held over the population. First, there were a lot less worshipers, second, those worshippers were being blamed for the plague, saying it was punishment for their fornicating and blasphemous ways, and when people did what the church told them, and nothing changed, they began to question things. It took time, but over the centuries that followed, it led to the reformation, and eventually the separation of church and state.”
“But how can we learn from that now? We already have a separation of church and state.”
Acton nodded.
“True. We do, but much of the world doesn’t.”
“Who?”
“Pretty much any country that isn’t a democracy. Outside of Western democracies and officially atheist countries like China, there is no separation of Church and State.”
“So what they need is a good plague?”
Laughter filled the room and Acton held up his hand to stop it.
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just saying that a plague was one of many things that helped us progress. For those who still haven’t figured out how to separate religion from their government it may be any number of things, but until they figure out how to separate the two, there will always be conflict between those who want to cling to the old ways, and those who want to move forward. But we’re getting off topic.” He clapped his hands together. “So, what else happens when you wipe out half your population?”
Silence.
“Well, wouldn’t your workforce also be cut in half?”
Nods.
“So, if your workforce is cut in half, what do you think would happen?”
“There would be more demand for workers?”
“Exactly. So what would happen then?”
“Umm, wages go up?”
“Yup. And if you remember from last week’s class, what type of system did they have in England and much of Europe at the time?”
The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 8