“But what would happen if we shut that down? Would everybody have to clean their own houses? No, it would be just like after the Black Death. In Europe, half the population died within a few years. Did that mean that the work didn’t get done? No. Before the Black Death labor was plentiful, jobs weren’t necessarily so. This meant low wages and an inefficient work force. After the Black Death, when labor was scarce, but jobs still needed to get done, those who wanted it done the most, paid the most. Those who worked the hardest, or the most efficient, commanded even more pay, and those who wanted the same, had to work harder and more efficiently to get it as well.
“It revolutionized the work force. If we didn’t have people to fill the menial jobs, but the menial jobs still needed to get done, those who didn’t have work today because they weren’t qualified for the good paying jobs, and just didn’t see the point of toiling for minimum wage, or were too ashamed to take minimum wage jobs, would start jumping at those jobs because the people who wanted the work done would need to pay more. Instead of paying six bucks an hour for a maid, suddenly you’d have to pay fifteen or twenty. Being a maid would become a well-paying job, a job that Westerners wouldn’t feel is a sign of failure. The work would get done, those who fell through the cracks of our own society would be lifted up, and everybody would benefit.”
“How the hell did we get to talking about this?” asked Niner, a grin on his face.
“My other half has a habit of ranting about things he feels passionately about,” said Laura, holding his arm.
Acton felt his cheeks flush.
“I’m sorry, she’s right. I flip into professor mode too easily, and start to lecture. Just stop me whenever I do that.”
“You had a point,” said Dawson diplomatically. “We were discussing why it was important to determine what the Rosicrucians were up to, because reduced birthrates wouldn’t accomplish their goal.” He paused for a moment, then looked at Acton. “To me it seems they would need a Black Death type event to accomplish their goals.”
“That’s disturbing,” said Niner to which the rest of the room agreed. “I think Professor Palmer is right, we need to figure out their endgame, and stop it.”
“I agree,” said Dawson, “but no matter what we find or don’t find, we are taking them out at their meeting.”
“Which means we don’t have much time,” said Acton. “And I can’t even begin to think of where to start.”
“There is one place,” said Dawson. “His office right here in Geneva. There might be files.”
“We’ll leave that to you,” said Acton as Dawson and his men rose. “We’ll do what we do best.”
“And what is that?”
“Research.”
There was a knock at the door.
They all spun toward the sound.
“That wasn’t the code,” said Niner as they all jumped to their feet. Dawson pointed toward a rear corner of the room on the same side as the door. Acton took Laura by the hand and headed for the corner, but not before Laura grabbed two Glocks off a nearby table and several clips. By the time they reached the corner they were armed, with Niner and Jimmy on either side of the door, Spock and Jagger at the corners near the windows, Red and Dawson kneeling behind furniture with their weapons trained at the door.
“Who is it?” asked Niner.
No response.
Acton could feel the entire room tense up.
“Anything on the street?”
“Nothing unusual except somebody exited the building a moment ago and got in a black van. They left right away,” replied Spock.
“Open it,” ordered Dawson.
Niner pressed against the wall then reached over, unlocking the deadbolt, then turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Nobody.
Niner peered down the hallway to the right, then stepped out with his weapon gripped tightly in front of him as he made a semi-circle around the door, clearing the area, ending at the frame on the other side.
“Clear!” he announced. “But we’ve got a package.”
Dawson rushed forward, probably thinking exactly what Acton was thinking.
Bomb!
Suddenly Dawson picked it up, stepping back into the room with a smile on his face.
“Pardon me, Sergeant Major, but are you nuts?”
It was Niner who asked what they were all thinking.
Dawson put the package on a nearby table. It was about the size of a briefcase, but twice as thick as usual. As Acton approached, holding Laura slightly behind him with his outstretched arm, his eyebrows climbed.
“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 s
tatus 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.”
The Circle of Eight (A James Acton Thriller, Book #7) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 15