The Circle of Eight (3 page)

“And the
man outside?”

“Part of
our detail.”

“This
man”—Laviolette cocked his head at Lacroix—“claims that the other man assaulted
him for no reason.”

“Untrue.
M. Lacroix physically assaulted and most likely raped the young woman outside.”

“He
claims she was a willing participant in rough sex.”

Dawson
kept control of his anger, but just barely.

“I know
this woman, and was there when she was called to this room. She’s the hotel’s
night manager, and was coming here to tell M. Lacroix that his request for a
sexy maid to clean his room would not be fulfilled. M. Lacroix returned to this
hotel from an unknown location less than an hour ago, had an altercation with a
woman he was with in the hallway, which resulted in her leaving, and M. Lacroix
then entered his room and moments later requested a ‘sexy’ maid to clean his
already cleaned room. I think his intent was clear.”

“Indeed.”

“Listen,
do you have any idea who I am?” yelled Lacroix from the corner. “I’m—”

“I know
very well who you are, monsieur, and I strongly advise you to not say
anything.” He motioned to the other officers. “Arrest him. Suspicion of assault
and rape.”

Two
officers grabbed the man, handcuffing him as he cursed in various foreign
languages, finally settling on English, glaring at Dawson.

“Forget
what you saw here today, or you and your friend will pay dearly.”

Dawson
didn’t respond, instead glancing at the table of documents, then back at
Lacroix.

“You
were warned,” growled the man as he was led outside. As he disappeared through
the door, he proved he wasn’t finished. “Slut!” yelled Lacroix, to which a
flurry of curses burst from Stucco’s mouth, out of sight of Dawson as the door
closed.

Alone,
the inspector looked at Dawson, his face grave.

“This
will probably end my career. Both of our careers. But this man has to be
stopped.”

“What do
you mean?”

“You
really don’t know who this man is?”

“Not
really. He wasn’t my concern, vetted by another team since he was staying on
the same floor. My understanding is he’s a high ranking member of the World
Bank, clean record, respected in his profession, a patron of the arts, and
disliked by this hotel’s staff.”

“He is
all that, and he is also suspected in over a dozen rapes across the world, all
of which have been covered up with what you Americans I think call ‘hush money’,
or worse. He is rich, very powerful, and in his world, our laws don’t apply.”

Dawson
frowned. “In my world he’d be assassinated.”

Laviolette
smiled slightly, looking at Dawson.

“I’ve
dealt with Secret Service many times. You are
not
Secret Service.”

Dawson ignored
the statement.

“What
can we expect next?”

“It
depends on how far she wants to take it. Normally they’re offered more money
than they can ever hope to make in the next decade or two, and they take it.
That will be the end of it. If she chooses to pursue it to court, then the
witnesses might get bribed, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“It
wouldn’t be the first time that somebody has died at the hands of this man’s
security force.”

Köln, Germany

1472 AD

Dietrich kissed Heike for the last time with a passion he didn’t
know he had in him. It was enough for him to question his decision, and as she
moaned in his arms, their forbidden love swelled in his chest and at that
moment his decision was made.

“I love you,” he whispered as their lips broke.

“And I you, my darling,” replied Heike, staring into his
eyes, lost in their little world. He a doctor, she the daughter of a local
cobbler. They were in different stations, her father fairly well off, expecting
her to marry a business man whose family would complement their own. A doctor
was not in her father’s plans. Certainly he made a reasonable living, and since
he had been invited to join The Order five years ago, his lot had improved
greatly, but doctors were still not considered an honorable profession unless
you needed one, then they were as holy as priests.

He grabbed her, pulling her in tightly, and his heart
and head united in their decision. Despite the warnings, despite everything he
had to lose, they would be together, forever.

And he would have to tell his master that his future apprentice
could be his no longer, for his heart belonged to another.

The thought of that encounter caused both his heart and
mind to falter. Not in doubt that he loved Heike, of that there was no doubt.
But in fear. For the master was terrifying. Insanely intelligent, impossibly
prescient. He could read people so well, it was as if he knew what they were
thinking, and he never corrected anyone who might think he could indeed read their
mind.

It had been a moment like that just this morning that
had sent his heart racing in terror.

“If you are to be my apprentice tomorrow, you must give
up any notion of love, of being with a woman in any way other than carnally.
Marriage is forbidden to us, bachelorhood our sworn commitment.”

“I understand, my master.”

“Are you certain?”

His question had made Dietrich pause as he debated on
what to say. He decided to err on the side of caution.

“I will end it with her tonight, my master.”

“I am pleased you admitted to it, my son. Should you not
have, you would not have become my apprentice tomorrow.”

Dietrich had bowed deeply, then left the master’s
chambers, immediately seeking Heike out. They had spent the evening together as
he tried to figure some way to tell her it was over, but every moment together
was agony, his love growing with each touch, each glance, each shared laugh and
smile.

But what will the master do?

It was a terrifying thought. He had never heard of an apprentice
rejecting his master before. He had of course heard of apprentice’s dying
during training, and he wondered if they had indeed died from it, or had been
executed for betraying their masters.

He shivered.

“Are you cold, my darling?”

“How could I be cold when you warm my heart so?” he
asked, enveloping her in his arms. Suddenly he pushed her back, holding her by
both shoulders. “If we are to do this, we must do it tonight.”

“What, my darling? What do you mean?”

“We must tell your father of us, and if he does not
bless our union, then we will leave this place and start a new life elsewhere,
far away, where no one knows us, where no one can judge us.”

She threw herself into his arms, clawing at his back as
she wept.

“Yes oh yes, my darling! I only want to be with you,
forever!”

Dietrich took her hand and they quickly made their way
toward her home at the top of the cobblestoned street as a gentle mist began to
fall. He heard a foot scrape down an alley and he turned to see who might be
there, but he saw nothing, including the robed figure ensconced in the
darkness.

Martin Lacroix Residence, Republic of San Marino

Present Day

“This meeting of the Circle of Eight is called to order.”

The voice was deep, hollow, serious. In the entire time
Doctor Martin Lacroix had heard it, he had never once sensed any emotion, any
compassion, any passion. It was as cold a voice as any he had encountered, the bottom
end rolling like distant thunder through his earphones, the images on the
screen cloaked in the traditional brown robes, faces hidden in the shadows of
their hoods.

He had met Number One on many occasions, but to describe
him would be impossible. He was of average height, his build hidden by the
robes, but the boney hands suggested he was thin, and the lack of liver spots
or severe wrinkling suggested he wasn’t as aged as some in The Circle. But with
the knowledge and money available to The Circle, the state-of-the-art research
they had access to, one’s age was no longer as easy to guess as it once was.

Anti-aging treatments were one of the most compelling
reasons to join The Order. What once was science fiction had become science
fact. The ability to extend useful human life well past the century mark
existed—it was simply expensive and not well known, as it created a two tiered
society. Those with the money who could afford to extend their lives, and those
without, doomed to die in their seventies or eighties, with the last ten or
twenty years of their lives a growing set of chronic and painful problems that
turned living into existing.

But not within The Order.

Medical experimentation was encouraged, hailed if
successful, studied further if not. Members were welcome to volunteer for
radical treatments that hadn’t yet even been approved for human testing, and it
would be funded and performed by The Order. In fact, most cutting edge research
had some sort of funding component from The Order’s various fronts, giving them
access to all the research and materials necessary to conduct their own
procedures.

It was fascinating, and each time Lacroix read of a new
breakthrough that had been successfully tested on one of their own, his heart
raced in excitement. Treatments abandoned by the mainstream scientific
community because of their adverse effects on a small percentage, were
embraced, The Order’s thinking that those who it didn’t help were simply
inferior genetically. Why should those who weren’t be denied this knowledge?

And that was the fundamental driving force behind The
Order. To gather knowledge, all knowledge—medical, scientific, historical—it
didn’t matter. The Order particularly prided itself on collecting forgotten knowledge,
forbidden knowledge. Forgotten knowledge had been their mainstay hundreds of
years ago when they were founded, but over the past fifty years so much
knowledge and wondrous advances had been made and forgotten due to politics and
poor funding priorities, they had taken it upon themselves to preserve and
expand upon it.

Sometimes these scientists were brought within the fold,
usually unwittingly, and if they showed the correct attitude toward The Order’s
philosophies, sometimes invited inside. And sometimes, like with himself, you
made it into the ultimate inner circle, the Circle of Eight, the ruling council
of The Order. Unknown to the membership except as shadowy figures who were to
remain anonymous, their directives absolute, to be followed to the letter,
without question.

He himself had been a member of The Circle for almost
ten years, chosen by his master as his replacement almost thirty years ago. He
had trained, learned the history, learned the forgotten sciences, and sworn
allegiance to an organization over six hundred years old, and more powerful and
anonymous than any he knew to be in existence. They were a secret, an absolute
secret. Those in The Circle were sworn to remain bachelors with no connections
that they may betray their secrets to. They were responsible for choosing their
own replacements before they died, the identities held secret until the day of
their deaths when a secret messenger would deliver the identity, and the
person, to the swearing in ceremony that occurred exactly seven days after death.

And today, this impromptu meeting over secure channels
was because of him. Because of his error, his screw-up, his inability to
control his sexual urges.

They’ll have you killed one day.

“Gentlemen. We have a problem. Or should I say, we
once
again
have a problem, with Number Eight,” said Number One.

“Again?” asked another, his voice filled with the
exasperation Lacroix was certain they all felt for him. Even he felt it about
himself. If he remained sober, he was usually fine, but as soon as that first
glass of wine or scotch graced his lips, he was drinking for the night, then
determined to have female companionship, whether she willingly participated or
not.

But in Geneva he had crossed a line.

And got caught.

“This is getting ridiculous,” said another.

“Agreed,” rumbled Number One. “How do you propose to
solve this problem, Number Eight?”

Lacroix looked over his shoulder at the door that had
remained closed since his apprentice had left.

Where is he?

He took a drink of water to moisten his suddenly dry mouth,
then leaned toward the microphone sitting on his desk.

“I have an operative identifying all of the witnesses
involved, and should have a report shortly.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

“They will be paid off, or otherwise encouraged to
remain silent.”

“But there is something unique about this encounter, is
there not?” rumbled Number One’s voice.

“Y-yes,” said Lacroix, his voice cracking at having to
admit it to The Circle. “I had several of our files in plain sight, and they
were seen.”

Cursing and other sounds filled his headset as The
Circle erupted in anger. At that moment the door behind him opened and he
turned to see his apprentice enter, a grave expression on his face. Lacroix
motioned for him to hurry up.

His apprentice rushed over, handing him a file.

“We have a problem,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

He flipped through the folder and stopped on a page
showing the Secret Service agent who had beaten him. His apprentice pointed
lower on the page.

Oh shit!

“The usual payoffs will not be enough,” said one of The
Circle. “They must be silenced.”

Lacroix cleared his voice, leaning in again.

“Gentlemen, we may have a bigger problem than I
thought.”

“Explain,” said Number One.

“The men we thought were Secret Service aren’t.”

“Then what are they?”