The Circle of Eight (6 page)

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.”

Stucco
stood, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, the other on Dawson’s.

“Let me
say goodbye to my family.”

Dawson
nodded.

“On
condition you come out in time.”

“Deal.
Now get out of here.”

Casey
grabbed Stucco’s hand, still on his shoulder, and squeezed.

“I’ll
see you outside in three minutes.” Casey looked at Sheila, saying nothing, his
eyes conveying the pain he was feeling. He turned and walked down the hall, the
door opening and a beep from the device startling them all. Dawson said
nothing, just squeezed his hand, looked at Stucco’s wife and daughter grimly,
then left, the door not eliciting a beep.

Stucco
leaned out into the hallway and saw someone had propped the door open with a
chair.

He
dropped to his knees, taking the two most precious things in his life into his
hands, turning their faces toward him.

“I’m so
sorry this is happening,” he said, his eyes filling with tears, unable to
control the pain he felt inside, his chest tightening, his stomach muscles
contracting as he fought the bile that was rushing into his mouth.

His
daughter looked at him, her eyes flowing tears down her cheeks as she saw her
daddy cry, something she probably hadn’t seen since the day she was born. It
had been the happiest day of his life, and now he would be here to see her die,
something no parent should see, especially in this way.

He tousled
her hair, then squeezed her cheek.

“Daddy
loves you, always remember that. And I’ll see you in Heaven, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her
voice, so innocent, seemed to accept his words at face value with no fear. He
turned to his wife, her face red with tears, but her sobs controlled in an
effort to not scare her daughter. He looked into her eyes, the eyes of the only
woman he had ever loved, the woman who had helped rescue him from a life almost
wasted, a life almost spent alone, who had given herself to him completely,
given him the most beautiful daughter in the world, and had loved him despite
all his faults and this life of danger he thrived on.

“I love
you,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I love
you too,” he said, kissing her for the last time. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped,
his sobs taking over. “I shouldn’t have got involved.”

She
shushed him.

“You
wouldn’t be the man I loved if you hadn’t helped that girl. You did what was
right, and that’s why I married you. You have a good heart. Never forget that.”

“Thirty
seconds!” yelled Casey’s voice from outside.

“Now go,
go before it’s too late,” she urged, staring into his eyes.

Stucco
kissed her, placed a kiss on his little girl’s head, then walked down the
hallway to the front door. Across the road he could see his entire team waiting
for him, everyone else gone, urging him to hurry.

He
stopped in the doorway, looked back, hearing the gentle sobs of his wife, then
his daughter’s tiny voice.

“Where’s
Daddy going, Mommy?”

Stucco
looked at his friends, then raised his hand, and waved. He kicked the chair
holding the door open, then as it slowly closed, the pneumatic door closer
doing its job, he sprinted down the hallway as he heard shouts from outside. He
turned into the kitchen and fell on his knees, his arms opened wide as he slid
across the linoleum and into the only family he had ever known.

And as
his arms enveloped them, the device beeped one last time, and tore a family
apart.

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

The world was dark, hot, loud and reeked. Dawson’s body ached all
over as he pushed himself up on his elbows. Fortunately he still had his EOD
gear on, the only part he had removed was his helmet and visor. He looked
around, shaking his head. The house was gone. Completely. It was if it had been
originally made from matchsticks, everything now wood splinters and drywall
dust, only the slab the house had been built on remained.

On
either side the neighboring houses were heavily damaged, one in flames already,
the other starting to smolder. Dawson could barely hear through the roaring in
his ears, but he thought he heard sirens in the distance. He turned his head to
look down the street and saw several fire trucks rushing to the scene, already
holding out of range of any possible explosion.

Casey!

Casey
had been the closest, having run for the door when he saw what Stucco intended.
Dawson looked for him, but didn’t see him. He had chased Casey, but was too
slow to stop him, the damned EOD gear bulky, and Casey having a good twenty
foot head start.

A hand
grabbed his shoulder as Red came into view.

“BD! You
okay?” he yelled, his own face and clothes covered in dirt and debris.

Dawson
nodded.

“Casey?”

Red
looked behind him and nodded.

“He’s
fine. Good thing he was wearing the gear.”

“Get me
up,” said Dawson.

Red
pulled Dawson to his feet and helped him strip out of the EOD gear, it no
longer needed. Freed, he walked over to Casey who was now sitting up.

“How bad
a hit did you take?” he asked.

Casey
shrugged and winced.

“Mighta
cracked a rib. Hurts to breathe a little.”

“EMT
just pulled up,” said Atlas as the team broke to give the professionals room to
work.

“Why’d
he do it, BD? Why?”

Casey’s
voice broke, but he maintained enough control to prevent any tears threatening
to spill over from doing so.

Dawson put
a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You’ve
got a wife and kid, don’t you?”

Casey
nodded.

“Wouldn’t
you?”

Casey
closed his eyes, a single tear escaping, cleaning a path down his soiled cheek.

“Yes I
would,” he whispered.

Casey
was lifted onto a stretcher and hurried away by the EMTs within minutes,
leaving the rest of them to mull around and watch the fire department do its
job.

“What
the hell is this?” asked Niner.

Dawson
turned to see what had caught the attention of their Korean-American team
member. Niner was walking over to a telephone pole where a single sheet of
paper was tacked to it. It was conspicuous since posting labels on military
property was strictly forbidden.

Niner
reached forward to pull it down when Dawson finally made out the drawing on the
paper.

“Wait!”
he yelled, running over to the pole.

Niner
stood with his hand out but frozen.

“What?”

“Don’t
touch it. It’s evidence.”

“Evidence?”

The
others gathered around as Dawson carefully looked at the paper and how it was
attached to the pole.

“It’s
rigged.”

Niner
stepped back, as did the rest of the team.

“Looks
like they dug a small hollow out in the post. There’s probably a pressure
trigger in there. Pull that pin holding this thing in place, release the
trigger, say goodbye to your head.”

Dawson gently
held the bottom corners of the page down.

“Get
some pictures of this, then get the bomb squad over here. They can deal with
this.”

Atlas
stepped forward with his phone and quickly began taking pictures of the page as
Niner went to find the EOD team that had been instructed to stand down by
Dawson, he and Casey instead commandeering their equipment, every bit as
qualified as the men that had shown up to deal with the bomb.

“Okay,
everyone back,” said Dawson as the EOD team arrived, having been holding only a
few hundred feet away. Dawson explained what he thought was going on, and the
team went to work. “Try to save the paper, it’s evidence.”

Dawson
stepped over to the team who were all looking at the photos Atlas had taken.

“What is
it?” asked Spock, his trademark eyebrow far up his forehead.

“Some
sort of symbol. Looks like a rose with a cross in it. Why is that familiar?”
asked Atlas.

“I don’t
know where you might have seen it before,” said Dawson as he took the phone and
looked at the drawing. “But I’ve seen it once before.”

“Where?”

“Geneva.”

Chênes-Bougeries, Geneva, Switzerland

Inspector Pierre Laviolette pressed the fob, his “Rosso Red” Fiat
500 Turbo chirping pleasantly as it flashed its lights at the end of a long
day.

A very
long day.

His
witness was dead. A freak accident. She had stepped out in front of a bus and
died instantly. There were dozens of witnesses, including the girl’s own
parents. There was no indication of foul play, no indication she had been
murdered, no indication that slippery Lacroix was behind it at all.

She had
just stepped out in front of the bus.

His
heart told him it was an accident. As a devout Catholic, suicide was a sin, but
he wouldn’t blame the poor girl for having given in, given in to the pressures
of the case, and for having decided to end it once and for all with a simple
step forward, into traffic.