The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  "Ticked off anyone lately, Tom?" Reece asked. He nudged Tommy in the shoulder with his fist.

  "No more than usual. I don't think that's it. Whoever they are, it has to do with that email."

  He steered the car around an S curve. The road straightened out for a stretch, heading up a mountain. The dense forest kept them in the shade of the canopy. The windshield had a slew of cracks running through it in random directions, but there was enough clear glass for Tommy to see out.

  "We need to ditch this car," Sean said, thinking about the damage. "Rental company isn't going to be happy."

  Reece chuckled.

  Sean faced Adriana. "Would you call Wilbur and double check to see if that email was seen by anyone else? Maybe he found something he missed before."

  "Sure," she said and started looking for the number to the museum.

  "There's something else we need to consider, too," Sean continued.

  "What's that?" Tommy asked.

  "Up until last night, we didn't have a clue where we were going next. Coming here wasn't part of our plan. We hadn't told anyone about it."

  "But we did tell Wilbur." Tommy's epiphany sent a cold silence through the car. The only sounds were the steady moan of the engine, the rumble of the tires, and the whistling wind through the bullet hole in the glass.

  Sean reached over and touched Adriana's hand. "Hold off on making that call."

  Tommy flashed a questioning glance in the rearview mirror. "You think Wilbur told them?"

  Sean stared at the road ahead as he answered. "Right now, I think he's the only suspect, which means we don't know who we can trust."

  "Just business as usual for us, then."

  "We wouldn't have it any other way, would we?"

  Tommy snorted. "I guess not."

  13

  Milbrodale

  Jack stood in the middle of the road, staring at the empty lanes that curved behind the forest. His breathing hadn't increased much. The sprint after the Americans had been a short one. He was accustomed to far more grueling exercise.

  He turned his head and evaluated the damage. The SUV that struck a tree billowed smoke out of the crumpled hood. No one moved inside, at least not that he could tell from his vantage point. The vehicle on its side also showed sparse signs of life, though he couldn't see into the SUV because he was facing the undercarriage.

  Jack walked off the road, down a short slope to the smoking vehicle. He opened the driver side door and jumped back as the driver slumped over and fell onto the ground. His neck was twisted at a grotesque angle, broken on impact. Jack leaned over the body and checked the passenger side. The second guy was dead too, caught at the base of his neck by a bullet. His hands were covered in sticky red ooze from futilely trying to stop the bleeding.

  Before he walked away, Jack rubbed his shirt on the door handle to take away the fingerprints. Then he stalked over to the SUV lying on its side. From this angle, he saw inside through the cracked windshield. The driver wasn't moving, but it looked like his passenger might still be alive.

  When Jack reached the vehicle, he could see the passenger wriggling around, trying to free himself from the seatbelt. Jack walked casually around to the roof. The glass moonroof had ripped free during the SUV's series of acrobatic flips. Jack could see right through to the struggling man.

  The guy had a three-inch gash on his head that streamed three trickles of blood down his face. Not a life-threatening injury, but certainly one that would require medical attention.

  "You okay in there?" Jack asked. He leaned against the roof with his forearm like he had nothing better to do.

  "Hey, help me out of here. I can't get to the seatbelt release button. It's jammed."

  Jack had already noticed the problem. Now he saw another one. The man's leg was broken, twisted to the right from just below the knee. The guy had to be in shock to be so focused on getting out of the vehicle and not screaming in agony.

  "He dead?" Jack motioned with one finger at the driver.

  The passenger gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah, man. He's dead. Please, you gotta help me out of here." The desperation in the man's voice sounded pathetic to Jack. Two times in twenty-four hours he'd had to listen to the sounds of weak men begging to be spared.

  "I can help you," Jack said.

  "Thank you. Please, hurry. My leg's broken. I need to get to a hospital."

  "Yeah, before I help you, though, I have to ask you a quick question."

  "What? Just get me out of here, man!"

  Jack cocked his head to the side. "Now, now. Patience. Being rude isn't going to make me help you any faster."

  The passenger grunted, still reaching for the seatbelt release button. It was blocked by a twisted piece of metal jammed into the dash and running into the back seat.

  Jack continued. "I am just curious about something. When you and the other truck approached, why did neither of you gunmen open fire at the target?"

  "What? What are you talking about, Jack?"

  Jack drew his weapon and checked the chamber. One round left. He pointed the gun at the man and paused a second. "I asked a simple question. The answer is equally as simple. Why didn't you shoot at the target."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "Don't make me use this bullet on you. We hired you four because you were supposed to be good at this sort of thing. And you went and made a mess of it. I just want to know, why you didn't take even a single shot at the target?"

  The passenger grimaced. Either the pain from his broken leg was beginning to set in, or he realized the threat he faced was very real. "I don't know," he said. "I thought we were supposed to just box them in."

  "Which you did...initially. That leads me to my next question. Why did this idiot and the other one think you all would lose a game of chicken against a smaller car?"

  "I...I don't know, Jack. I wasn't driving. I don't know what was going through those guys' heads." He swallowed hard, and his pleas descended into groveling. "Please, Jack. I've answered your questions. Help me out of this thing."

  "It's just that...if I saw a smaller car coming my way and the people inside started shooting, my initial instinct would be to shoot back. You have a gun in there, right?"

  "Yes. We have the guns you gave us."

  "Then again, I wonder why on earth you decided not to use them."

  The passenger used the only excuse he could think of that wouldn't further enrage his superior. "Look, Jack, I don't know about the other guy, but I know I didn't want to risk missing the target and hitting you instead. I mean...you were out there in the middle of the road. If I opened fire, you could have been killed." The man swallowed hard again after he finished. He was definitely in shock. Extreme thirst was one of the symptoms. "Please. Help me."

  Jack gave an emphatic nod. "Okay. I believe you. That makes sense. After all, I can't be dead, now can I?"

  "No. No, you can't." The passenger's voice filled with relief.

  "Except," Jack said, tapping his right cheek with an index finger, "that does bring up another issue."

  "What? What issue? Come on, Jack. Get me out of here."

  "Well, you see it's very simple. Mr. Holmes hired you four because he believed you were capable of handling the job. I have to admit, in spite of his misplaced belief, I really thought there was no way to screw this up, but you did."

  "Just shut up and get me out of here, mate!"

  Jack shook his head. "No, that won't do. You see, if I get you out, you'll have to go to a hospital. Well, we can't have that, now can we? I mean, doctors ask so many questions." He remembered using a similar line on the museum director the night before. "No, I think the best way to help you is to keep you permanently quiet."

  "No! Jack, please—"

  The gun blast cut him off. Jack straightened his neck and looked around. A sudden silence settled over the road. He took a deep breath of the fresh forest air and then started back toward the pickup truck.

  He picked up his phone and called Holme
s.

  "What's happening?" the older man said.

  "We have a problem."

  After three seconds of quiet, Holmes responded. "Problems are what I pay you to solve."

  Jack wasn't one to dodge responsibility. It was why he called his employer immediately instead of stalling, putting it off as long as he could. He believed in taking his medicine quickly and moving on. Jack also wasn't afraid of anyone. Was Bernard Holmes a dangerous man? Sure, in that he had billions of dollars. But Jack was dangerous too, in many other ways. There was a mutual respect between the two. If Jack didn't know any better, he'd say Holmes even feared him a little.

  "I have confirmation the Americans weren't killed."

  "Which ones?"

  "All of them. They must not have been in the building when it blew."

  Holmes thought for a moment before continuing. "What are you going to do about it?"

  "We suspected one of them survived. We knew where they'd go and what they'd be looking for."

  "Let me guess: they got away."

  Jack remained calm and drew in another deep breath of fresh air. "Yes, they got away. I'll have to replace the men."

  "How many?"

  "All of them."

  "All of them?" Holmes was on the verge of outrage.

  "Yes. And this time, I'll handpick them myself. None of these cookie cutter guns for hire. Don't worry, sir. I'll take care of it."

  Something still troubled the billionaire. "Fine. Do whatever it takes, but how are you going to find them again?"

  "I already have an idea of where they're headed right now. I'll throw out a net. Sooner or later, one of the fish will swim in."

  14

  Richmond, New South Wales

  Australia

  Tommy didn't stop the car until they reached the town of Richmond—a quiet suburb to the northwest of Sydney. He pulled into the parking lot of the first cafe they spotted and stopped the car in a spot around back. No one had been following them for the last hour or so, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. Never make it easy for the bad guys.

  The four left the car and went inside the little diner. Two men sat at a counter, eating sandwiches and potatoes. Sean led the way to a table in the back corner.

  When they were seated, a friendly-looking waitress in a blue dress with white collar walked over and offered to take their order. She looked about fifty years old, with a few streaks of gray running through her reddish-brown hair.

  After they gave their drink orders and asked for a few more minutes to decide on food, the waitress returned to the counter to start pouring the drinks.

  Tommy leaned in close like he was about to share a big secret. "So let's take a look at this."

  He set his phone down on the table and opened up the image of the key.

  "It might be easier if you send me that picture and then pull up the one from the desk." Sean suggested. "That'll save us the trouble of having to write everything down."

  "Good idea." Tommy hit the share button on the image, and a moment later Sean's phone vibrated.

  Sean set his phone next to Tommy's and opened the picture so they could compare them side by side.

  "Okay," Tommy continued, "we have a message and a key. This might take a minute to figure out since the cipher is stacked."

  "You figure out what you'd like to eat, yet?" the waitress interrupted.

  Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin. He yanked his phone back like he was looking at something he shouldn't have.

  "We'll just need another minute," Adriana said in a polite tone.

  "Not me," Reece said. "I'll have a burger, cooked medium."

  "You know what?" Sean said, "Four burgers. Although I'll take mine medium-well if that's okay."

  "Same here," Adriana added.

  "What if I don't want the burger?" Tommy asked, looking like he'd just lost his favorite puppy.

  "Then look at the menu and decide on something else," Sean said. "I'd really just like to stop wasting this nice woman's time."

  "It's no trouble, mate," she said. "You two Americans?"

  Sean nodded while Tommy kept poring through the two-sided menu. "Just flew in from Atlanta last night."

  "Oh, I've never met anyone from there. How's the weather right now?"

  "Cold," Sean said. "Winters there are hit or miss. This year, it's hit."

  "I know what you mean." She turned to Reece. "Now you're a local, for sure. But you," she pointed at Adriana, "I have no idea where you're from."

  Adriana kept her tone as cool as her expression. "I'm from all over."

  "Fair enough," the waitress said in a cheerful tone. She looked back to Tommy. "You decide on what you want to eat yet?"

  He gave a defeated nod. "I'll have the burger. Well-done, please."

  "All right, then. I'll have your food out in a few minutes."

  She bounced away, and when she was out of earshot, Tommy slid his phone next to Sean's again.

  "All that fuss, and you ended up getting the burger anyway," Sean said. His eyes dripped with derision.

  "Yes, fine. I got the burger. Mind if we continue?"

  "By all means."

  Reece and Adriana shared a chuckle at the interaction.

  "Okay," Tommy began, "let's take the first symbol here."

  They worked for the next ten minutes, matching every sign to a letter on the key until they'd figured out the first five letters of the code from the desk.

  As soon as Reece saw the fifth one, he stopped them. "Walkabout," he said.

  The Americans looked over at him, expecting further explanation. Instead, he simply took another sip of his drink.

  Tommy was hunched over the table with his elbows on the surface. He put his hands out, palms up. "You gonna elaborate on that?"

  Reece leaned back and pointed at the phone. "The word you're trying to figure there is walkabout. It's a fairly unique term. Never heard it used outside Australia. Though, to be fair, I've not been in a lot of other places."

  "You sure?" Tommy asked.

  Reece shrugged. "You're welcome to go ahead and spend the next ten minutes trying to figure it out yourself, but you'll come to the same conclusion. It's walkabout, mate. And our food's here."

  The other three turned just in time to see the waitress stop at their table with four plates of burgers and fries.

  "Here's the well-done, for you," she set the plate down in front of Tommy and then passed around the rest. "Can I get anything else for you?"

  "No, ma'am," Sean said. "This looks great."

  "I'll be sure to let the cook know."

  She walked away, and the group continued their conversation.

  "Okay, I believe you," Tommy said. "It's walkabout. But what does that have to do with the Mathews paper? It doesn't make any sense." He picked up a knife and cut his burger in half.

  Reece picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. He chewed for twenty seconds before he answered the question. "I have no idea, Tom. That's your department. I'm just the guide, remember?"

  Adriana snickered. She held her burger in one hand while she stared at the phones. "Can you pull up the Mathews document again?"

  "Sure," Tommy said.

  He tapped the phone, scrolled to his email, and then opened the attachment. He slid the device closer to her and sat back to take a bite of his sandwich.

  Adriana and Sean reread the document again. Sean spoke up first.

  "This part about forty-five suns. That has to do with the passage of time. Essentially, it means forty-five days."

  "Right," Tommy agreed through a mouthful of food.

  "But we don't know how that applies to a distance."

  Adriana's eyes widened. "Yes, we do." She set her burger down on the plate and scooted forward. "That's what walkabout means. The distance traveled is forty-five days on foot. Walkabout." She put her hands out like a blackjack dealer who'd just finished a shift.

  The other three nodded slowly as they connected the dots.

  "Right,"
Tommy said. "But that still doesn't give us the location. Everyone walks at a different speed."

  "Yeah," Reece agreed. "Plus that direction is a little vague. Northwest?"

  Sean pointed at the phone. "It says to begin with Baiame." He closed the picture on his phone and pulled up a map. A moment later, they were looking at the town of Milbrodale. "So we start there and have to figure out the distance."

  "On average, I'd say people walk around three miles per hour, give or take," Adriana said. "If we figure that each of these circles represents a twelve-hour period of time for walking—"

  "Why twelve?" Reece asked.

  "Because that's the average length of a day over the course of a year."

  "Oh right." The Aussie took another bite of his burger.

  "So if we take twelve and multiply it by three, we get thirty-six. Then multiply that by forty-five, and we get 1,620." She glanced at Sean's phone and realized the task would be simpler with a real map.

  "Babe, would you mind going over to that rack by the door and taking one of the maps?"

  Sean grinned at her. "Sure." He got up and walked away.

  Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. "Babe? What is it with you two?"

  "What?" she said. "We haven't seen each other in a while." Adriana popped a fry in her mouth and grinned innocently.

  Sean returned and plopped the map down on the table. While Tommy unfolded it, Sean finally had a chance to eat a little.

  "Okay, we're here," Tommy pressed his finger to the map. "Milbrodale is up here." His finger traced up to the town they'd passed through earlier. He placed his phone on the chart near the bottom that showed two lines measuring scale to distance, and then pinched the edge of the device to mark it.

  Sean realized what he was doing. "Very scientific," he said and took another bite of the burger.

  "It doesn't have to be," Tommy defended. "Remember, we aren't sure 1,620 miles is the right distance. But it might be close."

  "Fair enough."

  "So, we take this and extend out until we get to sixteen hundred miles." Tommy moved his phone, held a point with his finger, moved it again, and repeated the process four times until he reached the point he believed represented the distance. "Any of you got a pen?" Tommy went from one blank face to another until another voice spoke up.