The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  "Gentleman, I apologize that this hasn't worked out. It's getting late. If you have no further business, I'd like to go ahead and retire for the evening. It seems tomorrow morning has a good deal of activities that will require my attention."

  One by one, some of the other men stood up and stepped away from the table. They filed out of the room and walked slowly down the hall to where two brass elevator doors waited. Jerry was the last to leave. He fired a sinister look at Bernard as if to say, "Got you."

  Bernard hung his head for a moment, feigning despair.

  Down the hall, the two elevator doors opened, and the men stepped on board. Bernard drifted out into the hall and watched as the last of them entered the lift.

  "Do you want to ride down with us, Bernard?" one of them offered.

  "No," he waved a dismissive hand. "It would be awkward."

  The guy shrugged and let go of the button holding the elevator in place. The brass doors closed on both lifts. Bernard took a step toward the end of the hall and watched. Something shook the building for a second, like a small explosion. A sharp screeching sound came from the two elevators as the emergency brakes engaged. Bernard glanced down at his $50,000 watch and then heard the next sequence of bangs as the brakes were blown one by one.

  He imagined the men in the lifts had taken a collective breath when the brakes momentarily saved their lives. He couldn't hear their screams as the elevators plummeted to the bottom of the shafts, but he knew that's what was happening. An enormous crash rocked the building as the two lifts hit the ground after dropping nearly twenty-seven stories. Everyone inside the elevators would be dead, most killed instantly on impact. Maybe one or two had miraculously survived, though it was doubtful.

  Bernard spun around and walked casually back to his corner office overlooking the city. He'd give it ten minutes or so before he made his way to the elevators to begin his act.

  Normally in a meeting like this, there would have been several assistants or secretaries sitting in the proceedings. If that had been the case, the execution wouldn't have been possible. So Bernard requested the meeting be kept private. That meant only the board, no one else.

  The security guard on duty had—no doubt—already responded to the emergency. Within the next few minutes, he'd make his way down to the basement and discover the wreckage of two crushed elevators.

  It would be called an act of terrorism.

  As chairman of the board, Bernard would call for swift justice for the villains responsible for such a horrific act. He would attend all the funerals, possibly even speak at some of them.

  Tedious? Certainly. He cringed at the thought of all the time he'd have to waste in the coming weeks.

  Time, however, was exactly what he'd just bought. And now he had full control of everything.

  20

  Alice Springs, Northern Territory

  Australia

  "Reports are coming in now that there may be as many as twelve deaths in the horrific incident that authorities are now calling a terrorist attack. Two elevators were bombed in a downtown Sydney office building earlier this evening. Experts say that these elevators had security measures built in to stop the cars in case of an emergency, but for some reason the brakes failed. Investigators are on the scene, but it's unclear when we will have any answers."

  Sean and the others watched the news report with grim fascination. The television displayed dozens of police cars, several fire trucks and ambulances, and emergency crews rushing around the outside of a tall building.

  "That's awful," Adriana said in a hushed tone.

  The screen switched to a man in a suit with his tie slightly loosened. He had dark circles under his eyes and rubbed his head as he spoke. "I...we just adjourned a board meeting," he said, choking on some of the words. "I went back to my office to finish up some work, and I heard a loud explosion. A minute later, I heard the crash. I...I had no idea what had happened at first." The guy fought hard to keep the tears from gushing. "I can't believe they're all gone. It doesn't make any sense. Who would do something like this? Those men have families, friends. And now they're gone." He pushed the microphone away. "I'm sorry. I can't right now."

  The camera went back to the reporter, a blonde woman wearing a ruffled purple blouse. "That was the company's chairman, Bernard Holmes, just minutes after the attack. We'll bring you more on this story as it develops."

  "Crikey," Reece said. "Maybe Sean is onto something with his whole fear of heights thing."

  Sean absently nodded.

  "Whoever those terrorists were, they knew exactly where those men would be, and when they would be there," he said.

  "What?" Tommy asked, still staring at the television.

  "If it was a random terrorist attack, they would have hit in the middle of the day. Why bomb an elevator at night when no one is in the building?"

  "I guess they knew someone was in the building."

  Sean pointed at the screen. "See that?"

  There were images coming in from the basement where both sets of elevator doors had exploded when the cars hit the bottom.

  "Both elevators fell. Why two?"

  "I don't know," Tommy shrugged. "I suppose you're going to enlighten us?"

  "It's just weird, is all. Seems awfully strategic, taking out the entire board of directors of a major company like that. Not a terrorist's style."

  "They attacked corporate America in 2001."

  "True, but the timing of this one had to be absolutely perfect. Whoever did this knew those men would be on the elevator when they were. And they knew all of them would be there."

  "Well, they missed one," Reece said. "That crying chairman sure is a lucky bloke. Good thing he's a workaholic; otherwise he'd be at the bottom of that wreckage."

  Sean stood up and walked over to the blankets he'd piled on the floor in the corner. "Turn that off. We need to get some rest, and watching that isn't going to help. I'll take first watch. Tommy, you're next."

  They'd rented two rooms, but with the events surrounding the sniper earlier, the group decided it would be best if they all stayed in one place.

  Tommy switched off the television and climbed into his bed. Reece was already lying down and shimmied under the covers. Both men had offered their beds to Adriana, but in spite of their insistence, she declined, instead choosing to sleep next to Sean on the floor.

  Reece reached over and turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Adriana curled up next to Sean and put her head on his chest. Within minutes, everyone was asleep, leaving Sean alone in the dark with his thoughts.

  He'd done this sort of thing many times in the past. Some of his missions required him to stay up twenty-four hours, and more than a few of them put him in places where he had to fight off sleep to stay alert. Now it seemed like more of a struggle than before. He wasn't twenty-six years old anymore.

  Gravity tugged at his eyelids, and several times he had to shake his head to keep himself awake. Thirty minutes into his shift, Adriana rolled over, turning her back to him. He felt around next to him until his fingers touched the familiar cold metal of his Springfield's barrel.

  He grabbed the weapon and stood up. Sitting down wasn't helping. Since everyone was asleep, he figured moving around a bit would keep the blood flowing and force him to stay awake for the next ninety minutes.

  Sean tiptoed over to the desk against the wall and set his weapon down on the surface. He'd cleaned it earlier while everyone else was getting ready for bed—an old habit from his days with the government.

  Might as well walk around out in the hall, he thought.

  He took a glance back into the pitch darkness and then padded toward the rim of light surrounding the hotel room door. Something clicked, and he froze in place. The noise came from out in the hall. He crept over to the door and looked out through the peephole. The corridor immediately beyond was empty. But he'd definitely heard something. Maybe it was one of the neighbors coming in from a late night of partying at one
of the resorts.

  Sean had slipped into a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt earlier, so he wasn't worried about being indecent if he stepped outside. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached for the door handle. Just to be safe, he twisted it down slowly, careful not to make a sound.

  The door latch was well made, and the bolt slid out of the housing without even the slightest squeak.

  Sean eased the door open and poked his head out the door. A black combat boot disappeared into the room next to his. It was the other room he'd rented. Someone knew Sean and the others were there.

  He swallowed and made a split-second decision. If he stayed there, he might be able to get the jump on the men when they realized the room was empty and decided to check the second one, but it could also jeopardize the safety of his companions. If he went on the attack, however, he'd have the element of surprise.

  Sean went with the second option.

  The best defense is a good offense, he thought.

  He pulled the door closed, twisting the outside handle as he did so that the bolt wouldn't click when it shut. It would also lock automatically and buy his friends some time in case they heard anything and woke up.

  He crept over to the other door and waited. The men inside had closed it behind them keep any light from the hallway from spilling in and to prevent any potential witnesses from happening on the hit. Sean had seen this sort of thing before. Heck, he'd done this sort of thing before—except when he did it, it was to rid the world of horrible people.

  He stopped on the other side of the door and waited. They'd use sound suppressors if they were smart, or possibly knives. Guns were easier, faster, and much more effective. But even with the silencers attached, they produced a muffled pop that could potentially draw unwanted attention.

  Sean pressed his back against the wall and waited. Something made a noise inside, like one of the guys had bumped against a dresser. Sean imagined they were rummaging through everything to make sure no one was there, though it would have been pretty obvious as soon as they stepped through the door.

  The door latch started turning and brought Sean's attention back to the hallway. When the handle was pointing down, the door started to slowly open. The long black tube of a sound suppressor was the first thing that inched its way out. Mistake number one for the assassins. The killer wouldn't be anticipating an ambush, and their grip on the weapon would be somewhat relaxed.

  Sean's hand snapped out and squeezed the barrel. He twisted and yanked it with the full force of his muscles. The movement caused the assassin's trigger finger to pull back, and the muzzle puffed, sending a round harmlessly into the floor. Sean wrested the weapon away within a second because holding on would have broken the other guy's wrist. He flipped the gun around to fire, but the man lunged at him and smacked his hand to the side. In the same movement, the villain twisted his torso and smashed Sean's cheek with a roundhouse punch.

  Sean stumbled back for a moment but immediately recovered and raised the weapon again. He fired. The bullet zipped by the target as the man ducked to the left and snapped his foot up. The boot struck Sean's hand with such force that it jarred the gun from his fingers and sent it tumbling through the air until it landed two doors away.

  Another man stepped out of the room with his weapon drawn. He tried to get a clean shot, but his partner was in the way, launching another assault at the American with a flurry of jabs.

  Their faces were covered with masks, but Sean could see from the pallor of their skin they were likely from Eastern Europe. The cold, lifeless eyes were another giveaway. He'd encountered men like that before, men who'd been mercenaries in conflicts all over the world. They bounced around in various uprisings and then disappeared again, only to resurface when they needed more money.

  Sean deflected the repeated punches, left, right, and back again. Even as tired as he was, he moved with lightning precision. The attacker twisted his hips slightly, a dead giveaway that he was about to kick. Sean finished the last block and stabbed his hand down to catch the man's boot as it swung at Sean's midsection. The assassin's eyes went wide for a split second, surprised at the American's counter. He quickly adjusted and jumped into the air, swinging the other foot around hard at Sean's face.

  Sean knew that would be the guy's only play. Anticipating the desperate kick, Sean lifted the foot in his hand with all his might. The attacker's jump did most of the work. Sean just helped him over the top.

  The guy flipped into the air. He went head over heels so fast that he made it a full turn and a half. While impressive, it was also fatal. The attacker landed squarely on his head. A snapping sound cracked from inside his neck. For a moment, it seemed like everything was happening in slow motion. The assassin wavered and then fell hard onto the floor in front of the other gunman.

  Sean took two fast steps toward the wall as the remaining assassin fired his weapon in rapid succession. He'd reacted too slow. Sean jumped at the wall, took another running step off it, and launched at the attacker. The man tried to raise his weapon to get a point-blank kill shot, but Sean kicked the gun loose and then planted a hard punch on the guy's jaw that ended with a whap! four inches behind the target.

  The man tripped and stumbled back. Sean didn't let up. He grabbed the man's shirt before he could fall away. Between yanking him forward and the power behind Sean's fist, the next blow was a little more than even Sean expected. His fist smashed into the man's face and sent the nose bone into his brain. Blood gushed out of the nostrils for a moment before Sean realized fully what he'd done.

  He let the man's shirt go, and the body dropped to the floor. The attacker's eyes rolled into the back of his head, showing nothing but white.

  Sean felt his body trembling, still pumping adrenaline through his veins. He swallowed hard. His right hand involuntarily wiped his forehead. It was then he saw the blood on his hand.

  The man with the broken neck gurgled something from behind. Sean spun around and looked down at him. "Who do you work for?" Sean asked.

  The attacker's breaths came in short bursts mingled with the sound of fluid in his lungs. All he could muster was a low groan.

  "You're not going to say anything, are you?"

  The guy wheezed but said nothing. His neck was bent at a grotesque angle. He was surely paralyzed. From the lack of movement, Sean guessed from the neck down.

  Sean knelt down next to him and grabbed the guy's hair. "You tell me who you work for, and I'll put you out of your misery. Or you keep quiet, and I let you live like this for the rest of your life. Is that what you want? Forty years of life like this?"

  Saliva and blood oozed out of the corner of the man's lips. He said nothing, not anything Sean could understand at least. The guy wasn't going to give up the goods. Maybe he couldn't speak. Or maybe the pain was too much. Either way, there was no reason to keep him alive. The last thing Sean needed was this guy to live and talk to the authorities. Who knew what crazy stories he would concoct?

  Sean held the man's hair tight and then jerked the head upward. Something crunched in the man's neck, and Sean let the head drop to the floor. It was a sickening sound. Sean never cared for that part of his former job. Killing up close was something only weirdoes enjoyed. Well, killing in general. He never cared for it, but he knew if he didn't use that talent to his utmost ability, the bad guys he went after would use theirs. Innocent lives depended on Sean.

  That thought was interrupted by his hotel room door opening. Tommy rushed out first with his pistol in the air. He was followed by Adriana. She held her weapon at the ready and swept the corridor to make sure all the threats were neutralized.

  When Tommy realized no one else was left, he lowered his weapon and passed his gaze between the two bodies.

  "What did you do?" he asked.

  Sean's breath slowed. "These two went into our other room. From the looks of it, they were here to kill us."

  "Sound suppressors," Tommy said, seeing the attackers' weapons. "I thought I heard
something out here."

  "Yeah. Just the sound of gunfire. Totally normal," Sean said.

  "I'm glad you're okay," Adriana said and put her arm around Sean's back. He squeezed her for a second, and then she let go.

  "Me, too. I'm glad you're okay."

  "Hello, I'm okay, too," Tommy said, waving a hand around.

  Sean sighed. "I guess we need to call the police. We'll need to hide our guns first. Somehow I doubt they'd like the fact that we brought them into the country."

  Reece stepped into the hallway and looked at the two dead bodies. "Whoa, mate. Did you just do this?"

  "Afraid so."

  "Wow. Thanks for inviting me to the party."

  "You needed the sleep. But I'll tell you what. You get first shift next time."

  21

  Sydney

  Bernard Holmes walked into his kitchen and opened the stainless steel refrigerator door. He'd known it would be a long night when he planned the mass execution of his board of directors. He must have spoken with at least a dozen investigators, not including normal cops. Then there was the media. He did one television interview with the reporter, two with the local papers, and one with a guy Holmes was pretty sure just had a blog.

  It didn't matter. The more people seeing him devastated by the tragedy, the better. He pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and unscrewed the lid. He finished half of it in less than four seconds.

  Holmes set the bottle down on the counter and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't have as much as he used to. Seemed like he was losing more every day. He needed a drink. It was late, though, and the last thing he wanted was his buzz to wear off in the middle of the night and wake up at 3 a.m.

  "I should have been an actor," he said to himself.

  His head ached, and his reddened eyes were sore. Forcing himself to cry during most of the interviews had taken an extraordinary effort. He found it useful to put his mind in a place where he actually cared about something, and then imagine that something being ripped away. For Holmes, it was easy.