The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  Tommy pointed at Reece's glass. "I thought you guys drank Foster's down here."

  Reece was in mid-sip and nearly did a spit take. He leaned forward and set the glass down on the table. "Foster's? Are you serious?"

  Tommy looked around the table for some help, but he wasn't getting any from his friends. "Is it not what you guys drink?"

  "Foster's, Tom, is only brewed to export. No one drinks that stuff around here. I think I've seen one, maybe two pubs my whole life that sell it in Australia."

  "Okay, sorry I asked." He put up his hands to surrender.

  "Foster's," Reece muttered as he raised the glass to his lips again.

  Sean changed the subject. "So what's in store for you, Reece? You gonna pick up a gig with one of the other adventure tour companies or keep doing your own thing?"

  Reece set the glass back down once more and swallowed the beer. He smacked his lips and sighed with satisfaction. "Funny you should ask. I took a look at my bank account this morning and there was a ton more money than was there yesterday. I called the bank to ask them what happened. All they would tell me is that a large deposit was made yesterday evening. I thought it was a mistake, but a note on the deposit slip said, 'Thank you, Reece.' I couldn't make out who it was from."

  Sean flashed Tommy a questioning glance.

  "Wasn't me," Tommy said.

  "Then who?" Sean asked.

  "I guess we may never know," Reece said. "All I know is, I'm back in business. Going to have to stay here in town while my house is being repaired. Shouldn't take too long."

  "And how is Annie?" Tommy asked. "Recovering?"

  Reece nodded. "Yeah, she seems to be doing fine. The police went into Holmes's place and found her in one of his many rooms. She said the men didn't do anything to her, and that they gave her food and water during her captivity."

  "That's a relief."

  "Yeah, no kidding. Though I doubt she'll be doing any snooping around the museum anytime soon."

  "No sign of Holmes, though?" Sean asked. He already knew the answer.

  The moment they got back to civilization from Yengo Mountain, Reece started making phone calls to his connections in Sydney. With Jack dead, Holmes would feel the house of cards collapsing around him. At the first sign of trouble he'd vanish, probably leaving the country under a fake name. He could go anywhere, be anyone. Men with the kinds of resources Holmes had didn't have a difficult time disappearing.

  "Sadly, no," Reece said. "Into thin air with that one. They'll keep looking. He'll turn up eventually."

  Sean picked up his glass of water and raised it over the center of the table. "To Reece for all your help. May your new adventures be successful."

  The others raised their glasses and clinked them together.

  "Thanks, mate," Reece said. "And to this adventure finally being over."

  Sean took a sip of water and set it on the table surface. He didn't say anything, but a single thought kept running through his mind.

  It's not over yet.

  38

  Hong Kong

  Two Weeks Later

  Bernard Holmes walked into his building bathed in Hong Kong's flashing electric glow. He looked down both ends of the sidewalk—just as he'd done the last few weeks—to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

  The Australian authorities had frozen most of his assets. It was a predictable move on their part. Luckily, he'd taken precautions before things started going south. While the government seized over a billion dollars in property and money, he'd managed to squirrel away just over $300 million—more than enough to buy him a new life. With that kind of money, he'd have a jump start on getting things going again.

  His first order of business was to take out the Americans who'd wrecked his plans. Once he got settled into his new place, he'd find a crew of assassins to eliminate Sean Wyatt and the others.

  The Hong Kong streets were flooded with people rushing around to get dinner or heading to their favorite hangouts at the end of the week. Holmes had picked up a quick meal from a place that did carryout. He paid cash, as he'd done with everything for the last two weeks. Tracking paper money was nearly impossible if done correctly.

  He pushed through the high-rise revolving door and strode across the marble floor, his thousand-dollar shoes clicking on the hard surface with every step. When he reached the elevator, he stopped and pressed the up arrow. The button illuminated a bright red. A digital display over the doors told him the lift was on the ninth floor and on its way down.

  Holmes hadn't had any trouble finding a place to lie low. He had a few unscrupulous associates in Hong Kong's real estate market. When he offered an exorbitant amount of cash for a condo downtown, they had the perfect location.

  It was a penthouse villa on the fortieth floor. The condo featured an incredible view of the city, complete with a hot tub overlooking downtown.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

  Holmes got in and pressed the 40 button on the panel. A moment later, the doors closed and he was whisked away toward the top of the building. He remembered back to a time when elevators were long, slow rides. This one, however, was more like an express lift. Getting from the ground floor to the fortieth took about a minute.

  He watched the numbers passing quickly on another display over the doors. Suddenly, when the number hit 30, the elevator slowed. At 32 it came to a full stop between floors.

  Holmes frowned. He reached out and pressed the 40 repeatedly. Nothing happened.

  "You have to be kidding me," he grumbled.

  The phone in his jacket pocket started ringing. He'd just bought the device the week before, and no one had the number. Like with everything else, he'd paid cash and used his alias to register the phone on the network.

  He took it out and looked at the screen. It was a local number, but no one he recognized. Why would he? The only Hong Kong number he vaguely remembered was the friend who'd arranged for the condo.

  Holmes pressed one of the buttons on the side of the phone to silence it. He slid it back into his pocket and started hitting the number again on the elevator panel. The phone started ringing again.

  He looked at the screen once more and saw it was the same number. He hit the green button and put the device to his ear. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number," he said.

  He lowered the device, but before he could end the call, he heard a voice on the other line. "Do I?"

  The man was American.

  Holmes's frown deepened as he put the phone back to his ear. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

  "Let's just say for most people, you'd be a hard man to find, Mr. Holmes."

  He knows my name. He knows where I am. Those were just a couple of the hundreds of panicked thoughts rushing through Holmes's mind.

  "Who is this?" he asked. He reached out and pressed some of the other numbers on the panel. The elevator remained still.

  "You've been bad, Mr. Holmes. You killed innocent people."

  Holmes tried to suppress his irritation, but it leaked out anyway. "Look, whoever you are, I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play here, but you're messing with the wrong guy. If you know what's good for you, you'll disappear. Or I'll make that happen myself."

  "Like you did with your board of directors in Sydney?"

  The question sent a chill down Holmes's spine. How did they know? How did they find me?

  "Before you start spouting off a bunch of lies about that, you should just save it. I know everything. I know about your plan to take control of the company. I know how you killed those twelve men. I even know about the museum director you had executed."

  Holmes did a 180 in less than two seconds. "Listen. I don't know who you are, but let's get together and talk about this. Okay? We can meet and discuss what you want. That's what all this is about, right? You want money? I can give it to you. I have millions. You can have it."

  He started mashing the buttons faster now as his desperation re
ached its zenith. He banged on the elevator doors, loud enough for the man on the other end to hear.

  "No one is going to help you, Mr. Holmes. That floor is full of offices. And no one is at work right now. You're all alone. And no, it's not about money. It's about taking one more piece of garbage out of this world."

  A loud boom shook the elevator from above. Holmes's feet left the floor as the lift dropped. He struck the mirrored ceiling and then heard the emergency brakes engage just above his head. He crashed to the floor, smashing his bag of rice and chicken in the process.

  Holmes picked himself up off the floor. Relief flooded his emotions, replacing the terror that had momentarily taken hold. I'm alive. I'm alive!

  He stood up and brushed some rice off his expensive suit. The phone was on the floor beneath the panel. He tentatively bent down and picked it up, feeling a sharp pain in his knee from the fall. It was probably just a bruise. He'd be okay in a few days.

  "So that was your plan? Kill me in an elevator? Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the sense of irony you have about all this, but it looks like you forgot the emergency brakes."

  "Did I?"

  A renewed sense of horror overwhelmed Holmes. He tried to wedge his fingers into the seam between the doors, but they wouldn't move.

  "Look, I'll give you whatever you want. Okay? Just let me out of this thing, and I'll take care of it." He took a step back and looked up at the number on the display. It read 27.

  "Sorry, Mr. Holmes. I have to be going now. Goodbye."

  "No. No, wait!" The call ended.

  Holmes flinched as he waited for the elevator to drop again, but it didn't. Instead, he was consumed by the eerie silence in the confined space. He swallowed and slowed his breathing. After standing still for nearly a minute, he started laughing. "He mucked it up," he said out loud. "Well done, whoever you are."

  He pressed some of the buttons again, with the same result. Then he noticed the red emergency button. "I was rather hoping to avoid the fireman, but it beats waiting around in here." His finger depressed the button.

  Four rapid explosions came in quick succession from the roof above. One of them blew a hole through the corner of the ceiling.

  Holmes's eyes widened at the realization. Terrified, he screamed as the elevator's last brake blew out.

  The lift dropped again, plummeting down the shaft.

  Holmes hit the mirror above once more. He stared down at the floor as the display to his right showed the numbers falling almost two at a time.

  Half a block away, Sean Wyatt stepped out of a noodle bar with a bag of takeout. He heard the thunderous crash come from the building across the street a few hundred feet away. The ground vibrated for a moment, and everyone around him on the sidewalk looked around, wondering if it was an earthquake. They only gave it a second's thought.

  Sean pressed the green button on his phone and put the device to his ear.

  Two seconds later, Emily answered. "Yeah?"

  "Just wanted to say thanks for tracking him down for me. I appreciate it."

  "Anytime. We can't have those types running around, can we?"

  Sean had called Emily about Holmes before he'd been captured by Jack Robinson. He knew the man was up to something. When Holmes left the country, it was Emily who'd tracked him to Hong Kong.

  "The fewer, the better," Sean said. "Gotta go. I'll talk to you when I get back stateside."

  He ended the call as he rounded a corner into an alley. Bending down fluidly, he dropped the phone into a storm drain and kept moving. He walked into a cloud of steam that poured out of pipes on a nearby wall. Sirens blared in the distance, echoing down the canyon of buildings in the city as Sean Wyatt disappeared into the mist.

  Thank You

  I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for choosing to spend your time reading my work. I put one of these little notes at the end of all my books because I know that you could have spent your money and time on something else, but you chose this book.

  I am honored and hope you enjoyed it.

  Please swing by one of your favorite online retailers and leave an honest review. Those reviews help authors because they let other readers know if the book is something they might enjoy. Plus, reviews help readers decide on what to read next. It's a win-win.

  So thank you once more for reading me. I appreciate it and look forward to entertaining you again.

  Ernest

  Author’s Notes

  I thought I'd do things a little differently this time and work backward from the end of the story.

  The legend about Baiame is a real Aboriginal myth. It's one of many creation stories Australian natives celebrate. The stone on Yengo Mountain is purported to be there, but since people are not permitted beyond a certain point due to the sacred nature of the summit, it is unclear whether it exists or not.

  Aborigines are an incredible people with a diverse history and a many fascinating belief systems. While I did try to represent their culture correctly and with strong accuracy, there were things I had to add to suit the stories needs. For example, on one spot, a blowgun is used. This is not necessarily a traditional weapon, even though they were used in the past. Blowguns, in fact, are outlawed in Australia for hunting purposes.

  The golden boomerang was a concoction of my imagination. When I saw the rock art at Milbrodale, I couldn't help but wonder what the significance of the two boomerangs might be. Seemed to make sense that the creator gave one as a gift to the people of Australia.

  All of the rock art I mentioned in this story exists. It's all real, and although I did tweak some of the meanings a little to fit the story, every place in this novel can be visited. Keep in mind that most of these locations have a spiritual significance to the Aboriginal people, so if you do go, be respectful.

  Aboriginal tribes do have a fairly common belief that big rock formations are spirits or ancestors. Just one more reason to not go traipsing around like a crazed tourist if you go on a walkabout.

  The snake I mentioned earlier in the book—the Mulga—is extremely venomous. They don't frequently bite humans unless someone provokes them (usually drunk people).

  The piece about Foster's not being consumed in Australia is also true. Their beers of choice are Victoria Bitter or Toohey's, with a few others mixed in. So if you go down under and are looking for a pint, don't ask for the export.

  The museum at the beginning of the story is a figment of my imagination. Though Sydney does have wonderful museums, this one does not exist. I used it purely for the purpose of this tale.

  R.H. Mathews was a real person. He was a fascinating man and had a keen interest in anthropology revolving around the Aborigine people. He befriended many tribesmen during his later years and is now considered one of the foremost experts of his time on Aboriginal history and culture. While his secret coded note was my creation, it is entirely possible that Mathews discovered something of historical significance related to ancient Aboriginal beliefs.

  Other Books By Ernest Dempsey

  Sean Wyatt Adventures:

  The Secret of the Stones

  The Cleric's Vault

  The Last Chamber

  The Grecian Manifesto

  The Norse Directive

  Game of Shadows

  The Jerusalem Creed

  The Samurai Cipher

  The Cairo Vendetta

  The Uluru Code

  The Excalibur Key

  The Denali Deception

  The Sahara Legacy

  The Fourth Prophecy

  The Templar Curse

  The Forbidden Temple

  Adriana Villa Adventures:

  War of Thieves Box Set

  When Shadows Call

  Shadows Rising

  Shadow Hour

  For my brother, Erik. Thanks for always making me laugh and inspiring me to work harder every day. See you under the shady tree, weirdo.

  Acknowledgments

  None of my stories would be possible without
the great input I get from incredible readers all over the globe. My advance reader group is such an incredibly unselfish and supportive team. I couldn't do any of this without them.

  My editors, Anne Storer and Jason Whited, must also be thanked for their amazing work and guidance in crafting these stories. They make everything so much better for the reader.

  Last but not least, I need to give a big thank you to Elena at L1 Graphics for the incredible cover art she always delivers, along with beautiful social media artwork.

  Copyright

  The Uluru Code is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, and places are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2016 Ernest Dempsey

  Ernestdempsey.net

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Enclave Publishing.

  ISBN 978-1-944647-12-4

  The Excalibur Key

  A Sean Wyatt Thriller

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  Prologue

  Jerusalem, AD 1100

  The king’s final orders began with a fit of coughing, as did nearly everything he’d said in the last three days. A thin line of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth into the dark blond beard, his pale face the ghastly color of imminent death.