The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  She sensed the figure directly behind her and drove her elbow back. The bone dug into the man's abdomen, and he grunted in pain.

  She felt someone approaching from her front and, as she felt the footsteps draw close, fired a jab at what she approximated was neck or face level.

  Her fist landed on something smooth and hard—the other attacker's jaw. Another hand grabbed her right arm, and she whipped the left one around to strike the next assailant but someone else grabbed the wrist and jerked it behind her.

  "Too afraid to fight a woman?" she spat.

  "Calm down, Miss Villa," a sinister masculine voice said. "You need to get some rest."

  She heard something that sounded like the opening of a can of tennis balls, then everything started spinning. She couldn't see the room, but her equilibrium failed. Her eyelids immediately began dragging across her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Adriana started to fall back on the bed. She never felt the hands catch her in the darkness.

  "Ah!" she said with a start. She woke up in a dimly lit room on a cot pressed up against the corner.

  The concrete walls were painted a redundant gray, and a single fluorescent light stretched across the center of the ceiling. Her head ached, though she didn't feel a bump or bruise. It was more like a hangover from too much wine.

  She winced as she rubbed her eyes. Sitting up in the cot, she took inventory of the sparse decor. The makeshift bed was the only furniture in the room. The metal door to her right looked like it was made for a prison, or an asylum. She hoped it wasn't either.

  A camera hung from the far corner, pointing right at her position. She looked up at it with a disdainful scowl. "Where am I?" she asked.

  The door unlocked and opened.

  Four men in black suits, white shirts, black ties, and sunglasses walked in. Two stood by the door. The other two positioned themselves close to the cot, one on either end.

  "You the guys who knocked me out and brought me here?" she asked. Her Spanish accent grew stronger when she was angry.

  None of them answered.

  She swung her legs off the bed, bracing herself with her hands pressed into the mattress. Even though her brain was still in a fog, she was ready to put a beatdown on these guys.

  "Don't feel like talking? Fine. Maybe you're ready for a fair fight after all. Which one of you got the elbow to the midsection? I'll let you throw the first punch."

  "Please don't hurt any of my men," a familiar voice said from the hallway. "They are some of the most highly trained and skilled fighters in the world, but I'm not sure they're ready for what you can do."

  President Dawkins stepped around the corner and into the room. He flashed a warm smile at Adriana.

  "Mr. President," she said. Relief washed over her and filled her voice. "You're okay."

  He strode across the room and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her in a big hug. He let go and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm glad to see you're okay, too. When you disappeared, I feared the worst."

  "I'm okay," she said. "Head hurts from whatever drug your guys here gave me, but I'll be fine." She twisted her head around, taking in the surroundings. "Where are we?"

  "Ah, this is one of the secret bunkers under the White House. We're underground here. Way underground."

  She heard what he said, but her face belied her confusion. "I don't understand. Why the secrecy? And why did you bring me here?"

  "For your protection, of course."

  "Protection?"

  He nodded and then looked at the Secret Service man next to him. "Take your team out into the hall and wait. Oh, and Jimmy, send her in."

  The bodyguard nodded. He and the other three stepped out into the hall.

  "Her?" Adriana asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Yes," Dawkins said. "We needed some assistance locating you. So, I called on an old friend. She flew up from Atlanta after the shooting at the ballroom."

  Adriana knew who it was before the woman appeared in the doorway.

  "Hello, Adriana," Emily said, stepping across the threshold and into the little room. She shut the door behind her and crossed her arms while wearing a thin smile. "I came up as soon as I heard what happened." She pointed at the president. "John said he needed help finding you. So here you are."

  Confusion still filled Adriana's face. "Why all the secrecy with the pillowcase over my head and all that?"

  "We weren't sure if your room was bugged," Emily said. "If you were being watched we had to make it look like someone was taking you. My men swept the room once you were gone. There were no traces of any clandestine devices, so you should be fine. Still, we didn't want to take the chance. I apologize for the headache."

  The reminder made the pain more prominent. "Thanks. That makes sense now." She turned to the president. "Sorry I attacked your men."

  Dawkins chuckled. "They'll be fine, although you did give Jimmy a pretty good contusion."

  "We were concerned when you disappeared for several hours after the shooting," Emily said. "No one seemed to know where you went."

  Adriana nodded. "Get me an ibuprofen, and I'll tell you all about it."

  As if reading her mind beforehand, Emily reached into her back pocket and pulled out a packet containing two pills. "I thought you might need that since the drug they used tends to have that effect on people."

  Adriana gratefully took the pills, popped them in her mouth, and swallowed.

  The president held out a bottle of water he'd brought in with him, but Adriana waved it off.

  "Thank you, I'm good," she said.

  "Tell us what happened," Emily said. "We need to know everything."

  Adriana nodded and looked around the room. "This room is clean, right?"

  Emily and the president exchanged a knowing glance and then both nodded.

  "Cleanest one you'll find."

  Adriana sucked in a long breath through her nose and looked down at the floor, trying to collect her thoughts and all the information she'd gleaned from Officer Einhorn.

  "What do you know?"

  The president answered. "We saw the footage from the hotel security cameras. They caught you chasing a man out of the building. Street cameras weren't able to catch anything. There was a glitch in the system. They're trying to fix it now. We lost you as soon as you left the building."

  Adriana bit her lower lip and nodded. "Interesting." She considered what to say first and decided to relay her story from the beginning.

  "You're right about me following that guy. I don't know who he is. I just know he looked suspicious. So, I went after him. He saw me and took off down an alley. Cops cornered us. They killed him and one of the other cops."

  "Wait a minute," Emily said, interrupting. "They killed one of their own."

  "Mmhmm. They did it to make it look like self-defense." Saying it out loud caused her to have another thought. "That means they don't own everyone," she said to herself more than to the others in the room.

  "What was that?" Dawkins asked.

  Adriana snapped back to the present. "One of the cops—a guy named Einhorn—was going to take me somewhere, I assume to execute me. I'm not sure why they didn't just do it right there. I managed to escape, took the cop and his car out to the woods, and there I questioned him about everything."

  "And?"

  "He said he and the others...they're working for the Knights of the Golden Circle. He wouldn't tell me who he works for directly, said he didn't know any names. The only thing he would say about the KGC is that they're everywhere and own everyone."

  The room fell silent. Dawkins and Emily eyed each other, probing for answers neither had.

  "The Knights of the Golden Circle? That's an old secret society from the South," Dawkins said, breaking the silence. "They've not been around for over a century."

  "Weren't they the ones behind the Lincoln assassination?" Emily asked.

  "Yes," Adriana said. "And according to the late Officer Einhorn,
they're still operating inside the government. He claimed that after the war, they decided they could do more working with the federal government than against it. He suggested they have connections in every branch of the government."

  The president's right eyebrow lifted an inch. "You said the late Officer Einhorn. Did you—"

  "As much as I may have wanted to, no, I didn't kill him. He had some kind of device embedded in his forearm, just under the skin. Must have been some kind of poison. The only thing I can figure is the device was activated remotely. One of the other cops must have had him killed when he didn't report in."

  Dawkins and Emily exchanged a worried glance.

  "There was something else he said, too," Adriana went on. "I couldn't get many details out of him, but he said there was some kind of ancient treasure in Alaska."

  "Treasure?" Emily said.

  "Yes. And he claimed there is a device that can create gold. Some kind of alchemy engine, I guess. To be perfectly honest, I don't know how much of what he said could be true or not. But he was very clear about one thing: they wanted you dead, Mr. President."

  Dawkins's face was long. His cheeks sagged, and his eyes looked more droopy than usual. It was understandable. Someone had just tried to kill him with a big mechanical gun.

  Emily diverted the subject to the assassination attempt. "We're still investigating, but are coming up with very few leads. The weapon found at the hotel was a remotely operated, modified AR-15 attached to a rotating tripod. They used 223 Remington rounds, otherwise known as 5.56 NATO. Those rounds are common now. No way we can trace where they came from. We hoped ballistics would tell us the rounds were exotic, but sadly that wasn't the case. No prints were pulled off the weapon. And as far as a motive is concerned, we got nothing."

  "It must have something to do with what Sean's looking for," Dawkins said in an almost absent tone. "I asked Sean to look into something for me. He's been in western New York and New England the last few months investigating a letter I found in...in the Presidential Archives."

  That was the first time Adriana had ever heard of such a thing. "Presidential Archives?"

  "Yes," Dawkins said. "There are rumors about a secret book that the presidents pass down to their successor. The legends suggest that book contains secrets of all the presidents for the last few hundred years. I can tell you that if there is a book like that, I've never seen it. But the archives do exist, and they contain quite a few secrets. That's where I found the letter."

  "Letter?" Emily asked.

  "Yes. I enjoy looking through the archives. I find that going through the words and thoughts of past leaders often helps lend me wisdom to tough decisions I have to make. I'll spend an hour or two in there every week. A while back, I was looking through some documents from Abraham Lincoln when I discovered a note that seemed a bit out of place. The page was a different color than the rest and had been written in someone else's handwriting. I read the note and realized why. It was a letter from Lincoln's secretary of state, William Seward."

  Emily shook her head. The president said it like reading through Abraham Lincoln's personal diary was no big deal. She moved past her amazement and stayed on topic.

  "This letter, sir, what did it say?"

  Dawkins looked bewildered. He waved his hands around and shook his head. "I don't remember all of it exactly. It was a few months back."

  Adriana stepped closer to him. "What do you remember?"

  He stared at the base of the wall, scouring his memory for details. "It said Seward's explorers had found something important in Alaska, something he called the anomaly. The letter didn't say what it was or exactly where it was. Whatever it was, Seward thought it was big enough to spend over seven million dollars to keep it from anyone else."

  "The Alaska Purchase," Adriana said.

  "Precisely. Whatever is hidden out there was scary enough to spend seven million they didn't have in the national coffers. They were still paying for the war by the time the purchase went through. The country was in a recession. The last thing we needed to do was blow a bunch of money on a giant icebox."

  "There must have been a pretty convincing reason, then," Emily said.

  Dawkins thought for a second. "National security," he said.

  "Sir?"

  "Seward suggested that the security of the nation rested upon the purchase of Alaska, that if the anomaly were to fall in the wrong hands, it would be a threat to the safety of the entire country."

  His words hung in the air for a moment.

  "The KGC...if they're really behind this like you said, would have their fingers in more places than we know," Dawkins said in a grave tone. Then he remembered something else. "The letter...it mentioned something about the KGC knowing about the anomaly. Seward didn't just want to hide it from the Russians or the South. He wanted to keep it safe from them, too."

  "And now it would appear they have reared their ugly head and attempted to kill you, sir," Emily said.

  "And burned Sean and Tommy," Adriana added.

  Emily turned her head and faced Adriana with a confused expression. "What? What are you talking about?"

  "Sean and Tommy," Adriana went on. "Their bank accounts have been wiped out. Sean tried to call you at Axis HQ, but they said his code didn't check out and they had no record of him being affiliated with the agency."

  Emily's face turned ghostly white. From her reaction, the other two immediately realized she had no idea what Adriana was talking about.

  "Sean's been burned?"

  "Yes. He has a temporary phone, as does Tommy. The kids and June also purchased burner phones in case they needed to reach out, though those three are lying low right now."

  "Where are they? We need to make sure they're all right."

  "Sean and Tommy or the other three?"

  "All of them."

  "Sean likely won't give away his location at the moment, but last I heard he was in Atlanta. I'm guessing he and Tommy are trying to figure this thing out."

  "With no resources," Dawkins jumped in. "They won't get very far without money. And their cars are probably being tracked."

  Adriana shook her head. A wry grin crossed her face. "I think you forget: Sean can be...resourceful."

  18

  Auburn, New York

  The overnight drive from Chattanooga to Auburn, New York, took a little over thirteen hours. Sean and Tommy encountered little traffic in the early morning hours and were able to make better time than they expected.

  It was just after 7 in the morning when they arrived. Most of the small town's citizens were headed to one of the local diners or coffee shops to get their day started with a cup of joe or plates full of eggs, pancakes, and sausage.

  Sean and Tommy did their best to blend in, opting to grab breakfast at the counter of one of those local diners. No one seemed to pay them any mind, treating them as they would any out-of-towners.

  After a quick breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and oatmeal, the two friends killed time milling about the village for a few hours. The museum didn't open until 10 in the morning, which was less than optimal for a couple of guys in a major hurry.

  They found the town had several shops, quaint little boutiques, and some mom-and-pop restaurants, but other than that didn't have a lot going on.

  When they'd exhausted the town's entertainment options, they went back to the car and waited, keeping it parked in a shaded area a few hundred feet from the museum.

  The views of the town and surrounding countryside were straight out of a wintry Norman Rockwell painting. The roads had been cleared with plows and salt, but everything else had a fresh, snowy look to it. Tree branches bent under the weight of white powder. Long, pointy icicles hung from gutters, awnings, and eaves.

  There were few children out and about, which told Sean and Tommy school was probably still in session.

  Back in the South, school got canceled if there was a 30 percent chance of snow in the forecast, often without seeing a single flake.


  Up north, they dealt with it. Life had to go on, after all.

  Tommy took a nap in the passenger seat while Sean kept a lookout. It was only fair. Tommy had done most of the driving during the night since he was better at it than Sean.

  After sitting in the car for nearly an hour, he looked at the clock and saw it was 10 minutes to 10.

  "Hey, buddy," he said and nudged Tommy on the shoulder. "Time to go."

  Tommy squeezed his eyes and then opened them wide. He rubbed his face for a second and then propped his seat upright.

  "Man, I guess I was tired."

  "Well, you only drove for, like, nine hours last night, so..." Sean opened the door and stepped out onto the wet pavement.

  Tommy slumped out of the car and zipped up his coat. "Yeah, I know. Back when we were in college and high school, I could do a drive like that and be ready to go the next morning, no problem. Remember that time we drove out to Colorado to go snowboarding?"

  "How could I forget? We took a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of nowhere Kentucky at one point." Sean laughed and stepped onto the sidewalk. "Yeah. It was dark out, and we missed a turn."

  "And snowing. It only delayed us, like, two hours."

  "Ugh, I know. That was my bad."

  "You looking for an argument?"

  Sean shook his head. "Come on. The sooner we get in there, the better chance we have of getting a few minutes of the curator's time before the rest of the tourists."

  The Seward House was originally built by a local judge, Elijah Miller, in 1816. When Seward married Miller's daughter, the judge required the newlyweds to live in his house, a requirement Sean thought strange when he first read it.

  It was a beautiful, stately home and on immaculately kept grounds, though the landscaping and gardens were covered in a blanket of snow. The home's light brown walls were accented by dark brown window shutters, railing, roof and doors, giving it a look that tiptoed between Spanish villa, Mediterranean, and colonial.

  The interior smelled like a museum, which made sense since most of the furnishings were original, straight from the Seward family collections passed down through the decades.