Yuri never saw their faces and whether or not the other two were looking at him. For the moment, he didn't care. He just focused on the tablet.
A moment later they were gone, turning back onto one of the other streets and disappearing from view.
Yuri waited until they'd turned again toward the interstate before he pulled out onto the street and drove off.
He swallowed hard, driving the lump in his throat back down into his gut. His chest rose slowly, taking in a deep breath. "Stay calm, Yuri," he told himself. "They don't know you're here or who you even are. Just complete the mission."
At the street where the Americans turned right, Yuri hung a left onto a side street and drove until he found an old church. He turned into the parking lot and steered his vehicle back behind the building—out of sight from the main road.
There, he waited and watched the tablet as the blue dot circled back around through the downtown square one more time.
"Stupid Americans," he thought. "So predictable."
The blue dot passed by where he'd been sitting for the last several hours and then made the same turns again, only this time the other car finally stayed on course down Highway 20.
Yuri waited patiently for another five minutes until he was certain the Americans weren't coming back around again and then took off on the same route. If they'd found something at the Seward museum, he didn't know. Sooner or later, he'd make his move, but only when the timing was right.
22
Washington
Drew Porter took a bite of his Reuben. He stared out the foggy window of his favorite DC deli as he slowly chewed the corned beef, sauerkraut, and rye. He'd released his men to go and do as they pleased until they heard from him. They understood that could mean hours or months. With this particular mission, his only request was that they stick around the area and not wander off too far.
Porter couldn't explain it, but he had a feeling he and his team would be needed again soon.
The television on the wall in the corner was stuck on the national news network. The anchors had been talking about the assassination attempt pretty much nonstop since Porter walked in. They kept showing the video of the mystery woman as she tackled the president just before the bullets shattered his podium and would have surely killed him on the spot. Porter lost count of how many times they cycled that footage through.
He took a sip of his drink and swallowed the bite of sandwich before taking another.
His phone suddenly started ringing, vibrating on the table next to his plate. Porter checked the screen and shook his head. He hit the red Decline button and finished chewing his food.
A moment later, the device started ringing again. After he swallowed the next bite, Porter picked up the phone.
"Calling again so soon?" he said. "I thought you didn't need me."
"That was before I found out Sean Wyatt was still alive."
Porter flushed red. "What are you talking about?"
"Your mark? The guy you were supposed to kill? The guy you said you did kill? Turns out he's not so dead after all."
"Where did you get that information?" Porter asked after he took a long, deep breath.
"Oh, I don't know. A little birdie in Auburn, New York, called me. I was in meetings and briefings all day, so I only got the message a few minutes ago."
"Auburn?"
"Yes, Auburn. I put someone on the Seward House when I found out Wyatt was snooping around. She called and said he and his friend Schultz came in this morning to talk to the curator. Now, how do you suppose that happened? I mean, one minute, the guy is dead in a cave somewhere in North Georgia. Next thing I know, he's walking into the Seward museum. I don't suppose you have any theories as to how in the world he did it. Do you?"
Porter didn't appreciate the condescending tone from his employer. More than that, however, he was infuriated at the fact that Wyatt was still alive, not to mention his friend as well. He ran through the scenario in his head.
Wyatt and Schultz were down in the cave. Porter and his two men rigged enough C4 over the entrance to take down a small fortress. After the dust settled, he checked to make sure there was no way the men could escape. Even if rescue crews had shown up immediately, it would have taken a day or two to clear the debris for the simple reason that there could be another cave-in if the rescuers weren't careful.
If what his employer was saying was true, the only explanation would be another entrance to the cave. Porter and his men hadn't seen anything like that while they were there, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. His knowledge about cave systems was pretty limited. He'd heard of caves with multiple points of entry, so it was certainly possible.
Instead of offering an answer to his employer's question, Porter changed the conversation's direction.
"Where is he now?"
"Right now? At this very moment? I have no idea. My contact in Auburn said all she heard was that Wyatt and Schultz were heading back to Washington."
The comment caused Porter to perk up. "Washington? Why?"
"She didn't know exactly. Something about the Mary Surratt house. They may be looking for something there."
"Good thing my men and I are already here in Washington." Porter hoped the news would change his employer's demeanor.
A silent pause passed for a moment before the man on the other end spoke up again. "Washington? You're here? Why?"
"I thought you might need us again, sir. Although I have to admit, I didn't think it would be to deal with Wyatt. I apologize for the trouble. We'll take care of it."
"You said you took care of it last time. I'm going to get someone else to handle it now. Consider yourself lucky."
Consider myself lucky? What does that mean?
Porter didn't respond well to threats. He was the one who threatened people. The fact that a guy in a suit with no experience in the field actually had the guts to say something like that to him caused Porter's blood to boil.
"I said I will take care of it, sir. You don't have to get someone else on it."
"No, Porter. Do you not understand? You are off the job. Don't make the mistake of crossing me. That will not end well for you."
There it was again, another threat.
"Okay, sir. We're done here. I wish you the best of luck."
"Was that sarcasm? Do you have any idea who you're talking to, Porter? You caused this, not me. You're the one who failed in your assignment."
Porter ended the call without saying anything else. He'd had enough. If his employer thought he could just bring someone else to finish the job he'd started, he'd have to think again.
A plan began formulating in Porter's mind. Whatever his employer was looking for must be something of tremendous value—potentially priceless. Porter snorted at the thought. Everything had a price. Everything.
He flipped through the contacts in his phone and found the number he was looking for.
It was a guy he only used now and then when he didn't care if things got messy. Porter didn't know his real name. He went by an odd alias: Anhur, after the Egyptian god of war. The man had Egyptian tattoos all over his arms and neck. Porter assumed there were more, but he'd never been interested in asking.
Anhur had the reputation of being incredibly thorough in his tasks. The only problem was he usually left a swath of destruction and carnage. He was relatively cheap, though, and Porter didn't care how sloppy the job was done so long as Wyatt and Schultz were out of the way. Then whatever treasure they'd found would be in Porter's hands.
He'd sell it to the highest bidder, of which there would likely be only one. Porter clenched his jaw as he thought about the price tag. He'd make his now-former employer pay dearly. From the boasts the man had made, he likely had billions to spend.
As Porter dialed Anhur's number, his mind drifted to the beach house he'd buy in the Caribbean, the chalet in France, and the countless other material possessions that filled his desires.
"Yes?" a gruff voice came through the
earpiece.
"Anhur, it's Porter. You wouldn't be interested in making a quick five thousand, would you?"
The man's breathing was loud in the phone. "Depends on how quick?" he grunted.
"You still in Washington?"
"Where else would I be? Best place for a bear to catch fish is in the river."
Porter had only talked to Anhur on a few occasions, but he found the man loved metaphors. Porter attributed it to a psychological issue in which Anhur saw himself as some kind of wise spiritual guide. Ironic because when he killed people, he did so in often gruesome ways.
"Good point," Porter said.
It actually was a good point. If a mercenary hit man wanted to make a good living, there were several markets to choose from, both domestic and international. New York was a honey pot, but overrun by the mob. Finding work could be tricky and getting paid even more so. Same with Boston and the Irish.
Chicago was a huge city, but more organized crime and a saturated base of talented hitters made it a poor choice.
Washington, however, was a goldmine of opportunity if you had talent. To get work in that town, one had to be a cut above the rest. The men and women who sought hired guns didn't settle for anything less than the best. After all, their reputations and political careers were on the line.
Anhur's penchant for cruelty made him stand out.
"What's the mark?" Anhur asked.
"There are two marks, actually. They'll be in town later today, barring anything unusual on their journey."
"Where?"
"I'll send you the address along with everything you'll need on these two men. Oh, and Anhur, there's one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Make sure you take them out as they're leaving, not before. They'll have something in their possession that I want. And it's in that house."
23
Washington
Adriana followed Emily through the airport, walking swiftly by other travelers, careful to not make eye contact.
She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to keep her identity safe from any gawkers who'd seen the viral video of her diving into the president to save his life. The last thing she and Emily needed right now was attention. If someone recognized her, they'd be inundated with questions, maybe even requests for autographs. Neither were things the two women wanted.
They found the gate for their flight back to Atlanta and found seats in a corner against the wall. Boarding would begin in twenty minutes. Until then, Adriana and Emily had plenty of work to do.
Once they were situated, they both took out their phones. Emily called the office to check on why Sean's call hadn't come through to her. Adriana made a call to Alex and Tara.
"Hello?" Tara said after two rings.
"How are you three?" Adriana asked.
"We're good," Tara said. "June picked us up from the office and brought us to Joe and Helen's place. I gotta say, it sure is relaxing being out here in the woods. We need to visit more often."
"You haven't noticed anything unusual, have you?"
"No, everything's fine down here. I think Alex is getting a little bored, but June and I are enjoying the R&R. By the way, thanks for looking out for us with the tip on the burner phones."
"No problem," Adriana said. Her eyes flitted from one traveler to the next as they passed. She feared at any second someone would recognize her. "I was wondering if you could help us out."
"Us? Are Tommy and Sean with you?"
"No. Emily is. This may be outside the realm of your expertise, but we thought we'd give it a try and ask since you and Alex are usually pretty handy when it comes to cyber stuff."
"Oh, sounds interesting."
"You could say that. We're investigating a few offshore bank accounts and were hoping the two of you could figure out a way to tell us where the deposits came from."
Adriana waited as the phone fell silent. She pulled it away from her ear and checked the screen to make sure the call hadn't been dropped.
"That is an interesting request," Tara said. "We don't usually do hacking-type stuff."
Adriana sighed. She was disappointed, but it was also the answer she'd expected.
"I figured you didn't. Had to try, though."
"Well, Alex and I don't really do anything like that, however, we do know someone who does."
Adriana perked up. "You do?"
"Yeah. His name is Clyde. He's an older guy. Might even be retired by now, not that he ever worked a real job that I know of. He's busted into more systems than anyone I know. Doesn't really steal anything like money or identities. He just likes to know the truth, see what's truly going on."
"What's going on?"
"Like in the government or with politicians."
"Oh." Adriana looked puzzled. "Do you think he can help us?"
"Definitely. I'll reach out to him immediately and see what he can do."
"Thanks, Tara. That would be awesome. Let me know what you find out."
"Will do. I'll be in touch soon." She started to end the call and then stopped herself. "Oh, Adriana?"
"Yes?"
"Send me the account information on this person you're investigating. If Clyde agrees to do the gig, he'll need whatever it is you're wanting him to look into."
Adriana reached into her bag and took out her notepad. She'd written down the account information beforehand for this exact purpose. "I'll text it to you right away."
"Sounds good."
After they said their goodbyes, she texted Tara and looked to Emily, who was just getting off the phone with her people at Axis HQ in Atlanta.
"What's the word?" Adriana asked.
Emily bit her lower lip for a second before answering. "They said no call ever came in from Sean."
"You mean they didn't remember getting a call from him?"
"No." Emily shook her head. "The call never came through. They ran a check of all the calls we received for the last several days, particularly the day Sean supposedly called. We never received one."
"That's odd," Adriana said, scratching the side of her head. The hat wasn't the best fit and irritated her scalp.
"What's really odd is that for a brief period of time one day last week, we received far fewer calls.”
“Fewer calls?"
Emily shrugged. "A dozen or so. We work with a number of different entities, so the phones are usually busy."
"Maybe it was just a slow day?"
"Possibly. I have another theory. If someone had the resources and capability to burn Sean and Tommy, effectively wiping out their entire source of funding and all that, then those same people would more than likely be able to orchestrate a phone line redirect."
"You mean they took calls from that specific period of time and rerouted them to another phone?"
"Exactly," Emily said with a nod.
Adriana thought for a moment. Even though she'd spent much of her life in the United States, she still didn't have a handle on many of the whos and hows involved with American politics, government, and power.
That first one lingered in her mind: the who. It would have to be someone with a great deal of power to pull off what happened to Sean and Tommy, as well as what Emily was suggesting with their phones.
"Who has the capability?" Adriana asked.
"That's just it," Emily said. "There are any number of agencies capable of pulling off a move like that for a residence or a business. But we have fail-safes in place, security measures."
"You think it was someone on the inside of Axis?"
Emily shook her head. "No. None of my agents would do something like that."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. The list of people working for me is only known to me and the president. Some of my agents don't even know each other. They often work alone, save for certain, more extreme cases."
Adriana didn't press that issue any further. "So, if it wasn't someone on the inside, who?"
Emily didn't answer right away. Her eyelids
blinked rapidly as her brain worked in overdrive to find the solution. She looked up at the ceiling on the other side of the terminal. Two cameras were mounted against the wall, pointing in opposite directions. The little red lights on the sides of the devices indicated the area was being monitored.
Emily cocked her head to the side. "Cameras," she said.
"What?"
"The cameras," Emily pointed at the two security devices. "Downtown Atlanta has cameras everywhere. If we can track down the source of the phone line redirection, we might be able to figure out who was behind it."
Adriana still didn't follow. "I don't understand. How will cameras be able to help you figure that out?"
Emily licked her lips. Her heartbeat quickened. "Phone lines coming into a building have junctions. You see linemen working on them sometimes in those white buckets that go up and down."
Adriana nodded that she was keeping up.
"So, to pull off a redirect, the most common way would be to climb the last telephone pole going into the building, patch into it, and redirect it. Someone could have put a person up on one of the poles outside our building and sent incoming calls to their own line."
Things were starting to make sense now. "So, if there's a camera anywhere close to where the patch was created—"
"We'll be able to identify who did it."
"The people who tried to kill Sean must have ordered the redirect when he managed to escape." Adriana rubbed her head. The intrigue was getting deep.
"Yes. Hopefully we can get a visual on who might have been involved. If we can track that person down, we may be able to figure out who they're working for. Speaking of tracking, what did the kids say?"
"Just as I thought. They don't know anything about computer hacking."
"I was afraid of that."
"But they said they know someone who does. An older guy who does some ethical hacking. He does it to get information and keep tabs on the government."
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 71