“So, we ditch the Massachusetts house and focus on Maine.” Patch walked around the table to study her screen. “Where are those two?”
Luna typed for a minute and pulled up a split screen of two beachfront houses on rocky shorelines. No neighboring homes could be seen from the aerial views.
“Either one is a contender.” She pointed at a sprawling house with tennis courts on the far side of the garage. “This one is in Pemaquid Point. The second is in Jonesport.” She indicated an older, saltbox style home with a few outbuildings.
“Sparrow is on standby with the helicopter and will have it gassed up and ready to go.” Patch pulled out his cell. “If we split up, he can drop two of us in Pemaquid and fly the other two on to Jonesport.”
Talia nodded. “That works. Let’s get our gear and move.”
She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet just as her cell rang. After glancing at the screen, she swiped to connect. “What’s up, Wolf?”
“Airforce One just took off. The president is traveling with Alan Vickers and a minimal security detail. No specific flight plan has been filed, but my source will notify me when the plane lands.”
“We believe Wyatt is being held in one of two Maine towns, either Pemaquid or Jonesport. We’re leaving by chopper just as soon as we get to the hanger. If you can narrow down the location once Cox is on the ground—”
“I’ll be in touch the minute I know.”
“Thanks, Wolf.”
With each passing minute, Talia could only imagine what was happening to Wyatt. On the drive to the municipal airport where the Counterstrike helicopter was hangered, she held back tears, staring out the window as dusk fell.
Finally, Scarlet laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. “Cox wouldn’t be flying out of D.C. on the sly if he didn’t intend to talk to Wyatt. They won’t mess him up before the president gets there.”
“I keep telling myself that, but what if he’s going somewhere for business that has nothing to do with Wyatt’s abduction? What if Brower already killed him?” She closed her eyes as her shoulders shook.
“Don’t borrow trouble. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Talia straightened and took a breath. “You’re right, but I can’t stop imagining worse case scenarios.”
“Believe me, I know the feeling. We’ll get there in time, Luna.”
When Silas drove up to the hanger and stopped, she grabbed the bag with her weapons and communication gear, along with her laptop, and ran toward the chopper waiting on the tarmac. Her cell rang just as she climbed inside.
Covering one ear so she could hear over the whirling rotors, she answered the phone. “Where is he, Wolf?”
“Bar Harbor. Air Force One just touched down. No one in D.C. seems to know what the president is doing in Maine. They were only told to have a vehicle waiting for him at the airport. My source says the Secret Service is freaking out that he pretty much went AWOL with only two men from his personal protection unit.”
“So, Jonesport? Wouldn’t he have landed in Rockland if he was going to Pemaquid?”
“It seems more likely.”
“Where?” Patch shouted.
“Bar Harbor.”
“I have friends in Winter Harbor, which isn’t far from there. The arrival of Air Force One won’t have gone unnoticed. I’ll try to confirm which road they take from the airport.”
Talia gave him a thumbs up and returned her attention to Wolf. “I’ll call when it’s over.”
“Trust Wyatt to stay alive until you reach him, Luna. He’s going to be fine.”
“Damn right. Thanks, Wolf.”
They’d been in the air for ten minutes when Patch’s cell rang. He spoke briefly before pocketing his phone. “They’re definitely headed northeast toward Jonesport. Only one vehicle, driving like a bat out of hell. Shouldn’t take them much more than an hour to get there.”
While he moved forward to speak to Sparrow, Talia grabbed her laptop. After pulling up satellite images of the area, she searched for a place not too far from the house where they could set down. Evergreens surrounded the property on a jutting point of land, but there was a strip of beach maybe a mile from the house where Sparrow could get low enough to drop them.
Patch returned and sat beside her. “ETA is an hour and fifteen. We should reach Jonesport not long after the president arrives.”
She nodded and closed her eyes for a brief moment. An hour seemed like an eternity. She prayed Wyatt could hold on that long.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When the chain on the door rattled, Wyatt turned off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. Positioning himself to the right of the opening, he raised the metal leg from the counter in a batter’s stance as his heart thumped painfully.
A powerful beam of light blinded him as he swung like he was aiming for the fence and connected with a solid thud. The flashlight clattered to the floor and slid across the cement before a body dropped nearly on his feet. Leaping over the first man, he hit a second figure with as much force as he could manage. When he stumbled backward, Wyatt ran like hell.
His shoes slid on the slippery rocks as he ran down the slight embankment to the beach and sprinted up the damp sand. The moon was out, making him a clear target, and voices sounded faintly behind him. He cut up toward the bank and the safety of the trees beyond just as a shot echoed. A bullet whizzed past his head.
“Shit!” Another bullet dug into the sand to his left as he dived behind an overturned rowboat. He was a sitting duck if he couldn’t reach the shelter of those trees.
Feet pounded the sand, drawing closer. He’d have to risk exposure rather than certain death if he stayed where he was. Before he could move, headlights shone through the trees, and a vehicle stopped just outside his line of vision.
“Don’t kill him, Cam,” a voice shouted. “Not until I speak to the president.”
Wyatt didn’t wait to hear more. He pushed to his feet, clamored up the rocks, and raced toward the trees. The flashlight beam pinpointed him with deadly accuracy, and another shot shattered the stillness.
A burning pain ripped through the flesh of his thigh, and he went down hard. Warm wetness soaked through his pants as he clamped his hand over the wound. Moments later, the shooter gripped his arm, jerked him upward, and jammed the barrel of a revolver to his head.
“Brower only said not to kill you. Bastard.” He gave Wyatt a shove. “My shoulder is still throbbing from the hit I took. Good thing you didn’t compromise my aim, or I might have shattered your femur instead of inflicting nothing more than a flesh wound.” He prodded him with the gun. “Move it!”
Wyatt stumbled forward, swaying a little as blood continued to run down his leg and pool in his shoe. “If I bleed out, the president probably won’t be happy.”
“Oh, good Christ. Take off your damn shirt and tie it around your leg. I barely nicked you.”
“How the hell do you know?” He yanked his T-shirt over his head and shivered in the cool air as he cinched it around his thigh.
“Because if I had hit an artery, you’d be dead by now. Let’s go.”
Wyatt limped back the way he’d come, wondering if he’d been a fool to try to escape. But he hadn’t really expected President Cox to show up in person and wasn’t sure if that was a good sign—or a death sentence.
“Not to the shed. Head toward the house.” The asshole prodded him again with the revolver.
He turned up the path toward an older, gray saltbox house. Floodlights illuminated the yard where Brower waited at the door. Cox’s chief of staff gave him a look that sent a shiver straight down his spine.
“You made me look bad, running the way you did. I’m not happy about that. If you try anything in front of the president, I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Hopefully Mr. Cox will be a little more reasonable than you’ve been.” Wyatt cocked his head slightly as the faint sound of a helicopter filtered through the air and faded as the wind shifted.
/> “Get inside.” Brower stopped the man behind him with an upraised hand. “I want you to keep watch out here. One of the secret service detail is positioned in front of the house, and the other is with the president and Vickers. We don’t expect any trouble, but it pays to be careful.”
“I’ve got it covered.” He faded into the dark.
“This way.” Brower gripped Wyatt’s shoulder and led him toward the front room.
President Cox sat on a brown leather couch, while the attorney general stood in front of a rock fireplace. A tall black man in a dark suit whom Wyatt assumed was secret service came forward and patted him down. With a satisfied nod, he took up a position outside the doorway to the living room.
“You’ve been a pain in my ass, Mr. Stone.” Cox leaned into the corner of the couch and crossed one foot over his knee. “Seeing as how this situation has been a shit show from start to finish, I decided to oversee its conclusion myself.”
“I’m honored.” Wyatt couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Are you here because you’d like to appear on my show.”
The president’s laugh was ugly. “I don’t think so. You might not have heard yet, but you’re already short one guest. Senator Gamble was tragically killed when an armed robber broke into her home where she and Jill Erickson were dining together. Neither woman survived. The man fled the scene, but not before he found Alexander Hamilton’s copy of the document and his spoon.”
Wyatt flinched slightly but kept his features set. He wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of showing any fear.
“By the way, when she gave up the combination to her safe after a little persuasion, she made it clear you hadn’t interviewed her. Not yet, and now, not ever. You weren’t exactly truthful about that, Mr. Stone.”
“I must have misspoken. Do you intend to kill me, too?”
“Right after you tell me where your document and spoon are. Oh, and also where I can find Ms. Davis’s spoon. I’m building a nice collection since one of my people recovered John Jay’s from the police evidence locker after the fiasco at Bedford House.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because your daughter won’t live another hour if you don’t. Do I make myself clear?”
His chest tightened until he could barely draw breath. “They’re in a safe deposit box at my bank in Santa Monica. The key is in my suitcase at Talia’s apartment. I’ll call my producer and tell her to cancel the series. Just leave my daughter alone.”
“Now you’re being smart. Someone will retrieve your key and overnight it to California. By tomorrow morning when the bank opens, we’ll know if you’re lying to me. For your daughter’s sake, I hope you aren’t.”
“I’m not.”
“Since I’m not trusting by nature, I’ll keep you alive until then. Just to make sure.”
“Is all the trouble you’ve gone to to get those spoons really worth it? Why not simply let the election play out so the American people can decide if you’re a fit leader?”
“Good God. Are you really so naïve you believe in truth and honesty in politics? My opponent, whoever he or she might be, would have a field day with that document. Take a look at the state the country is currently in, Mr. Stone. Everything the founding fathers feared most is happening right now.” He shrugged. “Which isn’t to say someone else could do a better job, but I like my chances of reelection better without that incendiary document burning me to the ground.”
“You think you can simply get away with killing me? No disrespect to the late Mr. Voss, whom you also had murdered, but I’m a public figure, not your average citizen. The media is going to pursue the story of my untimely demise with tenacity, and someone will make a connection.”
“Not if there isn’t a body. We’ll take you out to sea and dump you with a cement brick tied around your neck to ensure your fish-eaten remains don’t turn up somewhere. Simple.”
“Wow. Mob tactics from the leader of the free world.”
“I get results. That’s why I was elected in the first place. Not for my winning personality.”
“Yeah, but the voters are getting a little tired of your not-so-charming self. That’s why you’re in panic mode over the executive order. What did you do with the original?”
“You’re a real piece of work, Mr. Stone. The original is in a safe place. If all else failed, I planned to have my experts maintain the parchment was a fake. But this way is better.”
“There’s still one spoon and document out there. Benjamin Franklin’s.”
“If you and that bloodhound girlfriend of yours haven’t sniffed it out by now, I’m sure it’s lost forever. Destroying the others will be enough. No one will believe your crap story without evidence . . . not that I intend to leave any loose ends hanging.”
Which meant he intended to kill Talia. Wyatt had expected as much and could only pray he’d bought her enough time.
President Cox rose to his feet. I think I’ve had enough of this discussion. Please give Alan your bank information. Unless you’d prefer to let Mason’s friend pry it out of you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” He glanced toward the attorney general. “You’re condoning murder, Mr. Vickers?”
“In the larger picture, men like you really don’t matter. Where do you bank, and what’s your box number?”
Lying wasn’t worth the risk to Bree. “Far West Savings, box 9820.”
Vickers typed the info into his phone and glanced up. “I believe he’s telling the truth, sir, since he knows his daughter’s life is on the line. Shall we finish this now and head back to D.C.?”
The president shrugged. “Might as well.” He turned to his chief of staff. “Mason, would you like to do the honors? Let me get out of the way first. I don’t want blood spatter on this suit.”
“Hell, I don’t want blood on the couch. I’ll take him outside.”
Rage surged through Wyatt, blinding him to everything but stopping these men who believed they were above the law. Even if he died trying. When Brower pressed a gun to his skull and spun him around to herd him out the door like a steer to slaughter, he lashed out with his foot. Agony shot through his wounded leg as the man fell sideways. His revolver discharged, shattering the window.
Before Wyatt could think—or even breathe—more gunfire erupted, and all hell broke loose.
* * * *
Nervous sweat beaded Talia’s brow as she crept closer to the big living room window. Wyatt stood beside Mason Brower in the middle of the room, speaking to someone whose back was turned. President Cox, she guessed. Alan Vickers stepped away from the fireplace and typed something into his phone. When Brower pointed a revolver to Wyatt’s head, fear induced adrenaline spiked. She spoke into her headset. “Now! Now!”
Multiple shots echoed in the night as broken glass rained down on her. She barely noticed the cuts or the burning pain. When Brower caught himself against the doorframe and swung his gun toward Wyatt, she aimed and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered the wall behind him as he crumpled to the ground, and his revolver slid across the hardwood floor toward Cox.
She held the Glock steady on the president. “Don’t even think about picking it up, or I’ll blow a hole in you, too.”
Another shot reverberated from inside the house, and Patch appeared in the living room doorway. “Don’t be a fool, Vickers. Put the weapon down.” He advanced on the attorney general.
The Derringer clutched in the man’s hand shook as he stared wide-eyed at the president.
“Don’t do it, Alan. You’re all that stands between me and these assassins.”
Scarlet ran up behind Talia to add more firepower. “If you start shooting, you’ll both be dead. We’re not here to kill you, but we do intend to take you into custody, so drop it.”
The short-barreled gun fell to the floor as Vickers raised his hands. “Is this some kind of joke? Do you know who you’re dealing with?”
“A corrupt man and his cohorts, intent on mur
der.” Wyatt met Talia’s gaze before stooping to retrieve both weapons. “No one is above the law, Mr. President.”
“Who do you think the world will believe? The president of the United States and his attorney general, or the criminals who shot my chief of staff and secret service detail?”
Pulling her phone from her pocket, Talia swiped to video mode and hit record.
“Oh, I think they’ll believe us.” Wyatt stepped closer. “Your career is over, and you’ll spend the rest of your worthless life in prison.”
“You’re beginning to annoy me, Mr. Stone.” Cox narrowed his eyes. “I should have ordered your death the minute you mentioned those damn spoons on your show. It would have been simpler than taking the high road in all this.”
“The country is littered with dead bodies. On your orders. You call that the high road?”
“You and your friends would be smart to walk away right now, or you’ll wish you hadn’t taken me on. I’ll have your daughter killed, and their families, too. That’s what I do when people cross me. I’m not going down for this.” His voice was full of bluster as he turned to face Vickers. “Alan, let’s go. I think we’re done here.”
He glanced from Patch to Wyatt to the window where Talia and Scarlet stood, and pressed a hand to his chest. “She’s filming you.”
Cox swung around. “Bitch! Give me that phone.”
Talia held it up. “Come and get it.”
The president’s face darkened with rage. When he lunged toward her, Wyatt grabbed him from behind and punched him in the head. He swayed and fell, arms flailing. With a shriek, he crashed into the jagged glass left in the window frame. His eyes widened and slowly glazed over as a steady stream of blood ran down the wall.
“Holy shit.” Wyatt took a step back.
Patch ran across the room and pressed two fingers to his neck before shaking his head. “He’s dead. The glass must have cut a major artery.”
“You killed the president!” Vickers’ scream echoed in the silence. “Are you going to murder me next?”
“He did it to himself.” Patch stepped away from the man’s body. “We have it all on video. Do you want to make a stupid move, too?”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 28