The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  Petty opened the fridge in the bottom part of the entertainment unit and pulled out a bottle of beer. He twisted the top off and took a big gulp, then another. The toasty flavor of roasted grains filled his mouth for a moment before the light burn after he swallowed. He wiped his lips and looked around the dim room. The light blue walls, the dark brown carpet, even the fluffy white pillows pissed him off. The room was nice enough, he supposed, especially considering where he was. That’s not what made him angry. He was sitting here with no leads. That was the cause of his rage. He was a caged cheetah, ready to run down its prey and feast on the carcass.

  He sighed and walked back over to the bed, slumped down on it as he let the beer dangle between his knees for a second, and then swung them over on top of the comforter.

  He took another sip of the beer and thought about turning on the television to see what was on. There had to be a hockey game or something.

  As he reached for the remote on the nightstand, his phone started dancing atop the desk in the corner.

  He shot off the bed and hurried over to it. Part of him hoped it was his anonymous tipper, but a look at the screen told him it was one of his colleagues, a man named Ryan Tanner.

  Tanner was a young go-getter, much like Petty had been before hours of filing reports and filling out paperwork had burned him on the effective impact he’d hoped to have when joining up with the FBI.

  Petty pressed the screen’s green button and then put it to his ear. “This is Petty.”

  “Sir? I think we might have a lead.”

  21

  North Dakota

  Sean stepped out of his SUV and took a look around the parking area. He was one of the first people there, though he wasn’t sure if Fort Mandan was a place that was frequented by a gazillion tourists, or if it was one of the more obscure historical spots that dotted the map of the United States.

  His breath puffed out through his lips as big clouds of fog were quickly swept away by the frigid North Dakota air. The cold hit him in an instant, stinging his face like darts flung at a hundred miles an hour, pricking the exposed patches of skin on his wrists and face.

  Sean winced, gritted his teeth against the cold, and pulled his beanie down tight over his ears. Dry flakes of snow blew by him as a gust of wind picked up, and he turned his back to it to get a brief respite. He’d checked the forecast and been prepared, at least mentally, for the freezing temperatures, but being from the South still kept its grip on him. He’d traveled to cold places before, so it wasn’t new, but it always hit him hard for the first few minutes.

  He took another quick look around and shoved a Springfield 9mm into his pocket. As his fingers wrapped around the grip, there was the same familiar comfort he’d become accustomed to whenever he picked up the weapon, or his other favorite, his trusty .40-cal from the same maker. Sean wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing, that holding a firearm could bring such a sense of peace, but he didn’t let the thoughts linger too long. He had work to do, and he needed to do it quickly. There were people looking for him, and at the moment he didn’t know who or where they were. He turned back into the breeze as it died down again and started toward the refurbished log fort.

  Fort Mandan was a triangular design with a rounded point at the back end. The houses inside were abutted to the exterior wall and wrapped the entire way around the inner courtyard until reaching the front gate. The structure was anything but imposing, though Sean figured an enemy might well have feared the sight of the fort a few hundred years ago when a garrison of armed soldiers would have been stationed there.

  The fort was positioned on private land, which seemed a little strange to Sean, but there were a couple of historic landmarks he’d seen like that.

  He trudged forward across the lot, a thin layer of snow crunching under his feet with every step. The forecast was for more precipitation later that day. The last thing Sean needed was to get stuck out there in the middle of North Dakota in a blizzard. Time was running out and he could ill afford any holdups.

  Sean marched to the open gate and paused. There was no need to go inside and have a look around. He wasn’t here to learn about the history of the place or take part in their post-colonial celebration of culture. He’d seen the charade online, both before he left Atlanta and again that morning when he brushed up on the details about Fort Mandan. The owner hired people to dress in clothing from the early 1800s, and those actors—for the benefit of visitors—would portray an authentic look into the past at the way life may have been at the fort during the time of the Lewis and Clark expedition.

  Sean was about to veer to the left and work his way around the outside of the fort toward the northwestern corner when a man’s voice caught his attention. The last thing Sean wanted was to be noticed by anyone. He’d hoped that pulling off that anonymity would be easier out here, away from city populations.

  “Sir, may I help you?” The man’s voice cut through the cold and filled Sean’s ears.

  Sean twisted his head to look over his shoulder. A guy, probably in his early twenties, was standing just inside the gate out of the cold. He held an authentic musket in one hand, the barrel laid across his shoulder and jutting out into the air behind his head. His uniform was a replica from the early nineteenth century, just like everything else in and around the structure.

  “No, I’m good, thank you,” Sean answered in a gruff voice.

  “Where ya goin’?” the pretend soldier asked. “There’s not much to see around there. And it’s cold out.”

  The man’s North Dakota accent caused certain words to sound much different than where Sean was from. The o’s especially were drawn out, something Sean had always found interesting.

  “I know,” Sean said. “I’m checking out the layout of the place.” His lips were numb, as were his fingers. He fought off the urge to chatter his teeth as he spoke to the younger man. “Just doing a bit of research, you know? Getting the lay of the land?”

  “Cold day for that sort of thing,” the soldier said. “Sounds like something you shoulda done during the summer months. Much nicer that time of year.”

  “I bet,” Sean replied. This guy was chatty, and that was the last thing Sean wanted to deal with right now. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Whatcha researching?”

  Sean turned his head away so the guy couldn’t see him roll his eyes. Would he not shut up?

  “I’m investigating the layout of the land around the fort, trying to get a better understanding of what it looked like here around the time of Lewis and Clark. Research project.” He hoped his explanation would get the younger man off his back, but he saw the uniformed actor take a step forward and instantly knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Sounds interesting. You know, this is the place where Sacagawea had her baby.”

  “So I hear,” Sean didn’t try to hide the disdain in his voice. It was drizzled with a heavy layer of sarcasm.

  The soldier, apparently, didn’t pick up on the snideness.

  “Yeah, pretty cool that something so important in our history happened here.” The guy cocked his head to the right as if thinking about something. “Of course, it wasn’t actually here, though.”

  Sean nodded, pretending to understand, but then he caught himself just before he started to walk away. “Wait. What did you just say?”

  The uniformed guy looked surprised. “Which thing?”

  “The part about it not being here. What did you mean by that?” Sean felt the cold dissipate as his heartbeat quickened. His body temperature climbed, and he forgot for a moment he was standing outside in the bitter, chilling air.

  “Oh. Yeah, you didn’t know that.” The soldier turned to the fort and extended his arm. “That’s just a replica. Owner built it a long time ago to sort of honor the Corps of Discovery expedition and everyone involved. Gives tourists a way to connect with the past, although during this time of year we don’t get many visitors. Too cold for them, I guess.”


  Sean ignored the chatter. The guy was rambling again, and he didn’t have time to waste on chitchat.

  “So, this isn’t the original footprint of the fort’s foundation?”

  The guy shook his head as if it should have been obvious. “Nah. They think most of that is under the river now over that way.” He pointed over a slight rise to the north. It was framed by outcroppings of tall trees on either side.

  “They think?”

  “Yeah, you know, archaeologists, historians, all that. They believe it might have been over there by the river, but when the river was widened a long time ago, the original place where the fort might have been was flooded. If it was there, it’s underwater now.”

  A sickening feeling coated Sean’s throat and dropped into his gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. He wasn’t given to sudden outbreaks of emotion or panic. Sean believed there was always a solution. This, however, was concerning news. If the original Fort Mandan location was submerged, that could possibly mean that the clue he was looking for might also be underwater. He didn’t need to be reminded of what it would take to conduct a dive in the Missouri River at this time of year.

  The river not only possessed a strong current, but it would also be freezing. A diver would need a dry suit to get in during these colder months. Sean not only didn’t have time to procure such equipment; he had no idea where he’d get it. His connections were limited, not to mention the fact he was trying to keep a low profile. The fewer people he met, the better.

  “Which side of the river do the historians think the fort might be on? North side or south?” Sean asked the question, doing his best to stem the hopes lying under the surface of his tone. If it was on the south side, the clue would likely be underwater and be unreachable. If it was on the north, there might still be a chance.

  “They’re not really sure,” the actor admitted. “I’ve heard both, but I think the consensus is that it’s on the north side of the river.”

  Sean felt a wave of relief wash over him. His friend John Dawkins’s life depended on that answer. It weighed on him like bags of sand on his shoulders. Hearing this guy’s answer poked huge holes in those bags and let the sand trickle onto the ground, lightening his load.

  “There’s not much to see, though. I’m telling ya.” The guard planted the butt of his musket onto the snowy ground. “There’s no building or anything to see. Not even any mounds around it.”

  “That’s okay,” Sean said. “I’m really more interested in the area around the fort.”

  “What did you say you’re studying again?”

  Sean turned and started back toward his car. “I didn’t,” he said curtly. “But I’m working on a study that analyzes the impact of the climate change on this particular part of North Dakota since it has some historical significance. We’re losing too much of our history to this global warming thing.”

  The actor nodded and opened his mouth. “So…you believe in all that?”

  Sean chuckled. “Look, the Earth’s been getting warmer for thousands of years. And we’re not helping. That’s all I know.”

  “True.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Sean said as he walked away. “You should get back in there and stay warm.” He pointed at the fort replica.

  “Will do. And come back by again. Would love to know what you find.”

  “You bet,” Sean said, using a regional term he’d picked up from hearing other conversations. He had no intention of returning to the fake fort. He had to get to the other side of the river and figure out where the northwestern corner of the original fort had been.

  He slid into the seat of his SUV and closed the door, thankful to get out of the biting cold once more. The motor roared to life, and he felt the welcoming hot air pour out of the vents in the dashboard. He turned up the seat warmer to the highest setting, then pulled the phone out of his pocket. This was going to require a little additional research, and there wasn’t enough time for him to simply do a quick internet search. He was going to need more firepower.

  Tara answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Tara. It’s me. I need your help.”

  22

  North Dakota

  Agent Petty sat in the corner booth, sipping on a cup of steaming coffee. His suit jacket was folded in the corner, and his tie was still loose. It was too early in the day to worry about his appearance; the professional look he was required to display all the time.

  He honestly didn’t care.

  Petty had been in the FBI long enough to stop worrying about what people thought of him. At this point, he just wanted to do his job the best he could, and everything else could fall in place, or not, as far as he was concerned.

  Two other agents were speaking to a guy in a trucker hat in the far corner. A cook was in the back frying burgers, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. The smell of sizzling meat and cooking potatoes filled the air, with a hint of onion and bell pepper thrown in for good measure. Three police cars were situated in the parking lot. One of them had an officer behind the wheel. From the looks of it, the guy was on his phone, probably on some kind of social media. The other two were inside sitting at the end of the bar while they sipped coffee and told jokes. One kept his hand on his belt next to the pistol in his holster. Petty noted the guy’s hand had stayed there nearly the entire time since he’d walked in over twenty minutes ago.

  Agent Petty returned his gaze to the subject across from him at the table and stared into the woman’s eyes, then let his gaze fall to her name tag. “Mary?” He said the name like it was a question, one that didn’t need asking.

  “That’s me,” she said. Her accent was purely local, sharp and nasally with the e’s elongated.

  “Would you mind telling me what happened?”

  “I can’t imagine why you need me to do that. Your friends over there were very thorough with their questions. Didn’t they tell you?”

  “They did,” Petty said with a patient grin that was as fake as the cubic zirconia on her ring. “But I’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  He flashed a grin, fully aware he’d just insulted her. Just like with the suit, he didn’t care.

  She chewed on a piece of gum that had lost its flavor over an hour ago. Her lips twisted and circled in constant rhythm as she gnawed on the gum, her eyes peering at him as if assessing whether or not she should trust this guy.

  “I’m a federal agent, Mary. Please don’t withhold evidence from me. I’d hate to have to take you in. Seriously, I have better things to do. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m not withholding anything,” she chirped. “Like I said, I told your cronies over there everything that happened. But I’ll tell you, too, since you seem to be set on it.”

  “That’s all I ask.” He laced his fingers together on the table and leaned forward, ready to listen.

  “I was working. Guy came in and ordered a turkey melt. Sat here in this booth.”

  Petty’s eyes flashed from left to right as he noted the detail.

  “Don’t worry about dusting for prints, either,” she added. “We’ve cleaned off the tables and seats.”

  Petty nodded. He didn’t care. He had a pretty good idea as to who was here.

  “Keep going,” he urged. “And leave out what he ordered. I don’t care about that.”

  “Your kind wants details. So, I’m giving you details.” She rolled her eyes and glanced over at the counter. “Anyway, these three guys came in. One was already here. He’d had something to eat and was just hanging out. All three of them had hoodies on. Must be a gang thing or something.”

  Petty resisted the urge to argue that point. It wasn’t important if she thought they were part of a gang or not.

  “Go on.”

  “When the other two came in, the first one stood up. They had guns.” This part of the story caused Mary to come unraveled a little. Her voice quivered, and she blinked rapidly.

  “It’s okay,” Petty said,
feigning sympathy. “Take as much time as you need.” What he wanted to tell her was to hurry up and finish the story. Every second he wasted here was another second Sean Wyatt had to get farther away.

  She shook her head. “That guy, the one sitting in this corner, he went to the bathroom.”

  “Went to the bathroom?”

  Mary nodded. “I didn’t see him leave, actually. I didn’t realize he was gone until one of the men—the leader, I guess—said something about it.”

  “And then what happened?” Petty did his best to stay patient.

  “The leader, he sent one of the other guys to the bathroom to find him.”

  Petty raised both eyebrows. His thumbs lifted as if to say, “Go on.”

  “The one in charge and another guy stayed with us out here while the shortest one went to the bathroom.” She paused and took a drink of water from the glass in front of her. She swallowed it, glanced out the window, then turned her attention back to Petty. “He didn’t come out of the bathroom.”

  “Who didn’t?”

  Mary rubbed her thighs with her palms. Petty imagined they were sweaty. She was clearly unnerved by everything that happened and had been detained there through much of the morning. No doubt her shift was already over long ago, and she needed some rest.

  “No one came out at first. Then the guy from this booth…he appeared and came back to his table, started eating again like nothing was wrong.”

  “Was there anything wrong?”

  “Uh, yeah. We were being robbed.”

  Petty rolled his eyes and sighed. “Other than that, obviously.”

  “Anyway, he just started eating again like everything was normal.”

  “Then what happened?” Petty was getting annoyed that he had to corral the story out of her.

  “The leader, the one in the red hoodie, he came over here to the table and started threatening the stranger. Flashed his gun at him and whatnot. I think he said the other one’s name was Dan. Kept asking where Dan was, what happened to him, that sort of thing. Then the guy in the red hoodie made the stranger get up and go to the bathroom with him. I thought for sure he was going to kill the guy.”