The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  Petty’s lips creased. “He faked the passenger manifest on that flight, sir. Easy enough to do when you have the resources. Schultz is here. I know it. And those witnesses confirm it.”

  “Fine. Let’s say you’re right. What is the CIA doing working with Wyatt?” His voice grew quiet, concerned, and just above a whisper. Petty imagined his boss looking out the windows on either side of the wooden door to his office, making sure no one was watching or listening.

  They’d both been in this game long enough to know that someone was usually listening in on everything. From text messages to emails, phone calls to internet searches, Big Brother was always there, even for people who were primary cogs in the machine of the American empire.

  “I don’t think the CIA is working with Wyatt, sir.” He let his words sink in.

  The director didn’t respond immediately, instead letting out a long sigh and then a couple of clicks of the tongue as he processed the information.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, finally, “you’re suggesting that maybe it wasn’t Wyatt who abducted Dawkins and that whoever did it could be hooked in with the CIA?”

  “I’m not saying that’s what’s going on, sir, but I’m saying as things sit right now it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Look at the facts. Wyatt has had an impeccable record with no prior incidents regarding his mental well-being. No hint whatsoever of disloyalty to the United States. Financial data indicates he’s got more money than he’s ever had in his life and certainly more than he needs. Every month, he keeps piling up more without spending much of it. So, he’s not doing it for the ransom.”

  “A ransom that wasn’t requested.”

  “Precisely. So, that leaves the question of motivation falling squarely on a couple of options. The biggest of those is revenge.”

  “But Dawkins and Wyatt are friends. They have been for years.”

  “My point again, sir. Why would Wyatt do this unless he had been crafting a plan like this for years to get back at Dawkins for something that may have happened prior to his presidency?”

  There was another pause. “But you’ve already ruled that out, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I think I have. I think someone framed Sean Wyatt. I don’t think he’s the one behind this at all. Someone wants him out of the way.”

  There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. “That won’t be a short list. Do you have any idea how many missions that man has completed? That’s not including the ones he’s done for the IAA since leaving Emily Starks’s side.”

  Petty sensed the hint of disdain in his boss’s voice. He and the other directors in the intelligence community weren’t exactly fond of Starks. She operated outside the bounds of their jurisdictional protocols, their binding rules, and their limitations. The last part was the most frustrating to many, including Hollis. He’d hoped that his brainchild, Group Z, could eventually morph into what Axis was: a nearly autonomous organization that answered only to one or two people. Alas, Group Z was still beholden to dozens of others, including himself.

  “I am aware, sir,” Petty said. “And while most of the people who crossed Wyatt’s path are either dead or in a prison somewhere, there are other possibilities that come to mind.”

  “Such as?”

  “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place for his enemies, sir. What if whoever is behind this is someone that had a bone to pick with him or, worse, wanted to get some payback for a wrong they believed Wyatt had done to them long ago?”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t…know yet.” He stumbled through his response, knowing the reaction it would get from Hollis. He quickly recovered before his boss could rebuke him. “However, I have some ideas.”

  “Go on.”

  “What if Wyatt wronged someone, someone on his side? During his time with Axis, he had to step on some toes here and there, right?”

  Hollis thought about it. The nature of Axis was to step on the toes of those in other branches of government agencies. It was what they did. They crossed lines, worked in the shadows, and often barged into cases and wrenched them from the hands of people in the bureau and other organizations.

  It had happened to Hollis on two particular occasions that had led him to dislike Emily Starks and everything she stood for. It stood to reason that Wyatt could have done the same thing, and while he was just doing his job or following orders it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Wyatt might have pissed off the wrong person.

  “Where would you like to start looking?” Hollis asked. “I’ll get a team right on it.”

  This was something Petty had been considering since before he found the dead man in the parking lot. He’d wondered what the chances were that Wyatt wasn’t the one behind the presidential abduction, and it was this path his mind chose to take.

  “Wyatt didn’t work for Axis that long. And you know what he did before that. If he made any domestic enemies, it would have happened during the time he worked with Starks, before she was the director of Axis.”

  “You’re not suggesting she has something to do with this, are you?” Hollis sounded incredulous for a moment.

  “No, sir. Of course not. She may be a lot of things, but she’s not capable of doing something like this—no matter how good a friend she is to Wyatt.”

  “What then? Go back and look over his records from that time?”

  “Good luck getting those, sir.”

  Hollis knew that despite the candid nature of the comment, Petty was right. Even the director of the FBI didn’t have the clearance to see what Axis had been up to during Wyatt’s stint there. Whatever happened there was kept there and only shared with one person in the world—the person sitting in the Oval Office.

  “What then?” Hollis asked; no more satisfied than he was a moment before.

  “Wyatt was in the Middle East for a short time. It was one of the only assignments during his career with Axis where he was involved with a few joint operations with other agencies and branches of the military.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “I’m saying that most of his career was working exclusively with Emily Starks or on his own. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from studying the man’s history.”

  Hollis knew Petty was thorough; it was yet another reason why he’d been chosen for Group Z.

  “And you think in that small period of time he was in the Middle East he may have encountered someone who now wants him dead…or maybe blamed for something like this? Sounds to me like someone is jumping to some pretty big conclusions.”

  The director wasn’t wrong. Petty knew it. The man was a walking, talking, fine-toothed comb. He was calculating, precise, and he almost never went on hunches. Now, Petty was essentially asking the man to go on a gut instinct, which was little more than a guess.

  “I’m saying it’s not out of the realm of possibility, sir. Just have someone do a quick check. See if there were ever any instances where Wyatt was involved in an altercation. Maybe he was arrested in some Podunk town for getting into a bar brawl or something.”

  “I think someone like that would have been brought to my attention.”

  “Probably, sure, but what if it wasn’t? Something happened. I know it. We need to find out who is really behind this, sir.”

  “Who is really behind this,” Hollis snapped, “is Sean Wyatt, at least for now.” He sighed, a signal he was going to relent, at least partially, to Petty’s request. “But I’ll put someone on it. Larson isn’t doing much right now. I’ve seen him walk by my office four times already.”

  Petty knew who Larson was, a desk jockey who was a darn good analyst but hardly a good worker. The guy took every chance he could to skip out of the office, though no one could really figure out where he was going. Some joked that he was a superhero in disguise. Larson certainly had the look for it; even the black-framed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the edge of his nose, as if deciding to jump or hang on for
dear life. Larson would do, though he might not have been Petty’s first choice. In this matter, he didn’t have many options.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. But this hardly takes Wyatt out of your sights. Find him. Bring him in. If, and I do mean if, he didn’t abduct the president, maybe he’ll have an idea of who did.”

  Hollis ended the call, and Petty slid the phone across the surface of the hotel room desk. He leaned back, raised his hands over his head, and stretched his arms until his spine cracked once. Then he twisted his neck back and forth to get a little extra stretch before running his hands through his hair and letting out a long exhale.

  He was tired. The game of chasing down criminals was beyond exhausting, and he’d grown tired of it, at least in part. Another part of him still loved the chase, loved the thrill of solving crimes. It was like a puzzle to him, a game that he got to play in real life.

  Petty glanced around the shabby hotel room and sighed. He was close and he knew it. Sooner or later, a break would come. It always did.

  The phone on the edge of the desk started ringing again, and he felt a sense of dread course through him. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was from a Montana area code.

  He choked back the irritation mounting in his mind and picked up the device. “This is Petty. Go ahead.”

  “Agent Petty?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes?” He let the word elongate so that the person on the other line would have no doubts as to his irritation.

  “This is Officer Underwood out of Browning, Montana. We got a call about something I think you might be interested in.”

  Petty doubted that would be the case, but he humored the man anyway. “What would that be?”

  “I was directed to you by your office, sir. They said you were the one to talk to if someone had information about Sean Wyatt, the guy who kidnapped President Dawkins?”

  Petty knew he had filters in place to protect against false positives. There were any number of hoops callers would have to jump through to get to him. On a given day, the FBI and affiliate agencies received hundreds, even thousands of calls from witnesses claiming they’d spotted someone on the Most Wanted List. Truth was most of them were grasping at straws, hoping to cash in on the rewards attached to some of the higher-profile criminals.

  Most of the time, he never even fielded a call. His office did a good job of making sure the only calls that came through to his phone had a significant heft of legitimacy to them. Now and then, however, one slipped through.

  He doubted that was the case since the man on the other end of the line was a cop. Still, Petty was skeptical.

  “Yeah, I’m working the Dawkins case.”

  “Good. Because we have a couple here who claim they had Sean Wyatt and his buddy in their hardware store a few hours ago. I thought you might want to know about it.”

  Petty’s spine stiffened. “You’re sure?”

  “They only have one video surveillance camera in the store. It’s an old one. Not very clear. Resolution sucks, but it definitely looks like Schultz. We ran some image matches and are pretty sure it’s him. The other guy fits most of the bill for Wyatt, too, though he’s done some changes to his appearance. We figured it was to keep a low profile.”

  Petty’s heart quickened. Could he really be that lucky, that a couple of country folks from western Montana actually spotted Wyatt and Schultz? He didn’t dare get his hopes up, at least not consciously.

  “Can you send me the images?”

  “Sure.”

  Petty relayed his email information to the cop and waited in silence. He heard the pecking of keys in the background and then a swooshing sound as the email was sent.

  “There you go,” Underwood said. “Should be in your inbox shortly.”

  Petty rubbed his finger across the mouse trackpad, and the screen bloomed to life. Within seconds, an alert button appeared in the top-right corner. It was the email from Dale Underwood.

  Petty clicked on it and scrolled down to a set of four images. They were in black and white. As the officer had said, the pictures were kind of grainy. The resolution wasn’t great, but there was no mistaking the men in the picture, at least not to Petty. He’d stared at the pictures of the two men enough times over the last few days that he’d recognize them even if they had paper bags over their heads.

  “That’s them,” Petty said into the phone. “Where are they now?”

  “Not sure, but the couple from the shop said it looked like they were heading north.”

  “What’s to the north, other than Canada?”

  Underwood chuckled. “Well, there’s mostly farmland. Lot of ranches up that way, but we have plenty of ranches out here. You already knew that, though, I’m sure.”

  He did, but Petty didn’t say it.

  “Anything else?”

  Officer Underwood paused a moment to think. “I guess there’s the monument to the Lewis and Clark expedition out that way. Lot of snow right now, though. Not much to see. And it’s cold out. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to go see that in this weather. Besides, I doubt those guys are there. Wyatt is a fugitive, and that makes his buddy an accomplice.”

  “True, but why would they be at a hardware store?” Petty scanned the images again and noted what the men were buying at the checkout counter. From the looks of it, they were going to do some digging. “Why the tools, Officer?”

  “Not sure about that, either. Ground froze a little early out here this year. Been a cold early winter. Normally, it takes a few months for the frost to get down into the soil, but it’s already pretty deep now. If they’re planning on digging somewhere in these parts, they’re in for a tough day.”

  Why would they be digging? Petty let the question rattle around in his head for a moment. Then a sudden and horrific conclusion reared its ugly head like a rabid meerkat popping out of a hole in the ground.

  Were Wyatt and Schultz going to bury a body? If so, whose?

  “What were they driving?” Petty asked with frantic intensity.

  “Um…says here they were driving an SUV. Toyota 4Runner.”

  “Did the owners of the shop say they saw anything suspicious in the car?”

  “You mean like a former president tied up in the back? No. They didn’t mention anything like that.” Apparently, it was Underwood’s turn to be a tad sarcastic.

  Petty closed his laptop and slid it into his bag. He hadn’t even unpacked all his things yet, though he rarely did much unpacking on the road. He preferred to be mobile, able to move at a moment’s notice. And this moment was giving plenty of notice.

  “Send every available officer you have to that…monument or whatever you said it was.”

  “Camp Disappointment?”

  “Sure.”

  “But I thought I told you: No one in their right mind is going out there right now, especially to dig. And if you think they’re hiding a body, there are a ton of better places than that.”

  “Just do it, Officer. That’s where they went.”

  “How do you know?”

  Petty didn’t want to confess that it was a gut instinct. He also didn’t feel like relaying his reasoning. It was a historic location. Wyatt and Schultz worked with historical stuff all the time. It was their job. Sending a bunch of Montana cops out to the monument might have been a big leap of faith, but it was one Agent Petty was willing to take. After all, there were no big rewards without taking big risks. The only thing he was risking right now was probably pulling a few county cops away from their coffee. That was a risk he was fine taking.

  “Do it,” Petty said. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m heading that way. If you find Wyatt and Schultz, exercise extreme caution. They’re armed, dangerous, and very clever. I’d hate for you or any of your men to end up dead.”

  He ended the call before Underwood could reply. Petty tapped on the map application on his phone and
entered the town of Browning. He sighed at the sight of how long it was going to take him to get there. He’d just put his faith in a bunch of cops he didn’t know, who likely hadn’t ever been on a manhunt like this before. There was nothing else he could do. He had to trust they’d do their jobs.

  He was close now, and Petty finally had the break he’d been waiting for.

  34

  Browning

  Tommy and the shop owner appeared around the corner of one of the aisles. The old man was holding the manual auger that Sean requested. Tommy glanced at his friend, wondering if he’d done what he needed to do.

  Sean shook his head. Tommy rolled his shoulders as if to ask, “Why not?”

  “This be all, then?” the clerk said as he rounded the corner and set the tool down on the hard glass counter.

  “Actually,” Sean said, “while you two were in the back, I couldn’t help but notice the newspaper article behind you along with that piece of gold.”

  The old man’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the gold piece and the newspaper clipping. “Oh, that?” He chuckled. “Yeah, found that about twenty years ago out at Camp Disappointment. Was just dumb luck, really. I was out there in the middle of the day one summer. It was a Sunday. I know because I caught flak from the wife about skipping church.” He chuckled again. “I told her I went to the morning service and that was probably enough for the Good Lord. Then I found that. She had to eat crow for a month.” He looked over his shoulder at the thing hanging on the wall. There was a fond pride in his eyes as he recounted the story.

  “That’s amazing. Did you find anything else with it?” Tommy asked. He did his best not to press too much.

  “No,” the man said with a shake of the head. “Just that piece of gold. To be honest, I don’t know what it is or what it was for. There were lots of natives in this area hundreds of years ago. We figure it might have belonged to some tribe or something, but we’ve asked around, done a ton of research, and we can’t figure it out. Truth be told, I’d love to know what it is. You can tell it was shaped by someone a long time ago. The curve, the cut, and those odd jagged teeth on each end sure do look like they were carved on purpose. I wish I knew what it was.”