Thomas Schultz set up several charitable organizations, the primary nonprofit being the International Archaeological Agency. With seemingly unlimited funding, the IAA, established in 2001, had recovered an inestimable amount of artifacts in its first seven years of existence. The discovery of the Sahara Temple was one of the most fascinating. In a seemingly endless array of sand dunes, the IAA was able to uncover what was believed to be an ancient Egyptian colony for priestly training. In South America, an ancient Incan city was discovered in a part of rain forest thought to be completely vacant of any prior civilizations.
Perhaps their greatest achievement, though, came from last year’s amazing find. A ship, dating back to the early twelfth century, was located off the coast of Alabama. This was something that rocked the history world. Of course, most historians claimed it had been misdated or perhaps was simply the result of one European country being unable to keep up with evolving technology in sea faring. However, after intense study and analysis, it was confirmed that the ancient ship was indeed over eight hundred years old.
That was always the case. Whenever some kind of evidence came around that might shake up what everyone was taught in the history books, a throng of people was waiting to hide it, discredit it, or simply bash it into the ground. Heaven forbid the world had been taught an incorrect history up until this point. To some, it seemed ignorance was indeed bliss.
The more that Detective Morris read into the IAA, the more fascinated he became. This was not a group that searched the world for known archaeological locations or artifacts. It seemed that they specialized in finding things that were both lost to the eye and to history.
None of this was making sense. These two guys weren’t murderers. And Trent was fairly sure that Allyson wasn’t either. She was a reputable reporter: young, with a devoted following of readers yet not so well-known that she could just up and leave her current job. From the looks of her file, it didn’t add up.
He plopped the stack of paper down onto his desk and stood up, stretching his arms out and twisting his back a little. There was no one else in the building except a couple of beat cops talking in the breakroom. Morris didn’t envy those guys. He had done that job a long time ago. There were some parts of Atlanta he was glad to avoid on the routes they had to cover. As a detective, he had the luxury of showing up after the crime was committed and a safe perimeter had been established. Too many times, he had been shot at, once successfully. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed his side, but a few inches to the right and…
Shaking the thought, he walked toward the breakroom to get a cup of what passed at the station for coffee. The officers who had been talking casually gave a polite, “Evening, Detective.”
To which Trent replied, “How’s the joe, boys?”
One of them snickered. “How’s it always taste? Like crap.”
“Yeah, well, one of these days I am going to spring for some good stuff.” He poured a cup of the steamy black sludge into a paper cup. After placing the hot coffee pot back in its place, he stepped over to the fridge. As he opened the door, the other officer who hadn’t spoken said, “We’re out of creamer too, sir.”
Crap. A forlorn look down at the hot liquid in his cup signaled he was actually considering dumping it down the drain. “I heard you guys talkin’ about a murder when I walked in? The KSU thing?” He changed the subject from the topic of bad coffee, hoping the medicine might go down a little better. Taking a sip, he realized it hadn’t helped. “Any word on that?”
“The professor that got killed? Nothing new yet, sir.” This time, the taller one spoke up.
“Murder weapon been found yet?” Trent took another pull from the coffee and grimaced as he swallowed.
“No sign of it. Heard it was a large blade though.” The short cop reached over and confirmed a stereotype by grabbing a chocolate glazed doughnut from a box on the counter.
This was nothing new to Morris. “What was this guy a professor of?” he asked casually, trying to free his mind from the case that had been numbing him for the last eight hours.
“Ancient languages and cultures. He taught unconventional history courses there. Did a lot of work with the IAA. Apparently he was an expert in…”
Trent immediately interrupted, the light bulb going on in his head. “Did you say he worked with the IAA?”
“Yeah, I think so. That’s what the bio said.”
“Who’s on the case?”
“Thompson, I think. Why?” the tall cop said as he, too, grabbed a doughnut.
“Just curious.” Trent tossed the nearly full cup into the trash and walked quickly out the door. “Thanks, fellas.”
“No problem.” The two beat cops went back to finishing their sugary pastries.
10
Atlanta
Sean had driven around the outskirts of the city for a few hours, uncertain of what to do. He’d chanced a stop in a drive-through burger joint to get a little food for Allyson and himself. Being out of sorts wasn’t something he was accustomed to.
Interrupting his thoughts, the cell phone ringtone sang from his left front pocket. Two attacks within forty-five minutes had caused both him and his passenger more than just mere concern. When the phone rang, it was just one more in a growing line of surprises.
Fishing the device out of his pocket, he looked at the number. It was an Atlanta area code, but the number was unfamiliar. Normally, he tried to avoid answering calls from unknown numbers, but after what had just transpired, he decided to give it a try.
“Wyatt here.” His answer was simple and direct.
“Sean Wyatt?” The voice on the other end sought confirmation.
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“Mr. Wyatt, this is Detective Trent Morris from Atlanta PD. We’d like you to come in to answer a few questions.”
This wasn’t good. “Questions about what?”
“Mr. Wyatt,” the cop on the line began again, “we have reason to believe that you were involved in a double homicide this afternoon in Buckhead.” The man paused. “Of course, if you don’t come voluntarily, we can always bring you in.”
“Sorry, Detective. No can do. The two guys from the coffee shop shot at us first.”
“Seems like you handled the situation more than adequately.” Morris changed gears. “Look, we just need to find out more about what happened. Odds are, a man like yourself with your resources won’t even be held for more than thirty minutes. Do you have any idea who those men were that you killed?”
“No.”
There was a pause on the line then, “What do you know about Tommy Schultz’s disappearance?”
A look of immediate concern crossed Sean’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“About twenty-four hours ago, your friend Schultz went missing. We were hoping you could enlighten us. Normally,” he added, “someone who is missing for such a short time would not have raised any alarm. However, Schultz was due to give a press conference yesterday concerning one of his new finds. He never showed.”
Tommy had told Sean about the discovery and that he was going to announce it at the Georgia Historical Center during a special press conference.
Now this cop was telling him that his friend was missing?
“I assume you went to Tommy’s house,” Sean posed.
“Of course; we have people still there as we speak. There was no evidence of forced entry. And there was no sign of a confrontation. So, whoever took Schultz either knew him or was invited in. Both of those signs point to you, Mr. Wyatt.”
Sean realized that the good policeman was trying to keep him on the line so that they could trace his location. He figured they had about thirty more seconds before pinpointing him. “I was unaware of Tommy disappearing. But I can assure you, I will find him.” Then he went back to the incidents from earlier.
“The two dead guys from the parking lot came out of nowhere. I have no idea why they attacked us or what they wanted. They just started shooting. About twen
ty minutes later, I knocked out another one at my house, though I doubt he’s still there.”
“At your house?”
“Yeah, don’t think I killed him though.” Sean hurried, “Look, Trent, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go.”
“Sean, wait!” Morris was desperate. “What do you know about the Borringer murder?”
Wyatt pressed the end button. Borringer murder? Had he heard correctly? Sean had been out of town for a few weeks and hadn’t heard anything about it. He’d worked with Frank Borringer a few times on a couple of projects. The man was a foremost expert on ancient dead languages. The professor was one of only a few people in the world who could interpret Sumerian and ancient Hebrew text and was an asset to the university in Kennesaw.
Now he was dead?
The rush of new information was unsettling. His best friend had been kidnapped. Frank was apparently dead. And now there were two separate attempts on his own life.
He had no idea what was going on, but he intended to find out. Turning the car down a side street, he changed directions.
Sean’s look of concern transmitted to Allyson.
“What is it?” she asked. Her head and fingers trembled like a drug addict on day two of going clean.
“That was someone from the Atlanta Police Department. They want us—me—to come in to answer some questions about the two guys I shot today.”
“Good. Maybe they can help us.”
“I don’t think so. Pretty sure I’m a suspect, not a victim.”
“But it was self-defense. I was there. I can be a witness for you.” She had a pleading look on her face.
Sean felt bad that she was all of a sudden pulled into this, whatever it was. Odds were, she’d been implicated as well.
“The cop said that Tommy Schultz has disappeared, and a professor that we have worked with a few times has turned up murdered. They think that I had something to do with it. At least, that’s what they’re saying.”
“Your friend from IAA? What can we do?” Her green eyes looked so innocent.
“We have to find Tommy.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Whatever it was that Tommy was working on, he must have been using Dr. Borringer for some part of it. That’s the only connection I can make.”
“Do you know what he was doing?”
“Only that it was part of his ongoing search for an ancient Native American treasure called the Golden Chambers. He told me about it a few times, but I never really took much interest. Seemed like another El Dorado story to me.”
“So, where are we going?” The shock of the day’s events seemed to melt away into a firm resolve.
This girl was tougher than she looked.
“Dr. Borringer’s house. If Tommy had been working with Frank on something, maybe his wife will know about it.”
The gray sedan veered onto another street and crossed the interstate toward West Atlanta.
11
Blue Ridge Mountains
Tommy struggled to free himself from the wooden chair, bound by tightly wound twine. He was in a study, which overlooked what seemed to be a fairly substantial estate. A large yard surrounding the building ended abruptly at a thick, rolling forest. The room where he was constrained must have been at least four stories up. If it was a home, it was certainly large by any standard.
Twisting his head around, he took a better inventory of the room around him. The dark walnut floor led to an open, arched doorway. It was difficult to see beyond the corner, but he assumed it led into a hall. On either side of him were shelves of books that went all the way up to where the ceiling angled into a kind of conical-shaped glass sunroof. To access the highly shelved books, a library ladder was in place. A large square window sat before him, framed by cream-colored drapes. The window loomed enormously, allowing for an amazing view of the property and beyond.
Scooting the chair of bondage around, he found himself behind a large desk that matched the dark, rich cocoa of the floor. Whoever he was, this villain certainly had good taste. On top of desk, an LCD widescreen displayed a screensaver of pictures from some random European towns. Directly next to him, a much more comfortable looking high-backed leather desk chair mocked his less-than-desirable seating arrangement. Two smaller guest chairs sat opposite on the other side of the desk, giving the appearance that the study was more of an office in some ways.
Wrenching his body around again to get a better perspective of where he was, Tommy inched closer toward the window.
“I trust you like the view, Thomas.” The foreign accent came unexpectedly from the direction of the open doorway.
“I would like it a lot more if I wasn’t tied down to this uncomfortable chair.” Even in a dire situation, Tommy hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “I would have much preferred you tie me up to that bad boy right there,” he continued, motioning with his head to the much more comfortable leather option.
“My apologies,” the blond bowed slightly. “It is a regrettable scenario, having to hold you captive like this. Unfortunately, it is necessary.”
“And why is that?”
“You have spent the better part of the last decade looking for something. Though several times you have found clues, nothing has pointed so directly to the answers you seek as what you discovered a few weeks ago.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Tommy figured the guy knew about the stone disc. He was glad it was not in his possession.
Blondie had been standing politely, hands folded behind his back, wearing a very Euro-trendy suit. His vibrant tie looked like it was about three decades behind the current fashion, which, oddly enough, must have made it the current fashion.
“There is no need to play coy with me,” he began. “We are aware of the stone disc. I also know that you were in contact with Dr. Borringer at the university in Kennesaw. You sent him something you could not decipher.”
So far, this guy seemed to be right on the money. “Frank and I are colleagues. I use him as a point of reference all the time with my work. But I’m not sure what stone disc you are talking about,” he lied.
“Still in denial.” The stranger shook his head, making a clicking sound with his mouth, and took a few steps toward the desk. Leaning over and placing both hands palms down on the top, he stared directly into Tommy’s eyes. “Thomas, it would be better for you if you would just tell us where the stone is. As soon as we have it, I will let you go. We will also need the translations Dr. Borringer gave you.”
Tommy sincerely had no clue if Frank had even started working on those documents, much less finished translating them. He started to relay that information then decided to keep that to himself. “It would be better for you if you wouldn’t wear such brightly colored ties.”
The blond captor was thrown off slightly by the comment, glancing down at the fabric. Then, standing, he resumed his icy façade. “You think you are funny?”
“I’m better in a bar.”
“Well, Thomas, I wonder if you think this is funny.” Reaching over to the corner of the desk, he grabbed a remote control and switched on a 20-inch flat panel LCD TV that was mounted to the wall at a corner of the cone-shaped ceiling.
The screen flicked onto a feed from a closed circuit security camera. Tommy’s heart nearly stopped. They were looking at an image of Sean’s parents’ home. “You son of a …”
“Now, now,” the blond said before he could finish, “the Wyatts will be fine. All you need to do is help me find what I want.”
Tommy struggled against the twine. Unfortunately, whoever did the tying must have been one heck of a Boy Scout. He could barely move. “You better not touch them.”
“Oh, we won’t touch them, Thomas. They will simply be victims of an unfortunate accident. Many innocent people have died over the centuries during times of conflict. Millions have given up their lives during religious wars. Our mission is a new crusade. It has been blessed by God.” He cocked his head as if ta
lking to an elementary schoolchild. “If sacrifices are necessary, who are we to deny them?”
The tone in which he was speaking told of a great religious conviction inside the shell of a madman. That was a very dangerous thing, and the smile on his face was even more disturbing.
“I’ve heard this speech before,” Tommy spat out. “The world has seen dozens of lunatics like you. Usually, they end up taking the easy way out when justice catches up with them.”
The young blond man paused in midstride. A sinister smile crept across his face. “You would compare me to the Hitlers and Napoleons of history?” Leaning close, his voice lowered to a near whisper. “If those men possessed what it is we seek, the world may well have been a different place.” He stood straight again before continuing. “All the more proof that they were not meant to have it.”
“The Wyatts are good people and have nothing to do with this,” Tommy said, thinking a change of subject might help the situation.
“Nothing to do with what, Thomas?”
Catching himself, Tommy realized he may have just hooked himself without knowing. Or maybe he’d just bought himself and the Wyatts some time.
“Fine,” he said with hesitation. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave them out of this.” Desperation was in his voice.
“What happens to them is determined by our success.” He stepped closer, around the desk, and leaned in so that Tommy could smell the pungent and probably overpriced cologne the man was wearing. A cruel grin crossed his face. “Now, tell me everything.”
The Secret of the Stones Page 5