Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

Still breathing, but not for long. What did the message mean? He didn’t care. He had the key and access to all of the fabled wealth that the old man had been hoarding for years. It had been given willingly, and the two Ecuadorean monks would bear witness.

  He would certainly make sure the Vatican received most of the wares. Would anyone notice if a few pieces went missing? The young man doubted it.

  Satisfied that the sick padre was unaware, he slipped out of the room and into a dark hallway lit with a few candles along the walls. The black iron candleholders were covered in wax that could have been from a decade before.

  Another nurse was waiting outside and glanced questioningly at the young priest. He simply shook his head and walked by quickly.

  He made his way through the labyrinth of halls and portals until he found himself in a courtyard in the center of the monastery grounds. Directly in front of him was a large wooden door. He’d seen the enormous door many times and had asked Father Carlos to show him what was within, but the older man had refused every time, save for once. The only time he’d been allowed to see the vast treasure was for mere minutes. Now he had it all to himself.

  He rushed over to the door and slid the key into a large, silver-looking lock. A quick look around confirmed no one was watching. He’d suspected as much at this hour of the evening. The few monks that helped run the modest compound had retired for the night hours ago, except for the two in the room with Crespi.

  With a quick twist of the wrist, the inner workings of the lock were undone. He tugged on the old metal handle, swinging the large door out slowly.

  The inside of the room was dark with no windows to provide any sort of illumination. Fortunately, he’d prepared for that contingency. His hand removed a small flashlight from within his robes, and he switched it on, ready to take in the majesty of the vast treasure of Father Carlos Crespi. Instead, he was greeted by a vacuous chamber of empty wooden shelves, cobwebs, and dust.

  The vault was empty. Impossible. Where was the gold, all the ancient relics? The young man ran his hands along the empty shelves and searched the entire room for several minutes. He found nothing.

  Suddenly, bells began to ring from the top of the chapel on the other side of the courtyard. The dinging sound echoed through the sleepy city as dark clouds moved across the face of the moon once again. Carlos Crespi was dead.

  Chapter 1

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Present

  “I’m all in.”

  Sean Wyatt stared across at his opponent. His icy gray eyes were calm, almost matter-of-fact in their appearance. He pushed all of his chips across the rounded line on the green felt of the World Poker Tour table.

  He was a terrible bluffer, a fact he’d been reminded of many times throughout his life—in work and with women. Fortunately, at the moment he knew he had the best hand.

  The other man had bet twice, once on the flop and once on the turn. Now the young adversary looked uncertain. He’d seemed a little nervous since the moment he’d sat down at the table.

  It was day two of the $1,000 dollar buy-in event at the Kings of Vegas Poker Tournament, and clearly the kid was rattled. He looked about twenty-five or twenty-six. Unlike some of the cockier, younger players Wyatt had come across, this young man seemed a little greener and far less sure of himself.

  The young man’s dark, curly hair was disheveled. Beads of sweat formed on his head above a long, sloping nose. His greenish eyes looked panicked behind the black wire-framed glasses he wore. The sound of chips clicking throughout the room echoed loudly, slightly dramatizing the moment.

  Wyatt made a quick note of how the kid’s hands shook terribly when he had a big hand. At the moment, Wyatt imagined a Richter scale was going crazy somewhere. Probably inside the kid’s heart.

  Sean knew that meant the guy probably had a big pocket pair lower than Wyatt’s two black aces that lay facedown on the table.

  They’d made it into the money hours earlier, and everyone in the Rio was elated to have gotten their $1,000 back, plus about that much more in prize money. Sean always laughed at people who only cared about making it into the payout. Where was the fun in that? The thrill was trying to make the final table and winning the whole thing.

  Sean had needed some R&R for the week. Since he knew Tommy would be busy for a while trying to decipher their recent discovery, he figured a little time off wouldn’t be a problem.

  He’d asked Allison to come out to Vegas with him, but she had been ordered back to Washington and reassigned, or so she’d said. Sean wasn’t surprised that she’d been sent back into the field so quickly. That was one of the reasons he’d left the agency after such a short term. Another mission always waited.

  Part of him had wanted to see where things with her might go, but there was a whole list of problems with trying to date someone who worked for Axis. Living through it for several years had shown him that. So he did what he always did and traveled alone. He didn’t mind, except for the lack of conversation. Sometimes, that was a good thing.

  He’d caught an early morning flight out of Atlanta two days before, and thanks to the assistance of an old friend, a suite at the Venetian had opened up miraculously the day of his arrival. It was nice to have friends.

  “I call,” the younger player said. The young opponent’s voice snapped Sean’s attention back to the poker table. The kid flipped over a pair of queens. Pretty much what he figured.

  Sean turned over his pair of aces and saw agony wash over the other player’s face almost instantly. The young man knew he only had two cards in the deck of fifty-two that could save him.

  The dealer discarded the top card and turned over the fifth and final card on the table, the queen of clubs, giving the younger player three of a kind. The young man yelled out a cheer of ecstatic relief and raised his fists in triumph. A combination of groans and jubilation erupted from the crowd. The other players at the table said nothing but were clearly stunned at the outcome. Sean just smiled cynically as he watched the dealer rake all of his chips over to his opponent.

  Wyatt stood and reached out a hand to the man who had just eliminated him from the tournament. The guy calmed himself down enough to accept the gentlemanly gesture and clasped Sean’s hand clumsily.

  “Nice hand, kid.” Sean said.

  “Thanks. Wow. I’m sorry, man. That sucks.”

  Sean laughed. “In poker, never say you’re sorry.” Then Sean winked at him, “Besides, these kinds of things come around eventually.”

  The younger player smiled, understanding what he meant, and went back to his seat, exhilarated.

  Sean headed over to the cashier to pick up his winnings and, a few minutes later, made for the door. Along the way, a few people consoled him on the bad beat he’d just received. One particular Canadian professional had stopped him on his way out.

  “You are way too good not to have won one of these things,” was all the man had said. Maybe, Sean thought, but he knew he didn’t really need the money. The young gun who’d just taken his chips probably had a lifetime’s worth of student loans to pay off. So he was OK with the loss. He stepped outside into the young night. Warm desert air greeted him, instantly causing his mind to forget the cool, air-conditioned comfort from where he’d just come. Nine o’clock at night in late fall, and it still felt like late spring back home.

  On the horizon, just over the mountains that surrounded the basin in which the city rested, a pale remnant of sunset gave its last gasp against the coming of dark. Wyatt had visited Las Vegas on several occasions, and every single time he’d been fascinated by the weather. The city was always sunny and extremely hot in the summers. He remembered strolling down the Strip one day in June, thinking he’d accidentally walked into a huge oven. The late fall wasn’t so bad; days were in the low to mid-’80s, and the evenings cooled off considerably.

  Back home in the South, people complained it was too hot in the summer time. And while the humidity certainly made it seem warmer than it was,
at least there was a cooling breeze that soothed the senses somewhat. Out in the Nevada desert, the wind only seemed to make it worse, like someone was turning on a heating fan.

  Sean started to make his way to a cab, dancing through the mass of people coming and going to the Rio. There was no shortage of taxis lined up outside the casino, and Sean hailed the closest one. A few minutes later, he was in the back seat, en route to his hotel

  The ride back to the Venetian was only five to ten minutes, although it seemed like the cab driver took the scenic route—a common tactic among Vegas cabbies. On Las Vegas Boulevard, otherwise known as the Strip, pedestrians crowded the busy sidewalks. Some were sober, others considerably less so, taking full advantage of the city’s leniency with walking around with giant cups of alcohol.

  Some people carried vessels that were shaped like plastic guitars with straws sticking out of them. Others carried giant plastic skulls filled with booze of every flavor and color. Sean wondered how good those drinks could possibly be, made from cheap liquor and watered down with mixers. They must have done the trick, though. Revelers laughed and stumbled around the city with huge smiles on their faces.

  A colorful array of lights and digital signs beamed down the main Strip with enormous monstrosities rising above them into the desert night sky. Paris, the Cosmopolitan, Caesar’s Palace, Aria, the Wynn, the Bellagio, and the MGM Grand had all taken their places as some of the more upscale locations. Some of the less fancy casinos stood out like eyesores, badly in need of renovation to keep up with the aesthetic appeal of the newer venues.

  The taxi pulled up outside the Venetian’s main lobby, and Sean’s mind returned to his present location. He loved the Venetian and its neighbor, the Palazzo. He paid the taxi driver and left an extra five on top as a tip.

  The uniformed doorman greeted him with a smile beneath his thick, graying mustache, and Sean nodded a thank you as he passed by. The familiar scent that filled the Venetian wafted out of the door and embraced him. He couldn’t place the scent precisely, but it seemed like a mélange of jasmine, vanilla, and spice. In a way, it smelled like wealth.

  Inside the hotel lobby, he was bombarded by a dismantling array for the senses. A circular room opened up to a dramatic domed ceiling, in the center of which was a round skylight. Elaborate frescoes of angels, gods, and saints surrounded the clear opening. Columns of white marble accented the walls and corners, crowned with golden footings and crests. On a cream-colored and brown marble floor in the center of the room stood a spherical golden fountain. The shiny metal strips that made up the globe were braced by angelic, armless creatures; it looked like a figurehead on the front of an old ship.

  He turned left and headed down a vaulted hallway of similar appearance that led to the casino and the elevators just beyond. High above him other frescoes of various Italian origins both mythical and religious adorned the arched ceiling. He marveled at the artwork. The detail of each relief and the colors they incorporated made the scenery inside the building nothing short of spectacular.

  The day before he had taken a stroll around the mall area within the complex that connected to the Palazzo. He was amazed at the job the builders had done with the ornate canals that mimicked the ones in Venice, complete with gondolas and singing gondoliers. The layout was designed to make tourists feel like they were actually in Venice—right down to the smaller version of San Marco Square.

  Shops lined the walkways surrounding the canals, providing any visitor with a breathtaking array of both Old World-style and modern temptations. There was even an artificial partly cloudy sky painted on the ceiling to make it feel like patrons were outdoors.

  How much money went into this place? He couldn’t help but wonder as he entered the elevator to the tune of Phantom of the Opera. The musical’s Las Vegas home happened to be the Venetian at that time. He’d heard good things about the show and was considering taking it in at some point.

  Sean looked both ways as he exited on the tenth floor. Old habits died hard. Even though he’d not been a government agent for a few years now, some things were ingrained in him.

  The last few months he’d found himself relaxing a little more, getting back to normal life. That is, until a few weeks ago. The episode with Tommy’s kidnapping had brought everything back. He thought about the gun hidden in his room. Never could be too careful, especially considering recent events.

  The hallway opened into a circular roundabout that led to rooms, suites, and a bridge to the Venezia Tower, where an additional pool and more restaurants were located. Swimming pools and restaurants were something that the Venetian certainly didn’t lack. He recalled thinking the resort must have more eateries than a moderately sized city—and the pools were a nice luxury to escape the heat; in the summer they were a necessity.

  As he neared the door, he pulled his card key out then slid it into the reader. The suite was one of the nicer rooms he’d stayed in during his travels. And he’d travelled a lot. Its view overlooked the main two pools below, but beyond the city, dark brown mountains protruded into the night sky. Tonight, though, the room was completely dark. Housekeeping must have closed the drapes and automated Roman blinds.

  After throwing his key and wallet on a dresser, he flicked on a light. The dark form in the corner of the room near the window caught his peripheral vision. So did the shape of the gun.

  Chapter 2

  Nevada Desert just outside Las Vegas

  Alexander Lindsey’s old eyes stared out the luxury helicopter’s window at the dark, jagged mountains below. He’d always loved flying. Helicopters had been of a particular interest, though flight in general had always been fascinating to him. The quick rise and fall, the many different directions one could take, and sheer speed were all very exhilarating. It had never made him nervous unlike some unfortunate souls. Of course, his ancestors seemed to have always been a little more reckless than others. They’d had to be careful in so many other aspects of their lives that thrill seeking had become a way to balance things out.

  The moonlit mountains below sped by as the Agusta A-109 cruised smoothly through the evening air; its silver exterior reflecting, bending images of earth’s solitary satellite.

  He loved this helicopter. It was far more convenient than a private jet—smaller, more maneuverable, and easy to hide if needed. He had used the elegant craft for a wide variety of purposes, some of which were more sinister than others.

  The desert had been a place of solace for a long time for his family. After being tormented back East and in the Midwest during the 1800s, they’d managed to find a sanctuary in the American Southwest.

  Safety. Security. Things that were taken for granted now that he had become extremely wealthy and powerful. And the vermin across from him could have wrecked everything.

  “I did everything you ever told me to do, Alex!” His victim begged from the other side of the cabin, interrupting his thoughts.

  The squat, chubby man struggled to no avail against his bonds, hands tied behind his back with rope. Heavy chains encircled his body and legs. Veins were raised just beneath the skin of his temples, his face red from straining. A few droplets of perspiration dripped down his fleshy forehead.

  Two other men, Lindsey’s personal bodyguards, were the only other passengers in the cabin.

  “You can’t do this! You need me!”

  The desperate pleas were unfounded and irrational. There were plenty of other options available. After all, Alexander Lindsey had operatives in nearly every branch of the government. Getting a new spy would not be a problem.

  Lindsey gazed unsympathetically at the plump man. For the last two years, he had proved useful. An inside guy at the Justice Department was a nice thing to have. He’d pretty much known whenever he was being watched and been able to deftly sidestep many potential problems. However, Gary wasn’t the only one working for the Order, and his prisoner’s usefulness, it seemed, had run its course.

  “What exactly did you tell them, Gary?” Lin
dsey asked, peering into the man’s soul. “And stop wriggling around. You should face your end like a man, not a squirming little baby.”

  Gary Holstrum looked down at the gray seat for a moment then back up. “I only told them a few things. I swear. It was stuff that isn’t even important. It wouldn’t implicate you in anything. I had to give ’em something!”

  “It’s important to me, Gary. What you have done has put everything I’ve worked for at great risk.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “I would never do anything that would put you in danger, Alex. I’ve worked for you for two years now. You know me.”

  Lindsey sat silently for a moment, as if contemplating the man’s words. Gary had served him well. But too much was at stake now.

  Events of the prior weeks had been most productive. The first golden chamber had been found with the accompanying clue. Now Tommy Schultz was working with a professor at Georgia Tech to unravel the location of the second chamber. Nearly everything had gone according to plan, except for a few little wrinkles. However, those problems would be dealt with soon enough.

  The older man cast a quick glance at one of his bodyguards and gave a nod. Acknowledging the unspoken order, the huge man stepped over to the door nearest the prisoner and pulled up the latch that slid the mechanism open. Dry desert air rushed into the cabin along with the black roar of this night flight. A moment later, the helicopter crested a small ridge, and suddenly, a vast body of dark liquid spread out below them: Lake Mead.

  The bodyguard grabbed Gary and forced him to the edge of the door, his face sticking out over the expanse of the lake. He screamed, tears streaming down his pudgy, red face. “No! Please! Don’t do this, Alex!” His voice pushed over the sound of the wind and the turbines outside.

  “What did you tell them?!” Lindsey raged.

  “I only told them that you were interested in finding some lost treasure. I told them it was stupid, that you were just some crazy old rich guy who liked to hunt for ancient artifacts. I swear that’s all!”

  Alex nodded. “I see. So they know nothing of the Order or exactly what we are trying to accomplish?”