Emily seemed puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Sean’s mind reflected back to the week that Allison had left for her next assignment. A few pieces they’d found at the chamber in Georgia had gone missing.
The majority of the collection was intact, and the historical loss of the items was negligible; however, they would fetch a high price on the underground antiquities market. “A few things disappeared about the time she left. She must have stolen them. That was her plan from the beginning.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers.
“You want me to contact Interpol, put out a net?” Emily showed genuine concern.
“No,” he said quickly. “The things she took won’t be missed. In an odd way, I think she knew that.” He sat quietly for a minute.
“There’s something else you need to know,” she interrupted his thoughts.
At this, his expression changed. “A surprise?”
“Sort of,” she said and passed a cream-colored folder across the table to him.
“What’s this?” he lifted the document and opened it.
“Will Hastings wasn’t who he said he was either.”
The words hit him hard.
“He was an asset, Sean. We are fairly certain he was working for Golden Dawn.”
Sean looked through the dossier for a minute or two. When he finished reading the file, he flipped it back across the table to Starks.
“Impressive. He had me fooled. Apparently, that is getting easier to do these days,” he looked angry at himself while he took another sip of coffee.
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Sean. I just thought you’d like to know.”
“They never found his body,” he said, looking out a window at the other end of the coffee shop. “And I’m not being hard on myself. It’s good that I got out of Axis when I did. I’m obviously getting rusty.”
Beneath the window, a young woman with dark hair sat, reading a book.
“You know that isn’t true, Sean. In fact, I’d love to have you back...”
He stood up and grabbed his cup. “Thanks, Em. I appreciate the offer. Still not interested.” He started to walk away then turned back to his old friend.
Emily stared at him with a smile.
“I’ll be in touch soon. You take care of yourself,” he said and then strolled over to the woman at the window table. “Whatcha reading?” he asked playfully.
Adriana looked up from her book. She had on dark-rimmed glasses that accentuated her strong facial features. “Just catching up on my Egyptian history,” she answered him as he slid into the seat across from her. “From the details on the inscription we found, I believe we are looking for a specific temple, probably a Hathor temple.”
Emily walked by and gave him one more quick wave of the hand as she exited through the glass door behind Adriana.
“Planning on going there soon?” he asked with a grin.
She set the book down.
“I think you need my help, Mr. Wyatt.”
“Oh really?
She nodded.
“Maybe I do,” he resigned. He sat silent for a few seconds before he spoke again. “When will you see your father again?”
The question caught her off guard and seemed to make her instantly uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”
He gave her a comforting smile. “I know you went to see your father when we were in Ecuador.” Before she could refute his claim, he spoke up again.
The confession surprised her she narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?” she asked.
“Men who work in the field your father works in can be good men to know. Emily has used his expertise on several occasions.”
She absorbed what Sean was saying. Then finally, she smiled. “Somehow, I thought you knew. So what other secrets do you have, Sean Wyatt?” she said in a seductive tone.
“I guess you’ll just have to see.”
He looked down at the book she was studying and picked it up. “First, though, tell me about Egypt.”
Other books by Ernest Dempsey
Looking for more? Check these out:
Sean Wyatt Series
The Secret of the Stones
The Last Chamber
Red Gold
The Lost Canvas (Side story to The Cleric’s Vault)
The Grecian Manifesto
The Norse Directive (winter 2015)
Game of Shadows (winter 2015)
The Jerusalem Code (spring, 2015)
Science Fiction Series
The Dream Rider
The Dream Rider 2: Retribution
Personal Development
Chasing Comets
Dominate Your Anxiety
Dominate Your Day
About the Author
Ernest Dempsey lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee in the southern United States. He has a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s in school counseling. He loves to learn about history, especially the unconventional side of it. He is also an avid sports fan.
Be sure to sign up for the newsletter at ernestdempsey.net to receive exclusive updates on upcoming projects and events. And also check out the other books he has written: The Secret of the Stones (paperback or Kindle) and The Lost Canvas (available exclusively on Kindle.)
ernestdempsey.net
Author’s Notes
There are lots of interesting facts and places in this story that are worth noting. The two stone lions in New Mexico are real, as are the ruins of a nearby ancient settlement. The details about the Grand Canyon are correct, though the cave was my creation.
Part of the story about Coronado was my concoction while much of it was fact.
The Rosicrucians were a real group, and some speculate they still exist today. The Order of the Golden Dawn was also real. They, too, seemed to disappear in the early twentieth century. It is unknown if there are any active members at present.
The most interesting part of the story, to me, revolves around Father Carlos Crespi. Not only was he an intriguing personality, the mysteries he concealed in his vault are still unsolved to this day.
The cave in Ecuador is from my imagination, but there are many rivers in the region that intersect the way I described.
I highly recommend visiting all of the places in the story. Each one has a unique flavor and appeal that nearly any traveler will enjoy.
Copyright © 2012 Ernest Dempsey
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0988707233
ISBN-13: 978-0-9887072-3-8
THE LAST CHAMBER
ERNEST DEMPSEY
COPYRIGHT ©2013 ERNEST DEMPSEY
Ernestdempsey.net
All rights reserved
DEDICATION
To the English teachers who asked me if I was still writing, years after I’d even seen them. Penny Kennedy (Ms. Kilgore), Sam James, Jodi Ruf, and Debbie Higgens, thanks for kicking my butt. I wouldn’t have kept writing without you.
Prologue
Moscow
1944
The tension in the room could have been cut with a spoon. Stale cigarette smoke hung like a thick, bluish haze in the musty air. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling did little to illuminate the dark, cinder block room.
“Where was this picture taken?” A barrel-chested, middle-aged officer demanded in a gruff voice. The man’s head was rimmed with graying brown hair, his portly face red from stress and vodka.
The young Soviet pilot looked up at him from a chair at a small wooden table. The airman was in his low to mid-twenties. His skin was still smooth and healthy. He sported the short haircut of the military, piercing blue eyes, and a strong jaw line with a little dimple in the center of his chin. Sincere confusion filled his face.
“I don’t know, sir,” he said in mumbled Russian. He was clearly afraid of the higher-ranking officer.
“How can you not know?” the large man raged, pounding his fist on the table. The action caused the pilot to jump in his seat.
“We have taken thousands o
f pictures, comrade,” he explained. “It is our job to bring them back for analysis. It is nearly impossible for us to remember the exact location of every photograph.” His lips trembled as he finished the sentence.
Two other men stood in opposite corners of the room, watching the exchange silently. They both wore black suits and ties. One was a slender man with a black flat top. The other one was blonde with the same haircut. A stout physique and broad shoulders made him seem slightly more imposing than his partner.
“I’m sorry, comrade,” the young man continued. “I do not know what else to tell you. We were flying over the area at the Turkish and Armenian border. That picture had to be taken somewhere in the mountains nearby, but where exactly, I cannot be sure.”
A bead of sweat rolled down the high forehead of the Russian officer. His eyes narrowed above fleshy cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was low but intense. “Our analysts have searched through seven hundred pictures of this area. We sent more planes to the region you speak of and took more photographs. Yet, when they returned, none of them produced an image of this location.” He slammed the thick piece of photo paper down on the table.
The pilot looked down at it, desperately trying to remember where it had been taken. The image portrayed two ridgelines on opposing mountains. In between them was a narrow valley. The span, though, was oddly shaped, unlike anything he’d ever seen. It appeared as though a long, rectangular box had been placed there centuries before, and the valley itself had eroded around it, taking on the same shape.
“It was somewhere near the town of Ararat in Armenia. That is all I know,” the pilot said finally.
The officer looked over at the two agents standing near the door. The blonde one nodded his head once and blinked slowly.
“Well, comrade. We have scoured that particular area and found nothing. Ten different planes have photographed the region you describe, and none have brought back this image. So, you are either lying, or this image is distorted.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the pilot spoke up. “But what is so important about this region? Why are we taking so many photographs there?”
The officer’s face flushed red. Before he could speak, though, the blonde man in the suit stepped forward and raised a hand. “Allow me, comrade.” His tone was even and deep.
The roiled officer moved off to the side as the agent took his place in front of the terrified pilot. He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to the trembling young man, who accepted. After lighting the cigarette for him, the agent put the pack back in his pocket and let out a deep sigh.
After a few seconds, he finally spoke again. “We have reason to believe that somewhere in the area of this photograph, there is a large weapons cache. Our concern is that there could be something there that would present an imminent threat to Mother Russian. We must neutralize that threat as soon as possible.”
The pilot took a hesitant drag off the cigarette and released a slow puff of smoke out of his mouth. “Is the threat nuclear?”
A quick raise of the eyebrows and a cock of the head told the young man it might be. “We are not certain,” the agent replied. “But we cannot take any chances. That region needs to be pacified immediately, but we also have to know what we are dealing with.”
The young man nodded, understanding. “Sir, I think I might be able to find the area again where that picture was taken. If you would allow, I could do another fly over and see.” His voice sounded hopeful.
“Are you certain?”
“I do not know exactly where it is, but I believe I can find it if you just give me the chance. I only want to help Mother Russia.” His mid-ranged voice sounded desperate.
“Good. That is all I needed to know,” the blonde man smiled and stepped aside.
A second later, a muffled pop interrupted the silence. The other agent held a pistol at arm’s length behind the head of the man in the chair. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from the sound suppressor’s barrel. The young pilot slumped forward onto the blood-splattered table with a thud.
“It is a shame we had to kill him,” the officer commented. “He was one of our better reconnaissance pilots.” His gravelly voice held a hint of regret.
“We cannot be too careful with these sorts of things, comrade,” the blonde agent commented. The man with the gun looked over at them casually. “Too many people with information create too many leaks. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The hefty commander looked down at the floor, then back up into the icy blue eyes. “Yes, you are correct. And we must take every precaution to protect the best interests of our country.”
“Exactly,” the blonde said with an emphatic point of the finger. “Now, I wonder who else knows about this photograph.”
“Only three other people have seen it. We have a small group assigned to the analysis of the pictures that come from that region of the world,” the officer shrugged.
“Would their names be in that file over there?” he pointed to a stool near the door and a manila folder that rested on top.
The man in the uniform nodded. “Yes. They should be listed inside.”
“Good,” the blonde agent patted him on the shoulder. “And of course, you know about the photograph as well.”
Fear crept onto the man’s chubby face. “Now wait a minute,” he scowled and raised a finger. “I am a high-ranking officer in the Soviet military. You do not have the right to accuse me of anything, no matter what your KGB bosses say.”
“We aren’t accusing you of anything, comrade,” the blonde retorted. “We are only fixing leaks.”
Another pop echoed off the block walls again. The officer wavered for a moment before collapsing to the floor. The look of shock still filled his lifeless eyes. A small hole on his sweaty forehead leaked a thin trickle of blood.
The agent with the gun shoved it back inside his jacket. “I’ll have the cleaning team come in here right away.”
The blonde nodded. “Have them put him in one of the military jeeps and set it on fire. Accidents happen all the time, after all.”
“What about the three analysts?”
“They shouldn’t be any problem. Once they’re out of the way, we will be the only ones that know about the picture. We have to make sure it stays that way.” The blonde agent walked over to the table and picked up the photograph. He gazed at it for a moment, absorbing the image with a kind of wonder. “This must not fall into the wrong hands. If the United States or Great Britain were to get their hands on it, we would be doomed.”
“Are you certain we will find what we are looking for?” The dark-haired man grabbed the file near the door.
“Certain?” the blonde raised an eyebrow. “Nothing is certain in this life, comrade. Let’s just say it puts us one step ahead of the others.”
“So you believe the other countries are looking for the same thing?” The man’s flat forehead wrinkled slightly.
“I believe that if the stories are true, whoever uncovers this secret first will be able to rule the world.”
Chapter 1
Cairo, Egypt
The first thing Sean Wyatt noticed when he regained consciousness was the intense ringing in his right ear. He couldn’t remember what happened, but his eyes were closed. The dark haze began to give way to blurry light as he slowly opened them. The high-pitched whine in his ear was accompanied by a throbbing in the back of his head, like a jackhammer pounding the concrete. The warmth of the street against his face and body came next, followed by little points of stinging pain on various spots of his body. The rest of his senses began to return one by one. His nostrils filled with the smell of smoke, a distinct odor of burning rubber and petroleum. The blonde hair on his head was matted down with dirt and a little blood. He blinked his eyes and the chaos around him started to come into focus.
Sean was lying on the ground in the middle of a city street, though for a moment he couldn’t remember which one. People were scattered everywhere, pan
icking in every direction. He squinted hard at the light and tried to push himself off the ground. His head spun and he had to stop momentarily.
Thirty feet away, a woman dressed in black was screaming something in Arabic, tears streaming down her face into the lower part of her burka. She seemed to be frantically saying something, maybe calling for help, but Sean couldn’t make out the words.
Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position while the chaos around him continued to spin out of control. He noticed several places where his khaki pants had burn holes, a few of them stained with blood. His white button-up shirt was dirty, and torn in multiple places. It, too, had several blood spots.
Across the street, only a few dozen feet away, he saw the source of the smoke and his memory started to piece the events together. He and Adriana Villa were meeting Tommy outside the hotel. They were going to investigate something at the Museum of Antiquities. There’d been an explosion. Then everything had gone black.
He was hit by a terrible thought. Adriana. It was quickly followed by concern for his friend, Tommy Schultz. He began to scan the area of devastation. Black smoke swirled around, blown by the desert winds that rolled through the city. There were people everywhere, running in every possible direction.
Sean felt the chill of fear creep inside of his mind as he struggled to regain his balance. His head still spun as he braced himself on the post of a streetlight nearby. Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. He started to react defensively, but stopped himself when he realized the person was trying to help.
It was Adriana.
“We have to get out of here,” she said as she hooked his arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight.
“Where’s Tommy?” he asked, not wanting to leave his friend behind.
The whining sirens of emergency vehicles were drawing closer. Adriana urged him to move. “Sean, we have to go.” Her Spanish accent was thicker than usual. He’d noticed it got that way when she was very serious about something.
Sean’s icy gray eyes peered through the mayhem. Then he saw something across the street, about fifty feet away, laying in a huddled mass on the ground.
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