"Are you sure?" Jack didn't look the man in the eye. He merely stared into the pool.
There was a slight pause before the shooter answered. "Yes. Of course I'm sure. That's why you hired me, right? Because I'm good."
"You know who I work for?"
The question seemed to come from out of the blue. The sniper wasn't sure how to respond at first. After a moment of thought, he said, "Sure, Jack. You work for Mr. Holmes. That's no secret."
"Exactly. And do you know why it's no secret?"
The second question was considerably harder than the first. The gunman clutched the barrel a little tighter, just as a precaution.
"Can't say I do, Jack. If I were a man in your position, I'd probably keep my identification under wraps."
Jack spun around abruptly and faced the sniper. He still held the stone in his hand. His eyes wandered to the gear bags on the shore. "What's this?" he gave a sideways nod at the stuff.
The shooter shrugged. "Just their stuff. It was sitting there when I opened fire. They didn't have time to get it. I guess they figured they didn't need it. They made for the water, I shot 'em in the back, and now they're gone. No worries."
Jack considered the answer for a moment. He rubbed his chin, still staring at the bags. "I want to make sure I got your story straight. You killed the woman, and she fell in the water."
The sniper nodded.
"The other three went in after her?"
"Right."
"And you shot them in the water. Were they trying to save her?"
"Beats me. Alls I know is, they're dead. Just like you wanted."
Jack drew a long breath in through his nose. He let the air seep out of a tight hole between his lips that almost made a whistling noise. "That's true. I did want them dead. And you know what else I wanted?"
The shooter hesitated and then pointed at the cube. "That thing?"
"Precisely," Jack said in a sharp tone.
"So you got everything you wanted. It's like a Christmas a month late for you." The gunman attempted to smile to ease the tension, but it was an unnatural gesture—especially for a hit man.
"Getting back to the question and your answer, I allow people to know my identity because I want them to be afraid."
"Afraid?" The sniper shifted uneasily.
Jack took a step toward him. "Yes. Afraid. You see, I can't have people lying to me. And if anyone fails to do what I ask, it's important they know that there will be consequences. Just like there would be consequences if someone were to try to kill me. I'm one of Mr. Holmes's most trusted friends. Should anything happen to me, he would find out. And then he would find out who did it."
"Good to have friends in high places." The guy tried to sound gruff as he said the words.
"Absolutely."
Jack moved over to the gear bag closest to his feet and bent down. He picked it up and stuffed his hand inside. He pulled out a pistol and gave the weapon a good once over before checking the rest of the bag's contents. Surprisingly, there was a wealth of things inside: passports, driver's licenses, credit cards, a spare magazine, and several other items.
Jack flipped open the passport and held the driver's license inside so the images lined up with each other. "It seems our friend Tommy Schultz won't be needing these again, eh?"
"Not unless he's resurrected."
Jack stuffed the identification and the cards in his back pocket. Then he shoved the pistol into his belt. "Might as well keep this since he won't be needing it. Right?"
"Sure," the sniper agreed.
"You don't happen to know what any of these mean, do you?" Jack held the cube out suddenly, and the hit man jerked back for a second, startled.
His head twitched back and forth. "No. Can't say I do."
Jack bit his lower lip for a second and then pointed at the paw. "You see this paw here?" The sniper nodded. "That's a wallaby."
"If you say so. What does it matter?"
"Well, wallabies are kind of a big deal here in Australia. My guess is, whoever hid this cube here wanted us to know that the next place we should visit has wallabies."
The gunman was totally lost, so Jack kept talking.
"Now, if I was a guy trying to leave bread crumbs for someone else to follow, I'd need to let them know about the general vicinity of where they should go next. That makes me wonder what those letters mean." He pointed at the set of letters cut into the stone. "I don't suppose you have any idea about those either."
"You pay me to kill people, not solve old puzzles for you."
"Fair point. I don't pay you to figure these sorts of things out. Fortunately, I think I have someone who might be able to help me with it. So I really won't be needing you anymore."
"Good, then," the sniper said. "I'll just collect my hundred grand and be on my way."
"The money is in the truck," Jack said, pointing at the trail. "We should get going before any tourists happen to show up. Wouldn't do well for them to find a bunch of guys with guns here, now would it?"
The gunman picked up his rifle and turned toward the trail. He never saw Jack take a big step toward him and raise the cube high over his shoulder. The first blow from the corner of the stone knocked the sniper to the ground, sending a sudden sharp pain through his head from the back of his skull. His vision blurred. He could feel the rocks and dirt under his fingertips. Something in his head told him to grab his gun, but he couldn't feel it.
"I don't deal with liars," Jack said as he crouched over the gunman.
The man didn't feel a thing after the second blow that rendered him unconscious. Jack kept going, driving the now-bloody corner of the cube into the back of the sniper's head until his arm gave out. He stood up, still holding the dripping stone, and then sauntered over to the water's edge to wash it off. When it was sufficiently clean, he tossed it to one of his men.
"Hold onto that," Jack said. "We need to get that back to Sydney so our friend Miss Guildford can have a look at it."
"What about him?" one of the other henchmen said and pointed at the dead sniper.
"Throw him in the water," Jack said. "Let him float downstream with the others."
28
Northern Territory
Sean sat at the wooden table with his hands folded, staring straight ahead at a candle flickering in the dying light of dusk.
They'd made it to Rick Teague's place in under forty-five minutes. That wasn't to say the journey was easy. They had to hike over rough terrain, dirt roads littered with sharp rocks, and then there was the heat. Temperatures had climbed to their zenith before the three men arrived at Rick's cabin.
Tommy and Reece had offered Sean their shoes several times, but he refused, choosing instead to walk the entire distance barefoot. After ten minutes of walking on scorching hot earth and slicing one of his feet on a rock, he accepted Tommy's socks, but nothing else.
The physical pain was a welcome respite from the emotional stabbing in his heart.
"You want something to drink?" Rick asked, setting a glass of water next to Sean's elbow.
"Whiskey if you got it."
Rick, a fifty-five-year-old guy with a scruffy graying beard and overly tanned skin nodded. "Sure. I've got whiskey."
Rick scurried over to a cabinet he'd built with his own hands and pulled down a bottle of Jack Daniel's.
He'd built the entire cabin on his own, from the foundation to the roof over their heads. It was an impressive achievement, and the results were better than could have been expected. There were a few things that would have raised an eyebrow here or there, like the bathroom that was only separated from the rest of the living room by a shower curtain. Then again, Rick lived alone and probably didn't have many visitors.
Considering that last fact, the house was remarkably clean—probably a remnant of his OCD past still coming through.
"Anyone else want a whiskey?"
"I'll have one," Reece said, raising his hand.
Tommy stared across the table at his friend.
"You don't drink, Sean."
Rick returned with three tin cups, all with generous amounts of amber liquid sloshing around inside.
He set one in front of Reece, Sean, and Tommy.
Tommy put up his hand as if to say he'd pass.
"I am tonight," Sean said in response to his friend's comment. He raised the cup to his lips and tipped it back.
He swallowed every drop and then reached over, took Tommy's cup, and poured the contents down his throat before the burn of the first shot could hit him.
Tommy raised both eyebrows, surprised at his friend's actions. "Okay, so now I guess we're at a frat party?"
"You'd be drinking too," Sean said. He held out one of the empty cups toward Rick, who was standing close by, still holding the bottle. "Mind if I have another?"
"Go right ahead," Rick said as he poured a double.
Reece sipped his drink and watched as Sean downed his third.
Letting out a long sigh, Sean held his cup out again for another refill. Rick started pouring again, now unsure if he had enough left in the bottle to quench his visitor's thirst.
"I think that's enough, Sean," Tommy said. "You're gonna get sick."
"I'll decide when it's enough." Sean looked at their host. "Am I drinking too much of your whiskey?"
"Not at all," Rick said. "Plenty more where this came from. Though, I'll have to go out to the shed to get another bottle at this rate."
Sean pounded two more drinks before he slammed his cup down on the table and sniffled.
"Had enough?" Tommy asked.
Sean didn't answer. Instead, he got up out of the chair and walked outside, letting the screen door slam behind him. He'd put on some shorts and a T-shirt Rick stored in boxes. The sandals were from a time when Rick took beach vacations. They were a tad big on Sean's feet, but fit well enough to warrant wearing them.
"Your friend," Rick said, sliding into Sean's seat, "had a rough day?"
"You could say that," Tommy answered. "Just watched his girlfriend get shot right in front of him."
"Crikey." Rick thought for a minute and then turned to Reece for his next question. "What were you all doing out here anyway? Taking these Americans on a tour of the bush?"
"We were looking for something."
"Looking? Found, I'd say. That is, if you were looking for trouble."
"A friend of mine went missing. And someone tried to kill me, shot up my whole house. I barely got out alive. All because of an email she sent."
"Email? What kind of email?" Rick took a sip of his drink.
"His friend—a woman named Annie—found something we think leads to a treasure of some kind."
"Treasure?" Rick's ears perked up.
"Yeah. We don't know what it is, only that some guys over a hundred years ago went looking for it. They spent a good amount of time trying to find it, but had to give up in the end when one of them took ill."
"So you're looking for a treasure, eh?"
"We're not treasure hunters, per se," Tommy said. "I run an artifact recovery agency out of Atlanta. It's our job to preserve important pieces of history for the rightful owners—or governments."
"Ah," Rick said with a nod. "So the treasure for you is just making sure these artifacts are kept safe."
Tommy was somewhat surprised the man understood what he was talking about. After all, he was a hermit living out in the middle of the Australian outback.
"Yeah, pretty much."
The room fell silent for a couple of minutes before Tommy pushed the chair away and walked over to the kitchen counter. The room was dimly lit, both from a single lamp that hung in the ceiling overhead and multiple candles throughout the building. Rick preferred to stay off the grid. Why, no one knew.
Tommy grabbed a jar of rice and opened the lid. He looked inside at his phone. He'd been surprised to find the device still in his pocket after the trip down the river. The thing was completely soaked, though, and would need to sit in rice overnight if it was going to have any chance of being usable again.
"So this treasure," Rick broke the silence, "I suppose there was some kind of map or something that led you out here to Watarrka?"
Reece relayed the whole story up to that point—how they'd visited the museum in Sydney, the Baiame Cave, and Kata Tjuta before coming to the canyon. He told what happened at the waterfall and how someone was trying to kill them with a long-range rifle.
Rick listened intensely until Reece finished the story. When the tale was done, Rick nodded and finished his cup of whiskey. He poured another and offered one to Reece, who accepted with a nod.
"You sure you don't want one, Tom?" Reece asked. "Wouldn't hurt."
"I don't drink, but thank you."
"More for us, eh, Reece?" Rick said. The two clinked their cups together and took another draw.
Tommy sat back down at the table and looked out through the screen door. Sean was nowhere to be seen.
"I should go look for him," he said.
"Nah, mate," Rick disagreed. "There's nothing you can say to a man who has had that kind of day. All you can do is let him be. Let him think about what happened. And let it either kill him, or make him stronger."
"He's my friend."
"And that is exactly why you must leave him alone." Rick raised a finger at Tommy. "Now, from the sounds of all these clues you've been finding, it sounds an awful lot like you're looking for something the Aborigines call the Golden Boomerang."
Tommy's right eyebrow shot up. "Golden boomerang?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Never heard of it."
"Me either," Reece said.
"Most people outside the Aboriginal cultures haven't. Shoot, most Aborigines haven't heard of it. Only a select few get the knowledge of the boomerang passed down to them from their elders. Keeping it secret is how they keep the thing safe."
"If it's a secret, how come you know about it?" Reece looked skeptical as he lifted the cup to his lips.
"That's a legitimate question. Can't say I wouldn't be wondering that myself if I were you." He took a draw from his cup and then set it back on the table, smacking his lips as he swallowed the warm liquid. "When I first moved out here, I became friends with some of the tribesmen. They were kind enough to teach me about their culture and their beliefs about the world around us. And not just the world—the entire universe.
"Of course, their belief systems vary a great deal. Different tribes believe in different deities, but there is usually some kind of crossover that brings it all together."
Tommy and Reece listened closely as the man continued.
"One of the deities from their religion is a creator god called Baiame. You mentioned before that you visited his cave close to the east coast."
The American nodded.
"On that cave wall, you no doubt saw a few boomerangs—one a little closer to the deity than the other."
"Yeah. We weren't really sure about what that meant."
"Well, I'll tell you. One of them represents Baiame's own boomerang. The other is the one he gave to the people, one to keep—so to speak."
Reece's curiosity piqued. "Why did he give one to the people?"
Rick drew in a deep breath through his nose and then sighed. "The legend says that it was a promise to the people that their god would always be with them. And it was also to guarantee that he would return again someday."
"Return?"
"Yes. As with most religions, there is a common feature in that the people are usually awaiting the return of their god. It's true in most mainstream religions, and in several even more ancient ones."
"Okay," Tommy said, "so this boomerang was left as a promise to the people that Baiame would watch over them and someday come back to do what exactly?"
"I'm a little fuzzy on that part," Rick said. "Most religions believe they'll be taken away to some kind of paradise. I'm not sure what the Aborigines believe Baiame will do."
Silence fell on the kitchen for a minute before Reece spoke up again
. "I'm sorry, Rick. I don't mean to sound skeptical. Tell us again how you got them to cough up this information. You mentioned the tribesmen took you in, but for a secret this big, it seems sort of far fetched that they would have just told an outsider like yourself."
"Very astute," Rick answered. "As it turns out, a couple of them really like their whiskey. They also happen to be some of the older guys who are privy to things others are not. We got drunk around a bonfire one night, and they started talking, probably a little too much. I doubt either of them has any recollection of what was discussed the night before. And I have no intention of letting them know they gave up such an important secret."
The story seemed plausible enough, especially considering the amount of whiskey Rick apparently had on hand. Still, they were talking to a guy who'd walked out of a high-paying job one day to move into the Australian bush.
Tommy wanted to know more details, partly because he still wasn't sure about the story. "How big is this golden boomerang?"
Rick leaned back in his chair and flicked the cup's handle with a finger. It made a clinking sound that echoed throughout the room. "No one knows for sure. At least they didn't mention that to me. I'd assume it would be about the size of your average boomerang. That is, if the thing exists."
"You're not sure?" Reece asked.
"No," he said. "I'm not. This world is full of myths and legends. A handful of them are true. The Aborigines can't agree on a single theology that brings all their gods under one banner. They don't fight about it like other religions or denominations, but there are still inconsistencies. I respect what they choose to believe. I've just never seen any sort of proof to make me think any of it is true."
His comments caused serious consideration for the visitors. Rick made a good point. The inconsistencies in the belief systems created a ton of doubt.
"You know," Tommy started, "most of what we do at my agency is all about finding things people don't believe exist. There are times when we come back empty-handed. More often than not, though, we make discoveries that change the way the world views history. One of the reasons I do what I do is to help dissolve those inconsistencies—like the ones you mentioned." He looked up at Rick. "I know that it's a possibility that this boomerang doesn't exist. But we have to keep looking. Not because we're looking for fame and fortune. We have to do it because a woman's life depends on it."
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 20
