The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  Sean grabbed the other weapon and scrambled to his feet. He tried to take aim but couldn't get a clear line of sight while Tommy was grappling with the shooter.

  The gunman chopped his elbow down on Tommy's back.

  Tommy grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, opening a shooting lane for Sean, whose fingers tightened on the trigger as he lined up the man's muscular chest with his sights.

  The shooter's foot kicked up much higher and faster than either Sean or Tommy would have thought possible. The tip of the man's heavy boot hit Sean's hand and knocked the weapon backward toward the rear exit.

  Sean's hand flew up. He corrected quickly and put himself into an attacking stance. In the blink of an eye, Sean swung his left arm in an arch, twisted his right foot, opened his hips, and kicked hard with his left.

  The gunman attempted a block, but he used the hand with his gun in it. The blow knocked the weapon across the room, just as he'd done to Sean.

  Tommy was on his hands and knees with his arms wrapped around the man's legs, still attempting to tackle the shooter.

  The gunman yelled and grabbed Tommy by the belt and shirt, hefting him off the floor and then dropping him hard to the tile.

  Sean used his friend as a step and lunged forward, vaulting himself into the air. The gunman twisted and clotheslined Sean with a forearm across the face.

  The blow sent a surge of pain through Sean's entire head as he crashed to the floor in a heap next to Tommy. He struggled to get up, but before he could, the gunman grabbed him by the neck and picked him up. He did the same to Tommy, wrapping his massive arm around Tommy's throat.

  Sean drove his elbow in the man's abs over and over again, desperate to free himself from the gunman's death grip. Tommy wriggled frantically, also trying to get away so he could breathe.

  Sean's vision blurred. He was certain his friend was in similar straits. In less than a minute, they would both black out. A few seconds more than that, and they'd be dead.

  His arms grew heavy, and the shots his elbows delivered to the gunman's midsection seemed to do nothing but piss him off, like a gnat flying around a bull.

  He couldn't get into a position to kick his heel into the man's groin. But there was one idea that popped into his head.

  "Tommy," Sean said through clenched teeth. He was barely able to make a sound. "Ears."

  Tommy heard his friend and knew what he meant.

  With a last-ditch effort, the two twisted their bodies as much as possible and swung their open hands at the gunman's head.

  Their palms smacked both ears at the same time. To Sean and Tommy, it sounded like a low clap. To the man choking them, it may as well have been two loaded shotguns going off on either side of his head.

  His grip loosened instantly, and the two fell to the floor, gasping for air as the shooter staggered backward into the counter. The big man clutched his ears, wincing in agony and no doubt a sudden dizzy spell brought on by busted eardrums.

  Tommy and Sean struggled to their feet, bracing themselves on each other's shoulders.

  They gasped for air, relieved to flood their lungs after being deprived for what seemed like an eternity.

  Sean looked over his shoulder at the big gunman. His eyes twitched from the lumbering shooter to the sizzling hot woks on the flaming stoves.

  "Time to find out who this guy works for," Sean said. "Take out his knees."

  He and Tommy stood up straight, their faces still bulging and red from being choked. They rushed forward as the gunman started to regain his balance. Before he could get into a defensive position, Sean and Tommy leaped into the air. They extended their legs, driving their shoes hard into the man's knees.

  The gunman suddenly yelped in a tone men his size rarely ever reached. It came approximately two seconds after both knees collapsed inward under Sean and Tommy's weight.

  He dropped to the ground, crippled and in agony. He reached for his knees, but what he found was both legs bent at a wretched, unnatural angle. The gunman wailed, realizing the severity of the damage.

  Sean ignored the man's screams. "Help me drag him to the kitchen."

  Tommy obeyed and copied Sean as he grabbed the guy under the armpit. The two tugged and pulled, their legs and backs straining from the gunman's weight. After a Herculean effort, they dropped him behind the counter in front of the nearest stove. The cooks yelled, and the young woman screamed, all three still crouching behind the counter for safety.

  "You might want to hide in the back," Sean suggested in between pants for air.

  The workers scrambled to their feet and ran through the back door. The bell over the door jingled as one of the other patrons ran out onto the street, apparently confident enough they could escape now that the fight was over.

  The gunman moaned. A tapestry of profanity came in the form of shouts and groans. He cursed nearly everything and everyone, especially Sean and Tommy.

  Sean reached down and grabbed the guy by the ponytail. He yanked the man up onto his disfigured knees and lowered his face toward one of the woks. Tommy held one of the man's arms, twisting it behind his back.

  "If you think you're in pain now," Sean said in as sinister a tone as he could muster, "wait until you feel your face frying in peanut oil."

  "You can go to—"

  "Uh uh uh," Sean cut him off. "Remember. The only thing standing between you and the worst possible pain you could ever imagine are my fingers wrapped around your ponytail. One slip"—he loosened his grip for a second and allowed the man's face to drop an inch closer to the pan—"and that becomes a reality."

  The gunman wiggled violently.

  Tommy punched him in the lower back, probably bruising a kidney. The gunman drooped forward another inch, only pulling back when he felt the wok's searing heat.

  "See?" Sean said. "Struggling is only going to make things worse for you. Now, I can shove your face into that wok and not think twice about it. But that's not what I want to do. I don't like the smell of burning flesh."

  "What do you want?" the man spat.

  "There we go. Now we're getting somewhere. I like that. In spite of having blown out both your knees, you can think logically."

  "You can take your logic and—"

  "Now, now," Sean said. "Be nice. All I want to know is who sent you to kill us."

  The man's head shook violently. "I don't know. I just get money, names, and an address."

  Sean looked over at Tommy.

  "Feels like he's lying," Tommy said with arms crossed.

  "You know, I think you're right." He turned his attention to the gunman. "Is he right? Are you lying to me? I don't like being lied to."

  Sean forced the man's head toward the bubbling oil.

  "Porter! His name is Drew Porter! I've only worked for him a few times. He sent me." The man's accent was difficult to place through his yelling.

  Sean's eyes narrowed. "Who does Porter work for?"

  The man spat out an obscenity.

  "Oh, that isn't nice," Tommy said. "Sean, go ahead, and stir-fry this knucklehead."

  Sean pressed down on the back of the guy's head again. The heat from the wok started burning his eyes. He tried to turn his face sideways, but Sean gripped him tight.

  "I don't know who he works for! He didn't tell me. I'm just the errand guy. I swear! He called me up and asked if I wanted to make some quick cash."

  "Where is Porter?" Sean asked.

  "I swear, I don't know. We used a drop point for the money. He called me!"

  Sean looked at his friend. "Sounds like he's telling the truth, Schultzie."

  "You sure?"

  The sounds of police sirens echoed in the distance.

  Sean cocked his head to the side and looked down at the man. "No, but I think he's suffered enough for one night. And we should probably leave before the cops get here."

  Sean shoved the guy to the ground and hurried around the end of the counter. He scooped up the gunman's weapons on his way to the door.


  They burst through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Sirens were rapidly bearing down on their location.

  "We should hurry," Sean said.

  A short sprint and ninety seconds later they pulled out of their parking spot and zoomed by the restaurant just as police cars whipped around the corner and blocked off the road in front of the historic building.

  "That was close," Tommy said, looking out the back window. He turned and faced forward as Sean steered the car to the right and onto the next street.

  "Pull up a map with directions to Clinton," Sean said as he accelerated through the next green light. "If you can, find some back roads. Let's try to avoid as much traffic as possible."

  Tommy did what Sean said, quickly finding a map. He performed a quick search on his phone to get the exact address for the Surratt farmhouse and entered it into the map's address bar.

  "Got it," Tommy said. "We can be there in forty minutes."

  Sean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "We'll be there in thirty."

  26

  Atlanta

  "Did your guy find anything?" Adriana held the phone tight against her ear.

  She sat in one of the empty offices of Axis headquarters. When her phone started ringing, she'd excused herself from Emily's office and found a quieter place to talk.

  "Yeah," Tara said. "Probably more than either of us expected."

  "That didn't take long."

  "Clyde has around a dozen computers running at all times. He's constantly downloading information. For what, I don't really know, but I know that when he looks for something and puts all his energy behind it, he doesn't take long."

  "That's good for us."

  "It sure is."

  Adriana stared at the clock over the door, watching the second hand creep along its circular route. "What did he find?"

  "As expected, reversing the digital footprint to track where the deposits came from took some work."

  "I can't imagine."

  "Yeah, but our guy is good. I don't understand all the technical mumbo jumbo he was spewing about it, but he got the job done. He said there were a couple of sizable deposits that looked fishy, so those were the ones he went after. They were connected to other dummy accounts. Clyde said that whoever laundered that money was working hard to cover their tracks. They had over thirty different accounts across the globe."

  "How was he able to unravel those knots?" Adriana asked.

  "Every crumb leads somewhere, Adriana," Tara said. "Leave enough of them lying around, someone is going to come by and pick them up. At the epicenter of this particular trail is a company called Transcorp."

  "Transcorp?"

  "Yeah. I hadn't heard of it either, so I looked them up online. They're a humongous experimental energy company."

  "Experimental?"

  "Correct. Apparently, their thing is finding new forms of energy to replace nonrenewable resources like fossil fuels."

  Adriana was puzzled. "So, they're a green energy company? Usually, those types aren't taking part in a lot of shady activities."

  "You'd think. But this company isn't as granola as they'd like to appear. They have a significant infrastructure that spans most of the United States. I did a little digging around. Turns out they supply most of California, Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico with power, and no one even realizes it. Some of the bigger energy companies have to buy their power from Transcorp because if they don't, their supply will run too low."

  Adriana knew the problems some of those states had experienced with energy deficits over the years. There weren't enough hydroelectric stations in that region to meet the population's demand for power. There were over thirteen thousand wind turbines in California, but customers there still had to deal with power outages and brownouts.

  "How many wind turbines and solar farms does Transcorp own?"

  "Great question," Tara said. "None."

  "None?"

  "Yep. A big fat zero. They have pictures of wind turbines and other green energy generators on their website, but when I did some checking, I couldn't find any properties owned by Transcorp that are power producers. It's like they're getting their energy out of thin air."

  "That is strange. How long have they been in business?" Adriana asked.

  "A little over a decade. But here's the thing. In that short amount of time, they've gone from being a small energy startup to a ten-billion-dollar company."

  'Ten billion? With a B?"

  "Yep. You heard right. You can thank June for that little tidbit. She's been a big help with the research end of things, by the way. Pass that along to Tommy. Maybe his girlfriend can come to work for us."

  Adriana smiled at the thought. "Maybe." She switched back to the subject at hand. "Who's in charge of this company?"

  "Ah, now you're opening a different can of worms. Transcorp is a publicly traded company, so there's a board of directors and all that, but one man holds more shares than anyone: the company's founder."

  Adriana waited patiently for the name.

  "Ever heard of a guy named Kent Foster?" Alex asked.

  Adriana jerked the phone away from her ear, surprised to hear his voice all of a sudden.

  "Sorry, on speaker phone," Alex said, sensing he'd startled Adriana.

  "Hello, Alex. No, should I have heard of him?"

  "Probably. He's the president's secretary of state and a trusted adviser."

  The information Alex relayed may as well have been strapped to a wrecking ball wrapped in dynamite.

  Adriana was floored. "Wait a minute. Are you guys saying that the secretary of state was paying Kendricks?"

  "That's not all we're saying," June jumped into the conversation. Now everyone was involved. "Not only did Kendricks receive some rather large deposits from Transcorp, after he died the money vanished."

  "What do you mean, it vanished?"

  "Someone paid a visit to those two banks and withdrew every penny. Due to the distance between the two banks, we're assuming two separate people made the withdrawals. They must have known that an online transfer would have left a big trail, so they made the withdrawals on site."

  "Sounds risky to carry around that kind of cash. How much are we talking about?"

  "Millions."

  The wheels spun out of control in Adriana's mind. There was one horrifying theory that kept rearing its head. "If Transcorp paid Kendricks, that means they were trying to eliminate Dawkins. And if that's the case, that means..."

  "Foster was behind the assassination attempt," Tara finished her thought.

  "I have to tell Emily," Adriana said, her voice nearly drowning in urgency. "We need to warn the president. If Foster really is the one behind all this, the president is still in danger."

  She thanked the kids and June for their assistance and ended the call. Adriana couldn't walk fast enough back to Emily's office.

  Adriana burst through the door, holding her phone at her side. Emily was on the phone, listening to someone else, and saw the intense look in Adriana's eyes.

  "I'm going to have to call you back in a minute. Yes, I know this is important, but I have a national security issue to deal with."

  She ended the call and waited for Adriana to speak.

  "I just got off the phone with June and the kids."

  "Did their hacker find anything?"

  "Yes. And it's worse than we thought."

  "Worse?" Emily asked.

  "Much worse. We think Kent Foster was behind the assassination attempt."

  "Foster? But he's the secretary of state. He's been one of the president's biggest allies over the years. What would he stand to gain by getting Dawkins out of the way? Secretary of state is fourth on the list to take over if the president dies."

  Adriana's head slowly moved side to side. "I don't think he wants the presidency."

  "Then what does he want?"

  "They didn't have any theories on that, and—at the moment—neither do I. However, the kids were able to track down the
deposits into Kendricks's offshore accounts. They came from several different other accounts. Tara said the people behind it took extreme measures to cover their tracks."

  "As they should if they're doing something illegal."

  "Correct, but their guy managed to figure it out. He traced the deposits back to a company called Transcorp."

  "Transcorp?" Emily asked. It was apparent in her tone that she'd heard of the company.

  "Yes. You've heard of them?"

  Emily's eyes stared at the wall to the right of her guest. Her face took on a vapid, blank look. "Yes, I know who they are. Big energy company out west. Last I heard, they were trying to get into the East Coast."

  "Did you know Foster is the largest shareholder?"

  Emily's eyes widened with surprise. "That part I didn't know. I knew Foster was wealthy but never had much reason to investigate where his money was coming from."

  "Does Dawkins know?" Adriana asked, the urgency continuing to build in her voice.

  "I have no idea. What I do know is Foster has been bugging Dawkins for years about breaking apart Tennessee Valley Authority," Emily said. "He wanted to privatize it. Said that it's not right the government controls an energy company like that."

  "Foster wants to break up TVA?"

  "Yes. In spite of having some of the lowest energy costs per consumer across the nation, Foster suggested that it was corrupt and that privatizing it could lower consumer costs even more. Now, it seems his real motives might have been of a more personal nature."

  Adriana connected the dots. "If TVA was picked apart, it would open up the entire Southeast for Transcorp."

  "Absolutely. Once they're in that region, the entire East Coast is ripe for the picking."

  "So, what's our next move?" Adriana asked.

  "First thing we have to do is warn the president. If Foster is behind all of this, he needs to be taken in for questioning, and Dawkins needs to get somewhere safe."

  "Safer than that bunker we were in?"

  Emily nodded. "Foster would have access to nearly everywhere, including that bunker. If he gets alone with the president, he may well try to take matters into his own hands."