The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  Sean frowned and scooped the last of the fries. He held them up like a maestro’s baton and thought for a second. “Oh, the guy in the bathroom?”

  “Yes, you idiot. Where is he?”

  “I guess he’s still in the bathroom.” Sean said in a matter-of-fact tone and then held out the fries. “You should try these.”

  “Get up,” Red Hoodie said and smacked the fries out of Sean’s hand.

  The food shot across the table and slid to the napkin holder, coming to a rest next to the silver container.

  Sean looked at the fries with remorse. Then he looked back up at the robber. “Hey, I was going to eat those.”

  “Get up,” Red Hoodie ordered.

  “Why? Now I need more fries?”

  “You really are a moron, aren’t you? Get up, or I will splatter your brains on that wall.”

  “Okay, take it easy. I just think it’s a waste of good food. And honestly, it’s rude that you did that.”

  “Get up now, idiot.”

  The guy reached out and grabbed Sean by the shirt. Sean let him do it. He didn’t resist, even though he knew he could have broken the kid’s arm, taken the gun from him, and shot the third gunman. The deed would have been done in seconds. But he trusted his instincts, and there were innocent people in the room, people who didn’t need to be put in harm’s way. He also knew that killing these punks wasn’t the answer. Were they trash? Sure, but Sean wasn’t in the business of killing civilians, not unless they were trying to hurt him or one of his friends.

  If he could avoid death in this scenario, that’s what he was going to do. So far, everything was going according to plan.

  He knew the group’s leader would react the way he did. Sean didn’t usually make blithe assumptions. He assessed a situation, analyzed it, and came to a conclusion. In this case, it took just seconds. It wasn’t always that easy, but these guys weren’t your typical threat.

  Sean figured the leader would leave the third dude to watch the diner while he was ushered in to the bathroom. Turned out he figured correctly.

  The punk squeezed Sean’s sleeve and jerked him toward the bathroom. Normally, this kind of behavior would have been a fatal mistake, but Sean kept calm, knowing he didn’t have to kill these numbskulls. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to teach them a lesson.

  The guy fell in line behind him as Sean marched, albeit reluctantly, toward the bathroom. “I don’t know what happened to your friend,” Sean lied. “Maybe he had some bad chicken or something.”

  “Shut up and get in there.”

  “Look, I don’t want to die. Please, just take everything I have. It isn’t much, a few dollars and—”

  The younger man brandished his pistol, threatening to whip Sean in the back of the head with it if he didn’t shut his mouth. Sean wasn’t concerned, but he did as told, feigning fear for a few more seconds.

  They reached the bathroom door and Sean put his fingers on it. He knew what waited on the other side. The unconscious body of this guy’s partner would, he hoped, still be lying on the floor. It typically took more than a couple of minutes for someone to come back around from being knocked out that way; although everyone was different. It was entirely possible that the guy would be on his way out when they opened the door.

  Sean made a mental note to bind the two together once they were both incapacitated.

  He pushed through the door and found, unsurprisingly, that the other guy was still blacked out on the tile floor. His face was resting on the cold surface, and he hadn’t moved in the minutes since Sean had left him.

  "Dan?” Red Hoodie shouted. He stepped forward, unthinking. “What did you do to him?” He swore in the midst of the sentence.

  Now they were just inside the bathroom door, and Red Hoodie had made his mistake. In his rush to see what had happened to his friend, he’d forgotten the threat that was standing right in front of him.

  “Did you kill him?” Red Hoodie asked.

  “No. I didn’t kill him.”

  “Liar. You killed Dan!”

  Sean’s head went back and forth. “No, I honestly didn’t. He’ll be fine. I think he slipped on the wet floor and must have hit his head. I was already out there eating my sandwich and fries.”

  Red Hoodie raised his weapon, which was Sean’s signal that the jig was up. He twisted to one side, shot up his right hand, and clapped his fingers over the barrel. Another quick twist, a jerk, and a downward pull snapped the bone in the man’s wrist. Before he could react, the pistol was in Sean’s hand.

  The guy was about to yell out in pain, or maybe for help, but Sean chopped his larynx and he became mute. Just like his friend, Red Hoodie’s face turned red, then pale, then blue. He grasped at his throat with his lone good hand and fell to his knees. Then he collapsed to his side and passed out. That could often be a killing blow and Sean hoped he wasn’t dead, but didn’t think he would be. There was no intent to kill anyone tonight. Perhaps he was being too gracious with these three brigands who seemed set on robbery and violence. It didn’t matter now. Sean was here, and there was only one left for him to handle.

  He stepped back out into the diner, stuffed the second pistol into his belt next to the first, and made his way back to his booth.

  The tall, skinny guy at the counter looked over at him. “Where are they?” This dude sounded panicked, as well he should have been. Sean had just gone into the bathroom with one and now two of his partners and had been the only one to emerge each time.

  Sean shrugged and eased into his booth again. His food was gone, for the most part, but he still had some good sips of Dr. Pepper left in his glass.

  “Don’t know,” Sean said. “Maybe they’re helping each other?”

  The gunman scowled and then stalked across the diner, flashing a warning expression at the trucker.

  “Tell me what you did with them, or so help me I will put a bullet right through the back of your skull. Do you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Sean said. “Now, it’s time for you to listen. I’m going to finish this drink. If, by the time I’m done, you’re out of here and on the road, you win. If you stay and decide you wanna try to take me out, that’s okay, too, but you’re going to lose, and it will be very, very painful.”

  The skinny guy approached and stopped close to the table.

  Sean looked up at him as he drew a long sip of the cola.

  “If you did anything to them…” He raised the weapon, putting the muzzle just a little too close to Sean, right in his personal space, which was essentially a do-not-enter zone if you were his enemy.

  Sean went from looking sluggish and aloof to a deadly snake that had been coiled in the grass. He twisted his body, snapped his hand out, and snatched the gun out of the man’s hand. This guy reacted by trying to get it back, but Sean was quicker. He dropped the weapon into the seat while grabbing the guy’s shirt collar and yanking him down. The man’s momentum made it easy to tug him toward the table. With his other hand, Sean wrapped his fingers around the back of the guy’s skull and jerked hard.

  The man’s nose was the first thing to hit the table. It folded with a sickening series of crunches, followed instantly by a waterfall of thick blood spewing from the nostrils. Sean pulled again. It was even easier now that the guy was dazed and in terrible pain. His arms floundered, hands trying to both grab at the bloody nose and trying to defend, but it was all futile.

  His head smashed into the table again and again. Each time Sean brought his head down, the man lost more and more of his grip on reality until he finally blacked out. When Sean felt his body go limp, he knew the guy was done. He let go of the shirt and the man’s neck and let him slump to the floor in a heap.

  Sean stood up, eyed the thief with an almost nonchalant regard, and then scooped up the weapon. He walked over to the trucker and the waitress, who were both staring at him with mouths agape.

  Sean stopped at the register and set the gun down next to the trucker. “Think you can handle t
his until the cops arrive?”

  The trucker glanced down at the gun and then nodded absently. Sean drew the other two pistols from his belt and set them next to the first. “Mary, you and the cook back there can have these if you want.” He nodded at the cook behind the dividing wall. He, too, was gazing at Sean like he was some kind of angelic being.

  Mary was half on the brink of tears and half in amazement. Sean did not intend to stick around. He’d had his meal, and now it was time to go before the blue lights and sirens appeared on the horizon. He took out a few bills from his pocket, placed them on the counter, and then turned to the door.

  “That should cover it, plus a tip, plus a little for the mess.” He glanced back at the unconscious man on the floor. His face was covered in dark crimson. “Sorry about the blood. The other two are also out cold on your bathroom floor, but I doubt they’ll need much cleanup. Just keep these guns on them until the cops arrive. When they get here, tell them you’re going to lower your weapons and that you’re just securing the area. You can explain everything from there.”

  Sean stalked toward the door. He put his hand on the handle to push it open when Mary stopped him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Sean turned around.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “What you mean you don’t have one?”

  “Tell them whatever you want. Just don’t describe me to them, okay? I’d rather avoid any legal issues. And I certainly don’t want the attention on television.”

  Her lips curled and her brow furrowed, but she nodded despite the confusion. “Okay, Mr. Smith. I understand.”

  Sean nodded, gave a flicker of a grin, and then walked out into the cold night.

  He doubted she understood. Who could? As long as she wasn’t going to run her yapper about him, he didn’t care. Either way, the sooner he got out to Fort Mandan, the better.

  19

  Asheville

  Adriana needed sleep. It was late at night. Technically, it was early morning. She and Tyler had been at it most of the day and all through the darkest hours of evening. The answer had yet to present itself.

  To his credit, Tyler had been unrelenting in his search. For a playboy that had, apparently, earned at least some level of disdain from his contemporaries for his brash antics, the man was a bloodhound when it came to his line of work. Diego had been right to refer her to him. She even doubted if her father would have been able to produce any of the information they had on Boyd in such a short time.

  Finding Boyd’s partner, though, was proving to be far more difficult, and it was starting to seem as though the man might have been working alone all along.

  Tyler wasn’t about to give up yet, though, and he kept a fresh pot of coffee brewing all night to make sure he didn’t give in to the constant nagging of exhaustion.

  More than once, Adriana caught herself drifting off, her eyelids pulling down hard as sleep beckoned.

  Tyler stood up and stretched his arms for the twentieth time. He kicked his legs out one after the other to get the blood flowing once more.

  “I can’t believe my father does this all the time,” she said as she stood and stretched her legs again. She, too, needed to get her circulation back.

  Tyler shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a glamorous life; that’s for sure. Then again, that’s why I live a life like this when I’m not working.” He raised his hands as if to show off all the things around them that were, at the moment, hidden by the walls of his inner office. “Gotta have some fun, otherwise life might pass you by.”

  She knew how right he was. She’d immersed herself in chasing down lost art, taking down bad guys, and zipping all over the world with her various quests. Most of her years seemed to have been lost along the way. She thought back on all the places she’d been. While Adriana had been fortunate enough to experience leisurely travel a few times in her life, those times were too far apart.

  The world offered so much in the way of culture and fun, but those things had been blurry images as she had zoomed by. She’d forced herself to take some time off every now and then—but always got pulled back into something chaotic or dangerous.

  As superficial and materialistic as this guy appeared on the outside, maybe he had a point.

  One of the monitors dinged, and the screen froze on an image. The picture was of two men. The one on the left was Andrew Boyd dressed in a polo and khakis. His head was cocked to the side. From the looks of it, he was listening to the other man speak.

  “Who’s the older guy?” Adriana asked.

  A look of deep concern cascaded over Tyler’s face. His skin turned pale, and he shook his head. “Um, well, that guy could be a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hold on.”

  Tyler leaned close to the keyboard and began typing again. The screen changed once more, now displaying seven more images of the guy from the first picture. The man was probably in his mid-sixties, possibly a shade older. In most of the images, he was donning a naval officer’s uniform, firmly pressed and impeccably clean. Medals, bars, and other regalia adorned the man’s clothing.

  “Who is that?” Adriana asked.

  “That,” Tyler said emphatically, “is Fleet Adm. Forrest Winters.”

  “Who is he?”

  Tyler clicked one of the images and enhanced it. The picture swelled to fill up most of that part of the screen. In the background, John Dawkins could be seen chatting with one of his cabinet members.

  “He’s one of the Joint Chiefs. His position is one of the highest in the land, and he commands the United States naval operations.”

  “So, he’s important. What does that have to do with Andrew Boyd? And why were the two of them talking in that other picture?”

  Tyler’s eyebrows flitted upward for a second, and he rolled his shoulders. “No clue—to either of those questions—but it’s certainly odd that a man who was court-martialed from the United States military is talking with one of the most powerful commanders in the nation.”

  “When was that photo of them taken?” Adriana crossed her arms and bit her lower lip. The exhaustion she’d felt before was rapidly dwindling, replaced by a burst of unexpected energy that demanded answers.

  Her host examined the image and found the date stamp. “Looks like it was recent. This summer. July fifth.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “Sounds like maybe our boy Andrew was up in Washington for the Fourth of July holiday weekend, possibly to do a little business with Admiral Winters.”

  There were still so many gaps in what she understood about this plot. Adriana was having trouble wrapping her mind around it all.

  “Why, though? What could Winters want with Sean?”

  Tyler furiously typed more commands into the computer and sat back. The two of them watched the screens in silence for the next five minutes until the machine beeped. A small window on the screen popped up with the words “No Search Results Found.”

  “Looks like the two of them don’t have any connections,” Tyler said. “Have you ever heard Sean mention Winters?”

  Adriana shook her head. Her eyes were droopy. Dark circles had formed under them. Despite the sudden rush of energy, she was still worn out.

  “Then it’s a power play,” Tyler said. There was a definitive measure of confidence in his tone.

  “Power play?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Boyd wants something. We both know that’s your boy, Wyatt. Winters must want something, too. If we can figure out what that is, maybe we can see the big picture. Might even lead us to Dawkins.”

  Adriana knew they didn’t have time for false leads and half-baked tactics. A misstep could cost them dearly. For her, it could cost her everything.

  “What can you tell me about Winters?”

  Tyler spun around in the chair and leaned back. He laced his fingers behind his head and stretched. “What do you want to know? I don’t
have to use my computers for all that. The guy is pretty well known in the military world. That includes my world, too.”

  “Think about it. If he’s behind this—along with Boyd—and if he wants something, that would mean somewhere along his career he was kept out of a loop, perhaps pushed aside, or possibly not given something he wanted.”

  “Well, he never ran for office. Doesn’t strike me as the political type. So, if it’s power he wants, I don’t believe that was the way he wanted to get it.”

  “But if he wants power of another kind…”

  Tyler clicked his tongue for several seconds and then sat up. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”

  “Think of what before?”

  He turned back to the computer and opened a new window. Google appeared, and he entered a short string of keywords. When he hit the Enter key, a new series of results appeared on the next page. He quickly clicked on one of the videos, and the screen changed again. After an informative fifteen-second ad, the admiral appeared on the video. He was in the same uniform he’d been wearing in the photos. In the footage, he stood behind a podium with an official Pentagon seal emblazoned on the front.

  Adriana and Tyler listened intently as the admiral’s voice boomed throughout the crowd. The venue was outdoors and near the water. Politicians and every kind of American aristocrat imaginable were in attendance, all sitting in white chairs like those you’d find at an upscale garden wedding. A waterway was positioned behind him. While it was difficult to tell which one it was, Adriana thought she recognized it.

  “Chesapeake,” Tyler said, as if reading her thoughts. “That’s in Maryland.”

  The date on the video suggested the speech had been given last year.

  The admiral spoke about how the current administration needed to be stronger in terms of foreign policy, that the military needed the president’s full support, and that military spending should be increased.

  Adriana didn’t know a great deal about the murky soup that was American politics, but she did know that Dawkins had curtailed some of the military budget in hopes of finding more efficient ways to fund America’s armed forces, while at the same time retaining their capabilities and prowess.