The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  Admiral Winters, it seemed, disagreed with the policies.

  He went on to talk about how the United States should be the unchecked, unquestioned power on the land, in the air, and in the sea. His rhetoric reminded both Tyler and Adriana of speeches they’d seen and heard before when studying about Hitler’s early years, just before he came into power. Neither of them said it, but they were both thinking it.

  “This man sounds dangerous,” Adriana commented.

  “He certainly does. If he had his way, he’d probably nuke every enemy we have. Shortly after this, there were rumors that Dawkins was going to have him removed from the Joint Chiefs.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Nope. You know as well as I that’s not how Dawkins does things.”

  Adriana was starting to see the motive. “Boyd wanted revenge against Sean.”

  “And Winters wanted to get back at Dawkins for clipping his…” He let the insinuation linger in the air, catching himself before he said something inappropriate. “You get the point.”

  She snorted. “Yes, I believe I do.”

  Tyler sat up a little straighter, the energy starting to return once more. “If Winters is the one behind this, he’ll have considerable resources. He could fund an operation like this, and not only that—”

  “He’d have connections,” she interrupted.

  “Bingo. A man like that would have access to information, information that could help a team of assassins or kidnappers get to a former president in his own home.”

  Adriana considered the theory. Something still didn’t add up. She hadn’t heard from Sean, which meant he was either still on the road, hiding somewhere, or he’d been caught. She doubted the last option was the case. If he’d been apprehended, the news outlets would be exploding with the breaking story. No, Sean was still out there, and knowing Sean like she did, he wasn’t just hiding under a barn somewhere. He was looking for the people responsible for this, just like she was. Was it possible that he was tracking down Boyd and Winters, as well? Or was there another angle he was pursuing?

  “Adriana?” Tyler interrupted her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

  She snapped back to the moment and looked down at him. “I’m going to go ask this Admiral Winters some questions.”

  He snorted a derisive laugh that ended as a long chuckle. Then he realized she wasn’t kidding. “Wait a second. Are you serious? You’re joking, right? Come on.”

  “What? What’s the problem?”

  He blurted out a laugh again. “You are serious. Wow. Yeah, okay. So, I realize you’re not from here and all—”

  “I have dual citizenship. I’ve been in America a while now.” She crossed her arms and gave him a stern, reprimanding glare.

  “Be that as it may, you clearly don’t understand who or what you’re dealing with here.”

  “I’m dealing with a soldier. It won’t be the first time.”

  He shook his head back and forth in dramatic fashion, like a cocker spaniel waving its tail to get attention. “No, not even close.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tyler twisted around to fully face her. He scratched his head. “Well, for starters, this isn’t just some ordinary sailor or infantryman you’re dealing with here. This is a fleet admiral, the guy in charge of the entire United States Navy.”

  “Yes, we’ve been over that.”

  “You realize that’s an immense amount of power, right?”

  “Obviously.” She discarded the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Okay,” he prolonged the word, “think of every powerful person in the world. Prime ministers, presidents, kings—they all have something in common.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “Other than the power thing?”

  “Security, Adriana. They all have almost unbreakable security. Secret Service, Marines, federal law enforcement, and those are just the people. That doesn’t take into account the systems and technology they have at their disposal.”

  A dark cloud descended into the room and filled her mind with doubt. Adriana hadn’t considered that. He was right. Powerful people like Winters would have considerable forces around him, security teams, alarms on his house—possibly unlike anything she’d ever seen. He’d have an entourage around him at all times. Still, she’d fought off elite security forces before.

  “I’ll have to risk it,” she said.

  He sighed through his nose and shook his head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t like my guys, the ones you knocked out earlier.”

  Tyler’s security guys had since roused from their electrically induced slumber and rushed to the house to make sure he was okay. He’d given them a stern warning and told them he was fine, to go back to their stations. The two guards from the gate had seen her inside his office and given her a scathing glare.

  “You ever heard of the PSU?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment, forehead wrinkling slightly. “No. Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “That’s because no one thinks about them. The entire world knows about the Secret Service and what they do because the president is front and center in just about everything. You can’t go two hours nowadays without tripping over some social media post about her, some breaking news headline, or a radio announcer saying something about her. But how many times in a month do you ever hear anything about the Joint Chiefs? When was the last time you even saw their faces on the television or on the internet?”

  Her blank expression gave him the answer he already knew was coming.

  “Exactly,” he said. “You don’t. Those guys are, in many ways, far more secretive than the president. And their security detail is as well. The PSU is short for Protective Services Unit. They’re composed of some of the best of the best of the best soldiers in the world. Agents come from multiple branches of the military. The Army Criminal Investigation Command as well as its military police units from the 202nd and 701st are involved. Ever heard of NCIS?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The Naval Criminal Investigative Service? They’re involved as is the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. They even have some of the elite people from the National Guard and reserve units help out now and then. I’m telling you, this Winters guy is as untouchable as the president. He might even be tougher to get to.”

  “Good to know.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t actually believe you’re going to just walk into his home, sit down, and have a conversation with this guy, can you?”

  “Maybe I won’t walk, but yes.”

  “Adriana, did you not hear a word I just said? The PSU scouts out everything within a half mile of anywhere their charge is going. That includes churches, homes, and family reunions. If you get within that sphere of protection, they’ll bring you in. And let’s not forget the little fact that your husband is a fugitive wanted worldwide on suspicion of kidnapping a former president. The authorities are looking for you almost as much as they are for him. If I were you, I’d lie low for a while and try to think of another way to skin this one.”

  She considered his words for about three seconds and then turned for the door. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “I’ll be sure to tell my father his gratitude is in order.”

  Tyler stood up and stalked toward the door, hoping to block her from leaving. He planted one palm on the doorframe. “I can’t let you do this.”

  “First, you’re not letting me do anything. Second, I’d move that hand if I were you. Would be a lot harder to type with it broken.”

  He caught her drift and lowered the hand, but he remained partially in her way. “Look,” he relented. “You’re right. I can’t stop you. And I know you’re well trained.” That much was true, though he didn’t know to what extent. Only a handful of people in the world knew about her past, about her training with the last of the ninjas that walked the planet. “But if you’re going to do this, you’re going to need help.”

  She was staring out the door, intent on
leaving, but she turned and stared into his eyes.

  “At least let me tell you where he is and give you the layout of his house. I can maybe even scoop some of the patrol details. That might give you the slimmest of fighting chances.”

  The corner of her mouth rose slightly. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head and went back to the computer stations. His fingers, once more, flew across the keyboard. “Don’t mention it. And when I say don’t mention it, seriously, I mean mention it to no one.”

  She turned and crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Understood.”

  He nodded. “Okay then. You’ll also need some gear.”

  “I have gear.”

  “Well, you’ll need more if you want to make sure you don’t kill good American soldiers while you’re trying to get to this guy.”

  She thought about his comment for a second. “Fair enough.”

  “And you’re going to need a plan.”

  20

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Agent Matthew Petty sighed as he stared at his computer. The hotel room was sparse, hardly the four- or five-star deal he was accustomed to in his normal routine. But he wasn’t in his normal routine anymore. He was in the middle of nowhere, trying to track down the man who’d taken the former president of the United States.

  Petty ran a hand through his thick brown hair and rubbed the back of his skull for a few seconds. He’d been staring at the computer screen for the last hour trying to piece together all the information he’d gathered so far.

  Sean Wyatt had disappeared, Petty believed, shortly after he’d arrived in Atlanta at the IAA headquarters. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could hold the employees there on. He’d questioned Tommy Schultz, his two assistants, even the guy working security in the lobby. None of them knew where Wyatt was. Petty and his team had scoured the security footage in the building; not that it mattered. Wyatt had been there, but he was long gone by now. He’d disappeared minutes before Petty had arrived, though he didn’t know how Wyatt got away. With his resources and his skill set, though, Wyatt could be on the other side of the country, or most likely, out of the country.

  His team was poring over footage from traffic cameras and every place they could find, but they’d come up empty so far. He’d even had a net put around the perimeter of Atlanta to catch Wyatt if he tried to get through, but it had come up with nothing.

  There were simply too many roads to cover.

  Wyatt wasn’t stupid enough to take a plane. That could be easily tracked. And he certainly wouldn’t have gone to Hartsfield International Airport. Too many eyeballs and too many cameras there, even with all the chaos the airport’s travelers could pose.

  He knew Wyatt wouldn’t go there.

  So, the question became which direction he would go.

  Southwest to Mexico? Maybe. It was certainly a possibility, though he doubted it. The Mexican border was easy enough to get through, but it was a long drive. Canada, too, was a possibility, but again, the lengthy drive through some major cities would make it difficult to go unnoticed. The Canadians, too, had fewer leaks in their border patrol. Petty considered Mexico a higher possibility, but there was also a third option.

  Sean might have decided to hide out somewhere in the mountains.

  Petty recalled the manhunt that had taken place when he was just getting going in the FBI. Eric Rudolph had been at the top of their most-wanted list for a long time. He’d been responsible for bombing abortion clinics and gay rallies across the Southeast. In 1996, he’d left an explosive at Centennial Olympic Park that ended up killing two people.

  Rudolph disappeared off the map and remained hidden for years. The man became something of a local legend in some ways, despite the fact he was a murderer.

  According to his testimony, there were several times when federal and local investigators were close to his location in the mountains. He’d been hiding in leaves, dirt, creeks, wherever he could find cover. His woodsman and outdoors skills had proved invaluable in thwarting any attempt to locate him.

  Eventually, he ran out of places to hide and was captured, but not after an incredible expense of both time and money.

  Sean Wyatt could probably pull off a similar disappearing act, if not better.

  Petty knew about some of Sean’s past. Much of what he did for the government was off the record, beyond Petty’s clearance level. Still, he could fill in the blanks. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen stuff that was wiped from the record books regarding a former operative.

  Sean had worked for Axis, a government entity that answered only to one office. Petty knew all too well he would get no answers from their mysterious director, Emily Starks. She essentially had no checks and balances, which made Petty dislike her all the more.

  There were days, of course, when he wished he could work that way, without the committees, the meetings, the bureaucracy dictating his every move. Maybe he was even a little jealous, though he’d never admit that to anyone.

  The fact was Sean was a trained killer, a maniac, someone that had made a name for himself after leaving Axis, turning from government asset to head of security for an archaeological agency.

  Petty still wasn’t sure what that meant or what it entailed, but he’d heard things. People had been killed, often abroad, sometimes here in the United States. Each and every time it was deemed in self-defense or swept under the rug. It was mind-boggling. How could someone have such immunity to laws, both foreign and domestic? He was virtually untouchable. The few times Wyatt had been arrested and put in jail, he was out within hours. No arraignment. No charges. Simply let go. How was that possible? Was he the pope undercover or something? Petty felt like he was taking crazy pills.

  Now Wyatt had kidnapped a former president. It was finally time to reel this loose cannon in and teach him a lesson, permanently. There would be no immunity for this one, no safe place he could hide. Sooner or later, Petty would find him.

  Wyatt’s friend, Tommy Schultz, had tried to cover up. He’d said the usual things a colleague or friend would say. “Sean wouldn’t do that. Why would he? He and Dawkins are close friends.” All of those things were Grade-A typical cover-up speak, and Petty could see right through it.

  He didn’t need a motive right now. He just needed to find Wyatt and the president.

  That was another component; innocent people don’t run. If Wyatt had done nothing wrong, he should have stuck around, let due process run its course and proved himself innocent.

  Petty rubbed his temples with his thumbs.

  He’d taken a chance going into the IAA building. The place was a labyrinth, full of halls, basements, secret rooms, all sorts of places to hide. He’d gone there hoping to get answers and maybe get lucky. He’d done neither.

  In fact, he had more questions now than before.

  Wyatt was on the run, which meant he’d ditched the president somewhere. Or did it? Hard to say.

  If Wyatt had been in Atlanta, though, that meant the president was probably close by unless Wyatt had come into town that day, leaving someone to watch Dawkins while he visited. But why visit?

  None of it made any sense.

  The part that confused Petty the most was the message he’d been sent.

  He’d received a tip from an unknown number via text message. The note had simply said, “President Dawkins has just been abducted by Sean Wyatt.”

  When Petty tried to call the number, it went straight to a nonexistent voice mail. He wondered, initially, if it was a hoax of some kind. He’d blown it off at first, but then the news came through the grapevine. Then everything changed. Petty went to work, tracking down everything he could find about Wyatt.

  They’d searched his home in Atlanta. Now he was on the outskirts of Chattanooga, Tennessee, at a cheap hotel on the way to Nashville.

  He’d been to Chattanooga once a long time ago on a family vacation. They’d visited the touristy places like Rock City and Ruby Falls. He’d been impressed b
y the town’s outdoorsy feel and the beautiful views from the mountains. The city even boasted the world’s fastest internet service. It was known as Gig City for being the first to have gigabit fiber-optic networks. Petty had to admit, he wished his internet service was that fast back in Washington.

  Still, he felt like he was in a backwater town. It wasn’t hard to feel that way. He came from the city, a place where politics, art, culture, and modern amenities were common. Maybe if he got into the downtown area or some of the trendy sections of the city he’d find more of that here, but he didn’t have time. He wasn’t on a vacation. He was trying to solve what was going to be one of the biggest cases, if not the biggest case, of his career.

  He stood up and walked across the room to the entertainment unit where a bottle of water sat on top. He looked at the courtesy card behind it and read what was printed on the surface: “Complimentary water.”

  It didn’t matter if it was free or not. He was there on the government dime. He twisted the cap and took several chugs. After he was done, he set the bottle back down and sighed.

  He needed a break. Not a vacation. Just a break in the case. Something had to give. Wyatt had taken a former president hostage, for crying out loud. That couldn’t be easy to hide. Someone had to have seen something.

  Petty’s mind drifted back to the text he’d received from the anonymous number. He’d actually called that number when he was at the IAA building, just to see if a nearby phone rang. Maybe it was one of Schultz’s assistants that sent him the text. The hunch had proved unfounded. There’d been no noise, not even a vibration. Petty knew it was a long shot anyway. Still, worth trying.

  He’d tried pinging the number, too, but that had come up empty. Whoever had sent him the text was intent on remaining anonymous. It was likely a burner phone, or perhaps the person knew the FBI could trace back to it so they either took the battery out or dropped it in a river. Who knew? Either way, the informant—if that’s what they were—was unreachable.