“Wyatt killed him?”
Petty shook his head. “No. I doubt it. The coroner was initially calling it a result of natural causes, that the guy died from an aneurysm.”
“And you don’t buy that?”
“No, sir. And I don’t think Wyatt killed him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I went to the coroner’s office. The examiner said that what they found inside the man’s skull was unlike anything they’d ever seen. It looked as though a minuscule explosive had detonated in his brain. It mangled the brain tissue, sir. Killed the victim almost instantly.”
Hollis took a long breath. “Who was he?”
“That’s the messed-up part about all of this, sir. He was CIA.”
32
Browning
Sean had never wanted a snow shovel in his life. He’d never needed one, either. Living in the South meant only facing a few inches of snow every year, and that was during a banner season. Usually, the snow melted within forty-eight hours and didn’t require extensive shoveling, blowing, or plowing.
As he scraped away swaths of powder at the base of the rock column, he wished he had a snow shovel more than ever.
He and Tommy had been at the tedious task for nearly an hour, sweeping away the snow with their arms and boots, digging into the drifts in search of a rock that was, as the Madison letter suggested, out of place. After a grueling amount of work, however, they’d come up empty, and Sean was beginning to wonder if they were in the right place. Worse, he wondered, had the sign they were supposed to be looking for been removed long ago?
That was one of the biggest battles when it came to finding ancient artifacts. Everyone knew about grave robbers, crypt thieves, or treasure hunters that stumbled onto old ruins and started snooping around. The great pyramids in Egypt were one of the more famous instances where historians believed thieves broke in and stole the priceless treasures within before they could be examined, cataloged, and either studied or displayed in museums.
Sean doubted that’s what happened here on the prairies of Montana, but it was certainly possible. The area was teeming with history. From military engagements to the famous expedition of the Corps of Discovery to the cultures that held this land sacred for so long, Montana was still a land of mystery.
“Maybe we need to go back to Browning and get some tools,” Tommy said, breaking the silence the two had been working in for nearly the entire time.
“I thought about that,” Sean said. He planted his hands on his hips and breathed heavily. He was thirsty, and the cold air scraped the lining of his throat as he breathed in through both his nose and mouth. The dry air seemed to suck the moisture out of them, much like the two had experienced in deserts around the world.
He reached down and took the water bottle from the mesh side pouch on his gear bag. The liquid was getting thick inside and was on the verge of turning to ice. Sean downed the remaining contents quickly. He flinched at the icy cold splashing down his throat, but he knew if he didn’t drink it now it would be frozen in the next fifteen minutes. Maybe sooner.
Tommy saw his friend finish his water and decided that was a good idea. He grabbed his bottle out of his rucksack and drank it greedily. When he was done, he wiped a few droplets from his mouth with the back of his glove and stuffed the empty bottle back into his bag.
“It has to be here,” Tommy said.
“It really doesn’t,” Sean retorted. “Someone might have moved it a long time ago. Or maybe we’re in the wrong spot.”
He shared his thoughts from before even though he knew his friend was probably thinking the same thing.
“Could be,” Tommy agreed reluctantly.
They’d made good progress considering the circumstances. With nothing more than their arms and legs to clear away the snow, it might well have taken much longer had the snow been a little wet or packed down harder. Still, they had turned up nothing.
Sean took a few steps over to the base of the column and braced his hand against it, using the rock tower as both support and as a shield from the brutal wind. It was easily two degrees warmer in the shadow of the rock plinth. He looked up again at the outcropping shooting up twenty feet into the air with its odd overhang jutting out at the top. Standing underneath it, he realized he had a different perspective on the tower. He lowered his eyebrows, afraid his eyes were playing tricks on him after being out in the whitewashed prairie for so long.
His breathing slowed.
“What is that?” Sean asked, pointing up to the roof over his head.
Tommy looked at his friend and then followed his gaze up to the rock overhang. When he realized what it was that caught Sean’s attention, his eyes drifted back to his friend.
“I hope that we’re not supposed to try getting up there,” Tommy said.
Sean nodded with a grave expression. Then he turned to his friend with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Afraid of heights now, Schultzie?”
Tommy guffawed. “In this cold? On that rock? Yeah. Because I know we don’t have the gear to do it.”
“No free climbing?”
Sean had watched Tommy attempt a few free climbs back when they were in college. He’d never gone very high, but certainly higher than Sean was ever willing to go without a harness and rope.
Sean recalled what happened to one of his friends from high school when he was screwing around on a fairly tall climb on top of Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga. The guy had gone up about thirty feet on a ninety-foot rock wall when his fingers slipped on a ledge. Gravity pulled him back to the trail below where he landed on a boulder.
His pelvis was shattered, several vertebrae and other bones were broken, and he had a severe concussion. He lived, but Sean knew much of his life after that incident would be wrapped around pain and taking medications to ease that pain. Fortunately, Sean didn’t believe they were going to have to attempt something so foolish in this biting winter cold.
Under the rock ceiling overhead was a section of stone that appeared to be black. Not dark enough to stand out at first glance, which was why he hadn’t seen it before. The rock was faded, almost to more of a charcoal-gray color. The rest of the stone surrounding it was more of a light gray.
Sean traced a line back onto the tower and then ran down it to the base of the formation to a place where he and Tommy had missed. The snow there was piled up about two feet high, blown by the hard winds from the prairies.
Sean shuffled over to the spot where he’d drawn his imaginary line then got down on his hands and knees and started swiping away at the powder anew.
Tommy stepped over to him and hovered for a moment, looking down at his friend as he cleaned away another spot. “You think this is where it might be?”
Sean didn’t answer at first as he frantically cleared sheets of snow, carving out a wide circle until the dirt, grass, and rocks underneath were exposed. He stood up and let out a series of gasps, trying to catch his breath. He wiped his nose with the back of his glove for what must have been the hundredth time and then nodded.
“Yeah, I do.” He pointed down at the ground. “It’s going to be too hard to dig through, though, so we’re going to have to go back into town and get some tools.”
“You thinking shovels, a couple of mattocks, that sort of thing?”
Sean nodded. “I wish we could use something more powerful, but if there’s another artifact underground here, the last thing we need to do is risk damaging it.”
Tommy gazed out onto the prairie. A dark surge of clouds was heading their way, filling the void between the pasture and the sky above. That meant more snow was coming, though he couldn’t tell from which way.
“We better hurry, then,” Tommy said. “Time’s not on our side, and neither is the weather, so it would seem.”
Sean agreed, and the two hiked cautiously back up to their vehicle and got inside. The warmth from the cabin had dissipated long ago, and the only immediate relief the interior offered was a break from the inc
essant wind.
Sean turned the key and the engine groaned to life. Cool air began to pour out of the vents at first, but would warm within a few minutes. He flipped on the heated seats by way of a little rolling switch in the center console. Then he put the vehicle into reverse, backed up using the rear camera display on the dashboard, and when he was lined up with the tracks from before, shifted into drive and plowed ahead through the snow.
Tommy used his phone to locate a hardware store in the middle of town while Sean drove. The trip back into town didn’t take long, and they were able to find the little hardware place with ease.
It wasn’t much, a small mom-and-pop place with a tin roof overhang on the sidewalk out front and green beams supporting it. There was little to no organization inside. Tools were haphazardly thrown together along with every manner of parts, screws, nails, bolts, nuts, washers, and a wide assortment of electrical equipment.
Fortunately, Sean noticed the digging tools in the back of the building and beelined it to them. He selected a couple of their shovels with wooden handles and two mattocks to help break through the frozen tundra.
Sean had done his share of digging back when he was in high school and college. Nine years of working in lawn care and landscaping taught him how to pick and use the best tools for the job, digging being one of those.
Southeastern Tennessee presented a variety of challenges when it came to digging a hole. The red clay made the task difficult, and it was always worsened with the many rocks and roots that could be expected within the soil. While he’d have preferred to grab one of the power tools that would quicken the job at hand, he knew it was too risky. He’d considered that before and knew that if they somehow damaged the next piece of the puzzle, it could throw off everything and leave President Dawkins dangling in the wind.
Manual tools were the only ones they could reliably control. It would just take a lot longer to penetrate the frozen earth. It was still late fall, technically, so the worst winter months were yet to come. That’s what Sean told himself as he walked to the front of the store where the checkout counter was located. The reality was it very well could be frozen through a good section of soil. He shook off the thought.
The shop clerk was an older man. He had narrow eyes pinched together by thick skin above and below them. His ruddy complexion was framed by a gray beard speckled with patches of snow white that matched his hair. He wore a red-and-black flannel coat and a pair of khaki work pants. The man was shorter than Sean but of a stouter build, probably twenty pounds heavier.
“Doin’ some diggin’ out there today?” the clerk asked in a friendly voice. His tone was heavy, and it bellowed throughout the store with a hint of what linguists called the Rocky Mountain dialect.
“Yes, sir. Just doing a little work for a friend.” Sean tried to pass off their awaiting chore, though he wasn’t lying. Every step they took was a step closer to helping free John Dawkins.
The man’s brow wrinkled with three deep lines cutting through the skin. “Doesn’t sound like a very good friend, making you dig holes in this kind of weather. Most people around these parts get that kind of work done before the snow returns.”
“Yes, well, he’s not always thinking ahead.” Sean tried to play along, but he could sense this guy was a talker. He imagined few people came into this hardware store, maybe a dozen in an entire day. Since arriving ten minutes ago, Sean hadn’t seen anyone else. He placed four twenty-dollar bills on the counter as the guy lifted the tag on one of the tools and began entering the dollar amount.
“Yeah, it’s been a cold one, though this is just the beginning. I guess you boys don’t get winters like this back where you’re from.” He eyed Sean suspiciously.
Tommy joined him at the counter and felt a flutter cut through his chest. “Where we’re from?”
The man chuckled. “There it is.” He jabbed a finger at Tommy. “You two are from the South, aren’t ya?”
“Yes, sir,” Sean said. There was no point in fighting it. He doubted this guy would make them for the fugitives they were. Then again, Sean might as well throw him off the scent. “Mississippi. Starkville.” He hated lying, but there was no sense letting this guy accidentally connect the dots if he happened to see their faces on the news.
“Oh, way down there. Yeah, I doubt you two get much of the white stuff down that way.” The guy finished ringing up the total.
Sean noted the amount on the display and then pushed the four bills across the counter to the clerk. He’d estimated correctly.
The clerk looked at the twenty-dollar bills, scooped them up, and hit another button on the old register. It dinged, and the till slid open with a thud and a jingle of coins. He put the money inside, counted their change, and deposited it in Sean’s palm.
“Thank you,” Sean said, suddenly eager to get out of the store before the older guy could start up further conversation.
Sean and Tommy both just wanted to get out of the building and, ironically, back to the frigid seclusion of the prairie. The last thing they needed to do was linger long enough for this guy to recognize them. Even with their altered appearances, it wouldn’t be a stretch for someone to connect the dots.
Something caught Sean’s eye behind the clerk’s right shoulder. His eyes narrowed. The skin on his brow crinkled. His heart beat faster in his chest.
Unconsciously, he reached out and tugged on Tommy’s coat sleeve. His friend’s head snapped toward him.
“What?” Tommy asked.
“Hey, I forgot. There’s one more tool we need.” He turned back to the clerk. The old man’s head tilted up as he took his eyes off the register.
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. You don’t happen to have a manually operated auger, do you?”
“An auger?” The man scratched his beard and then nodded. “Yeah, I think we have a few of those in the back. I’ll go check.”
Tommy’s eyebrows clenched together as he looked at his friend.
Sean fired a quick trust me glance his way.
“Tommy, you know which one we need. Would you mind going back there with him? I need to check my list real quick.” Sean fumbled for his phone as if that was where this mythical list existed.
“Sure,” Tommy said. His voice betrayed the fact that he had no idea what Sean was up to or even which auger he was talking about. Tommy had never used a tool like that before, and it was evident in the confusion on his face, but he trusted Sean. He knew that when Sean gave him that look, it meant just shut up and play along.
The cashier waddled around the counter. He motioned for Tommy to follow him while Sean stood at the counter and watched until they were out of sight.
Once they were gone, Sean rechecked every corner, every seam in the ceiling where it met the wall. There were no cameras, as he’d confirmed upon walking into the place, but he prided himself on being extremely careful. He hurried around the other side of the counter, worked his way around the stool behind the register, and stared at the items on the wall that had caught his attention.
He looked back down the empty aisle directly behind him. No sign of the others. He could hear the old man telling Tommy about the small selection of augers they had and the benefits of each one.
Sean returned his gaze to the wall and the things hanging to the left of the window at shoulder level.
There, on the wall, hung a section of the golden ring. It was hanging from two nails driven into the drywall. Next to it, an aged newspaper clipping displayed a picture of a younger version of the cashier. Sean’s eyes read the paragraph quickly. He learned that the humble hardware store owner had hit a stroke of luck one day while using his metal detector out at Camp Disappointment. Historians were baffled at the strangely shaped piece of gold. None seemed to know its origin, why it was there, or why it had been cut into that particular form.
The man in the image was holding up the piece for the camera, a proud grin on his face and a metal detector propped up with his other hand.
&nbs
p; Sean glanced back down the aisle again. It sounded like the old man’s sales pitch was coming to an end. They’d be back up front in seconds.
Inside Sean’s mind, a battle raged. He couldn’t steal the gold. It was something this old man was proud of, something he’d kept for years as what was probably his greatest find in what must have been hundreds of fruitless metal-detecting ventures.
But this was the piece Sean and Tommy needed. Without it, Dawkins would die. He doubted the old man would understand their predicament. Even if Sean laid it all out on the table, he doubted the guy would be sympathetic.
Then again, Sean couldn’t be a thief. Not to a good person like this store owner. For all Sean knew, the guy might be hanging onto it to pass down to his kids or grandkids. It might even be part of some retirement plan where he wanted to sell it.
Sean sighed. He couldn’t do it. Not even with Dawkins’s life on the line. He’d have to go the only way he knew. He’d tell the shop owner the truth.
33
Billings
Petty pictured the director shifting in his leather chair, sitting up straighter and maybe even leaning forward a bit to make sure he’d just heard correctly.
“Did you just say you think this man was CIA?” Hollis asked.
“No, sir. I didn’t say I think that. I know he was. I ran a check on him. He was definitely CIA.”
“Well, what in the blue blazes was he doing out there in Billings? And why on earth was he talking to Wyatt?”
“That’s assuming they did bump into each other.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assumption, Agent Petty. Wyatt and Schultz walk out of a restaurant; a guy ends up dead in the parking lot a few minutes later. Seems like their MO to me. And by the way, I thought we checked on Schultz. Isn’t he supposed to be out of the country or something?”
The Omega Project Page 26
