The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  Sean walked through the foyer, under a set of stairs going up to the second floor, and took in the cabin’s interior. The kitchen and dining area were to the left. There was a back door between the kitchen island and a small dining table. To the right were a couple of upholstered chairs that looked like leftovers from a 1970s garage sale, a brown faux leather couch, and a dark brown coffee table.

  “I’ll get the fire going,” Sean said. “You guys figure out where you want to sleep.”

  He noted the little bed in a corner near the stove. It was a double, barely large enough for one adult.

  “I’ll sleep upstairs,” Emily said. “There’s one bed and a futon. Either one of you can have the futon. Unless you wanted to share this double down here.”

  Sean bellowed. “That’s one way to get warm.”

  Emily cracked a smile.

  Tommy chuckled. “True.”

  Sean set to work stuffing newspaper, kindling, and a couple of smaller logs into the stove while Tommy wandered over to the back door and unlocked it. He stepped out onto the little porch and looked down the stairs. To the right, situated just beyond the boundary of the yard, a section of the forest had been cut back to provide a narrow trail. The path was unkempt, nearly allowed to be overcome by plant life. Tommy followed the trail about thirty feet into the woods where there was another, smaller building.

  “Is that a smokehouse back there?” Tommy asked when he returned, jerking his thumb outside. He pulled the door closed again and locked the deadbolt.

  Emily shook her head. “Sauna. My friend built this cabin with his own hands, his own money. Didn’t want to use banks. Doesn’t trust them. So, a few decades ago, he started saving up from month to month, putting some money aside to build this place. He wanted to be debt free and have his own home to live in. That’s exactly what he did.”

  “And he built a sauna.”

  Emily nodded. “He said in Scandinavia, particularly Finland, when they’re building a house the first thing they build is the sauna. So, that’s what he did. He has a funny story about bringing his wife here for the first time. The sauna was finished and operational, but the house still had a ways to go. If you meet him, get him to tell you about it some time.”

  “This friend,” Sean interrupted, “where is he now?”

  “He lives down in Big Fork, about forty…maybe forty-five minutes from here. Moved several years ago but kept this place. Probably sentimental reasons, but he claims it’s because he rents it out in the summer to tourists coming to visit the park. He used to be a park ranger out here. Did that job for thirty years before he retired. He’s been all over these mountains, the forests, knows every nook and cranny out in this wilderness. If you’re ever lost in Montana, my friend is the guy you need to be with.”

  “Sounds like this dude is some kind of survival rock star. What’s his name?”

  Emily flashed a wry grin.

  “Oh, come on. Why don’t you want us to know his name? You know I can find information like that pretty easily.”

  She shrugged and walked up the stairs. “Do it, then,” she said as she entered the bedroom and disappeared from view.

  Sean shook his head and looked back into the stove. The newspaper was burning brightly. The kindling, too, was flickering, licking the logs with hot yellow and orange flames. He watched it for a few more minutes, and once the wood was burning on its own he closed the door to the stove.

  “This thing will have the cabin warm and toasty in no time,” Sean said. There was more hope than fact in the statement.

  He held out his hands over the flat surface and let the new warmth seep into his skin. It wasn’t much. The temperature inside the cabin was at least in the mid-forties, though it could have been lower. From the looks of it, the place hadn’t been used in a while, probably not since the end of summer. A thin layer of dust coated some of the shelves, an old television that had rabbit-ear antennas sticking out of the top, and even the coffee table.

  Sean walked over to the kitchen and found a couple of candles, one on top of the counter and the other on the table. He took out two more matches, lit the one on the table first, then the one on the counter. Within seconds, the smell of balsam fir filled the room from the scented green wax.

  Emily came back down the stairs, her overcoat gone. She was now wearing a gray hoodie with an Atlanta Falcons logo on the front.

  “What’s your plan?” she asked. The question was as direct as she so often was.

  Sean appreciated that about her. No bull; just straightforward and upfront.

  Tommy held the letter in his hand and set it gently on the table. “Still not sure where we go next. The last part of this riddle is confusing. I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say we’re heading to the area around where Lewis and Clark stopped at the Pacific. Station Camp.”

  “That’s at the mouth of the Columbia River?” Sean figured he knew the answer but asked anyway.

  Tommy nodded. “Correct. And if we look at the last clue, it sure seems like the reference is congruent.”

  He pulled out his phone and set it on the table. Then he typed in a single word and tapped the search button.

  The internet connection was slow, and it took several seconds before the screen flickered and changed to a new one, a page full of results written in blue text. Tommy clicked the top one and then narrowed it to maps. When the map appeared, he used his thumb and forefinger to zoom out.

  Sean and Emily leaned over his shoulders, hovering low to see what he was looking at.

  “Astoria?” Sean asked. There was a splash of humor in his voice.

  The map on the display was of the area around the mouth of the Columbia River and the border between the states of Oregon and Washington.

  “Don’t worry,” Tommy said with a chuckle, “we’re not going looking for One-Eyed Willy’s treasure.”

  “You sure? Because that’s the place, you know.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Emily asked.

  Sean’s eyebrows pinched together. He almost looked insulted. “Seriously? Goonies? You never saw The Goonies?”

  “Oh. It’s…been a while. Like, I don’t know, thirty years?”

  “Goonies never say die, Em,” Tommy said. “Anyway, no. We’re not looking for pirate treasure. Not that I know of. Whatever Lewis found will be in this area here.” Tommy pointed at the map and used his finger to draw an imaginary circle.

  “You assume,” Sean said.

  Tommy’s head shook back and forth. “No. Take a look at the clue again. It talks about the last place they camped, the final camp. The secret is buried in a dark chamber—probably in a cave, knowing our luck—across the river to the southwest.” Tommy moved his finger across the inlet to a peninsula that jutted out into the water where the river met the ocean.

  Sean narrowed his eyes and peered at the name of the place on the map. “Fort Stevens?”

  Tommy nodded.

  “What is it?” Emily asked.

  “From the looks of it, I’d say it’s an old military installation,” Tommy said. “Doesn’t appear to still be in use.”

  “It isn’t,” Sean said. “It’s a state park now. No soldiers anymore.”

  Tommy and Emily both shared a glance. They knew better than to question Sean’s knowledge about things like that. Somehow, he had a penchant for obscure, arcane information. The history and current state of Fort Stevens fit that bill.

  “So…I guess this is where we go next?” Tommy asked.

  Sean nodded. “If this is the right place, we’ll have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. We’ll need to get some sleep, but I suggest we get out of here as early as possible. I doubt we’ll get to the coast before sunset.”

  “Agreed,” Tommy said. “So, Fort Stevens. That’ll be a new one for me.”

  Sean nodded and walked over to the futon. He plopped down on it and fluffed a pillow that was lying on one end.

  “I’m not going with you,” Emily said, looking over at Sean
as he propped up his legs on the couch. “If the Feds find me with you, they’ll charge me with aiding and abetting. I’ll be an accomplice. And while I want to get John back more than anything—”

  “You can’t risk it,” Sean finished her thought. “I know, Em. I know. Besides, you can’t do much good from behind prison bars, can you?”

  She looked crestfallen, her eyes dropping to the floor for a moment in dejection. “No. I can’t.” She shook her head. “I’ll do all I can remotely, but this is as far as I can go on this little mission. We had to get you out of Montana.”

  “I know,” Sean said with a wave of his right hand. “Petty is on our tail. I’ll take care of him when the time comes.”

  Emily didn’t like the sound of that, but Sean eased her mind by adding, “Not take care of, take care of.” He put a finger to his head, shaping his hand like a pistol and pulling the trigger to let his thumb fall like a hammer. “I mean as in I’ll make sure he understands everything that’s going on.”

  Somehow, that didn’t make her feel a ton better, but it would have to do for now.

  “Good night, you two,” she said. “See you in the morning.” Emily turned and started toward the stairs again.

  Sean closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “No, Em, you won’t.”

  39

  Annapolis

  Adriana watched closely as the night’s guards changed out with the morning shift. She’d been observing them for nearly two full days, watching their every move. She paid special attention to Admiral Winters. The man kept strange habits, though the systematic approach to his daily routine was to be expected for some of the things he did.

  He was a lifelong military man, which meant he’d settled into the rut of going to bed at a decent hour and waking up early. She’d observed his bedroom light going off at almost the same time the last two evenings, and as she’d anticipated, he’d woken up at the exact minute and hour both mornings. There was no need to wait around any longer to learn about his sleeping habits. That much was easy to figure.

  What she needed to know was whether or not Winters had a weakness she could exploit, a way to get inside his home without alerting the PSU guards that were constantly keeping watch.

  The sky overhead was clear, and the sun shone brightly. Snow covered the sidewalks, about two inches deep, while the streets were wet with mushy salt and remnants of the accumulation from the day before.

  Adriana’s car was at the corner of the street about a half block from the admiral's home. Based on the last two days of observation, she knew he would be leaving to go to his office in the next few minutes.

  There was, of course, a chance he could break routine and do something different, but that was unlikely. Men like him were creatures of habit, and they rarely did anything to change what was working. That systemic discipline had been ingrained in him. Going off script in the military could cost not only one life but many. That was the importance of following orders. Commanders usually made decisions based on the best data available, and ignoring that could have catastrophic results. It was easy to see why that mindset filtered into everyday military life.

  The morning guards took their places along the outside of the brick townhouse and assumed their stoic poses while the night patrol left for the day.

  By her count, Adriana noted two guards at the front of the home, one on either side of the steps leading up to the house. There were also two in the backyard, one at the gate and another at the top of the stairs going into the rear entrance. She’d seen two more enter and leave every time there was a changeover, which meant there was a total of six on patrol at any given moment.

  Not odds she liked but hardly insurmountable. The issue with these guards was that they were the best of the best of the best, the elite of a combination of military units that could do anything, take down anyone, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill if provoked.

  There were two more stationed in a townhouse across the street. She’d seen them come and go twice now; each time, the men gave a look toward Winters’s home that she easily identified as a check, a subtle way for them to make sure nothing was going on. So, there were eight total security guys on his detail. How many reinforcements were there? Double was a safe guess. And if any one of them called for backup, there would be a lot more than that on their way.

  Adriana knew she was running out of time. She had to get to Winters now. She sighed and looked in the rearview mirror. A postal Jeep was driving down the street. She’d noticed it the last couple of days. The vehicle would finish its route on this street, going straight through the intersection and all the way to the end. Then the postman would turn right, work his way down the next road, and then come back through this area on the perpendicular street, hitting the side Winters’s house was on before going back down the opposite direction.

  Adriana watched the Jeep approach, stopping, starting, and doing it all over again with every mailbox it reached. There were cars along the street in front of and behind her, which forced the postal worker to get out at every address, take the mail up to the entrance of the home, and deposit it in their mailbox or through the delivery slot.

  It was a thankless job. Adriana didn’t envy it in the slightest, though it did give her an idea. Today, the postman wasn’t a man at all. It was a postwoman. The lady was white with red hair and a pale, freckled complexion. Adriana picked up every last detail of the woman as she drew nearer. As luck would have it, she was about Adriana’s size and height.

  The idea wasn’t one Adriana liked. Then again, she didn’t have much choice. It was her only in, the only one she could think of. This was her chance, possibly the last one, to get into Winters’s home and have a nice little chat with the man.

  The problem with that would be the men across the street would know what was going on. They’d see her approach the house, whether in disguise or not. That meant she’d have to take them out first.

  She looked back in the mirror at the postal worker as the woman climbed out of her Jeep and trudged through the slippery snow, and up a short flight of stairs. She rang the doorbell and set a box, along with a stack of envelopes and magazines, on the welcome mat before turning around and walking back down.

  Adriana moved her car a little farther down the street, parked along the curb, and resumed watching the postal worker as she continued her stop-and-go deliveries.

  The woman parked again, got out, and went up another flight of stairs to a home with a bright red brick façade. Adriana decided to move. She was running out of time and didn’t have the luxury of waiting forever. She’d have to make her play now.

  She looked in the back of her vehicle for something she could use to gently knock the woman out, but all she had with her was a few changes of clothes and a bag full of weapons. Most of the weapons in the rucksack were nonlethal, guns she’d picked up from Helen that packed a heavy electrical charge but wouldn’t kill a human being.

  There were, of course, a few standard firearms—just in case. Adriana didn’t want to use any of those on this innocent postal worker. This woman checked in to her job to deliver the mail and drive a little white Jeep around the city in all manner of weather. The last thing she thought about when she woke up this morning was that some stranger was going to render her unconscious, take her uniform, and run off with her vehicle.

  One of those thoughts brought an idea.

  She slipped out of the car and eased the door shut, then took off at a brisk walk down the side of the street, skipping between a couple of cars parked behind hers so she could use the sidewalk.

  Just ahead, the mailwoman climbed into her Jeep and stepped on the gas. The engine groaned a gravelly tenor sound until she stepped on the brakes again another twenty feet ahead. There were multiple mailboxes at the next home. Adriana watched as the lady gathered two stacks of mail and a couple of cardboard shipping boxes.

  Right when the postal worker stepped out of her Jeep and onto the sidewalk, Adriana deftly cut to the right a
nd back onto the street. She watched carefully as the mailwoman took the letters to the steps and started her ascent. Now Adriana hurried, running quickly to the back of the Jeep. She peered through the rear window and saw what she hoped would be there.

  Hanging on a bar that stuck out from the driver-side cabin was another postal uniform.

  Adriana swallowed and grabbed the latch. She hoped it was unlocked but didn’t expect it to be. She took another look at the woman delivering the mail. She was nearly at the top of the steps and completely focused on the task at hand. She was being careful not to drop the boxes or any of the letters, but the battle was quickly being lost as one of the smaller boxes teetered on the edge of another.

  Adriana tugged down on the latch and was relieved to find the door swung open. She reached in and took the uniform off the hanger, then started to close the door. She froze when she heard a slapping sound. Wincing, she peeked around the corner of the Jeep and saw the postal worker picking up some of the envelopes and one of the boxes she’d dropped on the top step.

  The woman turned her backside toward Adriana. The Spaniard quickly reached into the mail truck and grabbed a few envelopes. No sense in worrying about a federal crime now.

  With another nervous swallow, Adriana shut the door silently and turned the latch back up to secure it. She skirted around the edge of the Jeep and crouched low, pretending to tie her shoe. A red SUV drove by on the other side of the street. Once the vehicle was a safe distance away, she drew a knife from her belt and stabbed the front-left tire in the sidewall. She jerked the knife out of the rubber, shoved it back in its sheath, and stood again as air spewed from the fresh wound.

  The damage would set back the mailwoman’s progress by at least an hour, possibly even ruin her day, but it was an acceptable form of collateral damage and far better than knocking the woman out to steal her Jeep. This way, no one got hurt.

  Adriana took off at a steady walk, rolling up the uniform as she moved. By the time she was at the vehicle in front of the Jeep, the new clothes were tightly rolled and tucked under her armpit so the mailwoman couldn’t see them.