The Omega Project

by Ernest Dempsey

  “He’s telling the truth,” Tommy said. “We’re trying to—”

  “Shut up.” Petty’s weapon shook in his hands. The man was clearly tired and frustrated. “I’m going to give you three seconds.”

  “You’re not listening, Agent,” Sean said, taking his chance to cut the gunman off. “Someone took Dawkins, but it wasn’t me. Someone was posing as me in that video. I was framed.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know. But if you are who you say you are, then you know that I am friends with Dawkins. And you also know I served our country with honor. I’ve never committed a crime in my life. Think about it, Agent Petty. None of this makes sense. You have to see that.”

  Petty searched Sean’s eyes for the truth. He was an expert in being able to tell when someone was lying simply from their body language and in the way their eyes moved, twitched, or darted nervously. Even the subtlest, almost unnoticeable flinch could be detected by Petty’s honed expertise. He saw no lie in Sean’s eyes, though he wasn’t fully convinced yet.

  Petty had his doubts. He’d been unconvinced that Sean was the one behind the president’s abduction. Now, here Wyatt was with his friend Tommy Schultz. Were they working together in this whole scheme? Or was there something else at play? Petty kept his weapon trained on Sean’s chest, though his finger relaxed on the trigger, just slightly.

  “Why are you here?” Petty asked. “Why did you run? If you didn’t do anything wrong, it sure seems strange that you’re trying to get away.”

  “You wouldn’t do the same thing if you were falsely accused?” Sean’s question carried weight with it. He’d worked for the government before, been trained in many ways just like Petty. Sean knew how he would have viewed things if the situation was reversed. “Look, if I was in your shoes, I’d have the same doubts,” Sean said in his calmest tone. “But if we took Dawkins, what would we be doing out here? And ask yourself this: Was there a ransom demand? Whoever took Dawkins wants something, but they didn’t tell the public what that was. Has the FBI or anyone else been alerted to some kind of demands?”

  “No,” Petty said. He couldn’t hide the reservations in his voice. It cracked—and showed his hand.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Tommy said. “Whoever took Dawkins is looking for something, something very old.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Sean said. “Look in our eyes, Matthew.” Sean risked using the man’s first name. “If we had the president, we’d be hidden in a bunker somewhere or in a cave in the mountains. But we’re not. We’re here, in Oregon, at an old military installation, trying to solve a mystery.”

  “Why? Why would you be doing that when you’re the most wanted man in the country right now? Why risk that?” Petty’s face was grave, determined to root out the answer to the question he’d been asking himself the last few days.

  “Because the people who took Dawkins demanded it.”

  Petty’s expression softened. He listened as Sean explained what had happened with the video, the message from the mysterious kidnappers, and the letter from former president James Madison. Sean told the short tale of how they’d come to figure out the first location that was mentioned in the letter, why he ventured to North Dakota, Montana, and now the Oregon coast. He also was sure to let Petty know that Tommy had nothing to do with this, that he was innocent and had found Sean after he’d left Atlanta. That didn’t matter to Petty, Sean knew. Schultzie was an accomplice now, at least in most lawmen’s eyes. He was just as guilty as Sean as far as they were concerned.

  Petty listened intently until Sean was finished with his tale that had served to land them all here at this mysterious bunker in Fort Stevens State Park. When Sean was done, the room fell silent once more, and the three men stood there in a stalemate of words.

  Petty drew a long breath and exhaled through his nose. He abruptly lowered his weapon and gave a nod. “I believe you,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean much.”

  “You do?” Tommy sounded hopeful.

  “You’re right,” Petty admitted. “None of it makes any sense. The motive for any kidnapping is usually pretty clear. It’s usually for money, but sometimes for revenge. Either way, it’s always to satisfy some personal desire. Yet here you are, in a bunker in Oregon, looking for something, just like you seem to always be doing with your jobs, whatever those might be.”

  Tommy allowed a little chuckle to rise from his chest. “We get that a lot.”

  “Anyway, I knew something was fishy. The diner in North Dakota, the dead man in the parking lot in Billings; nothing added up. The diner, though, really gave it away for me. No way would a guilty person, trying to avoid being recognized, have helped out in that situation. That’s not what a criminal does.”

  Sean said nothing, but his head dipped slightly, acknowledging the comment.

  “So,” Petty said after a moment of consideration, “what are you two doing out here? And where is Dawkins?”

  “We don’t know the answer to the second one, Agent Petty,” Sean confessed.

  “Call me Matt.”

  “I was told I had one week to figure out the riddle in a letter from James Madison. If we could decipher it and find whatever it’s alluding to, the kidnappers said they would let Dawkins go.” Sean said the last few words with a dense layer of regret. “Of course, we know the second we deliver whatever it is we find they’ll kill us, and President Dawkins, too.”

  Petty nodded. “That’s how it usually goes. What is it you two are looking for?”

  Sean sighed, a little embarrassed. “Actually, we don’t know for sure.” He held up one hand. “Mind if I reach in my pocket? Not armed.”

  “Sure,” Petty said.

  Sean pulled out a section of the golden ring. Tommy produced a similar piece. The shiny yellow metal glimmered in the sunshine that filtered through the windows, causing the gold to glint and flash.

  “Wait,” Petty said. “You two don’t know what it is you’re looking for here?”

  Tommy and Sean cast a sidelong glance at each other. “No, sir,” Tommy said. “The letter isn’t clear about it, only that it’s dangerous. President Madison seemed pretty spooked by it.”

  Petty looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time since arriving. “And…you think it’s here, on an old military site?”

  “I’ve been considering that,” Sean said. “Based on what we learned from the letter, whatever is here…the thing that Meriwether Lewis found…spooked him enough that he didn’t relay his report to the president for a couple of years. In fact, he waited until after Jefferson was out of office to give his full report to the new president, James Madison.”

  “Hold on a second,” Petty said, putting up a hand. “Meriwether Lewis? As in, the Lewis and Clark expedition?”

  “The very same,” Tommy confirmed.

  Petty sighed and scratched his head. “So, what is it exactly that you’re saying, guys? That someone kidnapped the former president, and they did it to make you run some errand across the country, figuring out a two-hundred-year-old riddle from one of the Founding Fathers? All so this mystery person can have whatever it is that Meriwether Lewis discovered?”

  “Yeah,” Sean said.

  “Pretty much,” Tommy voiced the words almost at the same time.

  “So…it must be pretty valuable, then.”

  “Or powerful,” Tommy corrected. “Meriwether Lewis was a strong guy, young and healthy when he died. The circumstances surrounding his death were vague, pretty sketchy actually. Historians don’t agree on how he died—whether it was suicide or murder. I believe that someone was after what was in his reports. They must have known or heard about what he found and wanted it for themselves.”

  “But what could be so powerful, so terrifying? I mean, if it was just a huge gold stash, that would be something you’d want to keep secret. But afraid of it?”

  “A weapon,” Sean said.

  The other two focused on
him. He looked back into their eyes, his icy gaze unrelenting.

  “It would have to be a weapon,” he reiterated. “Or something that could be made into one.”

  “That’s why the military built Fort Stevens,” Tommy said. “I mean sure, there were other strategic reasons, but why not get two for one?”

  “Exactly,” Sean agreed. “And whatever that reason is, we think it’s right below us.”

  Each man’s head dipped, and they all stared at the wooden floorboards.

  43

  Annapolis

  Adriana woke to a pounding in the side of her head. Her skull felt heavy, and she sensed gravity pulling on it harder than usual. She engaged her neck muscles and tried to raise her head, but she was like a bobble head doll, her skull seemingly moving on its own, wherever the spinning Earth carried it.

  Her eyes cracked open, but she quickly shut them again as a blinding light pierced her pupils. She squinted to keep the light out until her vision could adjust. She felt something hard against her back, the primary source of the pressure pushing against her shoulder blades. She couldn’t move her hands and arms, and soon realized they were tied behind her back. Her feet, too, were bound to a chair. The duct tape cut into her skin just above the ankles.

  She attempted to open her eyes again. Slowly, they lifted, dragging across her eyeballs like sandpaper. She blinked at the pain, which only enhanced it until the orbs were well lubricated. Even then, the bright light hurt, cutting into her vision for another ten seconds until they adjusted.

  “She’s awake.”

  A man’s voice. Who was it? Was it familiar? She couldn’t tell at first. The room was still hazy and still tilted to the left, dragging everything in her field of vision with it. She saw the outline of a figure straight ahead, standing near a window. Yes, a window. Her surroundings were becoming clearer and every second brought a bit more clarity.

  Adriana was in a house, but where? She glanced to the right, not daring to move her head too quickly for fear she’d aggravate the dizziness all over again.

  Another figure appeared by the window. He’d come through a door just to the left. She turned away again, quickly taking inventory of the room.

  It was the first thing she’d been trained to do as a child on her initial visit to the ninja school. She noted the wooden writing desk to her right. There was no chair, but she figured the one that belonged to the workstation was the one she was strapped to. There were pictures on the wall. Seeing the faces was still difficult, but she recognized some of those nearest her position. There were diplomats, politicians, military leaders. Then it all came back to her.

  Admiral Winters.

  She saw him standing next to the former president. It was at some highly official Washington gathering, probably a fund-raiser or perhaps some kind of gala that was simply put on to entertain the nation’s elites.

  He was smiling broadly in the photo, arms around the president and some other military adviser. The grin on the admiral’s face appeared to be fake, or maybe that was just her suspicion overriding her usually sound judgment.

  “So, you’re back. Wonderful.” A new voice cut into her thoughts, and she snapped her head around.

  The room spun again but only for a moment. That was good. Whatever they’d done to her was wearing off—although the pain thumping from just above her left ear made her think the only thing they’d done was hit her on the head. Then she remembered what happened. She’d been struck with something hard. A pistol? That seemed right.

  She looked straight ahead into the eyes of Admiral Winters. The man was wearing a United States Navy windbreaker and a pair of khakis. His hands were behind his back, and he rose up onto his tiptoes, then lowered himself back down.

  “I have to say,” Winters began, “I’m a little surprised you were able to take down four of my guards so easily.” Winters turned and glanced at the door. One of the other guards, probably from the back of the house or maybe one of the ones stationed inside. Didn’t matter to her. If they knew about the admiral’s plans, they were going to die. She’d make sure of that. No more pulse pistols or electrocutions. The plan began to formulate in her mind even as the haze continued to clear.

  “Obviously, they’ll be relieved of their duties immediately. Can’t have amateurs around. I’d end up dead.” He bellowed a laugh and slapped both hands against the sides of his legs. Then he raised them and folded them across his chest. A stern look plastered itself onto his face. His eyes burned with anger.

  “What did you think you were going to do here?” he asked, indignant. “Were you going to come in here and kill me? Did you think you could get information out of me? Is that it?” He leaned forward. She could smell the liquor on his breath mingled with the ashy scent of cigars.

  She looked away as if in disgust, but it was to continue doing recon on the room. The floor was hardwood. She’d already noted that. The walls were painted with stripes; cream and hunter green. It was a tad ostentatious for her, but she didn’t hate it. The drywall stopped about three feet from the floor where white shiplap paneling took over and ran to the skirtings below.

  There were two guards at the door now. She recounted how many there were before. Two across the street, two in front of the house, two in back, two inside. Eight. Where were the other six? That didn’t matter at the moment. She’d find them soon enough. She also figured no cops had been called. She would be in the back of a squad car or in a cell if that was the case. No, Winters had no intention of sending her to prison or letting her face charges. He was going to handle this the old-fashioned way, the way dirty Washington had discreetly taken care of problems for so long.

  “Don’t feel like saying much?” Winters asked. He stepped forward and grabbed Adriana by the chin, tilting her head back. “You’re foreign, aren’t you? Not from America. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re Bosnian? Serbian, maybe?”

  She jerked her head away and immediately wished she hadn’t, though the spinning only lasted a couple of seconds.

  “Where is John Dawkins?” Adriana snarled. She looked like a caged lion, ready to pounce on its prey and rip the unwitting victim from limb to limb.

  She didn’t strain against her bonds, though, for fear she’d give away her next move. Adriana had already formulated a plan. Now she just had to keep this moron talking.

  He shook his head again. “Oh, that.” He stiffened and let go of her chin with one last pinch. “Did you think he was here? I assure you, sweetheart, he’s not. You must have thought I would be stupid enough to bring the former president into my home against his will. John Dawkins is far away from here, and once you’re out of the picture there will be no one else who can tie me to his abduction. You’re the last loose end, sugar.” He said the word with obvious pleasure, fully aware that it annoyed her as much as when he called her sweetheart.

  “Well, me and Sean.”

  Another derisive snort from the admiral. “Sean? That’s cute. Right about now he’s being corralled by my team.” He read the look on her face. “Oh, not to worry. Sean and his friend will take my guys right to the Omega Stone, and when they do Sean will die. Maybe you two can meet up somewhere else—if you believe in that kind of thing.”

  Adriana did believe in an afterlife. She also had no intention of going there just yet. Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  The admiral’s eyebrows tightened. “What’s that?”

  “Your men, the ones with Sean? They’re already dead.” She paused, letting him lean in a few more inches. “Just like you.”

  Before he could say anything else, Adriana planted her feet on the floor, pushed hard through her toes, and drove her body up. Her forehead was aimed perfectly. She dipped her head slightly and struck the target with devastating force, all within a fraction of a second.

  The admiral’s nose crunched, the bone snapping and shattering beneath the soft tissue. He screamed and grabbed his face as the momentum from the blow sent him s
tumbling backward.

  Adriana flew nearly two feet into the air, remarkable considering she was tied to a chair. Then she let gravity work for her. She dropped like a bomb—right toward Winters.

  The admiral’s backside hit the floor, and his head whipped back, smacking against the hard surface. The blow dazed him and a dull pain in the back of his skull mingled with that already pulsing in his nose.

  His face and hands were covered in blood a nanosecond before the legs of the chair struck both sides of his torso. The wooden edges that had seemed so benign before now tore through the fatty flesh on his sides, ripping through skin and tissue on their way to the surface below.

  When the chair’s feet hit the floor, the bolts holding the legs in place strained. They didn’t give way, but the wood around them did. The chair snapped and splintered. Adriana’s hands were still tied behind her back and her legs were still bound, but they’d been loosed when the chair broke. She noted a tear in the duct tape and stepped on it, lifting the other leg free to rip the remaining strip.

  In the same motion, she dropped back down to the ground, twisting and snatching a splintered piece of wood from the debris surrounding the admiral. She stopped, the sharp point of the fractured chair a mere inch over the groaning man’s Adam’s apple.

  The entire maneuver had taken less than three seconds.

  The guards had made the mistake of facing each other, perhaps to engage in some silent conversation or speculation as to what they were going to do with this prisoner before, or maybe after, she was dead.

  That had been Adriana’s cue, her momentary opening of which she took full advantage.

  The guards’ reaction had been quick, but by the time they’d realized what happened and drawn their weapons, it was already too late.

  “Shoot me, he dies. Understand?” she asked in a clear, concise, and pointed voice.

  Underneath the stake in her hands, the admiral writhed, still clutching his bloody nose. Thick crimson liquid continued to seep through the cracks in his fingers. It pooled on the dark wooden floor under his back as well, the wounds on his sides also oozing.