Sean’s arms swung hard at his sides. His breath came in quick gasps, lungs burning from the cold, damp air. His legs were like Jell-O now, but he didn’t stop. A gust of wind changed course and smacked him across the face with a low-hanging fir branch. The stinging pain sent a momentary fury through Sean’s mind and body, but he maintained his course, closing the gap with Boyd: forty yards, thirty, twenty, almost there.
Boyd turned his head to look back over his shoulder again, and that’s when he caught his first glimpse of Sean. Had he looked five seconds before, even three, he might have avoided what happened next. Sean lowered his shoulder like a pro football linebacker and launched himself. His shoulder dug into the man’s ribcage, arms wrapping around like a vice as Sean drove Boyd into the ground.
Boyd gasped for breath. The tackle had knocked the wind out of him, but he was alert enough to react when Sean rolled over him and tried to straddle his torso. Boyd slung his elbow around and struck Sean in the side of the head. The grip so tightly held by Sean’s knees against Boyd’s sides eased, and Boyd was able to rock back, push up with hands and feet, and send Sean sprawling head over heels into the muddy grass behind him.
Sean hit the ground with a splat. He grimaced against the throbbing pain on the side of his head, put his hands down into the mud, and tried to get up. Boyd had rolled over onto his stomach and was still heaving, trying to get air back into his lungs. As he rose from the wet earth, he suddenly felt the relief of oxygen flowing back down through his windpipe and into his chest.
Boyd stared at Sean as he struggled to get up.
Clumps of wet mud clung to Sean’s face. His vision blurred for a moment, partially from the blow to the head, partially from the wind-whipped rain that continued to pelt him.
Boyd bellowed a sickly laugh over the howling wind, shaking his head back and forth. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Sean?”
The blurriness in Sean’s eyes cleared, and he rose to face his enemy. “You talking about Dawkins or what you were up to in Iraq all those years ago?”
“Obviously, you had to get involved with Dawkins. That’s why we’re here, right? We needed you and your pal to lead us to this thing. And look.” He waved his hands around. “Looks like the Admiral was right. This thing really is a nasty weapon.”
The storm kept circling overhead.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, Sean,” Boyd went on. “I mean, you made me a lot of money. The Admiral certainly pays well.”
“So, that’s it? Money? I guess I shouldn’t expect more from a scumbag like you, Boyd.”
“Oh, no, Sean. Of course, there’s more to it than money. The Admiral delivered a prize better than any amount of cash I could hope for. He delivered you.”
Sean peered into Boyd’s eyes. They were cold, reckless, and afraid of nothing. He was a man with nothing to lose because he’d already lost everything once. The only thing he had left to hang every thought, every desire, on was revenge.
“Vengeance is a bit cliché for you, don’t you think?”
Boyd shuffled to his left, and as he did Sean realized how close they were to the cliff. The rocky ledge dropped off into the raging sea below. Sean remained focused on his opponent and moved to the right to mirror his movement. It was also to get away from the precipice, which had sent a sudden shudder through Sean’s gut the second he noticed it.
“Vengeance is never cliché, Sean. If you weren’t so busy being all high and mighty, you’d know. My guess is you’ve got a long list of people you screwed over. In fact,” he wagged a finger in the downpour, “I’d wager that’s why you really left Axis. Isn’t it? You left because you pissed off one too many people.”
Sean ignored the barb. It was a reach, whether Boyd knew it or not, and Sean knew it wasn’t true. Sure, there probably was a list of people who wanted to get back at him for something, but he’d never wronged anyone who was in the right. Boyd’s mistakes had come back to haunt him and cost him almost everything he’d worked for. Was that Sean’s fault? There was no point in trying to reason with someone like Boyd. It was as effective as talking to a barn. There was one question, though, that Sean kept coming back to in his mind.
“You keep talking about your friend, the Admiral,” Sean said. “After I kill you, who do I have to go after next?”
Boyd’s face creased with an evil grin, like he was holding the secret to the greatest treasure of all.
“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who screwed a bunch of people over, Sean. Your friend Dawkins made his own enemies, powerful ones. Not to worry, though, about him. When I’m done with you, I’m going to make sure Dawkins is the next to go. I’ll make it quick…relatively.”
He hadn’t given a name, but Boyd had revealed enough for Sean to go on. Maybe it was a slip. Or maybe it was Boyd thinking he was clever. Sean hadn’t expected the man to give him anything. He figured he was going to have to track down this mysterious admiral through a series of channels and connections he hadn’t used in a long time. He still would, but having a few key pieces of information would cut out a lot of wasted time and effort.
None of that mattered for the moment. Sean had to finish this fight first.
Boyd reached down to his side and drew a combat knife from its sheath. He held out the long, intimidating blade, letting it dance from left to right in an almost hypnotic sway. The sharp metal was coated in black Cerakote, only revealing a hint at the edge’s silvery steel where the weapon was honed to a razor finish.
Sean immediately realized just how naked he felt without a weapon. He’d run out of the building to pursue Boyd and didn’t take a second to grab a gun, or something he could use in a fight. He didn’t regret the move. It was out of necessity. Another two seconds, and Boyd might have escaped, disappearing into the grove surrounding the clearing without any chance of being caught.
He was here now. No sense in pining about what he should have done.
Boyd tossed the weapon from one hand to the other, taunting Sean into making a move.
“You just gonna keep playing with that thing, or are you gonna use it?”
“I thought I’d let you go first,” Boyd said. “But if you insist…”
He took a step forward, the blade clutched in his right hand.
Right-handed, Sean thought.
Always get as much information in as little time as possible. That was one of his first rules of combat. In the field, there was no time for dossiers, no way that you could research an enemy before you took him on. You had seconds, especially in a one-on-one scenario like this.
Boyd being right-handed might not have seemed like much to most people, but it was a key factor for Sean to consider. It meant that if he took out his opponent’s favored hand, the fight would be all but finished. That wasn’t to say Boyd couldn’t use his left hand, he could be ambidextrous. But it was something, and Sean always looked for the tiniest edge. He’d beaten better fighters than him over the years simply because of those tiny details.
Sean shifted his right foot away from the cliff, feeling the mud squish against the side of his shoe. The rain came down harder now, sheets of it dumping out of the sky. It wasn’t the typical spitting rain that the Oregon coast was accustomed to. This was a Southern kind of storm, angry and violent. Off to Sean’s left, the sea continued to rage, the water appearing as black as the sky above.
“When I’m done with the president,” Boyd said, “I’m going to gut that pretty little wife of yours.”
Sean felt a splinter of flame shoot through his gut. It burned up through his chest and stuck in his throat. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me, take me off my plan, my game. This is my game.
“You’d be wise not to mess with her, Boyd,” Sean said. “I don’t think you can handle that one.”
Boyd’s eyes flashed angrily but with a twinge of being humored. “I’ll take my chances.”
His right eye twitched ever so slightly, and Sean knew what would follow.
The enemy step
ped forward, a long purposeful stride followed by a second as he closed the gap between them.
Sean maintained his stance. He ran through every possible move, every potential attack that Boyd would have learned in training and might use in the field. Sean read the man’s body language, the way his shoulders tilted slightly one way, the positioning of his legs.
Look at the body first, the knife second, he reminded himself. It wasn’t something he’d been taught by the government. That was a little checklist he’d thought of on his own.
Boyd’s speed quickened with his third step. He was only two steps away now, two long strides. Sean knew what was coming; the almost unnoticeable shift in Boyd’s arm position was a glaring tell.
Sean twisted his body to the side, minimizing the targets he knew Boyd would attack. Another step and Boyd was nearly on him. The enemy’s eyes narrowed. His jaw set firm. The blade dipped back, only inches, but enough for Sean to know the lunge was coming.
The final step—Boyd surged forward. He held the blade’s edge out toward Sean, a common tactic for most who knew what they were doing. It allowed the attacker to slash a big chunk of the torso—ribs, abdomen, possibly a shoulder—before drawing the weapon back into the side of the victim’s neck for what would be a double-killing blow.
Time slowed down. Sean blinked once, clearing the rain from his eyes. He let go of the throbbing from where he’d been struck by Boyd a moment before. The sounds of the storm, the sea churning beyond the cliff, and even the wind all melted into a low drone.
Boyd swung his weapon. It was a quick move and executed with the utmost precision. Sean had anticipated it, though, and as the razor’s edge swiped at Sean’s stomach, he arched his back and sucked in a gulp of air. The tip of the blade sliced through his shirt and ripped into his flesh.
Sean winced at the sting coming from the left side of his gut, but he didn’t lose focus. Boyd’s movement was too fast. He’d been too aggressive on the attack.
Sean dropped his right hand hard, slamming it down onto Boyd’s wrist. The blow didn’t knock the knife free, but that wasn’t Sean’s intention. His fingers wrapped around Boyd’s wrist just above the hand and pulled as hard as he could. Boyd felt his momentum shift. Sean braced the back of his opponent’s right arm with a palm to the back of his shoulder and then leaned back.
He spun 180 degrees, digging his heels into the mud to keep from losing his balance. Boyd was now at the mercy of physics. Centrifugal force pulled him away from Sean, who held his arm with a death grip.
Then, Sean abruptly let him go. With Boyd’s speed of attack, he’d sealed his own fate, and made it all too easy for Sean to end the fight in one clever move.
As Sean released the man, he stumbled back and onto his butt, splattering mud around him. He watched as Boyd flew out of control toward the cliff’s edge. The man couldn’t stop himself. His legs flailed wildly, one step, two, and then he was gone. He tumbled over the side of the cliff and disappeared.
Sean sat in the mud for a moment, catching his breath. Then the stinging came back. He glanced down at his bloodstained hoodie where the knife had torn through the fabric and opened a cut in his side.
He grimaced and pushed himself up out of the mud.
He staggered over to the precipice. He pressed his hoodie into the wound to stem the bleeding. Sean’s fear of heights disappeared for a moment as he stopped at the edge and looked down.
To his surprise, Boyd was there, hanging onto a rocky crag with his fingertips. His knife was gone, and his knuckles were as white as two-week-old snow. Boyd turned his head and looked down at the foamy sea smashing against the rocks below. The storm was getting worse. The tide had risen quicker than normal, much quicker.
Sean stared at the man for a couple of seconds. A million witty comments popped into his head. It was a blessing and a curse, being a smart aleck. In this case, he didn’t use any of them, though the thought of telling Boyd to “hang in there” had surfaced more than once.
He knelt down, careful to keep his weight back from the edge.
Boyd stared into Sean’s eyes with terror in his own. “That was clever, Sean.” He struggled to pull himself up, but his fingers slipped and he had to readjust his grip.
Sean nodded. “No one threatens my people,” Sean said. “Dawkins. My wife. Tommy.” He leaned forward a few inches. “No one.”
Sean raised a fist and brought it down hard toward Boyd’s right hand. Instinct kicked in, and Boyd let go of the ledge. Sean held his fist over the rock where his opponent’s fingers had been a nanosecond before.
The reaction was all Sean had intended.
Boyd’s left hand slipped from the wet rock as all his body weight suddenly shifted to those four strained fingers. His wide eyes fixed on Sean as gravity finally won the battle and pulled him down toward the rocky shore.
Sean watched as the man plummeted, tumbling head over heels until his back slammed into a jagged rock that jutted up from the roaring waters seventy feet below. The blow was jarring, sudden, and instantly mortal.
Boyd’s body lay there unmoving for several seconds, the eyes still staring lifelessly up into the tormented sky. Then a giant wave crashed over the rocks, and the body was gone, ripped into the furious sea.
48
Astoria
Sean hurried down the stairs, gripping the rail with one hand and his wounded abdomen with the other. Once he was back at the bottom, he discovered the lowest level was flooded in a foot of water.
Through the door, he saw Petty aiming a pistol at Boyd’s lone remaining mercenary. Tommy was furiously digging through the water. It looked like he was trying to find something.
Sean waded into the room and stopped next to his friend. “What are you doing?”
Tommy looked up. For a moment, relief filled his face. Then he saw the blood seeping through Sean’s shirt. “You’re hurt. You need to get out of here.” His voice was nearly a shout, competing with the sound of the storm and the constant drumming from deep within the chamber.
Sean shook his head. “Not before we shut this thing down.” He turned to Petty. “Get him out of here, Agent.”
“I’m not leaving you two here.” Petty yelled over the noise.
Sean leaned closer. “He knows where Dawkins is. If you two die down here, Dawkins dies, too. Get him out of here. Get somewhere safe. Understand?”
Petty hesitated.
Sean could see he was mulling over the order. He could also see that Petty knew he was right.
“Okay,” Petty relented. “But you two hurry. If you can’t shut it down, then get out of here.”
“Sure,” Sean said.
He turned back to Tommy as Petty glanced at the two friends.
Petty shoved the mercenary toward the door and followed him out.
“How do we turn this off?” Sean asked. “The tide,” he pointed at the gap in the wall. Water was splashing in with every surge of the sea. “It’s rising too fast.”
“It’s a self-destruct weapon,” Tommy said, his voice booming. “The Atlanteans designed it as the final solution in case of an attack. If they couldn’t defeat an enemy, then they’d take out everyone, including themselves.”
“That’s great. How does that help us turn it off?”
“I don’t know if we can.”
A wave crashed into the outer wall and sent a huge blast of seawater into the chamber. The level visibly rose nearly a foot in the room.
“We have to get the ring off the pillar,” Sean said. He was already searching the flooded floor for the white column, but there was no sign of it.
“It sank into the floor,” Tommy said. “Once it was activated, it dropped down. Maybe that’s some kind of failsafe.”
Sean nodded. The water was up to his thighs now and climbing every second. They’d be waist deep soon.
Then he remembered the layout of the room. He turned back to the three display cases that contained the ancient tablets. He recalled that they were all in line with t
he quartz plinth. Sean followed the line from the cases and estimated the area he figured the pillar would have gone down into the floor.
He waded over to that spot and stuck his head into the water. A second later, he pulled out again and took a breath. “Too dark and murky,” he said. “Can’t see a thing.”
On cue, the lights along the wall began to flicker. Soon, they would be plunged into utter darkness with nothing but the dim gloom outside to give them light.
Tommy sloshed over to where his friend was doubled over and stopped next to him, staring down into the black water. He submerged into the cold liquid and stayed down for three or four seconds before coming back up.
He coughed and wiped the water from his eyes. “You’re right. Can’t see anything.”
Sean dove in again; he kept his eyes closed and let his fingers do the searching. He felt the metal grate below and worked through each square in the frame. Another surge of water blasted into the chamber, and the current ripped him away from the spot.
He rolled under the water and felt something hard hit his back. He struggled for a second as the current pinned him against whatever was behind him. Then the force eased, and he kicked up. When he reached the surface, Sean realized that the last surge had knocked him back against one of the display cases. Not only that; it had filled the room up to shoulder level. And the ocean kept coming.
Tommy was floating now, doing his best to dog paddle and hover in position, but he wasn’t anywhere close to the center of the room now.
“We have to get out of here,” Tommy shouted.
The lights flickered again; then they went dark.
The room fell into black shadow. The water rocked Sean back and forth, but the wall was at least holding off some of the motion of the waves. He fixed his eyes on the spot where he’d been before. He could see through the outer wall and out to the sea. Almost no light penetrated the dense clouds overhead, but there was enough that Sean could gauge where he’d been and where he needed to go.
“Get out of here!” Sean shouted to his friend.
The Omega Project Page 38
