The Fourth Prophecy

by Ernest Dempsey

  Scrolling through his email, Tommy stopped on the sixth one and frowned. He stared at the subject line and then tapped the message to open it. The subject line read, An Unusual Request.

  “Things sure have been slow lately,” Sean said from the kitchen. “Good thing you don’t do this gig for the money, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said absently. He only half heard his friend’s comment as he continued reading the email.

  “What do the kids do during stretches like this?” Sean asked as he pressed the water bottle to his lips and chugged half the contents in a few big swallows.

  The kids to whom he referred were Tara Watson and Alex Simms. They worked for Tommy at IAA headquarters, spending most of their days on research or prepping artifacts for display at various exhibits.

  “I dunno,” Tommy said, still not paying much attention to Sean’s line of questioning.

  Sean realized his friend wasn’t listening and continued to press him. “I was thinking about setting June up on a date with a buddy of mine if you don’t mind.”

  Adriana nudged Sean’s shoulder despite letting out a short chuckle. June was Tommy’s girlfriend and now the butt of a joke.

  “That sounds great,” Tommy mumbled.

  He finished the email and then looked up from his phone. “Wait. What?”

  Sean and Adriana burst into laughter.

  “Nothing, Schultzie,” Sean said. “What were you reading that had you so dialed in?”

  Tommy snapped his head from side to side, clearing his thoughts. “Oh, an email. Kind of a strange one.”

  “Oh yeah?” Adriana’s eyebrows perked up. “From who?”

  “A congresswoman. Name’s Lilian Pike. You ever heard of her?”

  Sean shook his head. He grabbed a piece of dark chocolate, pulled off the wrapper, and popped the candy into his mouth. “No. Should I?”

  “Beats me. I don’t know her, either.”

  “There are so many of those politicians in Washington. It’s hard to keep up with who’s who anymore.”

  Tommy unconsciously shuffled backward until he felt his calves hit the back of the couch. He eased onto the sofa again and tapped on the search app on his phone. His fingers tapped on the miniature keyboard until he’d entered the woman’s name and job title.

  A few seconds later, the results page filled the screen and he tapped on the first one.

  “Says here that she’s a congresswoman from Alabama,” Tommy said.

  “That’s not far from here,” Adriana chimed in. “Surprised you haven’t heard of her.”

  Atlanta was situated about forty-five minutes east of the Alabama border, so the distance wasn’t far—as she’d suggested. That didn’t necessarily mean they knew their neighbor’s business.

  “We have a hard enough time keeping up with what’s going on in Tennessee and Georgia,” Sean commented.

  The two friends had grown up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, just eighty minutes north on I-75. Sean still had a second residence there despite being gone most of the time. His south side condo was a getaway from the crazy pace of the big city.

  “Looks like she’s been in the headlines quite a bit lately,” Tommy said, interrupting the other two. “Seems to be a staunch proponent of environmental protection and reform.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Mmmhmm. She spearheaded a bunch of new environmental bills. A few of them even passed. She’s big on green energy and renewable resources.”

  “I bet the big oil companies just love her.”

  “No kidding.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he read farther down the page. He frowned at what he saw. “Oh. That’s awful.” He put his hand over a wide mouth.

  “What is?” Adriana asked with a sudden look of concern on her face.

  “This says her son was killed by a pipeline explosion near their property several years ago. Apparently, there was some kind of leak they didn’t know about. The boy was out playing in the field and must have set off a spark that ignited the gas.”

  “Ugh,” Sean said. “That’s terrible. How old was he?”

  Tommy sighed. “Only nine.”

  Adriana shook her head. “How sad.”

  “Makes sense that she’s taking on those fossil fuel companies, then,” Sean added.

  “This article says six months later, her husband killed himself. Apparently, his grief was so bad he couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “That poor woman sure has been through it.”

  “You got that right. I can’t imagine losing a child and a spouse, much less within six months of each other.”

  The apartment fell silent for a minute as the three contemplated the tragedy Lilian Pike had endured. It was fairly miraculous she came out of it with her sanity. Making things better for the rest of the world, it seemed, was a motivator that must have pushed her through.

  “What was it she emailed you about?” Sean asked after enough time passed. “You said she reached out to you?”

  “Oh right. Yeah, she emailed me about something she’d like me to take a look at. Said it’s an old book that I might be interested in.”

  “Book? What kind of book?”

  “Email didn’t say. All it said was that she acquired an old diary, and she thinks it might have something to do with a lost city on the Yucatan Peninsula.”

  Sean’s right eyebrow shot up. “Not another lost city of gold thing. We get at least one of those every week.”

  “Not lately,” Tommy said.

  “True.”

  “Wait,” Adriana cut in. “She said it might be connected to a lost city? A Mayan lost temple?”

  Tommy nodded. “That was who occupied the area for the longest period of time. The oldest Mayan ruins go back as far as 1800 BC. If there’s a hidden temple to be found on the Yucatan, it’s a good bet it belonged to the Mayans.”

  “This better not be another one of those city of gold quests. We’ve already done our time on those,” Sean said.

  Tommy skimmed over the email again. “Nothing about a city of gold. Just says a lost temple. That, and she’ll tell us more when we get to Washington.”

  “Washington?”

  “Yeah. She said it’s not safe to transmit all the information online, and she wants to tell us more about it in person.”

  “That sounds a little sketchy,” Sean said. “Although the internet isn’t exactly the most secure place.”

  “Maybe she’s worried someone will steal the information and find this temple before she or anyone else has the chance.” Adriana’s comment made sense. Still, there was something fishy about the email that the two guys couldn’t pinpoint.

  “What do you think, Schultzie? Wanna fly to Washington?”

  Tommy took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. “I guess,” he said, putting his hands out wide. “Things have been kind of slow lately. Would be nice to do a little investigative work, even if it turns out to be nothing.”

  “Agreed,” Sean said. “I like visiting DC.” He twisted around and looked at Adriana. “What about you? Want to tag along?”

  “It sounds like fun, boys, but June and I are having a girls’ weekend, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” Sean said. “The spa thing.”

  “Yes. Putting up with you two can be stressful, so we’re going to get massages and treatments and sit by a pool for forty-eight hours while you two run around the globe playing cowboy archaeologists.”

  Tommy cocked his head to the side. “Come on, we’re not cowboys.”

  “Most of the time we’re not even archaeologists,” Sean added with a wink.

  Chapter 3

  Washington

  Detective Smalley shook his head. He’d been reading through the forensic report for the better part of the last hour.

  His partner, a skinny thirty-something with the last name Robards, sauntered up, munching on a candy bar as he approached.

  “What’s the matter Smalls?” he asked, using the pet name he’d come up with years befo
re, much to Smalley’s chagrin.

  “It’s this Haskins case,” he said. “The thing’s driving me crazy.”

  Robards frowned. “Crazy? Did you get the forensics report?”

  Smalley held the file up so his partner could see it.

  “Oh. That bad, huh?”

  “Doesn’t make any sense. There’s not a trace of forced entry. The cameras didn’t pick up any unusual activity.”

  “Toxicology said he was poisoned, though, right?”

  Smalley nodded. “Yeah.” He ran his fingers over his high forehead and through his thinning hair. “The report said his cigars were laced with it.”

  “Hmm,” Robards grunted. “They say tobacco will kill you….”

  Smalley fired him a chastising glare.

  “What? Too soon?” Robards put up his hands.

  “Anyway, we know what killed him. We just don’t know how it got into the cigars.”

  Robards pulled up a nearby chair and plopped down in front of his partner’s desk. Phones rang nonstop on every other desk. Officers huddled with each other, some talking about work, others about personal things, everyone’s shoulders hunched from tension. To the unaware observer, it would have looked extremely busy. While everyone was trying to simply go about their usual routines and do their jobs, the truth was the mood of the station reflected a growing anxiety among the brass about the Haskins case. This spreading fear that DC’s finest were outmatched by the congressman’s assassin, of course, filtered down to the sergeants, detectives, beat cops and desk jockeys. Everyone was on edge—and it was beginning to show.

  “Well,” Robards said, “you’re not going to like this, either.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I love hearing that sentence. If I had a nickel for every time my ex-wife said those exact words…” Smalley’s voice trailed off.

  “Tragic. Anyway, we interviewed all the custodians, maintenance people, security, everyone and anyone who works there at the Capitol.”

  “Even the politicians?”

  “Even them,” Robards said with a nod. “No one saw anything.”

  Smalley sniffled and ran his index finger across the bridge of his nose. “How in the world could no one have seen anything? Seriously? A man was murdered. Right there in his own office. And there wasn’t a single witness who saw anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Unbelievable.” Smalley threw a hand in the air. He was frustrated, hungry, and worn out. He needed sleep. Well, that and a tall drink. “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, Smalls. There are cameras all over that building, inside and out.”

  “I know.”

  “Seems like if someone went in there and tainted the congressman’s cigars, someone else would have seen something.”

  “I know!”

  “What about the girl?” Robards asked, hoping to shine a sliver of light to the case.

  “What girl?”

  “Haskins’s intern. Security said she left pretty late last night, was the last one there.”

  “She’s being detained as we speak,” Smalley said. “Honestly, though, I don’t think she’s a suspect.”

  “How so?”

  “Call it a hunch. I don’t know. Security cameras saw her leave. Then there was nothing. Not even a blip on the footage.”

  “Makes you wonder what she was doing there so late, huh?” Robards guffawed as his own humor.

  “We both know what she was doing there. That’s the only thing they found.”

  “What? Samples?”

  “In his slacks and underwear. They’d definitely just had sex.”

  “Okay, so she slipped the poison into his cigar box when he was getting dressed.”

  “No. If she was going to do it, she would have done it sometime during the day. Based on the video footage I’ve seen, the only times she went in there this week were when Haskins was in the office, too. He’d have seen it if she tried to poison his cigars.”

  “Unless he was distracted.”

  Smalley flashed the most derisive glare he could muster. “Seriously? Have you seen that girl? She’s like an eleven on a scale of one to ten.”

  “She is pretty,” Robards said in a lonely tone. “Okay, so let’s say you’re right. We rule out the intern. Who would have had a motive to kill the guy?”

  Smalley’s shoulders raised up for a second and then dropped. “He’s a politician. The guy’s probably got enemies all over the planet.”

  Their conversation died down for a minute as the two men considered the quandary. Every case was different, but every single one Smalley had ever worked came with a crack someone missed before. He just had to find it.

  “Where does he get his cigars?” Robards asked abruptly.

  “A local shop called Cigar Smiths. We already checked there. The guy was clean. No motive. In fact, he said Haskins bought a few thousand dollars’ worth of cigars from him every month. No way he’d give up a loyal cash cow like that.”

  Robards sighed. “It was worth a try, I guess.”

  Then he sat up a little straighter, doing his best to look professional.

  “What?” Smalley said.

  Robards gave a single nod in the direction of the door behind Smalley. “Feds.”

  Smalley rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and waited for the newcomers to arrive. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Detective Smalley?” a woman’s voice said.

  Smalley put his hands behind his head and spun his chair around. The woman in front of him was a tall, slender brunette—probably in her midforties, though it was hard to tell.

  “I’ve already met with the people from the FBI. We’re working on this case together, Miss….”

  “Starks. Emily Starks.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And I’m aware of your cooperation with the FBI. I’m not with them.”

  Smalley’s eyebrows perked up. “Oh no? Who you with then, CIA? NSA? Some other screwjob fed group? Look, lady. We’ve done everything the feds have asked us to do. They’re just as much at a loss over this investigation as we are.”

  “Which is why I was called in to assist you,” she said in an even tone.

  “Who are you with?” Robards asked.

  “Not the agencies you mentioned.”

  Now Smalley’s curiosity was piqued. “Who, then?”

  “Let’s just say that my agency answers only to the president. Plus, we’re not based in Washington. I got the distinct impression he wanted a new pair of eyes on the case.”

  “The president?”

  “Yes. The president. You know, most powerful man in the world and all that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Robards said, pointing a finger at her. “I’ve seen you with President Dawkins on television. You’re his girlfriend or something like that.”

  Emily cocked her head to the side. “In this case, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m the director of the Axis agency. And I’ve been ordered to look into the murder of Congressman Haskins.”

  “Look into?”

  She sighed. “I mean, I don’t like to say that I’m taking over your investigation. That’s just rude. I prefer to think of myself as a sort of consultant here to help you guys move a little faster.”

  “Fine,” Smalley said. “If you came here expecting a fight from me, you’re going to be disappointed. We’ve spent the last two days trying to figure this thing out, without any luck. So, knock yourself out, Director. If you can do better, hats off to you.” He plopped the file down on the edge of his desk near her hip.

  “Thank you, Detective.” The back of her left hand nudged the file farther onto the desk surface. “I’ve already looked at the file. And before you tell me about everyone you’ve talked to or all the work you’ve done, I know about all that, too.”

  Robards’s eyebrows raised, and he looked at his partner with a surprised glance.

  “I’ve seen everything you’ve done for the last forty-eight hours to so
lve this case. You spoke to the man’s intern, the wife, coworkers, and everyone under the moon. The one thing you haven’t done is compiled a list of potential enemies.”

  Smalley put his arms in the air as if he was helpless. “That could be a million people, Director. You know how these politicians are. Or maybe you don’t since your agency is based in Atlanta. That’s right. I know a little about Axis. I know you guys moved your HQ down south several years ago.”

  The stern look on Emily’s face grew more menacing. Her eyes flared, but she kept her gaze locked on Smalley.

  “Do not mistake our location for ignorance, Detective. We know how things work here in Washington. I spent most of my career here. Get me a list of the top one hundred people who have a grudge or might have a grudge against Congressman Haskins. And if those one hundred people check out, get me the next hundred. You’ve turned over every stone you could think of. Now it’s time to turn over the stones I tell you.”

  She reached into her pocket and fished out a business card. Emily didn’t say anything else. She simply dropped the card on Smalley’s desk and walked away.

  “Where do you want me to send the list?” he shouted over the noisy room before she reached the end of the aisle.

  “Look at the business card,” she said without turning around. A second later, she was gone.

  Smalley looked down at the card with her name, number, and email on it. There was nothing else.

  “Why’s the president getting involved with this?” Robards asked. “He wasn’t friends with Haskins.”

  “No,” Smalley said. “He wasn’t. He hated Haskins.”

  “Hated? That’s a strong word. I didn’t think the president hated anyone.”

  “Let’s just say they weren’t on speaking terms, then.”

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question. Why’s he getting involved?”

  The answer wasn’t immediately evident. Who knew with these politicians? It could have been a move by the president to make it look like he cared about Haskins. That wasn’t the president’s style, though, to be fake like that. It was one of the things Smalley admired about the guy. So, if the president wasn’t trying to expedite the investigation for political reasons, why would he stick his nose in when there were plenty of good people on the case? Maybe he was actually looking out for the best interests of the nation and the friends and the Haskins family.