The Fourth Prophecy

by Ernest Dempsey

  Sean peered over his friend’s shoulders. A man in sunglasses with jet-black hair and a dark tan was looking in Sean’s direction. He’d noticed the stranger before but hadn’t paid much attention at first, thinking he was just another random guy on the beach.

  One thing that triggered Sean’s senses this time, however, was the fact that the man was wearing white linen pants and a matching shirt with black sunglasses. There weren’t many people wearing similar outfits, so the guy stood out like a compound fracture.

  “Sure is a pretty spot here, huh, Schultzie?” Sean pointed out to the sea. He covered his mouth with his bicep as he pointed. “Don’t look now, but we’re being watched.”

  Tommy’s head instinctively started moving to the right.

  “I said don’t look now.”

  “Sorry,” Tommy apologized and then quickly put a smile on his face as he pretended to admire the view. “Who’s watching us?”

  “Guy in a linen outfit about a hundred yards to your right, in front of the entrance to the beach. He’s been trying to play it cool, but for the last few minutes he’s been keeping a close eye on us.” Sean lowered his arm and made the last comment through his teeth, keeping his lips as immobile as possible.

  “Any idea who he might be and why he’s watching us?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Did you tell anyone else we were coming down here and what we were doing?”

  “No. Just the usual people.” Then Tommy was overcome by a sudden concern. “You don’t think Lilian would—”

  “Set us up?” Sean turned his head to face his friend for a second and then returned his gaze to the blue waters. “No. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “Unless she had a vendetta.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being silly. Why would she have a vendetta against either one of us?”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy said as he rolled his shoulders. “Crazier things have happened. Come to think of it, why am I more suspicious about this than you? Aren’t you normally the paranoid one?”

  It was true. Sean usually was the one who was always on full alert about everything. The idea that Lilian Pike would send them to Mexico in search of a lost temple only to have them followed, watched, or otherwise harassed didn’t add up. Tommy was right, though: they had seen stranger things.

  “Whoever that guy’s working for,” Sean said, “I doubt they have our best interest in mind.”

  “Unless they’re just monitoring our progress.”

  “Then why would we need to call Lilian with updates?”

  “Are we supposed to do that?” Tommy looked at his friend with a sincere curiosity on his face.

  “I assumed.”

  “Well, we have nothing to update at the moment. Maybe after tonight we will.”

  “Yeah,” Sean said as he eyed the guy down the beach. “Looks like we’ll need to watch our backs, too.”

  Chapter 9

  Washington

  Congressman Brody Ambrose stared down into the nearly empty glass of whiskey between his fingers. He’d already powered through four drinks and was about to leave for his home. His driver/bodyguard was waiting in the car, though after the events of the last several days he wondered if the guy should be in the bar with him. His guard, a guy named Chris, had even offered to do that.

  Ambrose didn’t like being babysat. He reassured Chris that he could take care of himself if the need arose, although he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Two members of Congress had been murdered in the last week. It had resulted in the president issuing a request that the House and Senate take a twenty-four-hour leave of absence. The official reason given to the media was that there were some renovations that needed to be done at the Capitol.

  No one was buying that line.

  Everyone knew why they’d taken the day off. Ambrose, along with all the others, were told to tighten up their personal security while systems at the Capitol Building were checked and rechecked to ensure everyone’s safety.

  A lot of good it did Tripp Haskins and Maggie Monroe.

  Ambrose took another swallow of whiskey. He didn’t even wince as the warm liquid fell down his throat.

  He’d worked with Haskins and Monroe on a few different projects. There was one, in particular, that was more demanding than others. He knew whom he was working for and where the money came from. Haskins had known, too. Maggie, on the other hand, may have been in the dark. She definitely was in the beginning when they’d recruited her. Surely, she’d been brought into the loop at some point.

  Not that it mattered now.

  Ambrose shook his head and stared at the wall full of bourbons, sour mash whiskeys, scotches, tequilas, and vodkas. There were a few bottles of Irish whiskey thrown in for good measure among the rest.

  He’d ramped up his personal security detail at his home in Georgetown, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough. It was all so obvious to him. The people he and the other two had been serving so dutifully were coming after them, eliminating them one at a time.

  Ambrose didn’t know who’d be next. He only knew he was on the list, and that sooner or later, his number would be up.

  He’d wondered: Why now? Why take out the people who had worked so hard to pave the road? The thought made him angry. He’d done everything they asked of him. Why they were eliminating the people who’d stuck their necks out to help was beyond him.

  One thing was certain: Ambrose had no intention of going quietly. He’d put together files along the way, making sure that if something like this ever happened, he’d have a way out. He could blackmail them, tell them he’d go to the press, even to the president himself with what he had. Ambrose would blow the lid off their entire operation. He’d throw everyone under the bus, including his associates in the House. Whatever it took to save his own skin, Ambrose would do it. It was nature’s way. Or, at least, his way.

  Involuntarily, he patted his suit jacket around his waist to make sure the pistol he’d packed was still in the holster. The weapon was just one more way to ensure his personal safety.

  Ambrose had grown up in the Louisiana bayou country. By the time he was eleven, he’d killed all sorts of wild game, including a few gators. His parents were fishermen. Depending on the year, they had an overflow of money, but sometimes almost none at all. He’d left and attended LSU to pursue a degree in political science. Eventually, he found himself in the state legislature with his sights on rising much higher.

  Survival was second nature to Brody Ambrose. If someone was coming after him, they’d be in for a fight.

  “Another round, Congressman Ambrose?” the bartender asked as he approached, wiping down a beer mug with a towel that probably hadn’t been cleaned in a month.

  “No, I’d better call it a night, Marvin. I appreciate it, though.”

  “Yes, sir. Want me to settle up on your card?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  The bartender scurried away to the other end of the bar and started typing on the keypad.

  Ambrose loved the little dive. It was in a neighborhood far enough away from all the trendy places that few people visited, but not so far that it was in one of the sketchier sections of town.

  The entrance had a dark green awning with crimson stripes that had probably been there for forty years. Old neon beer signs hung in the windows with logos that were at least three generations behind the current ones. Even the seats inside were relics of the 1960s—dark red vinyl with high backs and buttons riveted intermittently.

  “Here you go, Congressman Ambrose,” Marvin said as he set the congressman’s receipt on the counter. “Have a good evening.”

  The bartender lingered for a moment, which was unlike him. He had a grave look of concern on his face.

  “Something bothering you, Marvin?” Ambrose asked as he wrote down the tip and the total on the receipt.

  “It’s just that…well, do the cops have any leads on these killings everyone’s been talking about?” He stammered the questi
on and immediately looked like he regretted asking.

  “Not yet, Marvin. They’ll find them eventually.” Ambrose slid the receipt across the counter and stood up.

  “I heard they don’t have any leads or suspects yet.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Marvin. That stuff will drive you crazy.”

  “Yes, sir, Congressman Ambrose. You have a good night, okay? And be careful. I don’t want to read about anything happening to you. You’re one of the good ones.”

  “Will do, Marvin. Will do.”

  Ambrose collected his card and slipped it into his money clip. He strode out of the bar with an arrogance in his gait.

  He liked Marvin, though the proprietor of the establishment had certainly missed his guess when it came to the congressman’s disposition and his character in general. Ambrose was not a good man. Not even close. And he knew it.

  He got what he could while he could because he was acutely aware that no one was going to give him anything in this life. He had to take what he wanted.

  Ambrose wasn’t concerned with power like others in Washington. He was there to make as much cash as he could and then retire to some small island or perhaps a ski lodge in Colorado or Wyoming. If he worked hard enough, perhaps both.

  His associates—the ones he now feared were going to come after him—had given him an incredible head start on those lofty goals. The money they’d provided cut his time to retirement in half, and as long as the checks kept rolling in, that time would be reduced to almost nothing. Then he could get out of the political arena and take it easy for the rest of his days.

  He deserved it. At least that’s what he told himself. After growing up in a shack on the bayou and never knowing if they’d have enough to eat, he looked forward to the possibility of never having to think about finances again.

  Ambrose was almost there. He figured one more term would do it, and then: a life of leisure and luxury.

  He pushed through the door and stepped out into the warm Washington evening. The summer had been hotter than expected so far, and he was a little caught off guard by the humidity. Being from southern Louisiana, he was no stranger to damp air. He often laughed when he heard locals complaining about it.

  “Don’t go to Louisiana,” he’d joked with someone before. “You’ll drown in the air down there.”

  It only took him a second to acclimate to the muggy evening, and by the time he reached the black SUV on the sidewalk he already felt like he was back home in the swamps.

  He opened the back door and climbed in behind the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt.

  “Thanks for waiting, Chris. I appreciate it.”

  The driver nodded and stepped on the gas, steering the SUV out onto the street.

  Ambrose didn’t have to thank his guard. That was—after all—the guy’s job. He was paid to stand around and wait on the congressman without questioning anything.

  Chris had been a good bodyguard for the better part of four years. He’d stood in the rain while the congressman took care of personal matters with one of the many high-end escorts Washington provided. Ever since then, Ambrose insisted Chris wait inside the car so he wouldn’t get wet.

  Not that the congressman cared about Chris and his human dignity one way or the other, but the smell of wet clothes lingered in his vehicle for days after that. Now, wherever they went, Chris stayed behind the wheel unless otherwise notified.

  The SUV veered to the right and sped along the street. Ambrose pulled out his cell phone and checked his messages. He’d received a request to attend a meeting the following morning. The other representative made it seem like they had a great deal of catching up to do as a result of the shutdown.

  Ambrose shook his head. The only thing that moved fast in this town was the news. Everything else crept along at a snail’s pace. That’s the way government worked.

  He tapped the phone’s keyboard and sent a response, saying he’d attend but that he had another commitment that overlapped so he might be a few minutes late. Ambrose wasn’t lying. He preferred to start his day with his favorite intern, a young blonde go-getter from Providence named Lucy.

  She wouldn’t sleep with him despite his numerous attempts. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. She was feisty and energetic, two huge reasons why he’d brought her on board.

  The fact that she denied him only caused his desire to burn that much more, like a westerly wind blowing through a forest fire.

  Ambrose checked the time on his phone. It wasn’t too late to send her a text. He had no interest in a late-night meet up, but there was no reason not to set a little spark to the fire.

  He found her number in his notes app and then tapped it to pull up the messaging option. Rule number one of having any indiscretions was to never leave a paper or electronic trail of evidence. He was diligent about deleting anything he ever sent that could have been incriminating.

  His fingers flew across the keypad as he sent her a quick message asking if she’d be in early the next day.

  Once the message was sent, he waited eagerly for the reply.

  Suddenly, the driver carefully pulled the wheel to the left, guiding the SUV onto a bridge that crossed the Potomac.

  The driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror for a second to make sure he was occupied with whatever he was doing on his phone.

  Ambrose was so preoccupied with the potential for a flirty response that he didn’t notice the driver was taking him on an alternate route until he heard the tires clacking on the seams between sections of asphalt on the bridge.

  The noise startled him, and he looked out the window.

  “Um, Chris? You do realize we’re supposed to be going back to my place, right?”

  “Mmm,” was the only response he got.

  The tone was different. Ambrose realized that even though the driver didn’t speak. He looked into the mirror, but it was too difficult to see the face.

  “Chris, where are we going? I need to get back to the house. Long day tomorrow.”

  The SUV reached the other side of the bridge and continued on. The bright lights of the district disappeared behind thick stands of trees and bushes that lined the river.

  As soon as the city was out of view, the driver pulled off on a side road.

  “Good,” Ambrose said. “Just turn around here. What’s the matter with you tonight? Are you sick? Something wrong with your voice?”

  Then the driver shifted the vehicle into park and opened the door. Only when the driver stepped out did Ambrose see the person’s face. It wasn’t Chris. It was a woman with hair cropped short, much like Chris. Her thin, dark eyebrows seemed permanently pinched together, mirroring the scowl on her face.

  “Who are you?” Ambrose asked, still not feeling threatened.

  The woman slammed the door and started walking away into the dark trees near the river, passing the front of the SUV as she moved.

  “Hey!” Ambrose yelled. “Where are you going? Where is Chris?”

  He reached for the button on his seatbelt buckle and pressed it. The mechanism didn’t release. He pushed it again and again, harder each time, but still nothing. He was trapped.

  “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  Ambrose stuck his hand into his jacket and wiggled his body enough to free the weapon in its holster. He pulled the gun up and pointed it at the window and the shadowy figure beyond.

  “I’ll shoot!” he yelled.

  His finger tensed on the trigger.

  “Get back here right now! Do you have any idea who you’re messing—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  A sudden pop from under the SUV erupted into a loud bang. The explosion consumed the vehicle in a flash of white light just before it turned into a raging orange inferno.

  It took five minutes for the initial sirens to whine in the distance, another three before the first responders arrived on the scene. By then, the killer had already left on a boat she’d moored on the riverb
ank.

  Chapter 10

  Tulum

  The two Americans stood just inside the little corridor that led from the market sidewalk to the beach. The waves crashed in a constant rhythm that would put even the most stubborn insomniac to sleep.

  They’d spent the last several hours planning their return to the beach and then took the opportunity to get some rest, exchanging nap times in case the guy who’d been watching them at the beach decided to break into their hotel room.

  No such intrusion occurred, though, and once the sun was down and the stars were twinkling in the clear night sky, they left the hotel and made their way down to the street.

  It was a short walk to the beach entrance where the Tulum temple ruins overlooked the sea.

  “Coast is clear,” Tommy said as he peered out to the dimly lit sand.

  “Literally,” Sean quipped.

  “Really?”

  “I almost never say that. In this case, I think it applies given the context of your clichéd statement.”

  Tommy let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. “You done?”

  Sean cinched his bottom lip and gave a nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good,” Tommy hissed. “Because I’d prefer not to loiter here in plain sight. Those soldiers could still be hanging around.”

  “I’d say it’s a solid bet they are. Not to mention our friend.”

  “Exactly. So, keep an eye out.”

  “Do you really think you need to remind me of that?”

  “Just…fine, shut up. Let’s move.”

  Sean cracked a smile as his friend moved out from his hiding place and started creeping down the beaten path toward the shore. He loved pushing Tommy’s buttons. It helped that he knew all the right ones that would drive his friend crazy.

  He followed Tommy out into the open, both keeping to the edge of the roped trail and staying low as they crept ahead.

  “You think maybe we shouldn’t look like we’re sneaking around?” Sean asked as they passed a sign that told them the ruins were closed after dark.