Tommy peeked out from behind one end of the stone box. He saw his friend standing over the body of the dead Ulrich. Sean dropped the pistol onto the ground next to the body.
“Cuttin’ it a little close there, weren’t ya?” Tommy joked, staring down at his kidnapper.
“Sorry. I was a little preoccupied,” he jerked his thumb backward in the direction of the moaning henchman.
“What’d you do to him?” Tommy asked, not sure he wanted to know.
“Let’s just say, he won’t be winning any dance contests...ever.” Sean forced a smile.
“Should we call Allyson back down?” The elevator had gone all the way back up to the top.
“Give it a second, Schultzie.” He slapped his friend on the back. “This is what you have spent your life looking for.”
They both gazed in awe at the unimaginable scene before them. Their heads turned a full circle, taking in the scene.
“It’s amazing. I can’t believe we actually found it. Do you realize we are probably the first people to see this in thousands of years?”
“You’ve earned it, buddy.”
Then Tommy turned to Wyatt with a big smile. “Thanks, Sean, for everything. You’ve always been there for me. I knew you would come.”
“Someone’s got to take care of your dumb ass,” he said with a wide grin.
Chapter 58
Eastern Georgia
Detective Trent Morris stared in utter disbelief at the scene before him. Around two hundred feet of pure- gold walls wrapped around the entire chamber. The ceiling panels too, were made out of gold. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen in his entire life.
The place was crawling with federal investigators, and a CSI unit had arrived shortly after the other squads. A coroner was there, as well, to tag and bag the body of the mysterious Jens Ulrich.
“He’s an international mercenary,” Will said, pointing a finger at the black bag. “Interpol has been looking for this guy for a few years. He’s been implicated in several assassinations and other murders all over the globe. But no one has ever been able to catch up with him.”
“A fistful of aliases and the right amount of money can get you a great deal of anonymity,” Morris added.
Sean nodded, glancing over at the burned guard being wheeled out on a stretcher, still moaning in excruciating pain. His first stop would be the hospital. After that, it would be on to a cell, probably for the rest of his life.
“Docs said your buddy McElroy is going to be okay. He’d lost a lot of blood when the paramedics found him, but it looks like the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.”
“Not that it matters now. I’m sure his wife is going to kill him when he gets home.”
“Well, we’ll keep homicide on alert.” Morris returned the grin.
Sean let his eyes wander through the room. Tommy was busy analyzing the golden tiles of the walls while talking on the phone with the IAA. At least a dozen researchers and archaeologists were already on their way to the site.
Schultz was in his element, and whatever fatigue he may have had was replaced by the excitement of discovery. Tommy deserved it, Sean thought.
His eyes switched to another spot. Allyson sat nearby on one of the stone boxes, sipping a bottle of water. She noticed him staring at her and offered a practiced shy smile. It was the kind of grin that could pull a man across a bed of hot coals without him ever noticing.
For a moment, his attention went back to the officers who were still going on about all the things that had happened. “So if you could come by sometime next week, it would really help me with filling out my report,” Morris was finishing his spiel.
“What? Oh, sure. No problem. I will give you a call next week.” Then Sean’s attention went to a man and woman dressed in black in a corner by themselves. The woman was on a cell phone, but whatever she was saying could not be heard. “Who are they?”
Will looked back over his shoulder at the couple. “Those are agents Sewell and Yates. They’re with the feds. Apparently, they have been after Ulrich for a while too. I don’t trust them. They’re not very sociable. Haven’t said a whole lot to us since they got here.”
“Interesting.”
Trent gave his young partner a quick nod. “Let’s get out of here, Will.” Then he turned back to Sean as they started to walk away. “Next week, okay?”
“You got it.”
The detectives got on the giant platform of the lift along with the medics. Will removed the disc from the pedestal, and the ancient elevator started its slow ascent.
Sean’s eyes played back over to where Allyson was sitting. She was listening to Tommy, who had apparently finished his phone conversations. He was going on about the different languages that were represented, four in all, one on each wall. She was clearly only half-interested.
Making his way over to them, he stood over his friend and the young journalist/agent. “Sorry to interrupt your history lesson, Schultzie, but Ms. Webster scheduled an interview with me, and I really have to keep that appointment.” He lifted his right eyebrow at his friend.
Tommy looked at Sean and then at her and started laughing. “My bad. I don’t want to keep the good readers of the Sentinel waiting.”
With that, he stood up and headed back over to a couple of people who were tagging some of the panels with Post-it notes and started directing the cataloging effort.
“Well, Ms. Webster, how about that interview?” His eyes smiled more than his mouth.
“You do remember I’m not really a journalist, right?”
“We can pretend.”
Chapter 59
Nevada
The old man hobbled over to his desk hurriedly to answer the phone. It was ringing furiously, interrupting his nightly dose of brandy by the fireplace in the study.
He leaned his cane against the bulky desk and reached over to pick up the device. No answer to the caller was given. The white-haired man just waited.
“It is done,” the young voice came through the receiver.
“Both of them are dead?”
“Ulrich is. The Russian he hired was still alive when I got there, though he was badly burned. Wyatt shot him in the knee, as well.
“You said was alive.”
“Correct. He will not be a problem anymore.”
“Excellent work. I knew I could count on you. Ulrich had become so sloppy.”
“He served our purpose in the end.”
“Indeed.” The old man stood, contemplating his next question. “Did you find the next clue?”
“Yes, sir. The girl had it, but I instructed her that it would be needed as evidence for the crime scene.”
“I’m sure those pesky agents from the IAA will be clamoring to get their hands on it for their museum.” He coughed as he finished the sentence.
“It will be of no concern. I have already contacted the best stone worker in the country and requested a duplicate be made. By the time those fools have their artifact, we will be well on our way to the next chamber.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. God be with you, my son.”
“Thank you, Prophet.”
The old man hung up the phone and retreated to his enveloping leather chair by the fireplace. He raised his glass of brandy in satisfaction, filling his nostrils with its rich, warming aroma. Curious, he thought while eyeing the half-filled tumbler, that alcohol was forbidden by the church’s teachings. Soon enough, though, they would be following his doctrines, as would the world. He finished the drink in one gulp and set the glass back on a stand near the chair.
“Who were you talking to?” Morris asked as he met up with Will at their car.
“Oh, that was just my girlfriend. Had to tell her I would be home late tonight.”
“All right, buddy, let’s get back to Atlanta. Good job, Will.”
“Thank you, sir.” The young detective stood for a moment as his partner entered the car. “Thank you,” he repeated, almost inaudibly, peering back
at the totem poles nearby.
Author’s Notes
With any good piece of fiction I have ever read, there are always notes from the author at the end. So in keeping with what my favorites have done, I thought I would provide some of the details behind The Secret of the Stones.
Gold really was one of the biggest reasons the United States government wanted to relocate the Native American tribes. In North Georgia, there have been several documented finds of Indian Gold in different places. Talks about the Indian Problem began as early as the Jefferson administration and ended with the Trail of Tears moving the last great tribes to the west. The government never did find the enormous treasures they had hoped for.
The IAA and the Georgia Historical Center are both fictional. However, at Dalton State College, about an hour north of Atlanta, a new North Georgia Historical Center has been opened and contains a tremendous wealth of history and artifacts.
Chief Vann’s House and the story as relayed in the book are real. His home is situated in the small town of Chatsworth, GA. The two-hundred-year-old plantation house is still one of the best preserved historic sites in the United States
Etowah Indian Mounds State Park, Fort Mountain, Track Rock, Red Clay State Park, and Rock Hawk and Rock Eagle are all very real. The mysteries that these locations present are truly amazing, and I highly suggest visiting them in person. The original location of the Cherokee capital was actually near Cartersville, Georgia.
The riddles and theories concerning the arrival of the first Native American settlers were entirely my concoction. It was extremely interesting, though, to find so many similarities between the ancient cultures of Egypt and the Native American tribes during my research. Also, the likeness of the wall at Fort Mountain when compared to the Nile River is quite fascinating, though that monument’s purpose continues to remain a mystery to historians.
One historical note that I did have to alter was the relationship between the Mormon settlers and the Native American migration. All of the details are true except for one. The Mormon church was not actually founded for almost another decade after the Trail of Tears. That fact does not mean that the Mormons could not have helped the tribes later on though. And their paths certainly crossed many times in the Midwest and beyond.
During the course of the story, the characters find themselves in a church called the Beacon Tabernacle. This church does exist in the small town of Collegedale, Tennessee. I changed the name of it to better suit the flow of the story, but all of the details are as close to the truth as I could make them. The Bible verse that appears in Morse code on the stained-glass windows also exists, but I did take the liberty of changing which verse is displayed.
As to the Golden Chambers themselves, I must admit that they are only a theory of mine. However, much of the research I have done seems to point toward the number four in conjunction with the existence of a Native treasure. And the more research I do, the more I start to realize that the chambers could be a very real possibility.
Thanks for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed the story and will check out the other Sean Wyatt books I’ve written. If you liked this book, share it with a friend. And if you have a Twitter account, sharing it is easy. Just click here: http://ctt.ec/bQwPd
There are a lot of books out there, and I appreciate that you took the time to read mine.
If you don’t mind, take a minute, and swing by the place where you got this book and leave a review. Reviews are so helpful for both readers and authors. So thanks for helping everyone out.
OTHER WORKS BY ERNEST DEMPSEY
THE GRECIAN MANIFESTO
THE NORSE DIRECTIVE
GAME OF SHADOWS
THE JERUSALEM CREED
THE SAMURAI CIPHER
THE CAIRO VENDETTA
WAR OF THIEVES: AN ADRIANA VILLA THRILLER TRILOGY
THE DREAM RIDER (SCIENCE FICTION)
THE DREAM RIDER 2: RETRIBUTION
“CHASING COMETS” (TRUE TO LIFE)
Find these at ernestdempsey.net and be sure to sign up for exclusive updates, inspirational blog posts, and special offers.
Copyright © 2012 Ernest Dempsey
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9887072-0-7
eISBN: 978-0-9887072-1-4
This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or sold without the expressed written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction, completely derived from the imagination of the author. Characters and events in no way resemble true-life characters. Any similarity is completely coincidental.
Enjoy!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to everyone who has ever supported me and told me to keep writing. My parents, siblings, teachers, and friends, I am grateful to all of you. I’m also thankful for the ones who told me to quit dreaming. Your words have been the fire to push me onward.
Book 2
THE
CLERIC’S
VAULT
ERNEST DEMPSEY
Copyright ©2012 ernestdempsey.net
Enclave Publishing, all rights reserved.
Become a VIP reader and get discounts on all new releases plus special VIP content by CLICKING HERE or
Check out more details at the end of the book.
For my sweet Megan.
Prologue
Cuenca, Ecuador
1982
“Padre, dónde está la llave?”
The young priest rushed his words in Spanish, standing over a bed of plain white linens. An awkward look of desperation covered his face. He’d been trying to comfort the older man, who lay there dying, with words from standard prayers and parts of Scripture. His efforts, though, were clearly halfhearted, a way of going through the motions.
The question about the location of the key betrayed why he was really there.
A pale half-moon seeped through the few clouds that dotted the night sky and cast an eerie glow into the small dormitory. The air was cool and somewhat soothing.
Carlos Crespi was racked with fits of coughing that shook his rickety metal bed. The old man was sure the end was near but uncertain of the moment. He clutched the bed sheets with gnarled, sweaty fingers, fighting away the creeping pain that seemed to grow with every passing moment.
His bald forehead was wrinkled from the struggle with death, his bushy gray eyebrows furrowed in a combination of frustration and agony. The once jovial, dark eyes squinted against the pain.
The young apprentice watched with a stoic face as he continued repeating the prescribed lines, reaffirming that the padre would be assured eternal life in Heaven. The dying man knew the words were simply a ruse to rub him into give up his secret.
Father Carlos was no fool. He knew the real reason why this eager young man had been sent as his aide six months prior. His constant and pressing questions about the vault gave that motive away far too easily. He had taken the young priest to the vault only one time. When he had turned on the single light in the storage room, the man’s eyes had betrayed his real intent.
The collection.
For years the Vatican had tried to peel away the secrets of Padre Crespi’s mysterious vault. Somehow, they’d always come up empty. Revered by the locals, the old man had given them nearly his entire life in service. And in return, they watched out for him and the antiquities they had entrusted to his care. Whenever outsiders would ask the people where he had gotten such wondrous relics, they simply replied, “The forest.” Now, though, on death’s door, the old priest would surely have to pass on his treasures to someone. After all, he couldn’t take them with him.
Another fit of coughs racked him, and the bed shook violently. The young priest reached down to brace the crude metal frame that squeaked loudly with each convulsion. When the coughing ceased, he could hear a rattle in Father Carlos’s chest. It wouldn’t be long now. And he needed an answer.
“Padre, I beg of you, where is the key to your vault? It must be preserved in the name of the Church, for t
he glory of God.” The heightened desperation filled the man’s voice. He was afraid what would happen if Crespi did not bestow the key upon him.
Two other monks stood by the door, pesky witnesses that would prevent him from simply breaking into the vault and taking what he believed rightly belonged to the Vatican.
The sentence seemed to snap Crespi out of unconsciousness, and his eyes opened slowly, to narrow slits. He lay very still and turned his head toward the young man, gazing at him with a curious look. “The glory of God?” he asked.
The young priest nodded. “Sí, father. For the Church—and God.”
Father Carlos laughed, careful not to arouse another round of coughs. Then he smiled that gentle smile that the entire city knew so well. “I’ll give you my key,” he hesitated. “But you must carry this message to the Church.”
“Of course,” the young priest said and smiled at the old man. “Whatever you ask.”
The coughs returned violently, and a thin red line eased its way out of the corner of Crespi’s mouth. His eyes went wide momentarily, then he laid his head back down on the pillow.
“Father, tell me your message,” the apprentice urged.
Crespi looked at him again and slid a frail hand inside the tattered brown garment he wore. A second later, he produced a simple key. The long piece of brass had an odd design on the end, what appeared to be a spider inside a circle. As the assistant reached for the key, Father Carlos grabbed him with his other hand and with surprising strength pulled him close.
“The treasures of the kingdom are for the righteous,” he paused, raising the strength to finish his message. “The lights shall guide them as beacons in the darkness. Only the righteous shall eat of the Tree of Life.”
A sickly rattle came from deep within the padre’s chest. He released his grip and eased back onto the bed, unconscious.
The young priest looked down at the man and placed his hand under Crespi’s nostrils.
Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set Page 29
