Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  Holstrum shook his head sincerely. “They know nothing. Honest. They wouldn’t believe it even if I told them.”

  Maybe he was telling the truth. Perhaps he wasn’t. But someone in the Justice Department had become curious. That never happened unless there were loose lips somewhere.

  “Ok, Gary. I believe you.”

  Lindsey nodded at the bodyguard, who loosened his grip, slightly.

  Relief flooded the captive’s face. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, Alex. You’re doing the right thing. You won’t be disappointed.”

  A look of disgust came across the older man’s face, and his eyes narrowed. “I told you never to call me Alex.” For a brief moment, Holstrum’s face seemed confused. Lindsey nodded again. Suddenly, the bodyguard tensed and shoved the bound man out of the open door. His scream faded quickly as he fell hundreds of feet toward the black depths of the lake below.

  Lindsey peered down to see the portly body splash into the dark liquid then disappear into its abyss. A moment later there was no sign anything had even happened.

  Created by the construction of the Hoover Dam, Lake Mead’s depth could be as much as 590 feet at its deepest point, although a decade of drought had drained the lake considerably. Still, finding the body would be nearly impossible. It was doubtful anyone would think to look there anyway. Helicopter flights from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon and back happened all the time, so their little jaunt wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.

  Alexander stared out across the expanse of the lake that led up to craggy, dark mountains in the distance as the bodyguard slid the door shut and locked the latch again before returning to his seat on the other side of the cabin. Out the opposite window, the lights of Las Vegas glittered in the distance. An eyesore, but a convenient one. It was only a short ride from his mountain complex into town to get anything they needed. With so many tourists, it was easy to become one of them. No one remembered anyone. Which was what he wanted: anonymity.

  His thoughts lingered on the last few words his insolent spy had uttered. In his younger days, Lindsey would have never considered calling an elder by their first name. The new generations, it seemed, did not believe in courtesy. The times of calling people “Mister” or “Miss” had long since passed. Although soon, he believed, the world would come to know him by a different title. He smiled at the thought. The Prophet.

  Chapter 3

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Tommy Schultz felt exhilarated. He shook hands with various patrons, donors, and local elites as they all paraded by him and exited the building. Normally, he hated wearing a tuxedo and bowtie, but tonight he didn’t mind. His thick dark hair was styled neatly. Black-rimmed glasses sat atop his pointed nose in front of blue eyes. His skin was more tanned than normal due to the sun exposure he’d experienced while working on the chamber project in central Georgia.

  It was a proud event for him. His artifact recovery group, known as the IAA (International Archaeological Agency), had recovered the single most significant archaeological find in United States history.

  The golden chamber they found near Augusta was estimated to be worth over $500 million. Of course, the government only gave the IAA a small fraction of that, but the reward had been substantial enough to put the agency’s holdings to over $200 million. Not too shabby for a bunch of bookish researchers.

  He’d also orchestrated a deal to bring some of the artifacts to the Georgia Historical Center for an exhibit, along with some other items including a long, oceangoing canoe that had been uncovered on Weeden Island, the former Native American land off Georgia’s coastal plain that was still rich in ancient pottery and other artifacts. The ancient boat’s discovery was significant because it showed that the natives were capable of sea travel and trade thousands of years ago, playing right into the idea that perhaps they’d even navigated the Atlantic at some point.

  There was a feeling of regret, too. His friend, Frank Borringer, had been murdered because of his obsession with finding the golden chambers of Akhanan. The chambers had often been referred to in other legendary tales. One such myth was that of El Dorado, a city of gold. Recently discovered evidence suggested that it wasn’t a city the legends spoke of, but a series of golden chambers. Another man, a state parks worker, had also been killed in the wake of the race to find the first room of gold.

  He counted himself lucky in many ways. The men that kidnapped him could have killed him at any point. Only luck and his wits had kept him alive. He hoped neither of those would run out anytime soon. Like it had for his parents.

  His parents had been intense savers and scrupulous investors. They had been wealthy, but discreetly so, very few ever knowing the fortune they’d amassed in secret.

  Though their salaries barely topped six figures combined, they were able to scrape together millions. Tommy had inherited everything when their plane went down in South America twelve years before.

  He squinted away the pain, trying to imagine how proud they would be to see tonight’s exhibit. There were only a few regrets in his life. With his parents, he just wished he could talk to them again one more time.

  After a few minutes, the glass and steel expo hall had nearly emptied and he stood alone surrounded by red draperies and enormous pictures of some of the artifacts from the chamber discovery. The lights of Atlanta’s skyscrapers and hotels poured in through the clear glass ceiling. A look at his watch told him it was getting very late.

  He scooped up his iPad and water bottle off of a nearby chair and started to leave the room when he noticed a familiar figure standing silently in the corner near the door. The man was young, in his mid- to late twenties. Tall, strong, with short dark hair and eyes to match; Tommy figured Will Hastings was popular with the ladies, but he doubted the police detective had much time for anything social. There was something about him, though, that seemed a bit off. Tommy couldn’t put his finger on it. He figured it was probably just his imagination. Maybe it was ambition. It was tough to sense those things. He was a historian, not a psychologist.

  He stepped toward the cop and extended his hand. “How you been, Detective Hastings?”

  Will allowed a momentary smile as he gripped the archaeologist’s hand, but it faded quickly. Tommy noticed the change of demeanor. This wasn’t going to be a happy visit. “It’s about your friend, Dr. Nichols.”

  Worry etched Tommy’s face.

  Terrance Nichols was a mathematics professor at the Georgia Institute of Technology, more affectionately known as Georgia Tech. Schultz had received a call from the professor a few days after his discovery of the golden chamber. Nichols had developed code-breaking software that could decipher nearly any code on earth. The software would make understanding ancient lost languages much easier. The man was so excited, he’d gone off on a rant of technical mumbo jumbo that Tommy would never understand. All he cared about was whether or not the program worked.

  After arriving back in Atlanta, he’d copied the odd assemblage of letters and symbols on the back of the stone disk he’d found in the chamber and delivered it to Nichols. The code on the first stone had been deciphered by Professor Borringer. The inscriptions were a combination of ancient languages that had been unused for centuries. This new stone threw a monkey wrench into everything. The odd letters and symbols were completely foreign to Tommy. Never in his life had he encountered anything like them. Fortunately, Nichols had presented a solution that could potentially help them move quickly toward finding the location of the next chamber.

  Tommy’s thoughts quickly returned to the matter at hand. He could tell Detective Hastings didn’t want to deliver whatever news he had. “What about Professor Nichols, Will?”

  Will hesitated for a moment before answering. “He’s been murdered.”

  Chapter 4

  Las Vegas

  Sean was angry with himself, though he couldn’t show it. Maybe he was getting sloppy. He stared at the shadowy figure in the corner of the room.

  “Getting the drop on the grea
t Sean Wyatt is a tricky thing to do.” The voice was feminine—and instantly familiar.

  The lithe silhouette stepped from the shadows near the large window, revealing a woman in her upper forties. Her brown hair was cut neatly just below the ears framing a lean, defined face. The brown eyes looked serious as they peered at him. She wore a gray, form-fitting dress-suit that looked like it was made strictly for business. Though it did accentuate the right spots.

  Sean let out a deep sigh. “Hello, Emily.” He emptied the contents of his front pockets onto the dresser while she lowered the gun and returned it to a concealed place within her suit’s jacket.

  “Nice to see you again, Sean.” She smiled, seeming to relax for a moment.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” he said with a casual warning.

  “And you’re lucky I let you quit the agency,” she replied.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I already took the liberty.” She picked up a half-full rocks glass from the coffee table and helped herself to a seat on the plush, pale green fabric of the sofa. “You want one?”

  Of course she had.

  He shook his head. “Thanks, though.”

  “Suit yourself,” she quipped and raised the glass in a mock toast. “Although after that bad beat you just took, I’d have one.”

  He snorted a short laugh. She had a point. “You saw that, huh?”

  She nodded with a raised eyebrow.

  Sean had worked with Emily Starks at Axis for four years. She’d actually trained him when he had arrived at the agency fresh out of college. The woman was persistent and calculating, two big reasons why she was now its director. When their former boss, Grant Rawson, resigned to take a position in the White House, Starks was by far the best replacement. She knew what she could get away with, like the glass of whiskey in her hand. Emily didn’t always play by the rules, which occasionally got her a meeting with someone in the Justice Department. But more often than not, her gut instincts had proved correct, and more than a few times she had saved lives.

  Sean plopped down in a desk chair near the window and stretched his hands over his head, leaving them there for a moment. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at this hour...in Las Vegas...on my vacation?” He asked.

  Emily took another sip of the brown liquid and contemplatively rolled the ice around in the glass. “We need your help, Sean.”

  Sean’s face never flinched. He figured she needed him for something. It wasn’t often the head of one of the better government agencies in the Justice Department came around just for drinks and chitchat. “I assume by we you mean you need my help.”

  She smiled and took another swallow. “This is pretty good whiskey.” She glanced at the glass for a second. “That’s partially right, yeah.” She looked up from the glass.

  The few moments of pleasantries were apparently over. He was curious to see where she was going with the talk. She fingered the rim of the glass for a moment then set it back on the table. “Have you ever heard of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn?”

  Sean shook his head. “Only in passing. Isn’t it a dormant secret society or something like that? They fell off the map in the early 1900s for the most part.” He paused a moment in thought, looking at the ceiling. “Seems like I read something about them being interested in magic.”

  “The original members of Golden Dawn were very much into magic,” she confirmed his memory. “They had an enormous impact on Wicca and other groups that developed occult-type systems.”

  “So, we can blame the Goth trend on them?”

  She ignored his joke. “They were originally formed by three former Freemasons. The three men were also members of another, more secretive group called the Rosicrucians.

  “Sounds like they were busy guys. I don’t even have time to give blood.”

  “The founders were Wescott, Mathers, and Woodman,” she went on. “Woodman was at the top of several different secret societies, one of which was the Order of the Red Cross of Constantine. He had been a doctor in his early life. Not much is known of him because he died shortly after Golden Dawn was established.”

  Sean tried not to seem bored. “I’m assuming all of this ties into you needing my help.”

  Emily cast him an irritated glance.

  “I’m sorry. Go on,” he insisted.

  “Wescott and Woodman were both physicians: Wescott a coroner and Woodman a licensed surgeon. Both had Latin mottos. Woodman’s: ‘Magna est Veritas et Praevalebit—’”

  “Great is the truth, and it shall prevail,” Sean chimed in.

  “Showoff.” She continued, “Wescott’s was similar: ‘Dare to know.’”

  Sean rubbed his eyes and looked over at the clock. It was way too late to be getting a history lesson.

  “So, what was the third guy’s?”

  “He didn’t have one. Mathers was different than the other two. As I said before, Woodman and Wescott were both doctors. They were both members of several different organizations. Mathers was a clerk and was introduced to the Freemasons by a friend.

  “While Wescott and Woodman seemed occupied with discovering truth, Mathers seemed more interested in what the various secret organizations could do for him. The other two died before he did, and when he left the Order in 1903 it was reportedly because of many debts. For the last hundred years, the Golden Dawn was thought to be dormant, like you said. Now, it seems, they have resurfaced.”

  “Meaning what?”

  She reached down and grabbed another draught of the brown liquid before continuing. “The Order of the Golden Dawn was an unnecessary addition to an already saturated period of secret societies. Most of the members were part of the Rosicrucian sect, as well as the Freemasons. These guys didn’t put this group together because they were bored.”

  “What are you trying to say, Em?”

  “I’m saying that they were looking for something.”

  Sean raised his hands, exasperated. “Which was?”

  “We believe they were looking for the golden chambers, specifically the fourth chamber.”

  “What’s so special about the last chamber?”

  She leaned forward. “Apparently, they believe that within the fourth chamber there is something powerful, something that can give the Order extraordinary control over the tides of human events.”

  Sean stood up. “How many of those drinks did you have before I came in here?”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Look, Sean. What we know is that this group was inactive for a long time after having a precarious beginning and abrupt end. But it seems now they have a new leader, and he’ll stop at nothing to find the fourth chamber.”

  He was standing at the window looking out at the lights of the Strip below. “And who is that, this ‘new leader’?”

  “Have you ever heard of Alexander Lindsey?”

  “Might ring a bell. Eccentric rich guy. Seems a lot like Howard Hughes. Stays out of the public eye mostly.” He shrugged. “What about him?”

  “We think he’s the one behind what happened to you and Tommy a few weeks ago.”

  Sean’s head spun. “Look, Em. I’m retired from government work now. My job is with IAA.” He could tell she understood. But there was something she wasn’t telling him. “Who’s the we you referred to earlier?” he asked. “And why are you interested in me?”

  Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by a sound coming from the entrance. Someone was trying to open the door.

  “Looks like they aren’t the only people interested in you,” she raised an eyebrow.

  “Friends of yours?” He hoped.

  She shook her head slowly.

  Chapter 5

  Las Vegas

  The Agusta’s engine hummed above as the helicopter sped through the night, headed toward the mountains to the north of Las Vegas. The city blinked busily in the darkness of the desert through one of the cabin windows. Alexander peered through the window, lost in thought.
Soon he would be back in his bed, safe in the mountain compound he’d had built decades ago. It was nice to have money. It could buy you fame or solitude. He preferred the latter, especially considering his mission.

  He knew where his great grandfather had failed he would succeed.

  The cell phone in his left jacket pocket vibrated, interrupting his moment. He glanced at the number on the screen and then answered the call. “I trust everything is going according to plan?”

  The voice on the other line was young but confident. “Not exactly. We’ve had a complication with the code interpretation. I’m on my way to fix the problem right now.”

  Another issue. The complications that occurred a few weeks ago had turned into a full-blown fiasco. What was supposed to be a quiet operation had become a media frenzy. The public was fascinated by the treasure hunt, intrigue, and murder. At least nothing pointed his direction. Attention was not something Lindsey wanted. Not yet. Now every treasure hunter on the planet was trying to figure out where the next chamber was.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I believe that the others may have made a move to try and locate the information.” There was a slight pause. “Whoever they sent made a mess of everything.”

  Lindsey’s blood boiled, and his eyes narrowed, filling with rage. “Those fools. I told them not to interfere. But they just can’t leave well enough alone.”

  Their organization was built around three controlling members, a triumvirate of sorts. They made executive decisions concerning the Order that most lower-level members never even knew about. It had always been that way, since the very beginning.

  He realized he’d been silent for a moment when his man spoke again. “Not to worry, sir. I will handle it. I trust you will take care of things with the other two.”

  He thought for a brief second about how to approach things with the others. For the most part, the other two were obedient and submissive. They always agreed to whatever he decided was best for the Order. It was nice to have puppets. Lindsey knew they were jealous of his power and loathed the fact that he had almost total control over the organization. But under his leadership what had been a broken and forgotten group had risen from the ashes of obscurity and amassed money in the billions along with a tremendous amount of behind-the-scenes clout in political arenas. While conspiracy theorists talk about the Bilderberg Group and the Freemasons, the Order of the Golden Dawn was pulling more and more strings by the year.