Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  Carlson pulled up to a darkened bakery at the corner of the square across from the Church of Maria Auxiliadora. He leaned the bicycle against the wall of the building and crept to the edge to get a better view of the scene. Two black SUVs sat quietly out front of the cathedral’s entrance. From his vantage point, it appeared that two men dressed in black suits were waiting next to the vehicles. One smoked a cigarette while the other seemed to be passing the time by doing something on his phone. If the two men were supposed to be keeping a lookout, they were doing a less than adequate job. Hunter shook his head at the thought.

  From within his jacket, Hunter pulled a small black handgun. Quickly, he reached into another pocket and withdrew a sound suppression barrel. In less than thirty seconds, he’d attached the barrel to the gun and was leaving his position at the corner. He tried to space out his movements to keep as far away from each streetlight as possible as he crept hurriedly toward the two parked cars. Halfway across the plaza, he ducked down to hide behind a park bench that rested near the grass median separating him and his targets. There was one giant tree planted in the center of the green space with a few other bushes planted nearby. If he used the tree for cover, he could take out one guard and then the other without causing a ruckus. Of course, even with the suppression barrel on his weapon, there would still be a muffled pop. The noise would only be loud enough for the other guard to hear, and before he knew what was happening he would be dead, too.

  Adriana couldn’t believe what was before her eyes. Her father’s basement looked like a war room for a small army. Several computer monitors sat in a cluster in one corner of the room, each screen displaying something different. One was showing a live broadcast of CNN. Another one was a direct feed to the BBC and the others—she wasn’t sure what those were doing. They looked like some kind of surveillance feeds. “Where are those coming from?” she asked as she stepped slowly over to the array of LCD screens.

  Her father had made his way over to a counter where he kept a small supply of liquor. A cigar box made from reddish wood sat at one end of the little bar. He was busy pouring two short glasses of tequila when she raised the question. So he turned and looked in her direction as he finished pouring the drinks. “Depends,” he stated flatly.

  “On what?” she asked as she leaned over and tried to get a closer look at what she was seeing on the screen.

  He picked up the glasses and took one over to Adriana and offered it with an extended hand. “It depends on which monitor you’re talking about,” he smiled as she grasped the drink from him, a little uncertain. “Salud,” he said as he raised the glass to her. “It is good to see you again, Daughter.”

  She raised her glass as well and said nothing. They both finished their drink in a few quick gulps. He took the empty glass away from her and set it on a nearby bookshelf.

  “You see,” he said as he pointed to some of the screens, “I’m getting surveillance from several different places. Some of them are here, in Cuenca. Others are coming in from all over the place. The United States, Russia, Brazil. China is a little tougher to get, but I’ve got a few there, too.”

  Adriana stared hard at all of the technology in the room. A rack of servers sat humming quietly in a small closet nearby. A few laptops lay on a table. Cords and wires ran all over the place, behind the workstations and along the wall. “Why?” she asked after a few moments of awed silence. “I thought you quit doing all of this a long time ago. Who are you working for now?”

  He looked at her with a sincere expression. A thick cigar hung between his fingers.

  “My sweetheart, I’m not working for anyone anymore,” he ignited a butane lighter and held the end of the cigar near the flame, rotating it slowly until the entire tip had turned bright orange. He brought it to his mouth and took a few quick puffs, sending bluish-gray smoke drifting slowly toward a vent on the side of the room.

  She looked more confused than before. “What do you mean you’re not working for anyone? What is all this?” Her hand stretched out, pointing to all the gizmos and gadgets.

  “It’s complicated.” The answer didn’t appease her, and she crossed her arms, clearly not pleased with the response. He took the cigar out of his mouth and walked back over to the mini-bar. He opened the bottle of tequila and refilled his drink then held up the bottle, offering her another as well.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to get going soon.”

  He nodded. “I know. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be here long.” With glass and cigar in hand, he made his way over to a smooth, brown leather seat and sat down. He rested the drink on a wooden side table made from dark oak. “That tequila,” he said pointing at the glass, “is the smoothest I have ever found. And I have certainly tried my fair share on this planet.” He laughed momentarily. “It’s made from pure blue agave. Very rare. Usually very expensive.”

  “I don’t care about the tequila, Father. What are you doing with all this stuff?”

  Her directness failed to dishevel the old man. “I work for myself,” he said as he took another puff off the cigar, chasing it with a sip of the golden tequila.

  “What do you mean?” she stepped forward and turned a desk chair around, sitting in it backward while she interrogated him with an unwavering glare.

  He stared at the end of the cigar for a moment, watching the smoke flow smoothly from the tip and flitter into the air. “There are many bad people in this world, Adriana. Too many for governments or police to find.” He paused for a moment and took another drink. “I find them.”

  Chapter 55

  Cuenca

  The priest looked up into James’s eyes, kneeling on the stone floor of the Iglesia de San Blas. There was no fear in the old man’s eyes. His wrinkled face was stern, clearly casting rebuke upon those who disturbed the sanctity of his church.

  James held a gun in one hand, giving an unspoken threat that would demand answers. “Where did they go?” he asked plainly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the priest answered.

  This caused James to raise his voice. “The people who were in here earlier! Where did they go?” He shouted the last part.

  Resolve filled the face of the priest. His white hair and beard were a stark contrast to the black robe he wore. “Most of our patrons are gone after the evening prayers,” he spoke honestly but in a firm voice.

  “These were not patrons, old man! There was a group of men who came in here an hour ago. Where are they?” This time, James held up the gun to the priest’s head.

  “Ah,” he said after a moment of thought. “You must be talking about the group who are searching for the map of Padre Crespi.” He left the sentence hanging.

  “Yes. Where did they go?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said with a sinister-sounding chuckle. “But I can tell you for certain, this is not Carlos Crespi’s church.”

  “What do you mean?” Angela struck the old man across the face with the butt of her gun.

  The blow shocked the old man momentarily. A thin cut opened high on his cheek and began oozing blood down his face. James just stared as did all the other men in the group. The priest looked down at the ground for a few seconds before looking up into the woman’s eyes. “I do not know where the people whom you seek are. But if they were in here, perhaps they got out through the secret tunnel below the building.”

  “Secret tunnel?” she asked.

  “Yes. There are old passageways that lead out of the church. It is possible that they left through one of those if they knew where to find the entrance.”

  “Where does the passage end?”

  “A few thousand meters due west of the church,” he answered calmly. His breathing had intensified, though. Obviously, the old man wasn’t used to any sort of physical punishment.

  James glanced at his partner. The old man was being honest. But he still hadn’t answered the original question, so James decided to take a different approach.

  “Where
is Crespi’s church, Padre? The people who we are looking for represent a great evil. If they find what they are looking for, the world will be in great peril. Many souls will perish.” He stared hard at the priest while he spoke. The voice carried conviction. “We are doing the will of the Lord, Father.”

  The priest glared at him. “Does the will of the Lord mean spilling blood in His house?” he asked as his hand motioned to the dead body a few rows over.

  “We carry the sword,” James replied referring to a verse in the Bible. “Sometimes, those who get in God’s way must be sacrificed.” Collack stood back and let the priest think for a moment.

  The old man could not lie. It was against what he believed in. He only hoped that he had delayed the murderers long enough for Wyatt and his team to escape.

  “The church you are looking for is the Iglesia de Maria Auxiliadora. That is probably where they have gone.” He lowered his head, knowing that with the information, his execution would be next.

  Angela gave a signal with her hand like a circle in the air, and the entire team started moving quickly out of the building. She then stepped back over to the still-kneeling priest and pointed her gun at the top of the old man’s head. James had turned away but saw her movement out of the corner of his eye. He lunged toward her and kicked up with his right leg just as she squeezed the trigger.

  Her arm jerked up into the air, the silent pop of the gun sending a round into the ceiling above. Rage filled her face, but he had already grabbed her by the throat and had his own weapon pointed at the base of her skull. “What are you doing?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “We do not kill men of God,” James said with a stern voice. His grip on her neck got tighter. The rest of the team in the room stared in shocked silence.

  “He’s a loose end,” Angela replied. “We leave no loose ends.” She struggled for air while she spoke.

  “We do not kill men of God,” he repeated. “Do you understand?” James gave one last squeeze of her throat and shoved her away.

  She staggered for a moment and bent over, trying to catch her breath. James turned and started heading for the front of the church. Angela straightened up, rage filling her face. Strands of her dark hair had come out of the ponytail she always wore and dangled around her cheeks. Then the same muffled pop echoed through the cathedral. James stopped in his tracks. All of the other men had already left the building, not sure they wanted to see the conflict. He turned to look over his shoulder in time to see the priest fall over on his side, a thin trail of smoke tracing off the top of his bleeding skull. Angela stood defiantly, still aiming the gun at where she had fired it, a look of indignation on her face. “No!” he yelled and raised his own weapon from his side. His movement was too slow, though. Her gun was already trained on him. Two quick puffs exploded from the end of her barrel, sending rounds of metal into his chest. The impact of the bullets sent him stumbling backward. Shock filled his eyes. He could taste a sickening flavor of iron in his mouth. As he tried to regain his balance, again Collack attempted to aim his weapon, but another shot puffed from her gun, this one hitting him right below the neck. This time, he collapsed on the cold stone floor. Blood spurted out of the third wound. He tried to stop the blood with his hands, but it was no use.

  Angela walked casually over to the man who had been her partner for such a long time. She looked down at him with mock pity. “When did you become so weak?” she asked him. There was no answer as he continued to struggle with the leaking hole below his neck. He gasped for air, but blood filled his lungs. He gurgled loudly as he tossed on the floor. “We made a good team,” she continued. Weaver squatted down low, watching him almost curiously. His vision began to blur as he struggled not to lose consciousness. “I was tired of you holding me back, anyway. It is so much harder to get things done when you have to check with someone else first. I always hated having to get your opinion on how to do things. I guess now I won’t have to worry about that anymore.” She stood back up and started walking away.

  James Collack’s hands were sticky with blood; his neck and face were covered in it. His movements began to slow, and his hands dropped down to his side. “Tell your priest I said hello if he happens to be in Hell when you get there,” she said without looking back as she marched toward the entrance. The sound of her shoes clicked against the hard floor and echoed throughout the silence of the church. She didn’t hear the last few gurgled breaths of her partner as she passed through the giant doorway and out into the night.

  Sean looked down from the rickety ladder. His eyes scanned the immense courtyard, unsure of what he was even searching for. From the high point of view, he could now see the pattern of the walkway that wound its way through the open space. Four stone paths began in separate corners, twisting and turning until they reached the center of the courtyard. There, the four pathways merged beneath an odd stone sculpture of a tree with two trunks. A single path led away from the sculpture toward a pair of doors on the side of the sanctuary. “Hey, Tommy!” he shouted from his perch. “What’s that sculpture in the middle of the garden?”

  Schultz had been investigating some of the Latin words that were inscribed, somewhat randomly, along the walls of the area. Most of the inscriptions were Bible verses talking about service to others and spreading the Gospel of Christ. “Gimme a sec!” he yelled back and started making his way through the flowers and landscaping toward the center of the commons. Wyatt watched while his friend looked over the sculpture. “Sean, I think we may have something,” Tommy finally said. “Come take a look at this.”

  He descended the ladder and jogged over to the odd piece of artwork. He’d never seen anything like it. Two stone pieces, shaped like tree trunks, rose up from the ground as if they were rooted in it. The trunks were each about three feet in diameter at the base and narrowed as they twisted upward. As the trees got higher, they arched inward until eventually they joined in the middle and became one, rising still higher until the single trunk opened up with intricately detailed branches. The entire piece was impressive, standing about ten feet high.

  “Notice anything odd about this tree?” Schultz asked as the other two men joined them in the center of the courtyard.

  “Other than the fact that there are two trunks?” Sean replied.

  Tommy pointed. “There are no leaves. The tree is dead. With one little exception.”

  The others followed his finger to what he was pointing at. A single piece of fruit carved from stone dangled from one of the middle branches.

  “What is it?” Will spoke up.

  “You don’t know what this is?” Tommy asked, a little surprised.

  Will shook his head.

  “El Arbol de Vida,” he whispered reverently. “It’s a sculpture of the Tree of Life.”

  Chapter 56

  Cuenca

  Angela Weaver strutted out to the SUV that was sitting in front of the church. The three others waited behind it. She climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

  “Where is Agent Collack?” one of her mercenaries asked.

  “He is staying here,” she answered coldly. The man didn’t say anything else. She added, “I’m in charge now. We need to get over to the other church, and we need to be there five minutes ago.” Her face was contorted in frustration.

  She stepped on the gas and pulled away from the scene. The other SUVs with her followed suit, their drivers unaware of where they were headed.

  “What about the woman who left the group earlier?” she asked as the vehicle sped along.

  “Our tail lost her, but we know the area she’s in.” He wasn’t happy to report the bad news.

  Angela looked thoughtful. “Do we know where she was going?”

  “No. Nor why.”

  “Send unit three over to help out. We need to find her. She could become a useful bargaining chip at some point.”

  The driver touched his earpiece and gave the order into the microphone. Immediately, the third SUV in line tu
rned off down a side street.

  Hunter Carlson waited patiently, crouched behind a large tree just outside Iglesia de Maria Auxiliadora. He’d made his way to the church on a hunch. Even though the cathedral he’d visited earlier was much more prominent, it had been the wrong place. Fortunately, he’d been asking around earlier in the day and knew where another church was nearby. It was the only one that made sense. Now, it appeared that Sean Wyatt had left a few guys to watch the cars while he explored the church. One of the men had slipped into an SUV and had been there for several minutes. For the attack to work, Hunter needed both guards out in the open.

  If he went after the man in the car, any noise at all would alert him and give him a chance to let the other guard know something was wrong. He decided his original plan was best and continued to wait. The annoying laugh of the other man on the cell phone boomed through the square as he continued to carry on a conversation in Spanish that was apparently quite humorous. It was mind numbing to Carlson how men like these two were considered to be worth anything more than minimum wage. He knew, however, bodyguards were usually well paid in many circumstances. He quickly banished the thoughts so he could concentrate on the task at hand. The sound of the vehicle door slamming signaled that his mark was back on the street, in the open.

  The four men stared at the odd stone tree for a few silent moments.

  “So what does it mean?” Will asked, breaking the silence.

  Tommy scratched his head before responding. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  Sean noticed something above where the two trunks came together. Carved into the stone bark was Revelation 22:14.

  “Do you know what that verse says?” he asked his friend while he pointed to the engraving.