The Cleric's Vault (33 page)

Tommy
held his breath for a moment and then, handed over the wooden object.
 

The
man only glanced at the top with the verse from the Bible burned into it before
he set it down in the cup holder next to him.
 
He stepped on the accelerator and turned the SUV down a side
street in the opposite direction that Wyatt had taken.
 
Things were finally going Hunter
Carlson’s way.

Chapter 57

Cuenca, Ecuador

Adriana
gazed at her father with a mix of anger, confusion, and curiosity.
 
The cigar smoke lingered in the room,
filling her nose with the sweet, earthy smell.

He
seemed to read her thoughts.
 
“What, my dear?
 
You think
me too old for things like this?”

She
didn’t know what to say at first.
 
Her father had been in the intelligence game for a long time.
 
On the outside, the family had many
thriving businesses.
 
They operated
in such a transparent manner that no one would ever question anything that may
have happened behind the scenes.
 
It was from beyond that veil, though, that her father had helped western
agencies bring down terrorists and criminals all over the world.
 
Diego Villa’s resources helped cripple
communism in the late 1980s.
 
He’d
been influential in helping find Saddam Hussein during the American war with
Iraq.
 
But Adriana thought he had
retired.

Once
he moved from their native Spain to Ecuador, he was supposed to be spending his
time in cafes and bookshops, relaxing for the rest of his life.
 
So, the old saying was true.
 
You
couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks
.
 
“But why, father?” she asked finally.
 
“It’s not like you need the money.
 
All those years of looking over your shoulder, wondering if
someone was coming for you, this was your chance to leave all that behind.”

He
smiled tiredly at her.
 
“I know, dear.
 
I know.
 
But sometimes we have to do things that don’t make
sense.
 
There are still a lot of
bad people in this world.
 
And
there aren’t enough of the good guys to go around.
 
I have to keep going until someone else can take my place.”

She
sighed heavily.

It
was an argument she knew she could not win.
 
Her father was a stubborn man, very set in his ways.
 
Perhaps it stemmed a little from when
her mother had died or maybe he was like that before.
 
He’d watched the cancer eat away at his wife for eight long
months with the same steel resolve he had always possessed.
 
When she finally passed, only a
solitary tear found its way to the corner of his eye.
 
How someone could be so unmoved by such a tragic event
boggled her mind.
 
Adriana might
never know the real answer.
 
And,
while she didn’t hold it against him, she always wondered why he wasn’t more
upset by her mother’s passing.
 
Maybe she just wished she was a little stronger.
 

“So
what do you do?
 
Call the CIA or
Interpol every time you find something unusual?” she asked after a moment of
thinking about where his reconnaissance would lead.

“Something
like that,” he grinned as he took another draw on the cigar.
 
“Although, my role now is more direct
than it used to be.”

She
didn’t like the sound of that.
 
“What
do you mean, more direct?”

“I’ll
tell you more later, dear.
 
Are you
hungry?
 
Thirsty?
 
How long can you stay?”

She
shook her head.
 
“Don’t try to
change the subject, papa.
 
I want
to know what you’re up to.”

Suddenly,
her cell phone started ringing.
 

Her
father looked surprised by the interruption.
 

It
was Sean.
 
She held up a finger
suggesting that their conversation would continue after she got off the
phone.
 
“Hello?”

“Adriana,
it’s Sean.
 
Where are you?”

“I’m
in the city at a friend’s house,” she decided to keep things secretive about
her father.
 
“Why?
 
Is everything ok?”

“I
don’t know.
 
We just got back to
the hotel but there’s no sign of Tommy.
 
He and Will were right behind us.”

Concern
washed over the young woman’s face.
 

“How
soon can you get back here?” Sean asked.

“I’m
on my way now,” she said and ended the call.

It
was her father’s turn to look worried.
 

“What’s
going on?”

She
faced him as he stood.
 
“I have to
go.
 
Do you still have the old
motorcycle?”

“Si.
 
Of course.
 
The keys are hanging in the garage,” he answered, still
confused.

“I
will explain later, Papa.
 
And I
have not forgotten our little conversation.
 
You have some more explaining to do when I return.”

He
forced a smile.
 
“Okay, Ija.”
 

She
gave him a quick but firm hug then stalked quickly back up the stairs.
 
Adriana didn’t see the sad expression
on his face as she rounded the corner at the top and disappeared from sight.

A
few moments later, she opened the old door into the garage.
 
The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating
a simple workshop with tools hanging around on the walls, a workbench, and the
bottom of a motorcycle.
 
The top
half was covered by a canvas tarp so that only the wheels and the lower part of
the motor were visible.
 
Quickly,
she yanked off the cover revealing the work of art she hadn’t seen in so
long.
 
The Vincent Motorcycle
company stopped production in 1955.
 
There were literally only a few hundred bikes still left in the
world.
 
The 1948 Black Shadow was
part of the company’s series “c” line and an extremely rare item.
 
Vincent bikes were far ahead of their
time in performance, capable of speeds that other stock motorcycles could only
dream of.
 
It was one of the first
motorcycles she’d ever ridden as a young girl.
 
She didn’t have time for nostalgia at the moment, though,
and grabbed the keys off the ring by the door.
 
After flinging open the garage door, she hopped on the
two-wheeler and hoped her father had kept it properly maintained.
 
One push down on the kick-starter told
her he had as the old machine rumbled to life.
 
She shifted into gear and twisted the throttle, bursting
from the garage and into the dark, rain-soaked street.
 

*****

The
team inside the SUV saw the motorcycle emerge from a garage a few hundred feet
away.
 
They’d been sitting, waiting
for the woman to leave.
 
The man
who’d chased her earlier wasn’t sure exactly which building she’d gone into but
he knew the general area so when the rest of his team had shown up it had been
a matter of just being patient.
 
The driver didn’t turn his lights on immediately since he did not wish
to alert the target to their presence.
 
Instead, he just turned on the ignition and pulled out of their parking
place between a few three story buildings.
 
She was driving fast making it difficult to keep up,
especially in the tight streets of Cuenca.
 
They couldn’t lose her again.

*****

Angela
was standing in the street on the backside of the Iglesia de Maria
Auxiliadora.
 
She was soaking wet
from the rain and frustration was beginning to take over.
 
The best assets she knew of were at her
disposal yet they had been unable to make any progress.
 
She wondered how had Wyatt been able to
escape again?
 
Their vehicles must
have gone around and met them in the back.
 
A terrible feeling began to creep up inside of her.
 
The Prophet was a man not to be meddled
with.
 
As fearless as she was,
Angela knew just how far his reach really could go.
 
If she failed him, there would be no mercy.
 
And there wasn’t a place on earth she
could hide where he couldn’t find her.

“Agent
Weaver,” a familiar voice came through Angela’s earpiece, interrupting her
thoughts.
 
“We are following her
now.
 
Looks like she is heading
towards the mountains.
 
Will let
you know once we get an exact destination.”

Angela
considered the information.
 
There was a chance after all.
 
Perhaps the Spaniard would lead them to
Wyatt and his friends.
 
They could
eliminate him and the others, leaving Schultz to lead them to the treasure.
 

Chapter 58

Washington, D.C.

Eric
Jennings eased open the door to Emily’s bedroom as slowly as possible, fearful
that it might creak and alert her to his presence.
 
A mixture of pale white and orange lights seeped through her
window curtains from the street outside.
 
In the dull illumination, Jennings could make out the outline of Emily
Starks’ body in the bed underneath a pile of down comforters and blankets.
 
She was the last loose end, the only
one left who knew about the Prophet’s involvement.
 
Of course, he was assuming that the others had been taken
care of in South America.
 
And why
would he think otherwise.
 
He had
his top agents on it.
 
He stepped
carefully across the threshold of the bedroom, hoping the old wooden floors did
not give away his presence.
 
In a
gloved, right hand, Eric held his gun equipped with a narrow
sound-suppressor.
 
In the other
hand, he held a pillow he’d been given by Emily earlier in the evening.
 

Jennings
crept closer, inching his way over to the sleeping woman.
 
It was dark in the room but, he could
see her long, brown hair poking out from under one of the blankets where she’d
tucked her face.
 
He stared at her
momentarily as he stood over her.
 
The only noise in the room was a small floor fan that was humming loudly
in the opposite corner.
 

No
one would find her for a day or so.
 
He would help lead the investigation, vowing that the crime would face
justice.
 
Of course, he would find
someone to pin it on.
 
One of his
lower assets would do.
 
It would be
easy to arrange a meeting that ended in a tragic shootout. Evidence would be
planted. Emily would be given a hero’s funeral.
 
There would be political giants in attendance, perhaps even
The President himself.
 
And the
whole problem would go away.

He
banished the thoughts as he leaned closer to the side of the bed.
 
He could have his way with her if he
wanted.
 
She had always been an
attractive woman, strong of will and of body.
 
The thought lingered for a moment.
 
Murderer, yes.
 
But he was no rapist.
 
His stable of prostitutes satisfied all
of his carnal urges.
 
Tonight he
just had to finish this job.
 
Maybe
tomorrow night he would call up his escort connection.
 
An evening of fun might be exactly what
he needed after all the stress he’d experienced lately.

Very
slowly, he held out the pillow and gently placed it on the outline of Emily’s
head.
 
He pressed the long barrel
to the fabric and pulled the trigger three times.
 
Feathers erupted from the pillow with the popping of the
gun.
 
He left the mangled cushion
on the body and walked casually out of the room, never even glancing back.
 
And all of his loose ends were tied up.

He
felt good about himself as he descended the stairs.
 
The air was brisk outside, chilly from a cold front that had
come through, typical of that time of year.
 

The
streets were empty save for a few cars several hundred yards away.
 
They wouldn’t even notice him as he
slipped into his own car around the corner and drove off.
 

The
Prophet would be extremely pleased with his work.
 
No doubt he would be well rewarded.
 
He smiled at the thought of the things
he could buy with the money he would receive.
 
It would be significant which meant no more government
salary.
 
No more scraping by,
dealing with the bureaucratic bull.
 
He could retire to somewhere in the Caribbean, sipping Mai Thais and
playing golf for the rest of his days.
 

I deserve it
, he thought to himself as he got in his car and started the
engine.
 
Finally, Eric Jennings was
going to get what he had coming to him.