The Cleric's Vault (8 page)

Read The Cleric's Vault Online

Authors: Ernest Dempsey

BOOK: The Cleric's Vault
13.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
 

Chapter 16

Atlanta, Georgia

 

Tommy
and Will had what they needed, though Tommy’s friend had had to die for it.
Both men tiredly strolled out of the lab and towards the exit of the building
and simultaneously noticed some kind of movement at the end of the
corridor.
 
The other detectives had
already left the premises leaving only two policemen to guard the crime scene,
both of whom were nowhere in sight.

“Did
you see that?” Tommy spoke just barely above a whisper.

Will
nodded and pulled his gun out of its holster.
 
A flash and short pop burst from the dark shadows where
they’d seen the motion, pinging a bullet off the wall nearest them.
 
Both men ducked into the alcove of the
opposite doorway to take cover.
 

“Didn’t
the police check this whole building for suspects?”
 
Schultz wondered out loud.

“Yeah.
 
They did.”
 
Will turned around then edge and squeezed off two quick
rounds. Two more shots replied from the other end, one shattering a door window
behind them.
 
“Whoever killed the
professor must have come back for what they were looking for.”

Tommy
looked skeptical.
 
“To a fresh
crime scene?”

“I’ve
seen dumber things done by criminals.
 
It’s the only thing that makes sense here.
 
I guess he figured we’d be less likely to suspect such a
move.”

“True.
 
Or maybe the guy never left the
building.”
 

“We’re
going to have to change plans, Tommy.
 
My guess is they figure you have what they’re looking for.”
 
He looked at Schultz with a serious
eye.
 

Tommy
knew what that meant.
 
They were
willing to kill whoever got in their way to get what they wanted.
 
“What’s the move then?”

Will
thought quickly.
 
“My car is out
back.
 
I’ll lay down a little
covering fire while you go.
 
I’ll
meet you out there.”

“I
can’t let you do that.”
 
Tommy
shook his head.

“It
wasn’t a question.”
 
He gave a sly
grin.
 
“Now go.”

The
young cop swung around the corner again on one knee letting off a series of
shots in the direction of their attacker.
 
Simultaneously, Tommy took off towards the door closest to their
end.
 
He could hear Will’s weapon
laying down a steady barrage of hot metal as he barged through the door and out
into the Atlanta night.
 
He kept
running until he saw what he believed to be Will’s silver Dodge Charger.
 
Though it was unmarked, he recognized
the similarities between that and other more obvious police units.

More
muffled shots rang out inside the building.
 
Tommy wasn’t sure what to do.
 
He wished he could help the young officer but he was
unarmed.
 
What if Will was
shot?
 
Then the assailant would
surely come out the way he had exited a moment ago.
 
He noticed a fairly large rock near the front of the car in
the landscaping bed and grabbed it quickly then stepped around the back of the
car and ducked behind the trunk.

A
few more shots popped then suddenly the door flew open.
 
Will sprinted from the building as fast
as he could.
 
He unlocked the doors
with his remote key while slowing to a halt.

Tommy
stood up, rock still in hand.
 
“Whew.
 
I’m glad it was
you.”

“I
think I may have got him.”
 
Will
noticed the stone and raised an eyebrow.
 
“What were you gonna do with that?”
 

The
rock dropped to the ground and Tommy held up his hands to the side.
 
“Not a clue.”

“Get
in the car.
 
We better get out of
here.”
 
Will jumped in the front
seat and gunned the engine.
 

Tommy
slid into the passenger’s side and looked back up at the building as the
detective jerked the car backwards.
 
“Here we go again.”

 
 

Chapter 17

Washington, DC

 

There
was a crisp feel in the air that always seemed to come with late autumn.
 
Eric Jennings took a deep breath of the
fresh early air as he strolled along the downtown sidewalk.
 

It
had been an uneventful morning thus far.
 
He’d sat through a few meetings and listened to various reports.

Some
of the other agencies had been inquiring about some funding that seemed to be
missing from his budget, a fact he promised he would look into.
 
At the same time, Jennings had warned
them to monitor their own agencies.
 
What he did with his money was not
their concern.
 
How dare they.

Fortunately,
the careless agent with the loose lips had been discovered before too much
damage could be done.
 
Jennings had
questioned using Gary Holstrum from the beginning.
 
He was ambitious and eager yet lacked discipline, something
that had been apparent.
 
It seemed,
however, the young, pudgy agent had been a little too mouthy about a few
things.
 
Thus the ongoing questions
arising from the other bureaus.
 
A
bump in the road easily fixed.

Agent
Holstrum been unwittingly lured to Las Vegas, told he was being sent to a tech
conference going on at the Palazzo.
 
Like pretty much any young go-getter, he didn’t need to be asked twice
about an all-expenses paid trip to Las Vegas.
 
He’d arrived a few days before, more than likely excited
about four days of gambling, drinking, and debauchery in “Sin City.”
 
What he’d not expected was to be pulled
out of his penthouse suite in the middle of the night by two men dressed as
bell hops.
 
Their tranquilizers
worked quickly.
 
Jennings had
suggested them personally when the plan had been orchestrated.
 
After the unconscious Holstrum had been
delivered to The Prophet, Jennings didn’t need to know anything else.
 
Lindsey would handle it how he deemed
fit.
 
Though, if Jennings had to
guess, he’d say the man had probably suffered until the moment of his last
breath.

The
phone in his left jacket pocket startled him, ringing loudly.
  
He checked the screen then
answered.
 
“I trust you enjoyed the
package I sent you?” he said into the device.

“Yes,
Eric.
 
It won’t be giving us
anymore trouble.”
 
The voice
paused.
 
“Is everything going
according to plan?”
 

Jennings
thought for a moment.
 
Lindsey was
no fool.
 
By this time, news of the
shootout had been posted all over the news and there was too much carnage to
cover up.
 
The press had been fed a
story about one man acting alone, firing on federal authorities.
 
The gullible and always hungry press
seemed to love it and ran the story, almost without question.
 
Even without all the media attention,
Jennings knew Lindsey was probably fully aware of what had happened before
anyone else.
 
“We hit a snag,”
Jennings said, carefully.

“A
snag?” the voice asked.

“We
lost several assets.
 
My two points
are handling it.”
 
He wondered
where Collack and Weaver were at the moment.
 
They’d not reported in yet.

“Yes.
 
I’m aware of the incident in Las
Vegas.
 
It’s quite the mess,” he
sounded irritated
 
“I hope I
haven’t misplaced my trust in you, Eric.”
 
The line held an unspoken threat.
 

Jennings
understood the statement.
 
Failure
was not an option.
 
“It will be
handled, sir.
 
I assure you.”

“See
to it that these little messes do not become common place.
 
We are near the end of the race.
 
It must be finished.
 
Make sure Wyatt is taken care of.”

“It
won’t happen again.”

The
line was momentarily silent.
 

Then
Jennings added, “There was an unanticipated interruption, sir.”

“Interruption?”

“Two
women appeared.
 
One was with Wyatt
in his room when our men moved in.
 
We think it was Emily Starks.
 
The other one is an unknown.
 
She took out several of our agents.”

“Unknown?
 
Did anyone get a good look at her?”

“We
are checking security cameras now but she could have been disguised.
 
It may be difficult to get an ID.”

“Do
you have their location?” Lindsey was sounding more and more annoyed.

“Not
yet.
 
We should by noon.”

Alexander’s
voice was pensive.
 
“Don’t take
them out yet.
 
I want to know what
they’re up to and who this mystery woman is.
 
They may be of use to us after all.
 
Then when the time is right….” He
trailed off.

“Yes
sir.”
 
The line went dead.
 
Jennings checked screen and saw that
Lindsey had hung up.

 
 

Chapter 18

Nevada

 

Sean
awoke and shook his head.
 
He was
lying in a room with walls made of solid wood planks.
 
The bed was soft, softer than most he’d slept in.
 
He leaned over to a nightstand and
checked his phone to see what time it was then swung around the edge of the bed
and walked over to the window overlooking the jagged mountains to the
north.
 
A quick inspection of the
small guest closet revealed a plush, white robe that extended down to his
knees.
 
There was a slight chill in
the air so he decided to help himself and slipped into the cozy garment.

The
interior of the mountain top chalet was much larger than the exterior belied.
 
It was a narrow building, probably
thirty to forty feet wide.
 
Counting the garage there were three floors, two of them housed the
living quarters of the home.
 
The
layout was unique.
 
He’d learned as
much by way of a quick tour from their host the previous night.
 
A great room opened up into the kitchen
and dining room with hardly any dividing walls whatsoever.
 
On the first floor a master bedroom and
an office area took up some of the space along with a porch that opened up on
the side of the house and wrapped around to the front, overlooking the basin
and the far-off city below.
 
In the
living room, enormous windows displayed the breathtaking desert view.
 
Upstairs on the second floor were two
guest rooms, another master bedroom and bathroom and an outdoor patio that
faced the other direction into the mountains and beyond to the north.
 
The furnishings were simple but modern,
an eclectic mix of black leathers, dark frames, and brightly colored draperies,
photos, and artwork.
 

Sean
walked slowly into the living room as the sun was peeking over the mountains to
the east.
 
The smell of fresh
coffee lingered in the air.
 
His
host sat comfortably in a deep leather sofa near the window in a terry cloth
robe identical to the one he was sporting.
 
She held a large coffee cup in her hand.

“I
see you made yourself at home,” she said sarcastically, her Spanish accent
seemed extra thick in the morning.

He
looked down at the robe and spread out his arms as if showing it off.
 
“I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
 
He ran both hands down the sides of it,
feeling the supple texture again then added, “This thing is really soft.”

“They
are better than the ones that were given to you at the hotel, yes?”
 
A smile told him she appreciated the
compliment.

“Definitely,”
he returned the grin.

“Would
you like some coffee?
 
I have it
brought in from one of my family’s estates in Guatemala.”

“You
have a coffee farm in Guatemala?
 
Didn’t look like a coffee farmer the way you handled yourself last
night.”

She
stood up and eased past him, leaving a fresh scent of perfume dancing around
his nostrils.

“I’m
not a coffee farmer, Senor Wyatt,” she replied while she set down her own cup
and filled another identical one nearby from a steaming, steel pot.
 
“Cream and sugar?”

He
nodded and smiled.
 
“I’ll take mine
how you take yours, por favor.”

The
Spanish caught her off guard slightly and she cast him a playful glance out of
the corner of her eye.
 
“Well, I
take mine with milk and a little sugar.
 
Will that be ok?”

“Sounds
perfect.”

She
mixed the concoction and handed it to him, which he accepted graciously then
proceeded to follow her back to the sitting area.
 
They sat down across from each other, he in a matching
one-seater.

“Is
your friend still sleeping?”
 

“Probably,”
he said as he took a long sip of the aromatic coffee.

There
was a moment of awkward silence.
 
He lowered the cup from his mouth and made a gesture with it.
 
“This is really good.”

“Gracias,”
she nodded to him.

“So,”
Sean changed the subject, “you obviously know about me.
 
But I know absolutely nothing about
you?
 
What’s your story?”

She
laughed slightly at the question.
 
“There isn’t much to know.”

He
took another big sip of the creamy, brown liquid.
 
“Mentirosa.”

The
Spanish word surprised her and a snort escaped her nose in mid-sip causing her
to nearly spill her coffee.
 
“I am
not a liar, Mr. Wyatt.”

“Please,
call me Sean.”
 

“Very
well, Sean,” she said in a sarcastic tone.
 
“I was born in a small town about thirty minutes outside of
Madrid.
 
My father was involved in
many different business ventures.
 
His affairs led him to be out of town much of the time.
 
Eventually, my mother became very
ill.
 
When she died, my father was
crushed.
 
We grew very close for
the months after her death.”
 
She
paused and took a deep breath.
 
The
pain was still very close to her heart.
 
“My father is a tremendous inspiration for me.
 
He always treated me like his princess.
 
When I went a way to University, he
would call every week to talk to me and ask how I was doing.”
 
There was a slight tone of regret in
her voice.

“So
you left home to go to school?”

She
nodded.
 
“As much as I loved my
father, I had to leave.
 
Business
was starting to take him away again and the pain was too much to bear without
mother around.”

Sean
understood.
 
He felt lucky he’d been
able to keep his family around as long as he had.

“I
feel like because he spent so much of his life working to give his family a
better future, he missed out on so many things that the world has to offer.”

Wyatt
felt like saying something but he held back.
 
Instead, he tried to lighten the mood.
 
“If your other adventures were anything
like what happened last night I’d say it’s probably best that you leave him at
home,” Sean grinned wide.
 

“Perhaps,”
she laughed a little.
 
She changed
subjects.
 
“After I graduated from
University, I started working a little here and there with some small scale
antique collectors from Europe and Asia.
 
At first I just did it because I needed the work.
 
Then one day I was checking my bank
account and I saw something very strange.”

“Lot
of money missing?”

She
shook her head.
 
“The
opposite.
 
Someone had made an
enormous deposit into my account.
 
I felt certain there had been a mistake, but I was assured that the
balance was correct.
 
I can only
assume my father must have put the money there.
 
But he never said why.
 
“So I used that money to do what I loved.
 
I traveled the world, searching for antiquities on my
own.
 
I became what you American’s
would call a treasure hunter.
 
But
I don’t do it for the money.
 
I do
it because I love history.
 
Nothing
beats that feeling you get when you find something that hasn’t been seen or
touched for hundreds or thousands of years.
 
It is like nothing else.”

“What
do you do with the artifacts when you find them?” he asked, curious.

“I
keep them in my collection,” she answered pointedly.
 
“Occasionally, I return them to their rightful owners.”

“You
don’t feel like they should go to a museum or to a government?”

“No,”
was all she said with a cryptic smile.
 

Sean
caught himself staring at her.
 
The
lightly tanned skin, the deep brown eyes, every physical feature was only
enhanced by the fact that she was extremely learned and interested in ancient
history.
 

“Got
an extra cup of that coffee?”
 
Emily’s voice startled the two of them.

“Of
course,” Adriana said, momentarily caught off guard.
 
She stood and walked back to the coffee maker and poured
another cupful.

“Thank
you so much,” Emily said, taking the cup with a look of relief.

“How’d
you sleep?” Sean piped up.

“Fine,
thanks,” she replied and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from
where their host had been sitting.
 
She gazed out the gigantic windows.
 
“What an amazing view.”

“I
love the enormity of it,” Villa said.

“So,
now that Em’s up, I’ll ask you a question that she and I are both probably
thinking,” Wyatt interrupted.

“Yes?”
The chocolate eyes probed his face.

“How
did you happen to know those guys were going to show up at the Venetian?”

She
walked over by the window and gazed out at the sunrise over the far-away
mountains as if considering her answer.

“A
long time ago, my father told me a story, one that many have heard before.
 
It was a legend really, a myth.”

“Let
me guess,” Sean chimed in, “the seven cities of gold?”

Adriana
nodded.
 
“Yes.
 
The stories of Quivira and Cibola reached
one of my family’s cousin’s, a governor in Mexico.
 
He spent his entire family fortune on expeditions into what
is now the southwestern United States, searching for this supposed treasure.”

“Wait
a second.
 
You’re not talking about
Francisco Coronado?
 
Are you?”
 
He seemed more interested now.

“Very
quick to make the connection,” She seemed impressed.
 
“Yes, that is correct.
 
He was a cousin of my ancestors.
 
He frequently sent letters to my family back in Spain, mostly depicting
the stories he’d been told about the magnificent cities and how when he
discovered them our family would be the wealthiest on the planet.
 
Sadly, he failed miserably and died a
bankrupt man.”

“So,
you’re trying to pick up where he left off,” Emily threw in her two cents.

“No,”
Villa shook her head.
 
“I have no
grand delusions about seven cities of gold.”

“Then
what is it?” Sean looked sincere as he asked the question.

“When
Francisco Coronado first came through the American southwest, he was led to
believe there were magnificent golden cities that could be easily overtaken
with a small army.
 
He thought the
gold could be plundered and taken back to Mexico and then Spain.”

“You
said, ‘first came through.’
 
What
do you mean by that?”
 
Sean
questioned.

“When
the conquistador returned to his estate in Mexico, he realized there must have
been some sort of flaw with the story.
 
If there were truly seven cities of gold someone would have discovered
them by then.
 
Even rival tribes
would have been tempted to overthrow the natives that had built them.
 
Such a construction would have been
nearly impossible to keep secret.
 
“That’s when he began to research the idea of the golden cities more
deeply.
 
None of the local natives
from the Yucatan had ever heard of such a place, save for a few who had only a
faint recollection of whisperings from the past.”

“Are
you saying the people who told Coronado about Cibola and Quivira were
lying?”
 
Emily wondered.

“You
two already know the answer.”
 
She
pointed to Sean, “Your friends Joe and Tommy figured it out rather easily, I
might add.”

The
light went on in Sean’s eyes.
 
“Coronado figured out that it was something else.
 
He must have come across some
information that told him there weren’t any golden cities but they were
actually four golden chambers.”
 

He
wondered how she knew about his friends but decided to let it go for the time
being.

Other books

My Name Is Not Alexander by Jennifer Fosberry
Under My Skin by Graves, Judith
Suckers by Z. Rider
The Outcast Dead by Elly Griffiths
Werewolves in Their Youth by Michael Chabon
Lucky Damnation by Joel M. Andre
Half a Dose of Fury by Zenina Masters