The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

clues, nothing has pointed so directly to the answers you seek as what you discovered a few weeks ago.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Tommy figured the guy knew about the stone disc. He was glad it was not in his possession.

Blondie had been standing politely, hands folded behind his back, wearing a very Euro-trendy suit. His vibrant tie looked like it was about three decades behind the current fashion, which, oddly enough, must have made it the current fashion.

“There is no need to play coy with me,” he began. “We are aware of the stone disc. I also know that you were in contact with Dr. Borringer at the university in Kennesaw. You sent him something you could not decipher.”

So far, this guy seemed to be right on the money. “Frank and I are colleagues. I use him as a point of reference all the time with my work. But I’m not sure what stone disc you are talking about,” he lied.

“Still in denial.” The stranger shook his head, making a clicking sound with his mouth, and took a few steps toward the desk. Leaning over and placing both hands palms down on the top, he stared directly into Tommy’s eyes. “Thomas, it would be better for you if you would just tell us where the stone is. As soon as we have it, I will let you go. We will also need the translations Dr. Borringer gave you.”

Tommy sincerely had no clue if Frank had even started working on those documents, much less finished translating them. He started to relay that information then decided to keep that to himself. “It would be better for you if you wouldn’t wear such brightly colored ties.”

The blond captor was thrown off slightly by the comment, glancing down at the fabric. Then, standing, he resumed his icy façade. “You think you are funny?”

“I’m better in a bar.”

“Well, Thomas, I wonder if you think this is funny.” Reaching over to the corner of the desk, he grabbed a remote control and switched on a 20-inch flat panel LCD TV that was mounted to the wall at a corner of the cone-shaped ceiling.

The screen flicked onto a feed from a closed circuit security camera. Tommy’s heart nearly stopped. They were looking at an image of Sean’s parents’ home. “You son of a …”

“Now, now,” the blond said before he could finish, “the Wyatts will be fine. All you need to do is help me find what I want.”

Tommy struggled against the twine. Unfortunately, whoever did the tying must have been one heck of a Boy Scout. He could barely move. “You better not touch them.”

“Oh, we won’t touch them, Thomas. They will simply be victims of an unfortunate accident. Many innocent people have died over the centuries during times of conflict. Millions have given up their lives during religious wars. Our mission is a new crusade. It has been blessed by God.” He cocked his head as if talking to an elementary schoolchild. “If sacrifices are necessary, who are we to deny them?”

The tone in which he was speaking told of a great religious conviction inside the shell of a madman. That was a very dangerous thing, and the smile on his face was even more disturbing.

“I’ve heard this speech before,” Tommy spat out. “The world has seen dozens of lunatics like you. Usually, they end up taking the easy way out when justice catches up with them.”

The young blond man paused in midstride. A sinister smile crept across his face. “You would compare me to the Hitlers and Napoleons of history?” Leaning close, his voice lowered to a near whisper. “If those men possessed what it is we seek, the world may well have been a different place.” He stood straight again before continuing. “All the more proof that they were not meant to have it.”

“The Wyatts are good people and have nothing to do with this,” Tommy said, thinking a change of subject might help the situation.

“Nothing to do with what, Thomas?”

Catching himself, Tommy realized he may have just hooked himself without knowing. Or maybe he’d just bought himself and the Wyatts some time.

“Fine,” he said with hesitation. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave them out of this.” Desperation was in his voice.

“What happens to them is determined by our success.” He stepped closer, around the desk, and leaned in so that Tommy could smell the pungent and probably overpriced cologne the man was wearing. A cruel grin crossed his face. “Now, tell me everything.”

“What do I call you?”

Standing erect, as if considering what harm could come from his prisoner knowing his name, he then responded, “I have had many names, but you may call me Jens Ulrich.”

12

Atlanta

The campus at Kennesaw State University sits about twenty minutes northwest of Downtown Atlanta, just outside of the I-285 perimeter. Some of the more socially concerned citizens of the city look down on those who lived outside of the encompassing highway. Silly, Morris thought, that people would think in such terms. It was the modern day version of living on the wrong side of the tracks, though, in many ways, this particular wrong side of the tracks seemed much more enviable. Even with the encroaching urban sprawl, the area to the northwest of Atlanta had remained a nice place. Just one exit down from the university, a shopping center had grown from what was once just a mall to a town unto itself.

Even more impressive was the university. Quite young, as colleges go, Kennesaw State had only been established in 1963. However, in just forty years, the campus had grown to become the third largest school in the state, boasting