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

that the two brutish men were still stalking toward the car. They were only about twenty feet away now.

Only one way to play this one, Sean thought. Dropping to the ground below the bottom edge of the door, he extended his weapon and squeezed off four shots at the feet and shins of the approaching attackers.

One man’s foot exploded in a mass of Italian black leather and blood. The other man’s right shin splintered instantly from the impact of the bullet. Both assailants dropped to their knees with the unbearable pain surging up through their legs. One dropped his gun to the ground while the other held it to his side; both were grasping at their new wounds. That was all Wyatt needed.

Spinning around the outside of the door, he stood and fired off two more shots. The suit with the shin injury fell over backward, a blackish-red hole about the size of a nickel etched into his head. The other clutched at his neck, furiously trying to contain the sudden fountain of blood leaving his body. That struggle only lasted a dozen or so seconds before he fell forward.

Sean looked around anxiously. There was no one else in the parking lot, but his shots must have been heard inside the shop.  People on the sidewalks were screaming and running away from the scene in a panic.

He stepped back over to the open door and found Allyson curled up inside, terrified.

“We have to leave.”

“What?”  She asked, shock on her face.

“Now, Allyson.”

He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her from the car. Again, the amount of strength he showed for a man his size was surprising.

Allyson stared blankly at the two bodies lying on the asphalt.

“Are they…?” she began.

“Yeah,” he answered before she could finish her sentence.

He reholstered his gun. The yellow parking lights flashed on a nearby carbon gray 1969 Camaro.

“We’ll take my car.”

She was too stunned and scared to disagree at this point.

Questions swirled in both their heads amid the confusion. What was going on? Why were those two men trying to kill them?

Sean opened the passenger door for her and, as gently as possible, forced her into the seat. He skipped around the back of the car quickly, taking one last look around the parking lot.

He turned the key, and the engine revved to life. Trying not to draw too much attention, he stepped on the gas and steered the car out of the back exit.

4

Nevada

Through a giant arched window, the last rays of afternoon sun shone onto the dark walnut floor. A man with gray hair and a wrinkled, weathered face gazed out at the mountainous scene. He was known by a few loyal followers as The Prophet, a leader during a time of spiritual and religious weakness. They didn’t need to know that the title was self imposed. All that mattered was that they believed in what he was doing. His mind was occupied, busy with a task few knew about. An old phone on a large oak desk rang the way phones did twenty years ago. Aroused from his thoughts, the old figure sitting in the shadows of his study reached over to answer.

“Have you begun?” His voice was direct and commanding.

“Yes. Everything is in place as you wished, sir.” The voice on the other end of the line was foreign.

“And you are certain that Schultz will lead you to the answers we seek?”

“One hundred percent sure.”

“And Wyatt?”

“He will not be a problem.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. But he does not have access to the information.”

“Why is he still alive?” Irritation laced the old man’s words.

“Do not worry, sir. The homing beacon on Wyatt’s vehicle is working. I will know every move he makes. He is predictable if nothing else.”

“I am not worried. I simply know exactly what this Sean Wyatt is capable of. You are the expert in these matters, so I expect you to know exactly what I am talking about. We are proceeding with the plan that you presented, but if at any moment I feel like things are getting out of control, I will not hesitate to pull you.” The threat created silence on the other end for a moment before the shadowed figured continued. “Keep me informed of any further developments. And Jens…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Dispose of the woman. She can serve no purpose for us.”

“Of course, sir.”

The dark figure in the high leatherback chair gently laid the receiver back onto the phone base and returned to gazing through the large study window.

Soon, he thought, the whole world would change.

5

Atlanta

It had been a busy day already for Detective Trent Morris. He had been working since 7 a.m., and now, right in the middle of the morning, he gets a call for a double homicide at a coffee shop in Buckhead. And from the sound of it, it wasn’t going to be a routine call.

When he arrived on the scene, one of the CSI guys already there informed him that they were unable to find any identification on the two victims. Both were males, roughly the same muscular build, dark-brown hair, and wearing very similar suits with long black coats. Each one was wearing sunglasses as well.

If he didn’t know better, Morris would have sworn the guys were Secret Service. Unaware of any possible presidential visit to North Atlanta today, that was an easy thought to swear off.

Morris was an imposing presence and commanded a great deal of respect with his coworkers. He had grown up in Atlanta with six brothers and sisters just southeast of the city. Being the oldest had taught him a great deal about responsibility. He walked with purpose through the police tape, lifting his badge that dangled on a lanyard from his neck as he passed