"I'm fine. Just walking through Lucerne at the moment. The air is a little thinner up here."
"Lucerne?" Tommy sounded surprised. "What are you doing there? I love that city. One time-"
Sean cut him off. "Tommy, I need you to pay attention. Find out all you can about die Glocke, and any information on a man with the last name of Ott. I think he was a scientist that was working for the Nazis on the project. Get me all you can about those things."
The other end of the line was silent for a moment as Tommy was jotting down everything his friend had requested. Tommy Schultz was the head of the IAA based in Atlanta. He and his younger assistants, Alex and Tara, were bloodhounds when it came to digging up facts on just about anything.
If there was any information out there on the older Ott and the device known as die Glocke, Tommy and his crew would find it.
"Okay, I think I got it. Anything else you want me to look up? An itemized list of priceless art stolen by the Nazis?" His tone was sarcastic despite the fact that he was being helpful.
"No, maybe later," Sean cracked. Then "Wait. See what you can find out about a Nazi U-boat heading to South America. I want to know if there is any documentation about transporting technology or anything else across the Atlantic in one of their subs."
"Well, that could be tricky," Tommy said.
"Because?"
"For starters, the idea of Nazi leaders escaping the Fatherland to South America, particularly Argentina, isn't a new theory. In most circles, it's a widely held belief that many U-boats did, in fact, make the journey across the ocean successfully."
"Good. Then we are dealing with facts and not myth. See what you can find."
Tommy sighed. "Fine. But it's not like I'm just sitting around watching television here. I do work, you know."
"This is more important, Tommy. Thanks for your help."
"You're…"
Sean ended the call before he could hear the word welcome. He imagined his friend cursing on the other end, but he didn't care. The idea made Sean grin for a second. Then the man he was following ducked around the corner steps of a bank, disappearing behind the metal façade. Sean glanced both ways and darted across the street in pursuit.
"Now where are you going?" he whispered.
7
Admiral McClain stood at his second-story window overlooking the Potomac River. He considered all the history that had taken place on that little strip of water as he puffed on a Padrón cigar. One of the first things that came to mind was the famous crossing of George Washington. The painting had become an icon in Revolutionary lore, but from what he understood about the real history of it, things didn't exactly go down that way. Not that it mattered. The fledgling country persevered, and was able to break the bonds that the British had kept them in for so long.
McClain had joined the armed services because he wanted to be a part of the great military history of the United States of America. He hoped to carve out his own little piece that generations would admire.
It hadn't gone according to plan, though.
Some would look at McClain's status and all his achievements in life and think he had it all, that he'd done everything he set out to do. They'd be right. Mostly.
But Corbett McClain wanted more. It wasn't enough that he was one of the chief advisers to the president. He snorted at the thought. Earlier that morning, the president had taken action in spite of McClain's advice. He felt more like a pawn now than ever.
He'd achieved the highest rank for a naval officer, but was still unsatisfied with his standing, as well as his paycheck. He wasn't living in squalor by any stretch of the imagination. His multimillion-dollar home on the river put to rest any notion of the sort. He drove a modest luxury car, smoked the best cigars, drank the best bourbon, and when his wife was out of town, probably engaging in one of her many extramarital affairs, he had a stable of women he paid to keep him company.
Life was good. But it wasn't what he wanted.
McClain took another draw on his cigar and let the bluish smoke seep out between his pursed lips.
It wasn't enough that McClain was one of the right hands to the most powerful man on the planet. He wanted recognition. He wanted to be a hero. And despite his finances, he wanted…no, needed, more money.
The president should have listened about the SEALs. He could send those guys in to do anything, and they would take care of it before the deadline. The missing scientist would be saved, and McClain would be the guy responsible for heading the rescue mission. Well, maybe not heading, but at least ordering it.
His phone rattled on a nearby end table as it vibrated. He stepped over and picked it up. Recognizing the number, he answered shortly, "What?"
"Still waiting on your orders, sir."
"So? Keep waiting. I'll let you know when it's time to move. We don't even know where to move to, yet."
"I understand that, sir. But usually in these situations, it's best not to sit around and wait. You know that."
"I do." He paused and momentarily changed the subject. "Were you able to find any information yet?"
"Not yet, sir. We have a few men on it, but so far they're coming up empty. I'm not sure there's anything out there that will help."
"It's out there," McClain reassured the caller. "You just have to know where to look. You already tried Ott's lab?"
"Yeah, but it was hard to get in there. They've tightened security considerably."
"Getting past tight security is one of the reasons you're a part of this unit. We need to know what she's got. There has to be something that can point us in the right direction."
"I'll take care of it, sir."
"That's more like it. Call me when you have an update on the situation."
"Yes, sir. One more thing you should know about. There's an asset in play."
It wasn't exactly news. The president had so much as already told McClain that there would be an Axis agent on the scene. Still, the wild card presented an opportunity.
"Follow him, and see where he goes, what he's up to. If he finds something helpful, let me know."
"Will do."
McClain ended the call. "What are you up to?" he said to himself in a gruff tone. Knowing Sean Wyatt’s history, he knew the man could get in the way of his plan. But there was no turning back now. Things were in motion, and they couldn't be stopped just because some cowboy was getting in the way.
Hopefully, by the end of the day, he would have some answers — answers that could lead to taking some action.
8
Sean kept a few hundred feet between himself and the guy in the red shirt. The man had been walking for over ten minutes, winding his way through the streets of the city. The longer he followed him, the more Sean started to think that either the guy was an ordinary criminal, or he was trying to lead Sean astray. The latter became increasingly the more likely.
He checked his six more frequently as the minutes rolled by, making sure no one was on his tail. A few times he thought he recognized the same guy behind him, but when he would look again, the person was gone, never to reappear.
Red shirt took a sharp right and cut down an alleyway between two buildings. If Sean followed, he would definitely be spotted. He had to risk guessing where his mark was headed.
Up ahead, the street ended in a sharp left turn. Straight ahead was the river. To the right was a pedestrian street with cafes and restaurants along the waterfront. He was back to an area he recognized. Red shirt's direction would take him out in the middle of the waterfront area. Sean sped up to a jog, weaving around the citizens and tourists as he increased his pace. He needed to get to the other side of the row of buildings before his quarry disappeared.