The loud pop was accompanied by burst of blood that splattered across the bed and wall. Starks turned her head at the sight.
Jennings’s eyes stared ahead for a moment, his body wavering. Then he toppled over backwards.
Immediately, the door burst open and special agents wearing bulletproof vests entered the room with guns drawn. When they saw the body on the floor, they lowered their weapons.
Emily just stared down at the corpse for what seemed like an hour before being interrupted by one of the men from her team. “Orders, ma’am?” The young agent had stepped over the body and handed her a robe from the closet. She’d forgotten that she was still basically naked. She snapped out of her daze and returned to being the director she was. “Thank you,” she smiled at him briefly. “We will take care of this quietly. The news report will be that we discovered the body. He had financial problems, and they had become too overwhelming for him to bear.”
The young agent nodded. His loose, blonde hair shook when he did. “Yes ma’am.” He immediately pressed a button on his earpiece and started sending out the orders as he turned and left the room.
Emily tucked the robe around her waist and sat down on the edge of the chair she’d previously occupied. A sickening stench of gun smoke and blood remained in the air.
She’d hoped to take Jennings alive. Now whatever information he had about his employer was gone.
Chapter 69
Alexander Lindsey made his way down a darkly lit hallway. Four large bodyguards accompanied him, following close behind. The corridor was lit with old candle sconces made from wrought iron. Unlike most sconces in the present day, the building’s purveyors used fresh, real candles every day. Lindsey liked that about the establishment. It gave the place a serene, almost haunted feel.
The building they were visiting was called The Galleon, an elitist club that was named as tribute to the mighty ships of the Spanish Armada. Though its name hinted at an overall Spanish theme, the club actually paid honor to many different types of sailing vessels from years gone by. Near each sconce was an oil panting of a famous ocean going vessel. Some belonged to great captains from history. Others were associated with less reputable seafarers.
The Galleon was an oddity given that it was located in Salt Lake City, nowhere near an ocean. The founder had, no doubt, had a love of the sea and history so when he opened his club for Utah’s elite, he combined the two to create a unified theme.
Lindsey had been there a few times for business meetings that would be better left out of the public eye. That was probably the greatest service that the establishment provided.
On the outside, it seemed just like any other private club, a place where businessmen could have a drink or a cigar and unwind after their daily toils. The inside, though, was a facility full of secrets.
Aside from the main lounge, there were ten smaller rooms, each featuring leather couches and chairs, mini-bars, restrooms, fireplaces, and even small tables for eating. It was rumored that hundreds of under-the-table deals had been made in the facility. Even two former presidents were members and had been said to visit the place when meeting with foreign heads of state or with high level business officials. The floor was made from dark, worn oak planks that had been said to come from two old merchant vessels the owner had purchased for scrap. A narrow strip of dark, red carpet ran along the center of the hall between each of the ten rooms.
Lindsey and his escorts arrived at a door marked with the name, Sir Francis Drake. He looked left to right at his bodyguards and then pulled the door handle.
As the door eased open, Mornay and Carroll looked over from their seats near the fireplace. Their conversation had come to an abrupt halt.
Alexander eyed both of them suspiciously. “Don’t let me interrupt you, gentlemen. It sounded like you were talking about something.” His tone was lathered in a condescending tone.
The two men’s faces were awash with a combination of guilt and fear. The fire in the hearth crackled dramatically in the silence.
“Alexander,” Carroll said with a stutter, “please, come join us.” He stood, cautiously. “Would you like a brandy?” he offered, nearly stumbling over the coffee table as he headed towards the bar.
“Sit down, Jonathan.” The harsh order startled the already unsettled man, and he felt his way into a seat near where he was standing. Mornay was less eager to acquiesce to the request and stood up defiantly. “You too, Albert,” Alexander said with a tone that carried a warning.
The narrow, sharp face of Mornay clenched angrily. “I think I’ll stand, Alexander. What are you doing here? It is against club policy to interrupt a room with closed doors.”
Lindsey gave a quick nod to his escorts who walked over to where Mornay was standing and forced him to sit down, splashing the whiskey he was holding all over the floor and his pants.
“I said sit down,” Lindsey replied coldly. “And the club makes certain allowances for its more generous patrons.” He grinned slightly as he made his way across the room to where the two men were seated. The remaining bodyguards closed the door behind him and stood, staring lifelessly towards the fireplace.
Mornay’s anger only heightened at the fact that two men pushed him into sitting in the deep leather couch. He hated being treated like a child. “What is this about?” he asked, incredulous.
Carroll tried a different approach. Perhaps thinking that being a little proactive would change the emotions of the room a bit. “How are things progressing with our project?” he asked sheepishly.
Lindsey turned to the fleshy man whose three piece suit protruded awkwardly around his rotund figure. “Ah. Our little project. Yes, Jonathan, it’s interesting that you should ask about that. Very interesting indeed.”
“What are you talking about?” Mornay interrupted.
“Things are progressing quite well, it seems. In fact, our lead operative has made an extremely valuable discovery.”
“Another clue?” Carroll offered in vain hope.
Lindsey snorted. “I guess you could call it that.” The old man stepped around the couch and eased into a leather chair facing both men.
“You see, Agent Hastings ran into an interesting situation while in South America.” He paused momentarily and let the drama build along with the fear in his subordinates’ minds. Neither man dared look at the other, still clinging to hope that their treachery hadn’t been discovered. “It seems there was another player involved that I was previously unaware of.”
“So,” Mornay said defiantly. “Did our operative handle the situation?”
The old man let out a low chuckle and raised a finger towards Mornay. “Which operative are you talking about, Albert?” His tone had become almost playful, dangling his victims over the possibility of escape or doom.
“Hastings. Did he get rid of the problem?”
Even now Mornay was still obstinate. Lindsey knew he would never bow, never be trustworthy. To complete the mission at hand, Lindsey would need men he could depend on, those who would do anything he said without question. The two men before him had not only proven themselves unreliable but had actually gone behind his back and tried to sabotage the mission. Had they succeeded, Lindsey feared everything would have been lost. They would have, no doubt, simply taken the treasure and quit there, happy to fill their coffers with more loot. Men like that only cared about money.
Lindsey’s thoughts still lingered on the two betrayers. Mornay, especially, was infatuated with superficial power. He believed that money could buy power. Money could by people and votes and material possessions, but a twenty-five-cent bullet could take all of that away in a second. Disease could destroy an entire life’s work and cut short everything a person had worked for. An idiot texting on the interstate could swerve over and crash your car along with theirs, killing you without notice. No, money was not power. A greater power existed. And the two morons two whom The Prophet spoke had put the acquisition of that power at great risk. Their greed and foolish ambition could have ruined everything he had worked so diligently to attain.