Porter had seen it ever since he moved to Washington. It was a different way of doing things. Where he came from in West Virginia, they didn't have time to waste. Life was hard, and if you didn't take on every day like it was your last, you were doing something wrong.
His father's death in the coal mines taught him that at a very young age. His mother's suicide three years later reinforced it. Porter had no intention of ever mincing words, tap dancing around a subject, or worrying about the politically correct thing to say.
He got the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible, which made him a perfect killing machine. It did not, however, make for good conversation.
"If you think I had anything to do with that mess, you need to think again, sir. You told me and my men to sit back and wait for further instructions. You were taking us off the case. Now you have the guts to call me and ask if I had something to do with your little screwup? No. No, I didn't have anything to do with it."
He knew the lie would work. There was nothing linking Porter to Anhur. He'd paid in cash and left nothing in the way of evidence that could connect him to the attack inside the Chinese joint.
The man on the other end of the line exhaled audibly through his nose. What could he do? He didn't have any proof that Porter was affiliated with the tattooed guy who shot up the restaurant, especially since the shooter was probably dead at this point.
"One of my men is following Wyatt. He's heading out of town. I need you to rendezvous with my asset and follow Wyatt to wherever he's going. It is of the utmost importance that we stop these individuals before they can cause more trouble."
There it was, Porter thought: the ask.
His employer waited patiently on the other end of the line for Porter's response.
"I'm sorry, sir, but are you saying you want me and my men back on the case?'
He knew his boss had to swallow his pride to say it. Politicians like him weren't good at doing that. Most of them hated having to admit they were wrong, and while Porter doubted he'd get those words out of his employer, he knew the man was thinking it.
"I need you to meet up with my guy and take out Wyatt and Schultz. Eliminate them at all costs. I don't care what it takes. Just wipe them off the face of the planet. Okay? Understood?"
"Loud and clear, sir. I'd be happy to rendezvous with your guy. My only question is, when and where would you like me to meet your other guy?"
"He said Wyatt and Schultz are heading out of town. Looks like they're going southeast. I'll give you his number so you two can sort it out. He's on the road right now, trailing the marks."
Porter thought it interesting that he had another man on the scene at the Chinese restaurant. That meant his employer either thought he needed a backup plan or maybe he thought Porter might try to get involved. By using Anhur as his trigger man, Porter had avoided direct confrontation, which meant he still had plausible deniability.
"Sounds good, sir. Thank you for the opportunity."
The other man said nothing. No apology. No "glad to have you back on the case." Just an ended call followed shortly by a text message with his other asset's phone number
Of course, Porter would make sure that guy ended up dead as well. Like he'd mentioned to his boss, loose ends needed to be tied up. In the line of fire, all sorts of accidents could happen. Once the tail was eliminated, there'd be no one in Porter's way.
He'd follow Wyatt to the treasure, kill him, and then make his employer pay for his doubt.
Chapter 28
Sean and Tommy walked toward the maroon nineteenth-century farmhouse. The wooden siding and fresh paint were a tribute to the constant maintenance done on the historic site to keep it looking as it may have in the mid-1800s.
The area surrounding the Surratt house was less than historic. Gas stations and small shopping centers lined the streets nearby, taking away some of the prestige of such an old building and making it instead look like an out-of-place relic.
The town of Clinton was originally called Surrattsville, named for the family that founded it. After the Lincoln conspiracy came to light, the name was later changed so that any association with that tragic event would be lost to history.
Sean's and Tommy's heads were on a swivel, turning one way and then the other to make sure no one was watching — or following. So far, they'd not seen anything suspicious.
"You don't look comfortable," Tommy said to his friend as they neared the front steps of the Surratt House. "Cold?"
"It's like thirty degrees out. So yeah, I'm cold. That's not it, though."
"What is it, then? We haven't noticed anyone following us."
"That's what worries me," Sean said. "It's been too quiet."
Tommy stopped short of the first step and gave his friend an incredulous look. "Sometimes I wonder if you prefer to have trouble chasing you around."
Sean didn't break his stoic expression. "It's just easier when you see it coming. That's all. The knife you don't see is the one you should fear most."
Tommy sighed. "All right, Sun Tzu. Try not to stress yourself out too much, okay?"
Sean remained silent as they climbed the short set of steps onto the front porch and passed the sign hanging on one of the wooden columns that read Surratt's Tavern.
They opened the front door and stepped into a room that time forgot. The old hearth, the tables, the kitchen, the chairs, and every furnishing in the place looked original. It even smelled old, giving off scents of wood and smoke. Fake logs rested in the fireplace, smudging the authentic feel of the room. The only other thing that didn't fit with all the antiques was the yellow paint on the wall. It appeared to have been done some time in the last decade.
A woman with golden curly hair was sitting at a desk near the door when Sean and Tommy walked in. She stood up and smiled pleasantly at them. "Hello. Welcome to the Surratt House. Can I help you?"
Sean's eyes shifted to Tommy, giving him a you wanna take this one glance.
"Yes," Tommy said. "I'm Tommy Schultz, and this is my friend Sean Wyatt. We work for the International Archaeological Agency and were wondering if we could take a look around your museum."
Based on the blank look on the woman's face, she had no clue who they were. "Would you like a guided tour, or do you just want to show yourself around?"
Sean noted the name on her tag. "Janet, is it?"
She nodded.
"If it's okay with you, we'd just like to have a look around. No need in doing a guided tour."
"Okay," she said with a hint of disappointment.
Sean figured she'd been sitting in there all day without a single visitor. Janet probably wanted to show them around just to break up the monotony.
"I'll be here if you have any questions," she said, returning to her seat with a dejected frown.
"Thanks," Tommy said, already wandering away from the information desk.
They made their way around the first room, inspecting every inch of floorboard, every brick, and every stone in the place. Their eyes scanned the walls, searching for a crack or a seam that might have been a hiding place for something secret.
After a short loop around the living room and the adjacent smaller rooms, the two still hadn't found anything that remotely suggested something might be hidden there.
"Is it okay for us to go upstairs and see the other rooms?" Sean asked.
"Certainly," Janet said. "The entire house is open to the public. You'll find the master bedroom and a few other rooms up there, as well as one room with several important artifacts on display."
"Great. Thank you."
Sean led the way up the creaky wooden steps. At the top, the room with the glass displays was straight ahead. Two rooms were on either side of the hall, and then another was back in the other direction. The open doors revealed the interior of every room. One looked like an old sewing room, another a spare bedroom, and the one at the end was the master bedroom.