Out of the corner of his eye, Sean noticed one of the men reaching for the gun inside his jacket. The other two on the far side of the room were about to do the same before Agent Yarbrough spoke up and stopped them. “At ease, men. No need to get antsy. If Mr. Wyatt wants to see my identification, there is no problem.”
He reached into the right breast of his jacket and withdrew a thin, black wallet, and unfolded it in front of his face so Sean could see the badge. It was legitimate.
Sean’s momentary relief was soon replaced by new concerns. The Secret Service didn’t just show up randomly to talk to people. If the president wanted to see him, something serious was going on.
The lead agent glanced down at the gun Sean still grasped on top of the counter. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Wyatt,” he nodded at the weapon.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sean said, blushing a little. “Force of habit, I suppose.” He put the gun back out of sight and placed both hands on the surface. “Now, you were saying something about the president wanting to speak with me. What could he possibly want with me?”
“I’m not authorized to give you that information, Mr. Wyatt.” The man’s deep voice remained almost robotic as he placed the wallet back in his jacket.
“Not authorized?” Sean probed.
“All I can tell you is that you are to come with us immediately. The president will brief you himself when we rendezvous with him this afternoon.”
Sean’s eyes drifted around the room. “You know, I have a shop to run here. I can’t just up and leave it.”
“You have five minutes to lock up. The president will make sure you are compensated for your time.” Yarbrough looked down at his silver watch’s burgundy face. “The clock is ticking, Mr. Wyatt.”
Sean sighed. Just when he was getting used to a relaxing lifestyle, another strange occurrence was thrown his way. “I’ll need to bring my gun,” he said.
Yarbrough seemed thrown off for the first time since he’d entered the building. One of his eyebrows lowered as he considered the request. “You may bring it with you, but not when we meet the president.”
“Fair enough,” Sean answered with a short nod. He picked the gun up and stuffed it in the back of his pants before walking to the back door and twisting the lock. His fingers flicked off a few light switches and he headed for the front door. “I’m going to hold you to what you promised about the compensation, Gerald. Is it okay if I call you Gerald?”
The agent gave no response, instead waving to the others to follow out the door.
Sean had met the Secret Service on more than one occasion. They were rarely social, probably because of the intense focus their jobs required and because of their training. After locking the front door to the shop, Sean walked over to the front passenger’s side of the Denali and waited for Agent Yarbrough to unlock the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” the agent asked as he fished the SUV’s keys out of his pocket.
“I’m riding shotgun. You can’t expect me to ride in the middle of the seat back there. That’s no way to treat a guest of the president.” Sean offered a smart aleck smile, but didn’t move.
One of the other agents cast a questioning frown at Yarbrough who shrugged and motioned for them to get in the back.
Sean opened the front door and hopped in. The scent of the black leather interior filled his nose, and he noted how the vehicle was impeccably clean. He wondered how often a government vehicle like that was detailed. He pulled the door shut as the other men climbed into the back of the vehicle. Yarbrough eased into the driver’s seat and revved the engine to life.
“So, I guess we’re heading to the airport and flying to D.C.?” he asked, buckling his seatbelt.
Yarbrough shook his head. “No. We aren’t going to Washington.” He put the vehicle in reverse and started to back out toward the busy road known as Highway 98.
Sean cocked his head to the side. “Camp David?”
“No.”
“Then where is the president?” Sean seemed bewildered.
“Kiawah Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.”
Chapter 2
Dimitris Gikas was not a man who was accustomed to being disappointed. People, whose net worth ranged in the billions rarely were. However, at the moment he was extremely frustrated.
He finished chewing on a piece of lamb in rosemary burgundy sauce as he listened to his head of security describe what had happened. Gikas had sent Thanos to the United States on what he believed would be a simple errand. All he had to do was fly to Florida, pick up Sean Wyatt, find out what he knew about the antikythera, and then kill him.
If Wyatt knew nothing about the device, it was not a problem, so long as he ended up dead.
Gikas sat on his stone patio, looking out across the northern Ionian Sea. He held the phone close to his ear while Thanos explained what happened. “Four men got to Wyatt before we could do anything, sir.”
A gentle sea breeze rolled up the grassy hill and through Gikas’s short, black hair. It was a perfect day in the Ionian Islands, near the border of Greece and Albania. Days like today he loved to spend outside with his dogs and a good bottle of wine, produced at one of the many vineyards he owned across the region. Thanos’s call had ruined any possibility of a relaxing day.
He stood up from the iron bistro table and paced along the stones to the edge of the grass. His head turned sideways for a moment, and he gazed across the wavy hills of grape vines extending far to the east. “What do you mean before you could do anything? You have men under your command. Could you not ambush the group and do what I asked you?”
Thanos had worked for Dimitris Gikas for over a decade. When Gikas expanded his financial empire to the tech realm, it had become apparent he would need an enforcer to help keep some things in line. Being no stranger to the seedy underworld of organized crime, Thanos had come highly recommended. His reputation for cruel efficiency had been a trait Gikas had admired in himself, and was one he certainly wanted for the person in charge of security. Of course, head of security was a title that hardly fit the work Gikas had Thanos carry out on a regular basis.
The tall, muscular bodyguard had come from the Greek army and would have made an excellent soldier. When he couldn’t play by the rules, the military kicked him to the curb where Thanos began to make his own rules in the underbelly of society. He worked a few legitimate jobs as a nightclub bouncer, but it was hardly the work he was meant for. When he got a little too aggressive and nearly killed a man with his bare hands one night, the courts were about to send him to prison for a long time. Gikas made sure that never happened. With a few political donations and a little persuasion, Thanos had been released from jail. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, a black BMW 5 Series with darkly tinted windows picked him up.
In the back had been a short man with a stubble-covered face, dark hair, and a broad torso. Gikas remembered seeing Thanos for the first time and thinking he was the tallest Greek he’d ever set eyes on.
He pushed aside the memory and listened to his chief bodyguard’s explanation. “They appeared to be U.S. government, sir. I don’t know which branch. If I had to guess, I’d say FBI, but they could be something else.”
“And you had no way to take out the vehicle?”