Coop nodded his approval. “You may take the diary with you to Atlanta. I assume you would like your researchers to have a look at it as well?”
“Probably,” Sean shrugged. “They’d love to get their hands on this. To be honest, you’re lucky it’s in such good shape. Something as old as this doesn’t usually keep very well unless it’s in an airtight container. Since it’s made from lamb skin and leather, surviving the last few hundred years wasn’t as difficult.”
“What about the riddle at the end of his entry?” Charlie asked, sliding his chair back to where it had been previously.
“Not sure, Charlie.” Sean flicked his eyes at his friend and then back to Coop. “Could mean anything at this point. We’re trying to put together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box. For now, let’s get this back to IAA and see what the kids can come up with. I’ll start trying to dig up anything I can on Francis Jackson and any of Coop’s other ancestors that might have known anything about what he was looking for.”
“Splendid,” Coop said, throwing his hands up in the air. He raised the tall, half-full mug of beer to his face and proceeded to pour the rest of the contents down his throat. Setting the mug back onto the table, he sighed as if a great thirst had been quenched. “Well then, gentlemen, shall we head back to the house for the evening? I’ve got some good bourbon if either of you are so inclined.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Charlie said.
“I’ll pass,” Sean waved a dismissive hand. “But I appreciate the offer. Besides, I’d rather keep a clear head right now. Something is strange about this whole scenario.”
A few minutes later, the three men were back on the road, returning to Coop’s house. He’d had a few large beers while at the barbecue joint, and his speech carried the slightest slur to it.
“Tell me, gents, what happened to Charlie? You said there was some sort of altercation earlier?” Coop said, his arms outstretched across the back of the rear seat.
“Some commie kidnapped me and tried to kill me,” Charlie grumbled.
Sean laughed at the way he said it. “To be fair, Coop, the guy was Russian, and they aren’t communist anymore.”
“Once a commie, always a commie,” Charlie corrected.
Coop took on an air of concern, leaning forward in the backseat. “Someone abducted you and tried to kill you?”
Charlie nodded. “Guy said he was looking for your coin. Didn’t say why. He wanted to know where it was and where I got it.”
Coop’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry that my family heirloom has caused you so much trouble.” He thought for a second before continuing. “Sean, how did you come to be involved with all this?”
Sean switched lanes and sped past a slow moving eighteen-wheeler before merging back into the center lane. “I was on my way to see Charlie, noticed him in the passenger seat of the Russian’s rental car, followed, saved his butt.” He grinned as he said the last part, knowing it would annoy his friend.
Charlie remained silent, but Sean figured he wanted to say something to the effect that he had the situation under control.
Coop shook his head slowly. “I am so terribly sorry. I did not realize asking you to help with this would bring about such trouble.” Regret filled his voice.
“I’m fine,” Charlie said, half twisting around to look in the rear seat. “Don’t worry about it.”
Coop forced a smile back onto his face.
“But I do want some of that bourbon,” Charlie added with a chuckle.
Another fifteen minutes later, Sean steered the Mustang back into the gravel driveway and up the hill to Coop’s home. The men got out of the car and made their way to the front porch, but stopped short on the landing just before reaching the door.
The wood where the doorframe met the deadbolt was in splinters, and the door hung slightly ajar. Sean held up a finger to the other two and padded back to the parked car. He opened the door and reached in, pulling out the weapon he’d taken from the Russian earlier in the day. He pulled the slide back, chambering a round, before rejoining the other two at the front door.
“Stay here,” he mouthed.
Coop and Charlie nodded.
Sean kicked open the door and scanned the left side of the area first, then the right. Next, he rushed to the back of the living room where it adjoined the dining area, rounded the corner, and cleared the kitchen. Once the main parts of the house were checked, he swept through the two bedrooms and bathrooms to make sure the rest of the house was empty. It was a routine he’d performed many times before. In total, the entire process only took him about ninety seconds.
Once he was sure the house was clear, he went back to the front and motioned for the other two to come inside. “It’s clean,” Sean informed them. “Well, sort of.”
He waved a hand around at the scene before them. Papers were strewn across the floor near the overturned desk. Sofa cushions had been cut open and the stuffing pulled out. As the men made their way to the kitchen, they discovered drawers lying on the floor with silverware and various items of stationery scattered about.
A quick tour of the home revealed to Coop that the same treatment had been given to every room. His wide, disbelieving eyes said it all.
“Looks like our Russian friend followed us,” Charlie said with his hands on his hips, observing the scene.
“Yeah,” Sean agreed. “And it also looks like we’re going to have to find another place to crash.”
Chapter 8
The phone only rang twice before Petrov’s employer picked up.
“What is the hold up?” the Frenchman on the other end of the line asked in an annoyed tone.
Petrov didn’t like Dufort, per se. He found the skinny man to be arrogant. It came as little surprise to the Russian since Dufort had basically been spoiled rotten his entire life. The two men were nearly the same age, but had grown up in very different worlds. Petrov’s had been a life of struggle, scraping by with whatever dirty skills he could be paid to use.
Nonetheless, he had to be respectful. While Petrov didn’t respect the man, he certainly respected the amount of money he was given.
“We had an unforeseeable problem.” He didn’t want to tell Dufort what had happened, but not giving an explanation would be worse than honesty. Silence would cause more questions to arise. Better to give the story, he thought.
“Problem? What kind of problem?” Dufort’s tone only increased in its level of irritation. “I pay you to take care of problems.”
“And I will,” Petrov responded calmly. “All will be handled shortly.”
“Did the old man give you trouble?”
Petrov snorted at the comment. “No. The old man was not the issue. Someone else showed up. He appeared out of nowhere and ambushed me. It will not happen again.”
The Russian knew his employer did not tolerate failure. Dufort’s reputation of being ruthless had spread like a virus through the underworld. From what he’d heard, the man had personally killed hundreds of people. Petrov didn’t mind killing. Some people couldn’t handle it. They would hallucinate the faces of the people they’d murdered, spending their lives riddled with guilt. Petrov had a sort of twisted respect for Dufort in regards to this. Anyone else who was blessed and cursed with the same irreverence for life earned a small portion of his admiration, even if he didn’t like the spoiled brat.
“What of the coin? Surely you must have at least retrieved that?”
Strike two. Petrov decided on this point, a lie was the better way to proceed. “The old man did not have it in his possession. It was the last bit of information I got out of him before I was ambushed.”