“What do you mean, sir?”
“First, the professor. Then the two police? There are too many body bags laying in your wake. I must encourage you to be more discreet.”
Ulrich clenched his teeth in an effort to control his emotions. “I do what I deem necessary to complete the mission, sir.”
“Understood. Just make sure you do complete it.” Then he added, “But it cannot be done in a way that will draw attention to our purpose or to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” There would be no telling the man on the phone about what had happened earlier that morning.
“One last thing, Ulrich,” the voice in the earpiece interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes,” he replied, irritated.
“A body was found in a church parking lot yesterday. From the description in the police report, it sounded like one of your operatives. Should I assume that was your doing?”
The question was an insult. He knew the police would find the incompetent assistant he’d shot the day before and didn’t care. The man had no identification that could be connected to anyone in the operation.
Ulrich took pride in being very good at what he did. Now this ignorant man had the gall to insinuate he was incapable. “I assure you, sir, the situation is completely under control. Will there be anything else?” His tone was sarcastic.
“No. But do not fail me, Jens. If at any time I need to bring in someone else, I will not hesitate.”
With that, the call was disconnected.
Foolish old man, he thought to himself. The wealthy always felt that with money came power. They push people around like pawns on a chessboard. “I am no pawn,” he said quietly as he slid the phone back into his pocket.
Jens peered down the road against the glare of the sun and adjusted his sunglass on his face. An 18-wheeler rumbled by. “You will see old man. I am no one‘s pawn.”
Chapter 40
Morris teetered on the edge of the steep slope amidst the mangled remnant of the guardrail. A few bits of broken glass and plastic were strewn about on the dirt shoulder next to the road.
Will was busy talking to one of the accident site investigators, trying to figure out what exactly happened. It had taken the rescue crews more than an hour to get down to the bottom of the ravine where the wreckage of the Mercedes lay. Upon arriving, they discovered the two occupants were, as they suspected, dead.
The driver’s body was crumpled against the upside down windshield, his neck broken from the impact. About twenty feet away was the body of the passenger. His twisted body was riddled with bullet holes.
Who they were, though, was a total mystery. Neither of the two dead men had any kind of identification. And the fact that they both had gunshot wounds was indeed bizarre. The car itself had at least a dozen bullet holes riveting the metal and windshield.
Trent took a step back from the precipice and sauntered back to where his partner was finishing up with the lead CSI. The short gray-haired man in the traditional navy blue jacket with yellow lettering walked away, being called over to another marked spot to examine something.
“What did you find out?” Morris asked.
“This is nuts.” Will’s voice was half in disbelief and half excited. They have found bullet casings all over the road for the last mile or so. One of the bodies in the car down there has a round in the arm. The other one has a couple of bullet wounds, one of them to the neck.” He looked down the road contemplating the scenario. “There must have been quite a shootout here.”
Morris took a swig from a bottle of water he was holding. “Any ideas who or what these guys were shooting at?”
“The cops here don’t have a clue. All they do know is who lost.” He finished this last sentence by jerking a thumb towards the torn railing. Then, his voice lowered, “But if you ask me, I think it was Wyatt.”
So it would seem. These kinds of things didn’t just happen out in this part of the country. Even in the worst parts of Atlanta car to car shootouts were an extreme rarity. The whole scenario brought up more questions than answers. Why would someone other than the police be chasing Wyatt?
After a few moments of careful thought, he said, “If Wyatt was here and he was involved, that means somebody was chasing him. But who?”
Will only responded with an ignorant shrug.
Trent scratched the back of his head, trying to understand what was going on. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated. What if Wyatt was innocent after all? The dead guys at the bottom of the canyon wouldn’t be much help. He doubted the weapons that were found near the wreck would give them any answers either.
Suddenly, one of the radios on a nearby police officer came alive with a voice from dispatch.
“What’s going on?” Trent asked the officer who was about to respond to the call.
The man did not seem bothered, “Got a call from a ranger station up near Track Rock. Someone said they heard gunshots a minute ago.” He spoke into the radio letting the dispatcher know a unit would be on their way immediately.
Morris gave Will a quick nod that told the younger detective it was time to leave.
“Mind if we tag along?” He asked following the cop toward a set of parked police units.
“Sure. Never a bad thing to have some backup.” The man opened the door to his squad car and added, “Shouldn’t take us too long to get there, fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”
“Lead the way,” Trent replied.
Chapter 41
Sean felt horrible about Joe’s truck. The vehicle had basically been totaled from the two firefights it had endured thus far. How the thing had kept running boggled his mind.
“Aw, heck Sean, I appreciate it. But I ain’t worried about it,” Joe had replied to Sean’s apologies with a huge grin and a pass of the hand. “Now my wife on the other hand…”
They both laughed, imagining the scene when they returned to the cabin with a truck full of bullet holes. The look on Joe’s wife’s face would surely be one for the record books, followed by a fairly certain divorce filing, or at least the threat of one.
No, Sean would definitely see to it that the truck was replaced with one that looked exactly the same. The less Mrs. McElroy knew, the better.
The group got out of the truck and made their way up the short set of stairs into the old looking brick building. It seemed the library was in good keeping with the town aesthetic. In the small Main Street district, most of the other buildings were very similar.
There had been a time, long ago, when the area was booming. During the Georgia Gold Rush in the early 1800s, people had moved there seeking fortune. But the vein of gold that had been found locally did not last long. A lasting tribute to the city’s past was the gold dome on top of the town hall, plated with metal from a mine nearby.
After passing through the security sensors, the room opened up into a much bigger facility than seemed possible from the outside. To their right was a spiral staircase that led up to a second floor where it appeared many of the books were located.
On the ground floor, there was an open area in front of the long librarian’s checkout counter. Several computers were set up at one end. Through large, wooden, doors behind the main counter was a large room with at least ten rows of reference books. Every ten feet there was a large window that looked into the reference room, perhaps to monitor patrons while they worked.
Beyond the staircase, a section for periodicals contained dozens of magazines and newspapers. A few empty couches that looked as old as the building sat quietly in front of the shelves.
A skinny librarian, probably in her upper fifties, was standing behind a computer and asked, “May I help you with something?” Her face seemed pleasant and honest behind the wire rimmed glasses.