He stepped back over to the open door and found Allyson curled up inside, terrified.
“We have to leave.”
“What?” She asked, shock on her face.
“Now, Allyson.”
He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her from the car. Again, the amount of strength he showed for a man his size was surprising.
Allyson stared blankly at the two bodies laying on the asphalt.
“Are they…?” She began.
“Yeah.” He answered before she could finish her sentence.
He re-holstered his gun. The yellow parking lights flashed on a nearby carbon gray 1969 Camaro.
“We’ll take my car,” he stated.
She was too stunned and scared to disagree at this point.
Questions swirled in both their heads amidst the confusion. What was going on? Why were those two men trying to kill them?
Sean opened the passenger door for her and, as gently as possible, forced her into the seat. He skipped around the back of the car quickly, taking one last look around the parking lot.
He turned the key and the engine revved to life. Trying not to draw too much attention, he stepped on the gas and steered the car out of the back exit.
Chapter 4
Through a giant arched window, the last rays of afternoon sun shone through the glass onto the dark walnut floor. A man with gray hair and a wrinkled face gazed out at the mountainous scene. His mind was occupied, busy with a task few knew about. An old phone on a large oak desk rang the way phones did twenty years ago. Aroused from his thoughts, the old figure sitting in the shadows of his study reached over to answer.
“Have you begun?” His voice was direct and commanding.
“Yes. Everything is in place as you wished, sir.” The voice on the other end of the line was foreign.
“And you are certain that Schultz will lead you to the answers we seek?”
“One hundred percent sure.”
“And Wyatt?”
“He will not be a problem.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. But he does not have access to the information.”
“Why is he still alive?” Irritation laced the old man’s words.
“Do not worry, sir. The homing beacon is working on Wyatt’s vehicle. I will know every move he makes. He is predictable if nothing else.”
“I am not worried. I simply know exactly what this Sean Wyatt is capable of. You are the expert in these matters, so I expect you to know exactly what I am talking about. We are proceeding with the plan that you presented, but if at any moment I feel like things are getting out of control, I will not hesitate to pull you.” The threat created silence on the other end for a moment before the shadowed figured continued. “Keep me informed of any further developments. And Jens…”
“Yes sir.”
“Dispose of the woman. She can serve no purpose for us.”
“Of course, sir.”
The dark figure in the high leather back chair gently laid the receiver back onto the phone base and returned to gazing through the large study window.
Soon, he thought, the whole world would change.
Chapter 5
It had been a busy day already for Detective Trent Morris. He had been working since 7:00 a.m. And now, right in the middle of the morning, he gets a call for a double homicide at a coffee shop in Buckhead. And from the sound of it, it wasn’t going to be a routine call.
When he arrived on the scene, one of the CSI guys already on task informed him that they were unable to find any identification on the two victims. Both were males, roughly the same muscular build, dark brown hair, and wearing very similar suits with long, black coats. Each one was wearing sunglasses as well.
If he didn’t know better, Morris would have sworn the guys were Secret Service. Unaware of any possible Presidential visit to North Atlanta today, that was an easy thought to swear off.
Morris was an imposing presence and commanded a great deal of respect with his co-workers. He had grown up in Atlanta with six brothers and sisters just southeast of the city. Being the oldest had taught him a great deal about responsibility. He walked with purpose through the police tape, lifting his badge that dangled on a lanyard from his neck as he passed the officer working the perimeter. Nodding a “thank you” to the cop lifting the tape for him, Trent breathed in the mild city air. An array of odors mingled in his nose: restaurants, trees, car exhaust, and cigarette smoke from a couple of the other detectives already on the scene.
“What do we got here, Will?” He spoke as he neared a familiar face kneeling over one of the bodies.
His partner, Will Hastings, had been transferred to the department a few weeks ago. The twenty something white kid had been a breath of fresh air to the investigation unit, and he and Trent had developed an instant chemistry. The younger cop had a go-getter attitude much like Morris had when he joined the police force. But something about the kid seemed seasoned, not too eager like so many rookies he’d seen.
Will turned at the sound of his name and stood up, pulling off the latex gloves he’d been using. “Hey, buddy.” He glanced down at the mess. “At least we got the call in the morning. Usually this kind of thing happens at the end of a shift.”
“Just thinking that myself, brother. So what’s the story here?” Trent strode over to the body Will had just been inspecting and looked down. “This where they were done?”
“Looks that way. Shots were from up close. From the looks of it, they came from over there near that black car. This one’s fatal wound was to the head,” he motioned to one victim. “This guy here,” he pointed to the second, “was shot in the throat. Probably only took him a minute to die.” One victim lay sprawled on his back, arms splayed in different directions. The other was positioned face down on the asphalt, in a pool of blood from the exit hole in the back of his skull.
“One fell forward and the other guy just collapsed back.” Trent continued his partner’s line of thought.
“We know who these guys are yet?”
“We’re trying to ID them right now but they didn’t have anything on them.”
“Robbed?” Trent was trying to piece this together as quick as possible. Hunger gnawed at him. As if hearing his stomach grumbling, a young beat cop walked up with a fresh cup of coffee from inside the shop. “Coffee sir?”
“You read my mind, Kyle. Thanks.”
The young officer seemed pleased with the gratitude and walked back over to the perimeter to relieve the cop Trent had seen when he first arrived.
Will responded to the previous question, “I don’t think it was a robbery. These guys both had Glock 9mms. Powder residue on their hands indicates they took some shots, too, and there are bullet casings all over the ground matching their weapons.”
“What kind of gun did them?”
“Ballistics hasn’t said yet, but I’d say it was probably a forty of some kind. Sort of looks like a hit gone wrong.”
“Great,” Trent thought. That was the last thing the town needed on top of the rising level of gang violence. Through the years, Atlanta had seen its fair share of corruption, but for the most part, organized crime had not been able to take root. With so many international corporations transplanting to the growing city, there had not been room for the much more localized operations of the mob.
“So, are we talking Mafia type? I mean, shouldn’t assassinations be someone we’ve heard of?”
“Doubt it. Got a witness over there. Said he saw the whole thing. Claims it was a man and a woman. The department’s artist is over there right now getting their description. He speaks with some kind of accent. Sounds like German to me but I can’t really tell.”