The Grecian Manifesto (3 page)

“This is a military airbase,” Sean said, realizing where
they were headed. “Lot of special ops missions come through this place, if I’m
not mistaken.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty informed.”

“I did used to work for the government, you know.”

“Yes. We know,” Yarbrough smirked.

Sean’s eyes darted around the quiet airbase. It certainly
was convenient to be able to use an asset like this when it was needed. His gaze
went to the driver. “Good to have friends, huh?”

Yarbrough’s eyes didn’t leave the tarmac as he sped toward
a lonely hangar off to the right. “Never hurts.”

Chapter 4

Corfu, Greece

“What do you mean, you lost them?” Dimitris Gikas slammed
a balled fist on the kitchen counter. A round tumbler, half-filled with Scotch,
shook for a second after the sudden close call with the hand. The other held a
cell phone to his ear.

“They turned into a military airbase, sir. No way we could
follow them in there.”

Gikas knew what the consequences would be. He didn’t need
his underling to explain anything in that regard. What he did want to know was
how Thanos and his men had allowed Wyatt to get that far. “Why didn’t you stop
them before they could escape?”

“We tried, sir. I accept full responsibility. We attempted
to shoot out the tires but they were equipped for that. Also, you should know
their vehicle had bulletproof glass.” Thanos’s answer didn’t please Gikas, but
it gave him a clue as to whom they might have been up against.

Bulletproof glass wasn’t extremely difficult to come by,
but its weight and expense made it an irrational option for most people. The
luxury wasn’t optional for most consumers; extraordinarily wealthy business
people were one market, world leaders another batch that would make the short
list.

Based on the description his man had given earlier and
this new information, the list grew even shorter. He released his anger and
lowered his voice. Night had fallen over the Greek island, and the sounds of
evening began to carry through the open windows, various insects, birds, and
the constant crashing of the sea in the distance. “These men you described earlier;
tell me again what they looked like. What were they wearing?”

“They all wore the same suits, sir. Every one of them
looked alike. They all had short haircuts too. One was a black man; the rest
were white.”

Gikas rubbed his chin for a moment then grabbed the glass
from the counter and took a long sip of the golden Scotch. He swallowed hard,
letting the burn soothe the back of his throat before setting the glass back
down. “You mentioned that they went to the airport, but turned in through a
private gate. Correct?”

“That is correct. And,” Thanos’s raspy voice added,
“another vehicle was waiting at the gate to block the entrance.”

Gikas processed the additional information for a second.
He paced from one end of his extravagant kitchen to the other, stopping at the
stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator. He spun around and stared across the
room, looking out at the wooded hill behind his the estate. “They’re definitely
U.S. government,” he said. “From what you described, it sounds like they are
most certainly Secret Service.”

“The protectors of the United States president?” Thanos
sounded doubtful.

“Agreed, but that is the only thing that makes sense.”
Gikas trailed off.

There was a tense moment of silence between the two men.
Finally, Thanos broke the quiet. “Why would they want Wyatt?”

“It could be anything. He’s a loose cannon. Perhaps he did
not pay his taxes,” Gikas stopped to think about another possibility. It was
doubtful, but certainly possible. Was the president looking for Wyatt’s help
with something? And if so, what?

Gikas had read Sean Wyatt’s dossier. He knew exactly what
the former Axis agent was capable of. According to his file, Wyatt had gone to
work for the International Archaeological Agency after leaving the Justice
Department. Instead of a relaxing job doing research, he’d been involved with
securing lost artifacts and getting them safely to whatever museum or analytic
facility needed them. On more than one occasion, Wyatt had found himself in
sticky situations, but he’d always come out clean on the other side.

In recent forays, the former Axis man had made the discoveries
of a lifetime, finding what was the final resting place of Noah’s ark, and
supposedly the last remains of the Garden of Eden. In the course of the events
leading to the incredible finds, he had killed several high-end mercenaries.
“Keep your ears open. If you hear anything through any of our channels, find
the leak and plug it.”

“Of course. I’ll handle it personally.” There were another
few seconds of silence before Thanos spoke up again. “What should we do about
Wyatt? There’s no way we will be able to get to him.”

“Forget about him for now. If he is with the Secret Service,
he likely has his own problems. Besides, I have the girl here with me.”

Thanos laughed subtly. “Has she told you anything?”

Gikas could picture the man’s thick face, twisted in a
sickly grin. “No, but she will. Everyone has their breaking point.”

Another chuckle came through the earpiece of the phone, a
little louder the second time. “And what will you do with her once you have
broken her?”

Gikas looked over at the door to the basement. He’d sent
his prisoner to her cell as soon as dinner was over. He was done being cordial.
It was his modus operandi for everything. It had become expected of him with
both his friends and his enemies. When Dimitris Gikas wanted something, he did
his best to get what he wanted without any trouble. More often than not, a
simple exchange of money took care of the request. Sometimes, however, there
were troublemakers, people who were too proud to bow out quietly. Whether it
was a business deal, or as in this case, information he needed, Gikas was a man
who was used to getting his way. Anyone who tried to keep that from happening
usually met their end in a very slow and painful way.

Thanos had developed a less-than-gentle touch over the
years. He seemed even more vigorous when it came to his lustful instincts.
Gikas knew what kinds of twisted things his head of security was capable of. It
was a big reason he’d put the man in charge. Thanos’s reputation for cruelty
was something Gikas had needed to make sure things always went his way. He was also
the only person on the planet that Dimitris Gikas felt he could trust.

Through the years, he had paid Thanos a small fortune,
making the man powerful in his own right. Never forgetting who had given him
his break, Thanos remained fiercely loyal to Gikas. That loyalty was a stronger
bond than anything anyone had ever thrown at the two men. From time to time,
Gikas allowed his second in command a little leeway with his debauchery.

“This one?” he said into the device. “I may just let you
have your fun with her, my old friend.”

Chapter 5

Charleston, South
Carolina

The flight from western Florida to eastern South Carolina
hadn’t taken long. Through the years, Sean had tried to grow accustomed to the
luxury of flying on private jets, but it was something that never got old.
Every time he was forced to fly on a commercial airline, he longed for the decadent
comforts of the IAA Gulfstream G5.

Even though the airport was relatively close to the
president’s location, the drive out to Kiawah Island was a slow, tedious cruise
through the flats leading to the inlets and shallow waterways of the coast.
Spanish moss hung from the ancient Southern willows lining the roads, casting
the asphalt in an almost permanent shade. The sun’s rays peeked through in a
few spots every now and then, shining brightly onto the side of Sean’s face
like a strange, yellowish strobe light. He’d never really had a chance to head
to Kiawah in all his visits to the historic town of Charleston. The city was
one of his favorite places to visit when he wasn’t working. Being surrounded by
all that history plus good, Southern cooking and hospitality made it a definite
stop on his travels each year. Sean frequently described Charleston as the
Boston of the South. Seeing as how the city dated back to colonial times, that
description wasn’t too far off the mark. Many of the homes dated back a few
hundred years, and the graves in some of the old cemeteries held the remains of
several influential people from the Revolutionary War.

The aesthetically designed exterior of the facility
instantly impressed when the convoy of Secret Service vehicles arrived at the
resort known as
The Sanctuary
. Its
unique combination of Charleston brick, cream-colored stucco, wood, ironwork,
and copper were complemented by the dark slate roofing. Sean had never grown
tired of staying in a nice hotel. From the looks of this one, that truth seemed
unlikely to change anytime in the next twenty-four hours.

He turned his head from side to side, letting his
appreciation of the resort’s design take over. The men from the Secret Service unloaded
several pieces of luggage, and then let the driver cruise away in search of a
parking space.

Yarbrough took a few steps in Sean’s direction and
motioned toward the entrance. “This way,” he said blankly.

“Lead the way.” Sean didn’t even try to hide his
amusement.

Even though the men who had peacefully abducted him were pleasant,
it was still difficult for Sean to actually acknowledge the fact that he was
about to speak with the president of the United States. Apparently, Sean was
the only one in the group who would find any appreciation of that fact. It must
have become trivial to the men who surrounded the powerful leader twenty-four
hours a day.

The group strode swiftly through the entrance, a set of
glass doors underneath an enormous, pyramid-shaped awning made of poplar.
Inside the lobby, the building opened up to high ceilings and wide
thoroughfares. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, showing off
thousands of crystals. Directly ahead, several large windows and glass doors
opened to display unobstructed views of perfectly groomed Bermuda grass that
stretched all the way to the oceanfront. The facility’s two guest wings wrapped
around the centrally located lawn like the lower end of a tuning fork.

A seating area designed to look like a big living room sat
between two bars. The bar to the right was decorated daintily with nineteenth-
and early twentieth-century art that featured feminine overtones. Glass cases
were filled with fine china, lacey tablecloths, and fine dresses. On the wall
behind the bar, a portrait of a nineteenth-century woman in a fashionable dress
hung as a symbol of the lady of the manor. Directly across from it, beyond the
sitting room, was a second bar. It was adorned with masculine trinkets like old
sports memorabilia, antique guns, hunting portraits, and cigar cases. Mirroring
the women’s bar, a portrait hung over the bar on the men’s side. It featured
the man of the house, a burly, handsome character with a thick mustache and a
commanding glare.

Sean remembered reading about how, in the old days, a man
had his side of the house and a woman had hers. The two bars and the sitting
area were a new tribute to a time nearly long forgotten.

He glanced down at the floor made from old, reclaimed wood
from several old mansions and factories in Charleston. He admired the thick,
dark beams and wondered what stories the gashes and grooves might tell if they
could.

Yarbrough and the other two men turned left and headed
toward the eastern wing of the hotel.
 
A grand staircase wound up to a second floor sitting area. A sign at the
base of the stairs indicated that the famed Ocean Room restaurant was located
above. Sean had heard of the place. He hoped he’d get a chance to eat there at
some point, but he had the sneaking suspicion that his stay at The Sanctuary
would be a short one.

They continued down the corridor and turned right into a
narrower hallway. They passed an elevator on the left and walked almost halfway
down the passage before stopping at a closed door on the right.

Sean frowned. “The president is staying in a normal guest
room?” he asked, finding the notion somewhat odd.

Yarbrough nodded. “The president stays where he wants.
This was the room he wanted.”

“Interesting.”

The agent rapped on the door twice. A second later, it
cracked open revealing another black-clad agent just inside. A young, white
male with his head nearly shaven clean and dark stubble on his face smiled
through the opening. “He’s waiting for you.”

The door opened wide, allowing Sean and Agent Yarbrough to
pass through. The man inside closed the door as the other agents in the hallway
continued to scan their surroundings for any potential security threat. The
interior of the room was as nice as anything Sean had seen before, at least for
a hotel’s standard guest room. It was no surprise that the resort had been
awarded the prestigious Five Diamond Award for excellence.

At the moment though, the room wasn’t what was on Sean’s
mind. It was the man at the table in the corner. The closest he’d ever come to
meeting a president was when he was a child in the 1980s. Ronald Reagan had
flown to his hometown for a brief visit, but Sean had only caught a glimpse of
the man from a distance. Now he was standing fifteen feet away.

John Dawkins had experienced an odd rise to the oval
office. He was born in Spartanburg, South Carolina, to parents who both worked
in the education system. His father had been a physical education teacher, his
mother a high school science teacher.

Dawkins had attended small public schools throughout his
life, always blending in with the crowd, never really standing out in sports,
or academics. That all changed when he arrived at college.

He’d attended the University of South Carolina on a meager
academic scholarship, but eventually had earned a full ride due to merit. By
the time Dawkins graduated with a degree in political science, his grade point
average was a perfect 4.0, and he had served as an intern for a local
congressman over the course of two summers.

His experience gave him a thirst for politics, but more
than that, a desire to change the way things were in Washington. Dawkins had
been severely disappointed to see how the political system actually worked.
People all around him had taken money from special interest groups in exchange
for their votes on certain issues. Often, the things they voted on directly
opposed what their constituents would have wanted.

Dawkins took a stand against the corruption. At one point
a senior statesmen warned him about what he was doing, basically threatening
Dawkins that if he didn’t get in line, things could get ugly for him. One
friend implored him to follow the lead and just do as he was told. After all,
Dawkins could do more good in other areas as long as he played the game, but if
he rocked the boat too much, he would be out come the next election.

His wife had always told him that he never listened, and
this time was no different. He insisted that the politics of the United States
government change for the better. During his first term, he accomplished little
in the way of getting anything passed, but he won a second term and decided to
take things into his own hands.

Congressman Dawkins built a website and posted questions
to his constituents about the things he was to vote on. He asked them which way
they wanted him to vote on every issue, giving the power of decision back to
the people. He spent hours deciphering the language of complicated legislation
so that the common people in his district could understand it and make an
informed decision for themselves. Dawkins stood true to his new plan, voting
the way the people wanted every single time.

The story about Dawkins spread like wildfire. The
congressman who had returned the power to the people became a national
phenomenon almost overnight. Millions of people began to ask why their
representatives weren’t doing what John Dawkins was doing. As a result, many
were not re-elected to serve another term, and were replaced by those willing
to be innovative and unselfish.

The presidency was something Dawkins had never really
believed possible, especially considering the fact that he was an independent,
unaffiliated with any political party. When the election came, he ran against
two men who had both been enemies on Capitol Hill. Typically, Dawkins was a
mild-mannered man with a quiet disposition and a nose that was constantly at
the grindstone. Something changed when he entered his first presidential
debate. He fiercely attacked the other two candidates, ripping apart their
scripted retorts and firing back almost insulting comments that exposed the men
for what they really were: puppets.

Now in his second year as president, Dawkins had already
had a successful term by any standard. His leadership had resulted in a
prosperous run for the country. His approval ratings were higher than that of any
other president in history. No one wanted to run against him in the next
election. They knew it would be fruitless.

Sean Wyatt stood silently as President Dawkins finished
signing the last of several forms at the dark-brown table. Dawkins laid down the
pen and removed the reading glasses from his sharp nose. His light-brown hair
was still thick and cropped neatly atop a young, boyish face. A few lines creased
his skin around his eyes, the only clues to the president’s age. What Sean
hadn’t expected was to see the man in a pair of board shorts and an old T-shirt.

Dawkins set the glasses down on the table and stood to
greet Sean. The man was an inch taller than Sean, who was a six-footer himself.
The president crossed the room in two strides and extended his hand.

“Sean Wyatt? I’m John Dawkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The president said it with a smile, but his voice told Sean that something
troubled him. It had a sense of urgency to it.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President,” Sean said
humbly.

Dawkins motioned to an empty chair across from where he’d
been sitting at the table. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? A
bottle of water? A Coke?”

“No thank you, sir.” Sean shook his head. “I’m fine.”

He sat down in the proffered seat as Dawkins returned to
his. Sitting closer to the patio door, Sean could see there were two agents standing
just beyond the glass, keeping watch.

“I hope you don’t mind my casual dress,” Dawkins commented
as he crossed one leg over the other knee. “I just came back from the beach.”

Sean smiled weakly. “Yeah, I’ve never pictured the
president in board shorts and a T-shirt before. Not going to lie, it’s good to
see you’re human. Though I always thought you were.” He chuckled as he said it
and got the same reaction from Dawkins.

“I’m definitely human,” he agreed. Dawkins thought for a
moment before continuing. “Sean, if you know anything about me, you know that I
don’t beat around the bush very much. I like to be direct, and I prefer to put
things out there as quickly as possible so that solutions can be found and the
job can be done. I look at everything that way.”

Sean nodded. He knew that about the man. It was another
endearing quality Sean appreciated.

The president swallowed hard and folded his hands. “When
was the last time you heard from Adriana Villa?”

Sean’s eyes narrowed. The question of how the president
knew who she was flashed in his brain. The leader of the free world could
likely get any information he needed or wanted in a matter of minutes. Sean had
a bad feeling about where this line of questioning was headed.

“I don’t know. A couple of days ago?” He answered with a
hint of uncertainty. “She’s investigating an ancient artifact she believes is
located somewhere in Greece. We talked on the phone a few days ago, but I
haven’t heard anything from her since.” Saying it out loud, Sean realized how
long it had been. He hadn’t been worried about her. Adriana knew how to take
care of herself. She’d saved his life more than once. The fact that the
president was asking about it, however, did present cause for concern. “What’s
going on with her?”

Dawkins took a deep breath and continued. When he spoke,
his Southern tenor voice commanded the room. “I’ll come back to that, but
first, I need to ask you another question. Have you ever heard of a relic known
as the Eye of Zeus?”

Sean bit his lower lip and shook his head. It didn’t ring
a bell. He thought for a few seconds, but couldn’t recall ever hearing about
such an artifact. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think I have. What is it, and
what does it have to do with Adriana?”

The president reached over to the far side of the table
and picked up a manila folder. He passed it over to Sean and sat back. On the
cover was a white label with a word Sean
did
recognize.