Porter didn't appreciate the condescending tone from his employer. More than that, however, he was infuriated at the fact that Wyatt was still alive, not to mention his friend as well. He ran through the scenario in his head.
Wyatt and Schultz were down in the cave. Porter and his two men rigged enough C4 over the entrance to take down a small fortress. After the dust settled, he checked to make sure there was no way the men could escape. Even if rescue crews had shown up immediately, it would have taken a day or two to clear the debris for the simple reason that there could be another cave-in if the rescuers weren't careful.
If what his employer was saying was true, the only explanation would be another entrance to the cave. Porter and his men hadn't seen anything like that while they were there, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. His knowledge about cave systems was pretty limited. He'd heard of caves with multiple points of entry, so it was certainly possible.
Instead of offering an answer to his employer's question, Porter changed the conversation's direction.
"Where is he now?"
"Right now? At this very moment? I have no idea. My contact in Auburn said all she heard was that Wyatt and Schultz were heading back to Washington."
The comment caused Porter to perk up. "Washington? Why?"
"She didn't know exactly. Something about the Mary Surratt house. They may be looking for something there."
"Good thing my men and I are already here in Washington." Porter hoped the news would change his employer's demeanor.
A silent pause passed for a moment before the man on the other end spoke up again. "Washington? You're here? Why?"
"I thought you might need us again, sir. Although I have to admit, I didn't think it would be to deal with Wyatt. I apologize for the trouble. We'll take care of it."
"You said you took care of it last time. I'm going to get someone else to handle it now. Consider yourself lucky."
Consider myself lucky? What does that mean?
Porter didn't respond well to threats. He was the one who threatened people. The fact that a guy in a suit with no experience in the field actually had the guts to say something like that to him caused Porter's blood to boil.
"I said I will take care of it, sir. You don't have to get someone else on it."
"No, Porter. Do you not understand? You are off the job. Don't make the mistake of crossing me. That will not end well for you."
There it was again, another threat.
"Okay, sir. We're done here. I wish you the best of luck."
"Was that sarcasm? Do you have any idea who you're talking to, Porter? You caused this, not me. You're the one who failed in your assignment."
Porter ended the call without saying anything else. He'd had enough. If his employer thought he could just bring someone else to finish the job he'd started, he'd have to think again.
A plan began formulating in Porter's mind. Whatever his employer was looking for must be something of tremendous value — potentially priceless. Porter snorted at the thought. Everything had a price. Everything.
He flipped through the contacts in his phone and found the number he was looking for.
It was a guy he only used now and then when he didn't care if things got messy. Porter didn't know his real name. He went by an odd alias: Anhur, after the Egyptian god of war. The man had Egyptian tattoos all over his arms and neck. Porter assumed there were more, but he'd never been interested in asking.
Anhur had the reputation of being incredibly thorough in his tasks. The only problem was he usually left a swath of destruction and carnage. He was relatively cheap, though, and Porter didn't care how sloppy the job was done so long as Wyatt and Schultz were out of the way. Then whatever treasure they'd found would be in Porter's hands.
He'd sell it to the highest bidder, of which there would likely be only one. Porter clenched his jaw as he thought about the price tag. He'd make his now-former employer pay dearly. From the boasts the man had made, he likely had billions to spend.
As Porter dialed Anhur's number, his mind drifted to the beach house he'd buy in the Caribbean, the chalet in France, and the countless other material possessions that filled his desires.
"Yes?" a gruff voice came through the earpiece.
"Anhur, it's Porter. You wouldn't be interested in making a quick five thousand, would you?"
The man's breathing was loud in the phone. "Depends on how quick?" he grunted.
"You still in Washington?"
"Where else would I be? Best place for a bear to catch fish is in the river."
Porter had only talked to Anhur on a few occasions, but he found the man loved metaphors. Porter attributed it to a psychological issue in which Anhur saw himself as some kind of wise spiritual guide. Ironic because when he killed people, he did so in often gruesome ways.
"Good point," Porter said.
It actually was a good point. If a mercenary hit man wanted to make a good living, there were several markets to choose from, both domestic and international. New York was a honey pot, but overrun by the mob. Finding work could be tricky and getting paid even more so. Same with Boston and the Irish.
Chicago was a huge city, but more organized crime and a saturated base of talented hitters made it a poor choice.
Washington, however, was a goldmine of opportunity if you had talent. To get work in that town, one had to be a cut above the rest. The men and women who sought hired guns didn't settle for anything less than the best. After all, their reputations and political careers were on the line.
Anhur's penchant for cruelty made him stand out.
"What's the mark?" Anhur asked.
"There are two marks, actually. They'll be in town later today, barring anything unusual on their journey."
"Where?"
"I'll send you the address along with everything you'll need on these two men. Oh, and Anhur, there's one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Make sure you take them out as they're leaving, not before. They'll have something in their possession that I want. And it's in that house."
Chapter 23
Adriana followed Emily through the airport, walking swiftly by other travelers, careful to not make eye contact.
She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to keep her identity safe from any gawkers who'd seen the viral video of her diving into the president to save his life. The last thing she and Emily needed right now was attention. If someone recognized her, they'd be inundated with questions, maybe even requests for autographs. Neither were things the two women wanted.
They found the gate for their flight back to Atlanta and found seats in a corner against the wall. Boarding would begin in twenty minutes. Until then, Adriana and Emily had plenty of work to do.
Once they were situated, they both took out their phones. Emily called the office to check on why Sean's call hadn't come through to her. Adriana made a call to Alex and Tara.
"Hello?" Tara said after two rings.
"How are you three?" Adriana asked.
"We're good," Tara said. "June picked us up from the office and brought us to Joe and Helen's place. I gotta say, it sure is relaxing being out here in the woods. We need to visit more often."
"You haven't noticed anything unusual, have you?"
"No, everything's fine down here. I think Alex is getting a little bored, but June and I are enjoying the R&R. By the way, thanks for looking out for us with the tip on the burner phones."
"No problem," Adriana said. Her eyes flitted from one traveler to the next as they passed. She feared at any second someone would recognize her. "I was wondering if you could help us out."