Tommy brought the car to a stop at a red light and tapped his fingers on the wheel.
"So, Australia?" Sean asked from the back seat.
"Yeah. You remember our old friend, Reece Skelton?"
"Yep. How's he doing?"
"Okay, I guess. Got an email from him out of the blue yesterday. Said a friend of his found this old paper in an antique desk. Turns out it was from a guy named R.H. Mathews."
"Never heard of him."
The light turned green, and Tommy accelerated through the intersection. "I hadn't either until I did a little research on him. He was an amateur anthropologist."
"Like you?"
"Hilarious." Tommy shook his head at the joke.
Adriana laughed.
"Don't encourage him," Tommy said to her. "Anyway, it was a journal entry from him. Seems he found something pretty important in a cave in New South Wales. Reece invited me down there to check it out. I figured I had some time—"
"So you'd just fly, like, fourteen hours across the world to have a look?"
"First of all, it's more like sixteen hours. And secondly, maybe I'll take a little time off when I get there. Things have been so crazy lately. I figured an Australian beach might be nice right about now."
"It is chilly here," Sean said. "Speaking of, I hope the weather stays nice for our trip to Vegas."
Tommy ignored him. "Anyway, I've tried reaching out to Reece since then but haven't been able to get ahold of him."
"Wait. So you're still going to fly down there even though the guy you're going to see hasn't responded to your calls."
"Or emails or texts. Yep. I'm a grown adult, Sean. And it's not like money is a problem. I can find a place to stay."
His point was true enough. Tommy was worth upward of a hundred million now. It seemed his investments could do no wrong.
"Well," Adriana interrupted, "I think it's great, Tommy. You deserve to take a trip like that. You work very hard."
"Thank you," Tommy said.
He turned a corner and came to the last light before they reached IAA headquarters about five hundred feet away. The steel side of the building shimmered in the morning sunlight.
"The kids still here?" Sean asked as he looked out the window to his right.
"Yeah. They don't head out until tomorrow."
Their conversation was stopped by a sudden boom.
In an instant, the external walls of the IAA building shuddered. Fire erupted out of the windows, sending shards of glass across the street and into the park. Smoke blasted out of every opening. Another blast sounded from inside the structure. One second, the IAA building was there. The next, it was consumed by a flash of fire and debris.
Tommy instinctively jammed the car into reverse and backed up. Luckily there was no one behind him.
His reaction hadn't been a moment too soon. A huge chunk of concrete struck the asphalt where the car had just been sitting.
The ground rumbled, shaking windows and signs in the buildings next to them. Meanwhile, the three in the car watched helplessly as the IAA headquarters collapsed in on itself.
White and black clouds rolled out a hundred feet in every direction.
The car's three occupants were speechless.
Sean's instincts were to run to the building to see if anyone needed help. He opened the car door and got out. The other two did as well. All three of them knew there was nothing they could do. The facility was completely destroyed.
Worse, anyone inside would be dead.
Chapter 4
"It's done."
Bernard Holmes allowed a weak smile to escape his lips as he held the phone to his ear. "You're certain?"
"Turn on the news, and see for yourself. It's all over every station. The media is calling it a terrorist attack."
The media, so predictable. Of course they would call it that. He'd counted on it. Americans were so on edge about terrorism that the moment anything smelled remotely like an attack, they were ready to label it. Next, people would demand justice; the authorities would claim they had leads. Eventually someone would get pinned for the atrocity. Public outcry would accept nothing less.
"I'll have a look later. I'm indisposed at the moment." He surveyed the room warily to make sure no one was listening. Then he lowered his voice. "You're sure they're all dead?"
"That's what our man told me."
"And what of the email to Schultz?"
"He didn't send it to anyone else. If he spoke to someone about it, doesn't matter now. The evidence is gone. Without Mathews's clue, it's just another myth that will vanish into thin air."
Violins played in the background. The chatter of wealthy socialites mingled with the music. Holmes was a tad surprised so many had stayed into the late hours of the evening. Expensive wine and champagne tended to have that effect on people.
Holmes was the chairman of Enertech, one of the major players in the booming Australian oil industry. His was the third most profitable in the country, pulling in billions in profit thanks to the discovery of a new shale deposit.
But third place wasn't good enough. His ego demanded more, as did his shareholders. Sure, he had a personal net worth of over a billion, but that could disappear in an instant. He'd had it all and lost it all before. Holmes wasn't about to let that happen again. Once he had control of the majority of Australia's oil, he'd be unstoppable.
"It sounds like you're at a party." The man on the other end of the line interrupted his thoughts. "I'll leave you alone, sir."
"It's a fundraiser. I have to keep up appearances."
"Sounds awful."
"It's not so bad. The food and alcohol more than make up for the tedious company."
"No offense, but I'll take a cold Toohey over champagne any day."
Holmes smiled and nodded at a silver-haired man that walked by wearing a tightly pressed tuxedo. It was the mayor of the city. As soon as he was gone, Holmes allowed his fake smile to disappear.
"None taken. What about your man in the States? I trust you're going to tie up that loose end."
"He'll be getting on a plane to come back right about now. That flight won't make it very far. I went ahead and put out a few footprints for the American authorities to find that will lead them straight back to him. He'll be blamed for the terror attacks, and the story will be a distant memory within a month."
"Perfect." Holmes showed off another toothy grin, this time to an older woman.
Holmes was in his late fifties and had attended these sorts of functions more times than he cared to remember. It wasn't that he hated parties. He loved them. His life of opulence allowed for entertainment mere mortals couldn't afford. The fundraisers, on the other hand, were an irritation.
He likened them to a glorified beggars convention — full of people walking around with their palms out, hoping to get a scrap for their pet project or charity. Holmes donated, of course. He had to. Nothing better to fend off critics than to donate a million to some pathetic cause.
Another man of similar age locked eyes with Holmes from across the room. It was another one of the nonprofit guys. His last name was Stewart. That's all Holmes could remember. Stewart took the momentary exchange of glances as an invitation to come over. Holmes cursed himself in his mind for letting his eyes hold the gaze for a fraction of a second.
"What about the woman?" The voice on the phone asked. "You want me to get rid of her too?"
Holmes had already decided her fate before the question was voiced. "No. Not yet. She may still be of use to us, at the very least as leverage if things get tight. You can never have too many chips on your side of the table."
"Sounds good to me. I'll have my men keep an eye on her. I doubt she's going to try anything stupid."
"I'm going to have to go. I'll see you at the office in the morning. Find out what you can about that paper. The woman may not know anything, but keep pressing her. I want that relic."