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black Q7 cruised through the rising
twists and turns of the mountains easily, living up to it’s sports-car
lineage.   As the jagged mountain
crested, the asphalt vanished into dirt and gravel.   Villa made a quick right turn onto another dusty roadway and
slowed down slightly.   Up ahead,
sitting next to a large rock formation was a sandstone building.   Its wood appointments and craftsman
design were uncommon for the area, more suited for somewhere like the northwest
or maybe in the southern United States.   Dim lights emanated from within and a large, metallic garage door began
opening on the underside of the house as they wheeled around a slight downgrade
turn that led into the port.
    “Nice
place,” Sean broke the long silence.
    Villa
barely gave him a look out of the corner of her eye.   “Gracias.”   Her
Spanish accent was alluring.   She
spoke with a confidence that was extremely attractive.   It didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous,
too.  
    She
brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine and opened her door.   Something in the corner of the garage
caught Sean’s eye as he exited the vehicle.   It was red, smooth, and tough looking.   No fairing, single swing arm, big front
and back tires.   It called to him
from across the room.   “Ducati
Streetfighter?” he asked, impressed.
    “Si,
Senor Wyatt,” she answered with a smile.   “I love to ride.   When
Ducati came out with this one, I bought it immediately.”  
    Sean
thought about his small fleet of motorcycles back home.   Each one had a unique sound, rhythm,
and feel.   He’d ridden them all
extensively and loved each one like they were his children.   She interrupted his thoughts as if
reading his mind.   “I understand
you have quite a collection of bikes yourself, Mr. Wyatt.”
    He
grinned slightly.   “It’s nothing
major.   Just some I’ve worked on
and restored over the years.   I’ve
never ridden a Streetfighter, though.   What’s it like?”
    Her
smile was slightly wicked as she raised an eyebrow.   “Like strapping a grenade to your chest.”

 
 
    Chapter 15
    Nevada Desert

 
    Alexander
paced slowly around the small, circular wooden table.
    The
other two men, Albert Mornay and Jonathan Carrol, sat nervously in their
chairs, uncertain why they’d been called at this time of night but both thought
they knew the answer.
    “Gentlemen,
I’m sorry to have ‘roused you from your slumber this evening, but it seems we
have a problem,” Lindsey began, not expecting the other two to start the
conversation.   They were both weak
men, easily controlled.   Well,
until this last little outburst.  
    Mornay’s
family had been involved with Golden Dawn since the 1920s.   He’d basically been grandfathered into
the order.   The man had never done
a day of hard labor in his life.   Tall, slender, with a beak for a nose and a high forehead, he was the
realized image of Ichabod Crane.  
    Carrol
was different.   He’d been a
low-level suck up in some company for a long time until he finally got promoted
to the level of partner.   Though
he’d worked hard for the Order, he had given away his best years.   Now in his mid-fifties, the man looked
like he was pushing seventy.   A
real “yes” man, Jonathan Carrol took crap from everyone who gave it out so long
as it helped move him up the ladder.
    Both
men had their usefulness.   They had
money and some influence in certain circles.   More important than that, they could be manipulated however
Alexander saw fit.   He’d known that
Carrol and Mornay resented the fact.   They knew their position, and neither was willing to do anything to
jeopardize the possibility of becoming top dog at some point in the future.  
    Lindsey
had taken the reins ten years ago from his predecessor.   He’d served the old man well, learning
everything he could about the Order.   It was his benefactor that had seen the ambition in Alexander’s eyes.   That