The Templar Map

by K R Hill

  Dalton chuckled and glanced sideways. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  He pulled onto the freeway, and fifteen minutes later he pulled up to the hospital.

  Chapter 22

  Dalton pulled to the curb at the emergency room entrance and shoved the car into park, threw his door open and ran around to the passenger side. He grabbed Ted by the arm and started to pull him out, then saw the blood on the seat. It was dripping out the door onto his shoes, and that freaked him out. He pounded on top of the car and shouted to an ambulance crew; they were laughing as they carried a gurney down the stairs while looking at their cell phones.

  “Hey,” shouted Dalton. “Help me, I need help over here. I have a gunshot victim. I think he’s bleeding out! He’s going to die right here on the curb. Help me!”

  The two EMTs looked at each other, shoved their cell phones into their pockets and went into emergency mode. One of them grabbed the front of the gurney, while the other went to the rear, and together they ran down the steps and swung the gurney over the curb into the gutter as it rattled on the asphalt. The instant they got to the passenger door, they pulled Dalton out of the way. In an instant they had Ted up on the gurney and strapped in, and were running back toward the emergency door exit, shouting at people to get out of their way as they came barreling up the steps.

  When they got into the waiting room, one of them ran to the glass window where a young nurse was sitting chatting with an associate. The EMT shouted through the opening, reached in, and slapped an emergency button. An alarm rang somewhere down the hall. Within seconds a young doctor burst through the doors and met the gurney.

  Dalton heard the word “gunshot” thrown around as the doctor sliced open Ted’s shirt with a pair of scissors, pulled off the bandage and looked at the wound.

  “Where was he treated before?”

  Ted answered with a weak voice.

  Dalton came into the emergency examining room and leaned over Ted.

  “I need you to leave now!” said the doctor.

  “You know what you have to do, right?” asked Ted.

  Dalton leaned forward and whispered, “I’m going to find that fucker who threw the grenade.”

  “You need to get to that woman, the client, and find out what’s going on. And you need to get paid.”

  “Okay, Ted. They’re going to take care of you now. If you get a package, don’t let anyone look inside.” He winked.

  “Brother, just finish the case and be there for Jax. She never gave up looking for you. I saw how she fought.” Ted closed his eyes and flinched.

  Dalton walked through the two big doors and stepped out into the hall. At nearly every door stood two or three people. A doctor in a white lab coat stood before a small group. He walked slowly down the hall and out into the waiting room with the different colored tiles forming patterns on the floor. On the tiles stood stiff, hard chairs that could not be moved. He sat down and thought over his options. All of a sudden, he was alone. Nick had taken a flight to Texas to find some hidden records about the Devonshires. And now Ted was in a hospital bed, unable to move.

  Dalton wanted to feel sorry for himself. He felt numb. He wanted to lie down and sleep, just forget about everything. But his training wouldn’t let him do that. And his training was shouting about the two men marching toward him.

  It was their walk that alerted him. Here in this hospital, where every visitor forgot about themselves and looked sad and concerned for loved ones, these two were walking toward him in military fashion, shoulder to shoulder, heads held high, strutting a bit. Even though they were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, one with a hood pulled over his head, there was no hiding the military swagger.

  Dalton thought about the Key. Was it still in the car? It must be, he knew, or these two goons wouldn’t be coming for him. There was no use in playing games. He knew what they wanted, and they knew that he knew. He saw the smile of acknowledgment cross their faces when they were fifty feet away.

  Out of one of the rooms came a member of the hospital staff, a heavy black woman pushing what looked like an IV stand. Dalton grabbed the stand, twisted the little lock that allowed it to become taller or shorter, and separated the two halves. It was such a fluid movement, him stepping aside, grabbing the stand, spinning and swinging right into the approaching man, that it caught the two soldiers off guard.

  He hit the first one across the forearm. Dalton followed his swing by stomping on man’s foot. The soldier grunted and fell backward and crashed against the wall. The second man grabbed the IV stand before Dalton could swing it again. That meant that both the guy’s hands were out of position, leaving his entire midsection vulnerable to attack.

  The instant Dalton released the stand, he brought his elbow down and broke the second guy’s collarbone. His other arm came at the guy with a wide swing and connected with the man’s ear.

  Somewhere in the corridor a woman screamed, and men shouted. There were loud voices behind him as Dalton pushed open the doors and hurried across the lobby, then rushed out into the fresh air.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or to be angry when he saw Singh sitting behind the steering wheel of his car.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” called Dalton, as he ran down the steps. “What are you doing in my car?”

  “What am I doing? You left the Key, Solomon’s Key, lying there on the floorboard of your car like it was a toy for anyone to come along and take it and be gone into the night so that we could never find it again. Oh, my God. You call yourself a detective, but you leave this museum piece, this jewel of history, a map to the greatest wealth that the world has ever seen, just lying in your car like a discarded junk-food wrapper.” Singh opened the door and jumped out of the car.

  Dalton put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I know, Singh. I was thinking about Ted.”

  “I saw the blood, Mr. Dalton. I am very sorry about your friend. There were also two very large men that I saw enter the hospital. They did not look like nice people. I thought they were the associates of the men who were chasing us that day on Signal Hill. I had the hardest time finding this hospital, but I knew that you would return to home ground when you were in trouble, so I googled hospitals around Long Beach, and that is how I found you. And then I saw those two men, and I knew I had to put myself in your car so that they would not come snooping around there.”

  “Yeah, you did good.” Dalton stepped around and slid into his car.

  Singh climbed into the shotgun seat. He repositioned himself about twenty times as he tried to avoid touching the blood.

  “You still have it, right?”

  “Certainly, yes, I have it.” Singh reached under his seat and pulled out Solomon’s key, and brushed it off with his hand, and even after it was clean, he continued to rub it, as though he was deriving pleasure from the touch.

  Dalton pulled away from the curb, and turned out onto Atlantic Avenue, and headed up toward the freeway.

  “You were all alone with it, Singh. What kept you from running away and posting your findings in some academic journal and making yourself a hero?”

  Singh sucked in air as though he had been underwater for a long time without being able to breathe. “Because I am a good man. How could any man hope to profit from something that is not rightfully his own?”

  Dalton turned and looked at him long enough to see whether he was pulling his leg. “That’s what I was thinking. I don’t know who to give this thing to. I’m going to need your help. Do you still have that shotgun?”

  Singh clapped his hands together and hopped up off his seat a couple of times. “Oh yes, I do, and I would really enjoy being able to shoot it one or two times at one of those bad brutes.”

  “Bad brutes,” whispered Dalton, and laughed. “Okay, I have a little plan to end this thing. But Nick is gone, and Ted is not available.”

  “We will finish up this nasty business with these nasty men, and when it is finished, we’ll take Solomon’s key to a nice clean
academic museum, and turn it over to the proper authorities who will know exactly what should be done with it. That way it will be out of our hands, and into the history books it will be written.”

  “Is that what we should do with it, Singh?”

  “Well, I believe that would be the proper procedure.” Singh turned from Dalton and stared at passing cars.

  “Even if the owner of the key does not want it, even if the owner refuses to take it because it might incriminate her in her husband’s wrongdoings?”

  ***

  The courthouse was busy. Lawyers with white shirts and ties that constricted their necks, rushed up and down the steps, their shiny black shoes tapping the concrete. Some carried briefcases. Others climb the steps with stacks of files at their chests, leather satchels or briefcases in their other hand as they ran, trying to make it to court on time. Beside many of the attorneys rushed their clients. Many of the latter dressed in jeans and work boots, and T-shirts with the names of rock bands.

  Dalton led Mr. Singh up the stairs and into the third-floor corridor, and walked from courtroom to courtroom, reading the small plaques beside the doors that identified the trial about to take place. When he found the one he wanted, they moved away about twenty feet and stood against the wall, waiting and watching.

  “That’s her,” said Dalton, gesturing by lifting his chin in the direction of the courtroom. “All you have to do is get close to her and whisper: ‘I believe it’s the rainy season in Honduras.’ As soon as you say that, turn and walk out of the courtroom, and hurry down the corridor and down the stairs, where I’ll meet you.”

  Singh did that funny wobbling thing with his head. As he walked away, he repeated again what he’d been told to say.

  Dalton waited out on the steps and watched attorneys and clients. In the distance a food truck was set up in the patio area between the office buildings. Around it, people stood at concrete tables. Off to the side, a group of skateboarders were hopping their boards up onto a concrete planter. They rolled along for a few feet, dropped onto the walkway and shouted at friends.

  Singh hurried through the doors and took his place beside Dalton. A moment later, Jax burst through the door, paused for a moment, and acted as though she was stretching as she repeated the phrase about the rain in Honduras. She hurried down the steps and walked toward the food truck.

  He followed her past the truck, past the diners, and around the corner of a parking structure. There he stopped and looked around to see which way she had gone.

  “Where is she, Singh?”

  But he didn’t wait for an answer as he hurried into the parking structure. The instant he entered the shade of the structure, somebody grabbed him from behind and spun him around and jumped into his arms and shoved him against the wall, kissing him with breathless passion.

  “Mr. Dalton, you’re a fugitive, a dangerous man. I can’t be seen with you. I may have to run away and contact the authorities about your whereabouts.”

  “I’m trying to get some attorney-client privileges.” Dalton kissed her.

  “Oh, this must be the young woman from last night.” Singh came through the doorway.

  “You were following me last night?” asked Dalton, pushing Jax away.

  Singh turned around like he didn’t know which way to go or look, and hunched his shoulders. “I was protecting you, my friend. I sat outside this woman’s house all night, on that terrible street in Los Angeles, only me and my little shotgun, trying to protect you, waiting for bad men to come.”

  “I almost got killed there. What happened to you?”

  “Oh. I am so sorry. I fell asleep. But if I had seen anything, I would have come running.”

  “My name is Jax,” she said, coughed, and brushed her hair out of her face as she extended her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dalton. “This is Dr. Singh, the guy that could have rescued us last night. He’s the guy that identified Solomon’s Key.”

  “It is a great pleasure and an honor to meet you, Ms. Jax.”

  She shook his hand and looked at Dalton, as though waiting for more explanation about why this Indian man was with them. But when the explanation didn’t come, the investigator in her went on without help.

  “And why were you following Dalton?”

  “All my life I have been studying to advance my position in life. My entire childhood was spent reading books and studying to take tests and speaking in classrooms surrounded by others who were trying to do better than I was. That continued right into my professional life. By the time I looked around, I was forty-five years old and still sitting in the desk and studying books and reading and writing books so that other people could read them while they were studying and spending their life with written words instead of going out and living life.”

  “The point is, he wants to make sure the Key gets to a good museum and is not taken by bad people. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Once he starts talking, he’ll never shut up,” said Dalton.

  “And then one day this Dalton and his crazy redheaded friend burst into my life like cowboys shooting it out in the Wild West. We went for a crazy ride and drove right over the side of a cliff in an ugly little Volkswagen. It was so exciting! My blood was racing, my heart pounding, and fear was grabbing me with all its might.” Singh’s eyes grew large and he stomped on the ground as he spoke.

  Jax stepped away.

  “And that was when I realized that I wanted to live. I was involved in something that could shape history. I wanted to be part of it instead of reading about it. I wanted to shape it. I held in my hand Solomon’s Key. This artifact that people had fought for and died for and dreamed about, this thing of legend that small children hear about and dream about before they fall to sleep at night. We have Solomon’s Key. And I chose to be here, to put my books aside, so that I could watch over it and keep it safe and make sure that it gets into the right hands. And let me tell you, it has been so exciting.” Singh stopped and wiped spittle from his cheeks, and looked around.

  “Don’t worry; he’s always like that.”

  Jax backed away a bit farther. “Well, Mr. Singh, I’m glad to have you along. I know Dalton here is a good man. I’m very happy that you’re watching out for him. Why don’t both of you come back to my car? I need to tell you what’s going on with this case.”

  “My car,” said Dalton. “Three of us won’t fit in yours.”

  They hurried out of the garage and walked past the people at the concrete tables and those grouped around the taco truck ordering food, some standing back, trying to read the menu, trying to decide what they were going to have.

  Once they were inside Dalton’s car, Jax began.

  “Listen, I have to make this quick. I’m late for court and have to get back. But what you have to know is that Devonshire’s lawyer is moving fast. She’s already been deposed. They’re making a case against you, Dalton. Her lawyer is claiming that you broke into the basement on your own, and that she had no knowledge of you prior to that. A murder took place on her property, so her lawyers are trying to distance her from that action.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. Hell, whoever that was in the trunk got killed several months before I was there. That level of decomposition doesn’t occur overnight.”

  “I know you didn’t do it. Between us, that’s not in question. But what you have to remember is that this is going to be a court of law. We have to be able to prove you did not do it.”

  “That explains how Devonshire’s organization was able to get the paintings and other artifacts into the country. The dead guy was probably going to get paid by Devonshire with the cash we found, but something went wrong. Maybe he got greedy and asked for more money, and Devonshire or one of his henchmen killed him.”

  Jax reached over and took hold of Dalton’s arm. “The killing of a federal agent is not taken lightly by the feds. They are all over this case, and they’re looking for someone to hang it on. If
you have evidence showing that Sophie Devonshire contacted you about going into that basement, or investigating her husband, or anything showing that she had a contract with you to investigate anything in her life, then you need to get that evidence to your lawyer.”

  Dalton tapped his head against the headrest several times. “I can’t believe she’s hanging me out to dry like that.”

  “Look, you can’t take this personally. It’s gone legal. As soon as she turned it over to her lawyer, it was out of her hands. She’s fighting for her life. You’re fighting for your life. If you have evidence showing that she had a contract with you, Dalton, that’s the only thing that might keep you out of prison. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “I have evidence. I have a digital recording of her coming into my office the same day a crazy man came killed two soldiers. I have her on camera handing me an envelope full of cash.”

  “That’s it! She handed you an envelope full of cash? And you said you found a large amount of cash in the basement, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you checked to see if those serial numbers are close to the ones found near the dead body?”

  “No, but I will.”

  “You need to get back and check. Then you need to get that video to your attorney.”

  “I can check the numbers, but Nick has the recording, and he’s disappeared in Texas somewhere.”

  Jax leaned over and kissed him hard on the lips, then backed away. With her hand around the back of his neck, she shook him about. “Dalton, you have to promise me you’re going to get out ahead of this. I spent the last two years trying to find your ass, and I don’t want to have to be coming to visit you in a federal lockup. That ain’t gunna happen.”

  Dalton looked over his shoulder to Singh. “I think it’s time we got rid of the Key. Once that thing is with the proper authorities, I won’t have to worry about the Israelis or the Vatican soldiers.”

  “A map that leads to a large treasure? Have you considered who we should turn it over to? If it goes to the Vatican, what if they gobble up five or six banks and become a major power?”