The Templar's Revenge (A James Acton Thriller, #19) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  She jumped out of the car, ignoring the fist-shaking driver, and weaved through the traffic to the hotel. She waved at the desk clerk then rushed up the stairs, unlocking their door. She found James asleep on the bed, empty juice bottles littering the linens as he gently snored. She didn’t want to disturb him, but there was no time to waste.

  She stepped over to the bed, checking the bandage, finding it dry on the outside, a good sign. She grabbed the shopping bags and stuffed their medical and foodstuffs inside, then looked about the room for anything she might have missed.

  Nothing.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook his shoulder. “James, darling, time to wake up.”

  He moaned and turned toward her, his eyes fluttering open. He smiled. “Hey, babe, did you save us yet?”

  She gently slapped his shoulder then stood. “Let’s go. I’ve got a car outside and we’re all packed.” She helped him to a seated position, swinging his legs off the bed. She slipped his shoes on, then helped him into his jacket, zipping it up to hide his bloodstained shirt. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  She draped his arm over her shoulder then helped him from the bed. He took a few timid steps toward the mirror, gripping his side, then straightened his hair as best he could, then his jacket.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Let’s just get to the car, quick.”

  She opened the door and they headed down the hall, toward the stairs.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I was spotted. I had to rent a boat to get away.”

  “A boat? Is that why you smell like you’ve been swimmin’ with da fishes?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll explain in the car.”

  They reached the stairs and took the first step, James wincing. “Okay, this is going to be difficult. We had to pick the one hotel without a functioning elevator.”

  “Even if it had one, would you take it under these circumstances?”

  James frowned as he took the next step. “You’re right. No escape if you’re caught in it. Next time though, remind me not to get wounded in an explosion caused by madmen in a helicopter with automatic weapons.”

  “Deal.”

  Laura helped him down the next few steps until they reached the landing. James leaned on the railing, gasping for breath. “This sucks. And those pain killers are wearing off.”

  “They’re in the bag. I’ll give you some when we get in the car.”

  “Is that supposed to be incentive for me to go faster?”

  She grinned. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “Why don’t you dangle a stick in front of me with a few Tylenol on the end. You’ll have me sprinting in no time.”

  “Okay, that’s enough, Seinfeld. Are you ready?”

  He nodded and took the next step on his own, Laura stepping ahead of him, allowing him to put a hand on her shoulder and lean on her, the process quicker than carrying some of his weight over her shoulder. “When we get in the car I want to call Greg, see if he’s heard anything.”

  Laura glanced back at him. “We’ll have to get a new phone.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, it got ruined when I had to swim for shore.”

  “You really did have an adventure while I was asleep.”

  “You have no idea.” She rounded the corner and smiled at the desk clerk, then froze, ducking back and pushing James against the wall with her arm. He yelped in pain, and she slapped her hand over his mouth.

  Schmidt showed the desk clerk the photos of the two professors, the man’s eyes widening slightly as he glanced behind Schmidt. He spun but saw no one. A faint cry stopped him from turning back.

  Was that inside?

  He couldn’t be sure. The small lobby was empty. There was a set of stairs directly ahead, and to the right, an out of order elevator occupied most of the far wall. But something had drawn the clerk’s attention, and someone had made that sound.

  A sound of pain.

  Acton is wounded.

  If he were to assume Acton was the man the paramedics had been talking about, then he had a serious wound to his side. And if the elevator were out of order, he’d have to take the stairs.

  He strode quickly toward them, reaching for his weapon.

  Laura looked about desperately for some means of escape. She spotted a utility closet to their right and rushed toward it, pushing it open. James limped toward her as footfalls echoed in the marble lobby. He reached her and stepped inside. She followed, squeezing into the cramped space, and pushed the door shut.

  A clicking sound from behind startled her, the room bathed in light, James having found the chain controlling the lone overhead bulb. She checked the doorknob and found no way to lock it from the inside. The footsteps grew closer.

  “Take this.” James handed her a doorstop from one of the shelves and she smiled, dropping down and shoving it under the door, gently kicking it as hard as she dared, wedging the door shut. The footsteps were close now, just outside the door. Her pursuer walked past, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly he stopped and rushed back.

  The entire door rattled as he tried the handle. She pushed against the door with her shoulder and the wedge with her foot, as hard as she could. The man put his shoulder into it, and the top half of the door bent inward slightly, then bounced back. He tried again, then growled in frustration, the footfalls receding back toward the front desk.

  An exchange occurred between the clerk and the man, then more receding footfalls, then nothing. She kicked the wedge clear and James turned out the light. She opened the door tentatively, and heard a gasp. She poked her head out and found the desk clerk standing there, his mouth agape.

  “What was that all about?”

  Laura shook her head. “I’m not sure. He’s been following me all morning. He’s some creep we met at a bar last night.” She glanced out at the lobby. “Where did he go?”

  “He left, but I think he’s across the street. Is that blue car Madame’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think he’s watching it.” He started for his desk. “I’m calling the police.”

  Laura reached out, grabbing his arm. “No, no police. That will just cause delays. We’re leaving now, anyway.” She frowned as she stared at the car through the glass doors, so close yet so far. “We’ll need to find another way to the airport.” She looked at the clerk. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  He nodded. “I’ll show you.” He eyed James with concern. “Are you okay, Monsieur?”

  “Yeah, just some food poisoning last night. Should be a fun plane ride.”

  The clerk shook his head, frowning. “You poor people. I really hope you don’t hold this experience against our lovely country.”

  Laura smiled as he led them toward the rear entrance. “Not at all. I don’t think that man was French.”

  “Definitely not! His French was excellent, but he was definitely German. Perhaps Swiss or Austrian, but definitely not French.”

  “Neither were the oysters,” added James. “I’m sure they were Spanish.”

  The clerk smiled. “Of course they were, of course they were. There is no such thing as bad French oysters.” He pushed open the door then pointed to the right. “Go that way. You should be able to find a taxi to take you to the airport.”

  “Thank you so much for your help.” Laura led James into the back alley and the door was hastily closed behind them, leaving her with the distinct impression the clerk was happy to be rid of them. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t checked out. “We forgot to pay.”

  James glanced at her. “You’re not thinking of going back, are you?”

  She put an end to the internal debate. “No, you’re right, that would be daft.”

  “Damned bloody daft.”

  She gave him a look. “Don’t try to curse British, dear, you just sound even more American.” They started toward the street, the go
ing slow. “When this is all settled, I’ll call and pay the bill.”

  James winced. “You do that.”

  They were approaching a street, cars and pedestrians visible. She directed them to a set of steps and helped James sit so he could catch his breath.

  “What now?” he asked.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure. We need to get out of here, but need a car to do it. I don’t have a phone anymore, and I’m not sure how many rental agencies are in this town. It’s not like I can go back and get a second car.”

  “We need a phone.”

  “Right.” She paused. “Do you think Hugh is coming?”

  James grunted. “If I know him, he’s already here.”

  “Then we need to let him find us.”

  “How?”

  She sighed. “Maybe we need to stop running.”

  James’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if we’re on the streets, we can be spotted. And the longer they don’t see us, the more likely they’re going to think we escaped.”

  “Riiight.”

  “So, maybe we should just stay put and see what happens.”

  James’ eyes widened. “That’s bold or stupid.”

  “I prefer bold.” She glanced up at the door he was sitting in front of. “Care for a bite?”

  56

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  Sonya Tong turned toward Leroux as he entered the room. He had been gone a long time, well over an hour, though in that time they had discovered little until just a few minutes ago.

  “Problem?” she asked him, his expression troubled.

  “Yeah, something big’s brewing. We’re probably going to be pulled off this any minute now. What’s the latest?”

  “Nothing much until just now. One Laura Palmer rented a car in Saint-Pierre-la-Mer about half an hour ago.”

  Leroux’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s good news. That should mean they’ll be able to get out of immediate danger.”

  “Right, but there’s still the matter of the contract out on them.”

  Leroux nodded. “Any eyes?”

  Child raised a hand as if still in class. “I managed to access a few cameras. When Sonya found the rental, I was able to pull this up.” He pointed at the screen and security footage was shown, clearly from an ATM, the occasional customer blocking the view.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “An ATM camera. Look across the street. You can see the rental agency. Now wait for it…” He raised his hand for dramatic effect, then dropped it, tapping his keyboard, freezing the image. “There. Isn’t that Professor Palmer?”

  Everyone leaned toward the screen as Child isolated the image and enhanced it.

  “Yeah, that definitely looks like her. Play it forward, let’s see what she does.” The image jerked forward, a second at a time, and several dozen frames later Palmer, and the car disappeared from the shot. Leroux nodded. “Okay, so it looks like she rented a blue car. Do we have any other cameras showing it?”

  Child shook his head. “We’re working on it, but…” He tapped a few keys and a satellite image appeared. “We’ve got a sat going over the area now.” A few more keypresses and a crystal clear image of the town of Saint-Pierre-la-Mer appeared. Child zoomed in. “This is the rental agency where she picked up the car. We didn’t see it again, so I think it’s safe to assume it went north, since it didn’t pass back in front of the camera.” He manipulated the image to follow the street north, when Tong jumped from her seat and pointed.

  “There. Is that it?”

  Child zoomed in on a blue car, parked along the street he had been following. “Let me see if I can get a plate.” A few keypresses and they had an angle shot, the first few letters visible.

  “That matches the rental agreement we pulled,” said Tong, “but there could be thousands of vehicles with those first few letters.”

  Leroux agreed. “Yes, but look at the bumper. That’s a rental agency sticker.” He glanced at Child. “Where is that?”

  Child zoomed out slightly, showing the immediate area, then popped open another screen, Google Street View appearing. He swung the image around.

  “Wait!” Leroux stepped toward the screen. “Back it up a bit. Thirty degrees to the right.”

  Child complied, and Leroux smiled.

  “How much are you willing to bet that they’re staying at that hotel?”

  Child grinned. “I’ll bet my day’s wages against yours.”

  Leroux gave him a look. “I think you’re grossly overestimating how much I make.” He glanced at Tong. “Give them a shout, see what happens if you ask for them.”

  Tong nodded, pulling up the number online. She dialed, the conversation on speaker for everyone to hear.

  “Allô, Hôtel Neptune, comment puis-je vous aider?”

  “Umm, bonjour, parlez-vous Anglais?”

  “Yes, of course, Madame, how may I help you?”

  “I’m trying to reach some friends of mine, James Acton and his wife, Laura Palmer. Can I have their room please?”

  “Umm, I’m sorry, Madame, but I need a room number.”

  Child snapped his finger, pointing at the screen, a voice stress analysis display indicating serious anxiousness on the part of their hotel clerk.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have that. The message from them was garbled. You can’t just put me through? It would mean so much to me.”

  Leroux smiled at the sweetness dripping from Tong’s voice.

  Didn’t know she had that in her.

  “I’m sorry, Madame, but there is nothing I can do.”

  “But they are there, right? I do have the right hotel?”

  The stress indicator shot through the roof. “I’m sorry, Madame, there is nothing I can do. Au revoir.” The call ended and Tong removed her headset, smiling at Leroux.

  “I think it’s pretty safe to say they’re there, or at least were.”

  Leroux nodded. “Agreed. Get that intel to Agent Reading. He might be able to do something with it.”

  Tong’s comm panel beeped and she grabbed her headset. “Sir, it’s for you.” She handed it to Leroux who fit it over his head.

  “This is Leroux.” He paused for a moment. “Understood.” He handed the headset back, then turned to the room. “Shut it down. We’re now on a Priority One tasking from the Director. The professors are on their own.” Leroux paused, turning to Tong. “But make sure Agent Reading gets that last bit of intel.”

  Tong nodded. “Consider it done.”

  57

  Approaching Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Reading glanced at Spencer. “Did you get that?”

  Spencer held up his phone. “Already found it. Hôtel Neptune. We’re fifteen minutes from there.”

  “Good. Let’s hope they’re still there.”

  Spencer nodded then turned to his father. “What are we going to do if they are?”

  “Get them out.”

  “How?”

  Reading’s eyes narrowed. “Huh?”

  “I mean, if it were that easy, wouldn’t they have already done it? I mean, just get in a car and leave, right? Something must be keeping them there.”

  Reading stared ahead at the coastal traffic, his lips pursed. Spencer was right. Something must be wrong, something must be preventing them from leaving.

  And that something had to be dangerous.

  “Jim’s wounded, so that might be keeping them in place. Laura might not be able to get him to the rental.”

  “That’s a possibility, but if he’s in that bad a shape, wouldn’t she have called for an ambulance?”

  Reading nodded. “Possibly, but if someone’s looking for them, especially if they know he’s wounded, then they’ll be watching the hospitals.”

  Spencer fell silent for a moment, then pointed ahead. “Keep right up here.”

  Reading followed his son’s directions, impressed the boy—yo
ung man—was giving him directions with plenty of warning, suggesting he had some experience behind the wheel himself. He knew he had his driving license, but had never been the passenger with him.

  And I won’t be today.

  “You didn’t answer my question. What are we going to do if they’re still there and someone is watching the place?”

  “Sneak them out somehow.”

  Spencer’s eyes shot wide. “Sneak them out? How the bloody hell are we going to do that?”

  Reading grunted. “Let’s just hold that thought. We don’t even know if they’re still there.”

  Spencer stared at him. “So, you’re making this up as you go.”

  “Yup.”

  “Is that how you normally do things?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Umm, I guess we shouldn’t mention this to Mom, huh?”

  Reading glanced at his son. “We’ll take it to our graves.”

  Spencer grinned. “Sounds good to me. If she finds out, she’ll never let us go on vacation again.”

  Reading tensed, the boy right. He sighed. “We’re definitely taking it to our graves.”

  58

  Off the coast of Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Pierre sat up straight, his chest pounding with the news he had just received over the comm. “You’re sure they’re still in town?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Schmidt. “I’m outside their hotel right now with the rental car about fifty meters from my position. I think they’re within walking distance. My men are converging on the area now.”

  “Do you have enough?”

  “What do you mean? Men?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have another half-dozen on standby that can be here within the hour. But it will cost you.”

  Pierre stared at the chateau. Once things settled down, he’d retrieve the riches trapped within, and settle any bill with ease. Money wasn’t the problem. Time was. He needed to capture the professors before they escaped, otherwise the True Cross would be lost to him forever. He stared at his chaperone, picking at his fingernails with a hunting knife.