The Last Templar ts-1

by Raymond Khoury

  "It was either him or someone involved with him. Either way, who-ever's doing it is still out there, and the killing part doesn't seem to bother him at all."

  Tess rubbed her eyes with fingers that, she noticed, were quivering. "What if he hasn't figured it out yet? Fonsalis"

  "I think you would gave gotten another visit if he hadn't. My guess is, he knows."

  She let out a deep breath. "So what do we do now?"

  Reilly studied her, clearly wondering the same thing. "You're sure you've got it right?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "But you're not going to tell me where it is?"

  She shook her head. "I'd rather not. Although I'm pretty sure you can make me, right?" Overhead, the nasal voice made another announcement, inviting die last passengers to board the aircraft. Tess turned to Reilly. "That's my flight."

  He watched as the last passengers went through the gate. "You're sure you still want to do this?"

  She gave him a nervous nod. "I'm sure."

  "Let us handle it. You'll get the full credit for any find, I'll make sure of that. Just let us get him out of the way first."

  She looked deep into his eyes. "It's not just about the credit. It's . . . it's what I do. And it's what I have to do." She scoured his face for signs of empathy, for clues as to what he was thinking.

  "Besides, it might be out of your hands. International finds ... it can get very territorial and very messy." She managed a tentative grin. "So can I go now, or are you gonna arrest me or something?"

  His jaw tightened. "I'm thinking about it." His face wasn't giving away any hints that he could be joking. Far from it.

  "On what charge?"

  "I don't know. I'll find something. Maybe plant a couple of pouches of coke on you." He faked patting down his pockets. "I know I have some on me somewhere."

  Her face relaxed.

  His expression turned dead serious. "What can I say to make you change your mind?"

  She loved the way it felt to hear him ask her that. Maybe I haven't completely screwed this up yet.

  She stood up. "I'll be fine." Not that she believed it.

  He got up and for a brief moment, they just stood there. She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. A small part of her was even hoping he would grab her and stop her from going. But he didn't do that either. She glanced toward the gate then turned to face him again. "I'll see you soon."

  He didn't answer.

  She walked off and reached the overly cheerful woman staffing the boarding pass scanner. Tess pulled out her passport and, as she handed it to her, she looked back at where she'd left Reilly. He was still standing there, watching her go. She managed a queasy half-smile before turning away and walking down the white-paneled finger.

  ***

  The four turbofan engines whined to life as the flight crew up and down the aisles made their final preparations for take-off. Tess had been assigned a window seat for the ten-hour flight and was relieved to find an empty seat beside hers. As she watched the ground staff clear the last of the servicing gear from around the aircraft, Tess felt a strange mix of exhilaration and foreboding. She couldn't help but be excited by the journey ahead, and yet Reilly's news about die dead horsemen rattled her. She blocked the disturbing imagery her mind was conjuring up and tried to convince herself that as long as she took some basic precautions, she should be safe.

  She hoped.

  She was reaching for the in-flight magazine when she noticed some commotion coming from the front of the aircraft. Her whole body went rigid when she realized it was due to Reilly, who was making his way down the aisle to her.

  Damn it. He's had a change of heart. He's coming to take me off the plane.

  Staring at him with amazement, she felt a surge of anger. As he reached her row, she edged back against die window. "Don't, okay? Don't pull me off this plane. You've got no right. I'll be fine—I mean, come on, you've got people there, right? They can keep an eye on me. I can do this."

  His face was impassive. "I know." He then eased his way into the seat next to hers.

  Tess stared at him, stunned. Her mouth was having trouble forming any coherent words.

  He matter-of-factly took the magazine from her hands as he buckled his belt. "So," he said, "do they have any decent movies on?"

  Chapter 52

  The man seated six rows back from Tess was far from comfortable. He hated flying. It didn't have anything to do with an irrational fear of it, nor was he in any way claustrophobic. He simply couldn't stand being confined for hours in a tin can where he wasn't allowed to smoke. Ten hours. And that wasn't counting the time spent in the equally smoke-free terminal.

  Nicorette country.

  He'd been lucky. Tasked with keeping an eye on Tess, he'd had to make do with an uncomfortably remote viewing spot due to the police watch on her house. Had he been any closer, though, he would have probably missed her slipping away from the back of the house, across two neighboring houses' backyards, then back to the street and the cab that was waiting for her only yards from where he'd been parked.

  He'd alerted De Angelis and tailed her to the airport. From his seat in the departure lounge, he'd been able to observe Tess and Reilly at ease without any risk of detection. Neither of them was aware of his existence. He had called De Angelis from his cell phone twice. The first time to let him know that Tess had been allowed to board the aircraft. The second shortly after, this time from his seat inside the plane, when he'd barely had time to inform the monsignor of Reilly's appearance before his conversation was cut short by an insistent flight attendant who made him shut off his cell phone.

  Leaning out to look up the aisle, he studied his two targets as he twirled a small disc no bigger than a quarter across his fingers. He'd noticed that Reilly hadn't brought any hand luggage on board. It didn't really matter. Tess had a carry-on bag stuffed into the overhead compartment, and she was his primary target. As he watched them, he knew he didn't need to rush things. It was going to be a long flight, and most of the cabin, including his targets, would be asleep at some point. He'd have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity to plant his tracking device. At least, he mused, it would provide him with some distraction on this otherwise irksome journey.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frowning as the flight attendant passed him and proceeded down the aisle, checking to make sure die seat belts were all fastened. He hated the rigidity of the whole travail. He felt like he was back in sixth grade. Can't smoke, can't call. Can't call them stewardesses. What's next? Permission slips to use the John?

  He glared out the window and stuffed two more pieces of Nicorette into his mouth.

  ****

  De Angelis was arriving at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey when Plunkett called him. The small airport was a quieter and more efficient option for his hastily arranged trip; seven miles from Manhattan, it was a favored haven for celebrities, business executives, and their private jets.

  Sitting in the back of the Lincoln Town Car, the monsignor was almost unrecognizable. He had discarded his austere attire for the smart black Zegna suit he was more used to, and, although he always had some misgivings when he set aside his Roman collar, he had readily done so now, opting for a blue dress shirt instead. He had also done away with the dowdy, smeared glasses he had worn during his stay in Manhattan; in their place were his habitual, rimless pair. His tattered leather briefcase was gone, a slim aluminum one now sitting next to him as the dark limousine whisked him right up to the aircraft's door.

  As he climbed aboard the Gulfstream IV, he glanced at his watch again and did a quick calculation.

  He knew he was in good shape. He would probably land in Rome slightly before Tess and Reilly reached Istanbul. The G-IV wasn't just one of the handful of private jets that had the range to reach Rome without refueling; it was also faster than the massive, four-engined Airbus in which they were flying. He would have a bit of time to collect whatever equipment he needed to comp
lete his mission and still be able to meet them wherever they were headed.

  Taking his seat, he pondered again the dilemma Tess Chaykin presented. All the FBI really cared about was locking up Vance for the attack on the Met. She, on the other hand, was after something else; he knew that long after Vance was behind bars, she would keep on searching, turning over stones, looking for it. It was in her nature.

  No, he had no doubt about it; at some point, after she had outlived her current usefulness, he would probably have to deal with this problem. A problem that had just been exacerbated by Reilly and his ill-advised decision to accompany her.

  He shut his eyes and leaned back against the soft headrest of his plush swivel chair. He wasn't worried in the least. It was an unfortunate complication he would simply have to deal with.

  Chapter 53

  They were at cruising altitude before Tess began to explain her findings to Reilly. "We were looking for a place that doesn't exist, that's all."

  They had managed to get a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline, shimmering in dizzying golden-blue hues from the setting sun, the Twin Towers even more notable now for their absence, the full scale of the catastrophe made even more visceral from the air. Then the red-tailed aircraft had banked and powered itself skyward through thin cloud cover, effortlessly reaching the clear air at thirty-seven thousand feet. Night would come quickly now as they rushed headlong into the approaching darkness.

  "Aimard of Villiers was smart and he knew that the man he was writing the letter to, the master of the Paris Preceptory, was as smart as he was." Tess was visibly excited about her discovery. "There is no Fonsalis.'' There never was. But in Latin, fans is the word for 'well'—not as in 'feeling well,' but the kind with water, like a wishing well—and well means 'willow' "

  "'The well of the willow'?"

  Tess nodded. "Exactly. And then I remembered that they were in enemy territory when Aimard wrote his letter. The village had been overrun by the Muslims, and it got me thinking—why would Aimard use the Latin name for the village? How did he know it? It was more likely he'd know the Arabic name for it, the name its conquerors used. That's the name the goatherd would have given them. But Aimard wanted to disguise the name, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands and was eventually decoded."

  "So the village was called 'The well of the willow'?"

  "Exactly. It was common practice to name places after any geographic features they had."

  He looked at her doubtfully. Something in her reasoning seemed to bother him. "To do that, he had to speak their language."

  "He would have known it, or, if not him, one of the others with him. By the end of the Crusades, a lot of those knights were actually born out there in the Holy Land. They called them poulains. And the Templars had a strange affinity to some of the Muslims. I read that they traded scientific knowledge as well as mystical insights with them, and they were even said to have hired the hashasheen—their incredibly efficient, pot-smoking assassins—on a few occasions."

  He arched his eyebrows. "They hired their enemies' assassins? I thought they were there to fight them."

  Tess shrugged. "You spend two hundred years in someone else's backyard, sooner or later you make friends."

  Reilly acquiesced. "Okay, so what is it in Arabic?"

  " 'Beer el Sifsaaf: "

  "Which you found by . . . ?"

  Tess couldn't suppress a self-satisfied grin. "The journals of Al-Idrissi. He was a famous Arab traveler, one of the great cartographers of the period, and he kept extensive, highly detailed journals of his trips across Africa and the Muslim world, many of which survive to this day."

  "In English?"

  "French, actually, but it's not that much of a stretch." Tess reached for her tote and pulled out a map and some photocopies she had made of the old book she had found. "He mentions the town and its pillaged church in one of his journals." She opened up a map that was marked with scribbles and notes. "He passed through it, on his journey from Antalya, through Myra, and up the coast to Izmir.

  The coastal area there has an abundance of historic sites—Byzantine, Lycian . . . Anyway, his journal's pretty detailed.

  All we need to do is follow his route and we'll find the town—and the church."

  Reilly stared at die map. "Now that you've done it . . . what do you think the chances are of Vance figuring it out too?"

  She frowned, then looked at him with dead-certain eyes. "I'd be amazed if he isn't on his way there already."

  Reilly nodded. He was clearly of the same opinion. "I need to use the radio."

  He got up and headed for the cockpit.

  * * *

  By the time Reilly got back, Tess was well settled in, sipping the last of a glass of spicy tomato juice. She'd gotten him one, too. She watched him drink it, feeling a slight quiver at the idea of sitting there next to him, bound for a distant, exotic land, en route to adventure. If someone had told me just two weeks ago that I'd be doing this . . . She smiled inwardly.

  He noticed. "What is it?"

  "Nothing. I'm just . . . I'm still stunned that you're here."

  "Not as stunned as my boss is, that's for sure."

  Her jaw dropped. "You're not AWOL, are you?"

  "Put it this way. He's not exactly thrilled about it. But since you didn't know exactly where it is, and since the only way to figure it out was for you to be there physically . . ."

  "But you didn't know that before you got on the plane."

  He flashed her a small grin. "Are you always such a stickler for detail or what?"

  She shook her head, amused by the revelation. So they were going out on a limb. He wants to be here as much as I do. Which surprised her.

  Watching him, she realized that she still didn't know that much about the man behind the badge.

  That evening, when he had driven her home, she'd caught a few glimpses. His taste in music; his spirituality; his sense of humor, even if it was slightly silted over. She wanted to know more. Ten hours would provide ample opportunity for that—if she could manage to stay awake. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. The exhaustion of the last few days was suddenly catching up on her.

  She shifted in her seat, nestling against the window while turning to face him.

  "So how is it you can just hop on a plane at a minute's notice?" The curling smile was back.

  "Isn't there anyone back home I can bust your balls about, the way you lecture me about Kim?"

  Reilly knew what she meant. "Sorry," he teased. "I'm not married."

  "Divorced?"

  "Nope." Her look made him feel like he needed to expand on that. "A job like mine can be tough on partners."

  "Well, sure. If it allows you to hop on planes with girls you barely know—I wouldn't want my husband doing that every day."

  He was glad she'd provided a way for him to tack away from where that conversation was headed.

  "Talking about husbands, what about you? What happened with Doug?"

  Her soft features hardened, her eyes betraying some regret and a tinge of lingering anger. "It was a mistake. I was young—" she groaned, "— younger, and I was working with my dad at the time, not the most exciting of careers. Archaeology's pretty insular. And when I met Doug, he was this brash, confident showbiz guy. He's a charismatic bastard, there's no denying it, and I was just carried away by it. My dad was well-known and admired in his field, but he was a pretty serious guy—a bit grim, you know? And controlling. I needed to get out from under his dominance. And Doug was the way out. This in-your-face, highfalutin go-getter."

  "And you're partial to highfalutin, are you?"

  Her face scrunched inward. "No. Well, maybe I was. A bit. Anyway, when we were dating, he loved the fact that I also had a career. He was very supportive and interested. Then when we got married ... he changed overnight. He became even more controlling than my dad was. It was like he owned me, like I'd been a collectible he wanted on his shelves. And once he got it ... I was pregnant with Kim
before I realized I'd made a mistake. I reluctantly took up my dad's offer to join him on his dig in Turkey—"

  "—this is the same trip where you first met Vance?"

  "Yes," she confirmed, "anyway, I went there thinking the time off would be good to mull things over, and when I got back I found out he'd been having an affair with the cliche of cliches."

  "The weathergirl?"

  Tess let out a pained chuckle. "Almost. His producer. Anyway, that was it. I was out of there."

  "And you went back to using your maiden name."

  "It doesn't exactly hurt in this business. Not that I wanted that creep's name associated with mine any longer than I had to." Far from hurting, it had gone a long way in helping her get the job at the Manoukian Institute. And that was why a potential discovery of this magnitude, which owed nothing to Oliver Chaykin or to being his daughter, might be the stroke that dissolved any lingering thoughts, in her mind and the minds of others, that she was anything other than her own woman.

  Provided, of course, that she was the one who made the discovery.

  Her eyelids fluttered. She was weary and needed some sleep. They both did.

  She looked at him warmly. After a quiet moment, she just said, "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "For everything." She leaned over, kissed him softly on his cheek, and pulled back. Outside, the stars felt close enough to touch, gliding by almost imperceptibly in the darkening sky. She pulled down the window shade and, turning over and closing her eyes, she felt herself drift away.

  Chapter 54

  B y the time Tess and Reilly clambered down the metal steps and onto the tarmac at Dalaman Airport, it was midafternoon and they were both feeling frazzled. The few hours of sleep they had managed on the transadantic flight had helped, but they could have used some real bed rest before continuing their journey. There was no time for that. Instead, they had added to their weariness by waiting three hours at Istanbul Airport before catching the short connecting flight to the south coast, from where diey would begin their inland trek.

  Reilly had spent part of the wait in Istanbul on his cell phone, briefing Aparo before having a heated conversation with Jansson, who was still unconvinced by Reilly's rash decision to accompany Tess instead of hauling her ass in to Federal Plaza. The rest of the time was spent with the Bureau's local legal liaison officer, a paunchy man called Vedat Ertugrul who had driven out to meet them and helped facilitate Reilly's passport-less entry into the country. Ertugrul had only days earlier been notified of the likelihood that Vance might be headed for his part of the world. He confirmed to Reilly that, so far, none of the possible entry points had reported anything, before going over logistical arrangements and support protocols. The FBI didn't have any agents on permanent postings in Turkey. The nearest agents were currently in Athens, helping the local police investigate a recent car bombing. Relations with the Turkish government were at best strained, due to the tensions caused by the lingering turmoil in Iraq. Ertugrul assured Reilly that, if need be, he could probably arrange for a local police escort to join them in Dalaman. Reilly thanked him but declined the offer, preferring not to have to deal with language barriers and local bureaucracies. He asked Ertugrul to simply make sure they were informed of his presence on their turf. He'd keep in close contact and call in the troops if needed, although he suspected that this was something he would probably have to handle alone.