The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  “No, I’d like to stay put. At my job, surrounded by my police force. That means no more middle of the night flights to Washington.” He hesitated. “Megan, I could be a magnet for more trouble.”

  “I know, so how do you intend to keep some hothead from collecting that bounty?”

  He told her everything.

  “I like it. I’d hate to break in a new chief, so stay out of the way of flying bullets. The only thing I ask is that you accentuate the street gang violence ruse. It should be easy since the arrestees are gang members.” She saw the concern on his face. “You can mention that the new task force will address every variety of terrorism, just don’t get specific.”

  And with that, the meeting was over. He glanced at his watch and realized that the conference had ended before it had been scheduled to begin. He liked this mayor.

  He next drove home to discover that the crime scene processing was almost complete. It was a simple scene because he had hightailed it out of there before the actual attack. They found a splice in the gate wiring mechanism which accounted for how they got through the gate, but it didn’t explain how they got their hands on supposedly secured codes. That was worrisome. Thank goodness other elements of his system had forewarned him.

  He spent nearly an hour collecting materials for his wife and loading them into a Police Utility Interceptor. The documents were contemporaneous with Lincoln’s lifetime and highly sought by collectors. He intended to install a hardened security system and a large gun safe at the apartment so her collectables should remain secure.

  By the time he finished, the forensics team was done with the crime scene and a garage door company had installed a new door. Normally, repairs couldn’t start until after the police released a scene, but rank had its privileges. Evarts drove his wife’s car into the garage, closed the door and climbed into another officer’s Interceptor for a ride to the station. So far, so good.

  When he got to the station, he discovered three more call slips from General O’Brian. He bet in another day or two, O’Brian’s informant would show himself. Standish was already waiting in his office because he had called her on his way in.

  “How about we order lunch in,” Evarts said.

  She appeared confused. “Long meeting?”

  “Yes. You have a new assignment, approved by the mayor. You’re going to lead an antiterrorist task force for the city. You can have four detectives of your choosing.”

  “Is this an investigative arm to protect you from these attacks?”

  “Would that be a problem for you?”

  “No sir, you should have done it after the first attack. They keep missing you, but in the process, they’re disturbing the tranquility of our fair city. We can’t have that.”

  Evarts laughed. “Glad to hear you’re concerned about my wellbeing.”

  She smiled to show she had been facetious.

  “Then, you’ll accept the position?” Evarts asked.

  “Hell yes. It sounds more interesting than solving property crimes or the rare murder.”

  “Okay, if the media gets curious, this is mostly about drug gangs trying to stake out new territory in Santa Barbara. Keep the source of these gangs vague. Better yet, keep the task force as low key as possible. Between us, you’re to focus on the Islamic terrorists who have put a price on my head. Use all department connections at the federal level. Start with the Pont Neuf attack. The French won’t tell you much, but you’ll learn something by the questions they ask you. When you think about staffing—”

  “When you say federal agencies, are you including Army Intelligence?”

  “Our department has no established communication links with Army Intelligence. They can’t help us …or won’t. Use the National Counterterrorism Center, Homeland Security, and the FBI.”

  She nodded understandingly.

  “Okay,” Evarts said, “there’s a lot to do to get this kicked off, but first, we need to make a decision.”

  “About what?”

  “What to order for lunch … and I don’t want fast food.”

  “South Coast Deli?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have pastrami. You?”

  “Roast beef and cheddar.”

  Evarts got up and opened the door to give the order to his assistant. He never got the words out of his mouth.

  Jim Lewis sat outside his office.

  Chapter 28

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  His assistant bounced out of his chair in surprise. Evarts had blurted it out a bit too loud. Lewis, on the other hand, seemed completely calm.

  “I can come back at another time if that’s convenient,” Lewis said. “Perhaps an hour?”

  “Perhaps never,” Evarts barked. “Get the hell out of my station or I’ll have you arrested for falsely identifying yourself.”

  Lewis smiled, “Really? Is that a crime?”

  “In California, a misdemeanor.” Evarts turned on his assistant. “What name did he use?”

  “He didn’t give a name. Said his visit was a surprise. That you’d recognize him.” His assistant pointed to his hand. “He showed me the ring.”

  Evarts looked at Lewis who made an arms-spread shrug that said he was blameless.

  “So, you did your research,” Evarts said.

  “We always do our research.” The smile again. “We know many things. Things you should know, as well.” Now he tapped his breast pocket like it held vital knowledge. “It’s in your interest to see me. And in Patricia’s interest.”

  Evarts thought. That might be true, but he had never briefed Standish or the mayor on the Templar connection. He had to get Lewis out of the station.

  “If you know so much, you should know where I live.”

  “I do.”

  “Patricia and I will expect you at five for cocktails. Come alone and don’t plan on a late evening.”

  “Perfect.” He stood. “See you then.”

  Evarts watched his backside as he departed and wondered what this was about. A meeting at his home had been a device. He didn’t want Lewis to know where he was really staying, and he wondered if he’d be reluctant to meet at a place that had been twice attacked by gunmen. Besides, Trish and he could use another stop by the house to pick up things they had overlooked.

  “Sorry, chief.”

  Evarts looked at his assistant. “Not a problem. At least not a big problem. That man is a notorious prankster. I won’t like what he’s got in mind, but it’ll only be an embarrassment.” He did an unconvincing laugh. “My lodge brothers are behind this.”

  He ordered lunch and went back into his office.

  “What was that all about?” Standish asked.

  “Stupid nonsense. Something I don’t need right now. Let’s get back to business. Any first thoughts on the task force?”

  She nodded. “For a name, I suggest Joint Organizing Group. It sounds bureaucratic. The media will yawn and look for a fiery car crash. You said four detectives of my choice. I want one of them to be a deputy sheriff.”

  “Thus, joint in the title. Excellent idea. On many levels. What else.”

  “We should set up in the basement. Use the old evidence lock-up space. It’ll probably take a couple grand to rehab the space.”

  “I was going to put you on this floor.”

  “You call that low key?”

  Evarts laughed. “Point taken. The basement it is. You have a ten-thousand-dollar budget, including demolition, construction, and furnishing.”

  “Seems generous, but thanks.”

  “Not generous at all. Five desks and chairs will cost you at least three grand. It doesn’t sound like you’ve done facilities work before.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’ve ever heard of midnight acquisition.”

  “Standish, I was in the Army. Except for supplies, leave things in place or I’ll need to fill the holes behind you.”

  “Yes, sir.” She pushed over an open interview notebook. “These are the three
detectives I want.”

  Evarts look at the names and winced. Standish was head of detectives, his position before he made chief. She possessed a good perspective on her unit. Standish and these three would strip the unit of their best talent. He took a deep breath. Okay, time to give some kids a chance.

  “All right,” Evarts said. “People, facilities, and name approved. What else?”

  “Computers.”

  “I’ll get you ten outside the budget I gave you.”

  “Ten?”

  “Two each. One for internet and interdepartmental access. No work product on those machines. The second computer on each desk will be stripped of Wi-Fi capability and remain unconnected to the SBPD network.”

  “Chief, there are simpler ways of doing that nowadays.”

  “Simpler for the user, but not absolutely hack-proof. Take my word for it, this terrorist group is highly sophisticated. They can get through firewalls and other security measure. Also, nothing leaves that room. Cell phones checked on entry and no thumb drives allowed inside. Telephone communication by landline. Everything recorded.”

  “Aren’t we a bit paranoid?” Standish asked.

  “We? I’m paranoid. You, on the other hand, need to ramp up your paranoia.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you have an initial assignment or guidance? We can’t just thrash around looking for leads to a mystery organization.”

  “Start with the attacks on me. Try to trace the assailants back to the Baltimore mob. Get everything the Baltimore police have on these mobsters. Try to make an Islamic connection. Get what you can from the Paris police. Establish formal communications with the National Counterterrorism Center. Offer them everything on the two attacks and give them access to our arrestees. That ought to nudge out of them at least some reciprocal information. Start with all the major Islamic terrorist groups. Whittle the list down. They have lots of money, so eliminate groups that operate hand to mouth. Our goal is to identify the group who perpetrated the Pont Neuf attack. Until we have their name, we can’t focus your task force efforts.”

  Standish had been scribbling feverishly. When she caught up on notetaking, she asked, “And the assignment?”

  “For now, get your unit grounded on terrorism. Oh, and another thing, Army Intelligence has an informant within this department … or possibly at civic center. Find him or her. When you do, report to me. Don’t confront them.”

  Standish laid down her pen. “I know General O’Brian. He’s been a friend to you and the department. He’s not a villain in this piece.” When she got no response, she added, “It could be relatively benign.”

  “Nevertheless, I want to know who it is?”

  “To what purpose?”

  “To my purpose.”

  Chapter 29

  Evarts arrived home early. Four plain-clothes officers had accompanied him. Two officers drove rental sedans that Trish and he would adopt as their own when they returned to the resort. Evarts pulled his Sprinter out of the garage, so the officers could stow the bland vehicles out of sight.

  He didn’t expect trouble, but his distrust of Lewis caused him to take precautions. After double-checking the electronic surveillance system, he assigned two officers inside and two outside the house. One of the outside men would watch the front from inside his van. The second officer would keep an eye on the rear of the house. He assigned one inside officer to sit in the surveillance center off the mud room and the other would close himself into the small office off the kitchen.

  Would Lewis come with ill intent? Evarts doubted it. He was still trying to play Evarts. But why was he being played? What could he contribute to the Templar Knights? As police chief of a sleepy coastal town, he had little to contribute to their secret intrigues that spanned the globe. He had shown some skill and presence of mind on Pont Neuf, but that kind of talent can be bought. He was a casual Mason and his electronic surveillance skills were woefully out of date. It didn’t make sense.

  Then it did. He had one unique characteristic. A group of terrorists wanted him dead. Very much wanted him dead. To the tune of a million dollars. That gave him value to the Templars. As bait. As a lure. As an enticement to bring their enemy into the open. The Templars wanted to dangle him and his wife to attract vermin, and those vermin wanted them dead. What a predicament.

  Evarts had a new thought. Why would the Pont Neuf terrorists so desperately want them dead? That remained a mystery. He had killed two of their own, but it had been late in the attack. People had already been herded toward the right bank. It made little difference to the outcome, and the men on the bridge with swords were pawns, expendable. Not nearly important enough to provoke a million-dollar grudge. Templar snipers foiled the major thrust of the attack and killed the A-Team. They should have been the ones to have drawn the terrorists’ ire.

  Then Evarts understood. He understood it all.

  The Templars had leaked that he was one of theirs. Probably high echelon. He and his wife weren’t just raw meat dangled in the wind; they were artfully crafted lures meant to tempt deadly prey. That was bad enough, but what really pissed Evarts off was that the Templars hadn’t asked permission. They could have protected themselves if they had known the plan. Instead, they had served as unwitting bait and had been attacked twice, attacks perpetrated by surrogates. That must have disappointed the Templars. Damn. That’s what this meeting’s about. And the meeting in Washington. Lewis’ surprise visit in D.C. wasn’t for recruitment, he was projecting an image of intimacy between Evarts and the Templars. They probably leaked photos of their stroll through Arlington. Yeah, that would make him a target of the bad guys. A policeman who foiled a terrorist attack cozying up with a Templar Knight.

  Evarts slapped the kitchen countertop. He was being used. Without his permission. Without forewarning. His wife, as well. These shadowy figures had put their lives in jeopardy for nefarious purposes. And this meeting was nothing more than a continuance of the same charade.

  Evarts was boiling hot and suddenly eager for Jim Lewis to arrive.

  He heard noise from the front of the house. He recognized Trish by her footfall, but something was different. When she stepped into the kitchen, he hardly recognized her. Her deeply highlighted hair was now a consistent dull brown, and instead of purposely disheveled, it was shorter and coifed smoothly to the shape of her head. She wore heavier makeup, her glasses were gone, department store sportswear concealed her lithe body, and Vans sneakers replaced her normal flats.

  Without preamble, she said, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m looking forward to this meeting.” He made a point of looking her up and down. “Tell me, how do you make every style look good?”

  She smiled. “Do you like my soccer mom look?”

  “I do, but when this is over, I want my wife back. What happened to the glasses?”

  “I tried contacts a few years ago. Put them aside because I didn’t like them, but my prescription hasn’t changed that much. They’ll do.”

  “Do you have your glasses with you?”

  She slid her purse onto the kitchen counter. “Of course.”

  “Scrub your face, put on one of your designer numbers, muss your hair, and put on glasses. I don’t want Lewis to see you in disguise.”

  “I have a wig I’ll use.” She cocked her head. “You distrust Mr. Lewis?”

  “Distrust is a wimpy word.”

  Chapter 30

  “What are you drinking?” Evarts asked.

  “Scotch,” Lewis answered breezily. “It’s kind of a traditional drink for us.”

  Jim Lewis had arrived at precisely five o’clock. When introduced, Lewis was immediately taken with Baldwin. That wasn’t unusual, but his reaction surprised Evarts because he had assumed Lewis had a dossier on the pair of them that included photographs. Besides, she exuded none of her normal charm. Evarts had briefed her as she dressed, and she had become incensed that her life had been turned upside down to advance someone else’s ag
enda. Since Lewis had arrived, she had been polite, but reticent.

  They escorted Lewis to the great room at the rear of the house and stopped at the bar. He poured a Macallan's for Lewis and a Jameson for himself. Normally, he drank scotch, but tonight he didn’t want to imbibe the traditional drink of the Templar Knights. He’d go with Irish whiskey just to be ornery. He freshened his wife’s wine and then distributed the whiskeys.

  They sat on facing love seats and took a few moments to enjoy the breathtaking view of the Pacific coastline. It was a nice evening and Evarts had opened the floor to ceiling glass doors to allow a sea breeze to waft through the room.

  “Very pleasant,” Lewis said.

  “Why are you here?” Evarts asked.

  “I didn’t think our conversation in D.C. was finished.”

  “It was,” Evarts said.

  “Recent events haven’t caused you to reassess?”

  “They have.”

  Lewis smiled. “Then you’ll allow us to help?”

  “Any more of your help and we’ll be dead.”

  Lewis sipped his drink. “I’m confused. We’ve done nothing. We’re not the source of your problem.”

  “Bullshit!” Evarts snapped his leaded crystal glass onto the coffee table. “Why would these terrorists be after me. I killed two flunkies. That’s it. You’re telling me that losing a couple sword wielding jihadists devastated their organization so severely that these assholes put a million-dollar reward on our heads. They want revenge that badly? Against me … not you? Your men killed their A-Team. Further, I’ve left the field of battle while your feud continues unabated.”

  “What are you implying?” Lewis asked.

  “Implying?” Evarts picked up his drink, cupped it in his hands, and gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying directly that you and your wannabe warriors are the cause of these attacks on our lives. Is that clear enough for you?”