The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  Chapter 33

  Evarts jumped up, closed, and locked the glass doors. He saw nothing outside. He then grabbed Lewis by the scruff of the neck and aimed him toward the stairs that led to their bedroom. He shoved him roughly up the steps. When he got to the landing, he aimed Lewis toward the master closet. Baldwin ran in front and tripped the hidden switch that opened the saferoom door.

  “Can you handle him?” Evarts asked.

  “No problem,” Baldwin answered.

  “Try not to kill him. If all else fails, he’s valuable as a hostage.”

  “I know. Get.”

  Baldwin ducked into the room and Evarts shoved Lewis after her. He waited until he heard the deadbolts slide home. Evarts had said the last comment to make it easier for Baldwin to handle Lewis. He had tried to play them; turnabout was fair play.

  He listened to his radio as he ran down the stairs. Everyone reported their section clear. Except for one. A lonely stretch of access road passed below his home as it wound up the hill. To maintain his pristine view, Evarts had installed no physical barrier at the rear. There were, however, concealed motion and sound detectors positioned up and down the hill. His officer in the security center reported activity on the steep slope.

  People were coming.

  Evarts burst into his home security center and peered over his officer’s shoulder at the screens.

  “Three assailants,” the officer said. “I’ve alerted Matthews and Williams has taken a position alongside him.”

  Matthews was the officer assigned to the rear of the estate and Williams had been closeted in the kitchen office. Good. They were both alerted and outside to meet Lewis’ rescue team.

  Evarts nodded. “Still quiet in front?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have a fix on their getaway car?”

  “Two. Both cruising the access road. The car that dropped off our assailants now contains only the driver. The second car has three occupants.”

  “Do we have video of them passing multiple times?”

  “Yes, sir. And unloading men at the bottom of the hill.”

  “Okay, that’s probable cause. Pull over both cars. Detain the occupants and take them to the town lock up.”

  The officer issued the orders to unmarked police cars waiting at alternate ends of his access road. Evarts had stationed an officer up on a hill overlooking his home and the road. His job was to monitor traffic through binoculars and video anyone who drove or acted suspiciously. With two prior violent attacks on his property, the police would need little justification to temporarily hold multiple males cruising his neighborhood.

  Evarts checked the front gate monitor one more time. Nothing.

  He triggered his radio. “Butler, move around to the back of the house.”

  Butler was stationed inside his van and Evarts received a double click response that meant Butler had received the message. He mentally double-checked the situation, then asked to be notified when the two roving cars had been sequestered.

  Leaving his control officer to monitor the situation, Evarts left to join his men in back. The odds would be four against three. Good, not great. Would they be armed? Despite Lewis’ claim to have seasoned warriors at his beck and call, he doubted that Templars wanted a war with law enforcement. It went against their prime directive for secrecy. They were probably meant to surprise, not fight. Except … Lewis had faith in his ability to manipulate people and talk his way out of trouble. An emergency call must have been a last resort. The Templars had already demonstrated that he and his wife were expendable, and the two recent attacks would provide cover for a violent extraction. Dammit. He realized they were most probably armed. Possibly with heavy munitions. And here he and his men were with handguns.

  When he got to the back, the four had a brief conference and split up two to a side. Evarts instructed them to move wide of the house and lay down behind cover or on a downward slope. When he was in position, Evarts risked radioing his security station.

  “What do you see?”

  “The assailants are about forty feet below the crest of the hill. No movement. Also, the two roving cars were seized without incident.”

  What could it mean that the assailants were hunkered down? At forty feet from the top of the slope, they’d have no sightline into the house. What were they waiting for?

  A second signal. The first said get into position, a second would command attack. A last resort … with a safeguard.

  Evarts had the alert button in his shirt pocket. He pulled it free and was about to press it the second time. He stopped. What would they do if they never received the second alert? Probably descend the hill to be whisked away by car. How hazardous would it be for his people to apprehend them at the road? What were their orders? Probably never to be caught. Period. In a way, Templars were religious zealots, as fanatical as the Ikhwan. They would not surrender. If the assailants climbed the remainder of the hill, his men had surprise and numbers on their side.

  Evarts pushed the button.

  A moment later, a double click told him his security room had news. He listened without speaking. They were on the move up the hill. The three men appeared by the sound and motion detectors to be widely dispersed, with two spread to the left and one right. No one dead center. Smart. Avoid the most obvious access point.

  Evarts waited. Finally, he heard that all three were positioned just below the summit. He spotted a man on his side. He was peering around. He was not using night vision googles but a pair sat perched on his head. He glanced at the house. The great room spilled light onto the small patio. Perfect. Without using their night vision, it was unlikely that they would be detected on the extreme sides of the dark yard.

  He had an inspiration. Evarts whispered for the security center to turn off the house lights, wait fifteen seconds, and then turn on the rear floods. Enough time for the assailants to drop and adjust their night vision goggles. Exactly on a slow count of fifteen, the backyard blazed as white as a well-lit tennis court.

  Evarts yelled, “Stand up. Hands in air. This is the police. Now!”

  Evarts heard scrambling noise. What the hell? The assailants were blindly racing down the steep incline. He could hear yelps and sounds that could only come from uncontrolled tumbling down the hill.

  Evarts mic’d the security center. “What are you seeing?”

  “Pell Mell retreat. Frantic.”

  “Dispatch squad cars to meet them at the road. Use extreme caution. May be armed and dangerous.”

  Evidently their orders had been to run like hell if things went wrong. Evarts could see no assailants, but he still cautiously crept up to the edge of the patio. No one in sight, but foliage had been trampled along the paths where they retreated. He thought about driving around to the road beneath his property but told himself that he had well-trained officers who could handle the situation.

  He mic’d the security center again. “Any radio traffic detected?”

  “Yes, but it was unintelligible. Encrypted.”

  They would radio their getaway car. What would they do when they received no response? Flee on foot? Stand and fight? Surrender? Not the third option. Evarts picked up his phone to warn his team of an impending fight.

  He stopped. Shots fired.

  Before he could radio a query, he heard his men exclaim that the direction of the shots was unknown. He listened to the voice traffic, and after he asked a few questions, he had a general grasp of the situation. His men had set up three squad cars as a reception committee. The cars faced the hill, and the combined lights lit the bottom of the slope. Blinded by the floods while wearing night vision goggles and then hit by high beams, spots, and light bars, the Templars must have been near blind.

  His officers spotted no one, nor had any shots impacted in the vicinity of the barricade.

  Three shots … then silence.

  Evarts guessed what that meant, but he didn’t tell his men. He wanted them to continue to use extreme caution.<
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  He turned back to the house. He had a few more questions for Jim Lewis.

  Chapter 34

  Once upstairs, Evarts used his cell phone to call his wife. He gave her the safe word and heard the dead bolts slide open. After the heavy door swung open, Baldwin gave him a quizzical look, and he shook his head slightly. He didn’t want Lewis to hear what had transpired outside the saferoom.

  Lewis sat on a rolling secretary chair, dead center in the small space. His hands were cinched in front with plastic zip-tie restraints. Evarts rolled over another chair and faced him. He made a head motion toward the entrance and Baldwin relocked the heavy metal door.

  “Your capable fighters are dead. At least the ones who tried to rescue you. The getaway driver and back up team are under arrest and locked up in my jail. They’ll talk in time. You’re also under arrest.”

  Evarts read him his rights.

  “Take me to jail,” Lewis said, “and give me my call.”

  “You weren’t listening before. We’re going to have a private conversation before that happens. This room is soundproof, by the way.” Evarts let the threat hang a moment. “Are you ready to tell us something valuable … or do you need further persuasion?”

  Lewis said nothing.

  Evarts sighed. “You claimed Templars could protect us. They can’t even protect you. My street cops had no trouble handling your supposed capable fighters. You need better sergeants. You might as well face it, with this level of performance, you’ll never win us over.”

  “You’ll learn nothing from those helpers you arrested,” Lewis said. “They’re hired accomplices. Sure, they’ll talk, but they know little of value. And your men didn’t handle the Templars either. My sergeants honored their oath.” He sat straighter. “There was never a chance of a firefight. We don’t kill police officers.”

  “They committed suicide to avoid capture, but they were cornered, blinded, and beaten up from tumbling down that rock-strewn hill. My cops had them exposed, disoriented, and outnumbered. It wasn’t a contest. In the end, it doesn’t matter how they lost, they lost.”

  Evarts saw doubt flit across Lewis’ face, but his expression returned to stoic almost immediately.

  Evarts heard movement behind him and turned to see Baldwin sit on the daybed and arranged a pillow behind her back. Attagirl. She appeared to be getting comfortable for a long stay.

  Evarts said. “I want something actionable.”

  Lewis lifted his bound hands. “Listen, at least take these off long enough for me to piss. I gotta go. Bad.”

  “Then go,” Evarts said. “You won’t be the first to piss your pants during an interview.”

  “That’s unsanitary,” Lewis said.

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Baldwin laughed. “You really don’t grasp how serious we are.”

  Lewis pretended to ignore Baldwin and appealed to Evarts. “Please.”

  “Something actionable,” Evarts responded.

  “Oh, dammit, okay. Listen, I know O’Brian’s source here in Santa Barbara. Will that be enough?”

  Evarts didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “It’s your mayor. Megan Walsh.”

  Evarts believed him. In fact, she had been his number one candidate. He couldn’t believe that someone on the force would betray him, so it had to be an individual at Civic Center. He hadn’t settled on her completely because his bias in favor of the police may have skewed his judgment.

  “How did he get to her?” Evarts asked.

  “Come on. She’s running for Lieutenant Governor. O’Brian’s connected. He got her endorsements, staff, money. In return, she lets him know if anything noteworthy happens in Santa Barbara, or the state for that matter. He’s a spy, after all. Spies always want to know shit.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Baldwin interjected. “She’s a friend.”

  “It’s true,” Evarts said evenly. “I suspected, all along. I don’t think she’d tell Jim something that would hurt us.”

  Lewis confirmed this by saying, “She’s not conveying personal information, state party gossip, or anything about ongoing investigations. Just what underlies news stories … or significant things that never get reported.”

  “That seems pretty specific,” Baldwin said. “How do you know what she’s doing?”

  “My sources are close to O’Brian.” He shrugged. “He suspects we have one of ours monitoring him but doesn’t know for sure. That’s why he had his daughter-in-law meet you and why he orchestrated an offsite rendezvous.”

  “You know a lot,” Evarts said skeptically.

  “I’ll tell you more, but first, the cuffs. Please.”

  Evarts took out a pen knife and cut through the plastic. Lewis went to the open toilet and Baldwin turned her back. Evarts, on the other hand, kept a sharp eye on Lewis.

  After he finished, Lewis asked, “Can we get out of this cubbyhole? I can talk better with a civilized drink in my hand.”

  Evarts looked at his wife. She shrugged. He unbolted the door and they returned downstairs to the great room. Evarts made drinks and they retook their same seats. All the while, Baldwin subtly brandished the gun.

  “Can we open the doors?” Lewis asked. “An ocean breeze will feel refreshing after that cramped hidey-hole.”

  Evarts thought about it, but shook his head no.

  Lewis shrugged. “Okay.” He looked through the window. “You know, there’s no one out there.”

  Lewis’ comments made Evarts uneasy because he had sent his surveillance team back to the station or to their rounds. He still had a city to police.

  “My police are out there,” he lied. “Fewer, but some remain. Just out of sight.” He lifted his radio for Lewis to see. “Any funny games and I’ll drag you back to that saferoom. Understand?”

  “Perfectly. I’d like to start with the world event that crystalized the Muslim’s resistance to the west.”

  “Yet more history?” Baldwin asked, with an exasperated sigh.

  “It’s crucial that you understand the enemy … and why he’s the way he is.”

  “Proceed,” Baldwin said, exasperated.

  “I told you about Qutb influential writings in the 50s and 60s, but the flashpoint for him and his generation goes back to 1948.”

  “The creation of Israel,” Baldwin offered.

  “Correct. To stop Israel, five armies attacked the infant country. Israel defeated them with ease. The Arab world suffered unimaginable embarrassment over the rout. This shouldn’t have been possible. Everyone searched for an answer. Qutb concluded that Arabs had lost sight of God. His rancor over unfaithful Arabs put certitude, urgency, and commitment to his words.”

  Lewis took a moment to sip his drink and organize his thoughts.

  “Qutb believed the failure of Arab armies was caused by their faithlessness, but he still needed a scapegoat. An enemy that seduced his Arab brethren away from the proper practice of one’s true faith. Fortunately, a conventional scapegoat laid handy next door. Jews. Vast sections of Qutb's Koranic commentaries harangued Jews and Israel. Like Mohammad, he saw Jews as duplicitous, greedy, and fervent conspiracists. In his mind, Zionists were perpetually plotting against Islam, and Qutb relentlessly pounded those themes.

  “But Qutb’s fundamentalist followers were not the only group trying to resurrect Arab glory. On the secular side were Pan-Arabists who weren’t driven by religious zeal. After the 1948 debacle, the fundamentalists and Pan-Arabists cooperated for a time. Both movements dreamed of crushing the new Jewish state. Some of Qutb’s followers formed Egyptian terrorist movements. These groups massacred tourists, Coptic Christians, and government officials, including Egypt's president, Anwar Sadat. Eventually, Al Qaeda was created by combining three armed factions -- bin Laden's circle, the Islamic Group in Egypt, and Egyptian Islamic Jihad.”

  “Wait a minute,” Baldwin said. “What does the Ikhwan have to do with this Middle East history you been regurgitating?”

  “Sorry,” Lew
is said, “When I get going, I forget to tie things together. The Ikhwan brokered the consolidation of the disparate terrorist groups who eventually made up al Qaeda. We know all three groups were interrelated through the Ikhwan and emotionally fueled by the teachings of Qutb. Also, Qutb was an animal of the Ikhwan. He came from a poor family with no history of higher education. Someone in the Ikhwan noticed his intellectual gifts and they paid for his Egyptian education. Later, they also paid for an advanced degree in the United States. On his return, they used their control of the Muslim Brotherhood to install him as the editor of their influential newspaper This gave Qutb great exposure to fundamentalists. So much so, Nasser imprisoned him.”

  After another sip of his drink, Lewis continued. “While incarcerated, the Ikhwan smuggled in writing materials and smuggled out manuscripts. He was so prolific in prison, the Ikhwan didn’t work for his release.” After he paused to catch his breath, Lewis asked, “Is this helping?”

  “Go on,” Baldwin said matter-of-factly.

  “Okay.” Another deep breath. “Al Qaeda grew to world prominence well after Qutb was executed, but his ideas infused the movement. Qutb wrote ‘the confrontation is not over control of territory or economic resources, or for military domination. The true confrontation is over Islam. Nothing more.’ Religion was the issue. Qutb could not be clearer about this.”

  “You’re saying we’re in a religious war,” Baldwin said.

  “Whether we like it or not. For that matter, whether we recognize it or not.”

  “Our political leaders say otherwise.”

  “Your political leaders fear something far worse than terrorists. They fear constituents … voters who might demand that they do their job. They don’t want the citizenry to recognize this conflict as war because politicians would be required to fight it appropriately. Listen, politicos and talking heads disparage Christianity and Judaism not because those religions fail to support their progressive views, but because they have enough clout to task politicians to do their duty. Above all else, politicians fear accountability. It’s in their DNA. Instead, they tsk tsk Christian and Jews while accommodating Muslims. Jews and Christians won’t rise up in arms. Muslims kill and maim. So … our leaders coddle Muslims … and bring them into the country to ward off an attack using weapons of mass destruction. Which won’t—”