The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

They went inside and soon discovered from registration that the conference center auditorium assigned to this session had two student entrances to the rear and a separate door at the front for instructors. Campus police would assist Adams and Meadow with the two detainees, who would be transferred to FBI headquarters. After this was accomplished, they met as a group in the dining room. Six agents made the deployments easy: two at each door. Baldwin would join Crenshaw and another agent at the academic entrance to the stage, and Evarts would take a seat in the audience.

  After Crenshaw doled out assignments, Evarts asked to speak.

  “Okay,” Crenshaw said. “Go ahead.”

  “One more piece of information from Army Intelligence. They’re likely armed.”

  “How do they know that?” Crenshaw asked.

  “Washington municipal police. A couple of students were clubbing and bragged that they were in D.C. for this conference. While dancing, a girl felt a gun under her partner’s robes. When she asked him about it, the two men bolted. She called the cops because of the bombings, but their dance partners were long gone by the time the police arrived. Might be someone else attending this conference, but how many gun-toting Arabs do you think are at this shindig?”

  Crenshaw appeared worried. “That’s going to make apprehension difficult. We can’t have a shootout in an auditorium full of students.”

  Evarts wanted to say that might be preferable to the destruction of our government but had a better idea.

  “Trish, do you really know anything about Qutb?”

  “Superficial stuff,” she answered. “I did some research on the flight.”

  “What important topic would Yousef write a learned paper about?”

  She didn’t even need to think about it. “Hakamiyya, which is God's sovereignty over everything. It’s the basis for Sharia Law.”

  “Okay, what if you were to announce that Yousef Gamal needed to prepare a paper on Hakamiyya for the Library of Congress and a substitute would arrive shortly. He apologizes, but it’s rare that a United States institution requests a truthful position paper from a devout Muslim. He can’t let the opportunity pass. He also needs assistance and would like to request the help of a few students. If they’re willing to assist, he requests that they leave the session now and follow you.” Evarts handed her the phone. “The five names are recorded on this.”

  She punched it up and listened. “Is that Kamil’s voice?”

  I nodded.

  She said, “I’ll play this into the microphone. Tell them Kamil is helping as well. But Greg, they’ll be suspicious, especially with the mention of the Library of Congress.”

  “Why?” Crenshaw demanded.

  “It’s our number one potential target for today,” Evarts answered, then returned his attention to Baldwin. “I’m hoping the opposite. If these five are the cell members, they’ll read the mention of the library as code that they are all needed to deal with something having to with today’s bombing.”

  She nodded. “That might work. Get them to exit the hall voluntarily so in the case of trouble, innocent people won’t be in the line of fire.”

  “Matt?” Evarts asked.

  “Sounds good to me, but maybe one of my agents ought to make the announcement. It could be dangerous if they smell a trap.”

  “No, I’ll do it,” Baldwin said. “I’m an academic. I know how these things are done. Plus, I’m a woman. Fundamentalist Muslims are used to women obeying. They’re less likely to suspect me.”

  Crenshaw looked at his watch. “Then let’s get going. The session starts in two minutes. Everybody ready?”

  “What’s the protocol if someone pulls a gun?” one of the agents asked.

  “Shoot to kill,” Crenshaw said without hesitation.

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  Evarts took a seat toward the rear of the auditorium and tried to appear un-cop like. Slouching a bit, he surveyed the auditorium. The room was a standard sloped lecture hall that could hold over a hundred students. Attendees filled about two thirds of the seats with stragglers filling up a few of the vacant spots. The audience was overwhelmingly male with about half dressed in traditional Arab garb. The remainder looked like ordinary Georgetown students in denim pants, t-shirts, and sneakers.

  Baldwin entered the chamber from the instructor’s door located on the right side of an elevated platform. She walked authoritatively to the podium. The scattered mummering of the audience instantly ceased. Baldwin had that affect when she stepped into a classroom. Her stride was athletic and purposeful. Her erect posture, lithe figure, and attractive features grabbed the attention of men and the animus of women. Evarts had witnessed this audience behavior before and smiled to himself.

  At the microphone, Baldwin adjusted her glasses before speaking.

  “Gentlemen and ladies, I have an announcement. My name is Priscilla Wainwright. My task today was to introduce Yousef Gamal, but unfortunately, he has been called away to other pressing duties.”

  Evarts felt amused at her new alias as she paused to allow hushed sounds of displeasure to dissipate.

  “A substitute has been recruited, and I’m sure you will all be thrilled when he arrives in a few minutes. Our committee has a surprise for you that I’m sure you’ll find enlightening. A little explanation is in order, especially considering the lofty purpose of this conference. As you know, our noble cause is to bring cooperation between Muslims and Christians.”

  Baldwin appeared to be checking her notes before continuing.

  “Mr. Gamal has been invited to prepare and present a paper for the Congressional Library. The subject is to be,” she again referenced her notes, and then pronounced the word phonetically, “Hakamiyya.”

  She smiled shyly and Evarts thought she looked stunning.

  “I apologize if I pronounced that incorrectly. Mr. Gamal takes this invitation very seriously, especially since devout Muslims are seldom asked by the United States government to publicly express their views on the teachings of Islam. He wants this paper to be precise and correct, so another of our illustrious instructors has agreed to assist him. Additionally, they have requested a number of you to help with this project which must be completed before their departure next week.”

  She fiddled with the cell phone.

  “I don’t want to mispronounce these names, so I’m going to play a recording I made that lists the selected students.”

  She placed the phone by the microphone and played the short recording. Evarts watched the audience intently. Heads began to swivel as the names were recited. Evarts wished he could read their expressions. He mentally mapped where he saw people reacting to the list. One section was particularly restless. If they didn’t voluntarily come forward, he intended to hem in the students in those two rows.

  Baldwin adjusted her glasses again and smiled warmly. “Congratulations to those five students. They have been honored by two of the finest Islamic theologians in the world. If you are in the room, would you raise your hand, please.”

  At first nothing happened, but before long two hands slowly rose, followed by three others. The young students were seated three forward and two back on the aisle in the rows where Evarts had earlier spotted body movement. Baldwin called them to the stage. Evarts held his breath. Would they fall for the ruse and come forward?

  They stood, uncertainly. Evarts assumed they were suspicious of a trap, but Baldwin’s demeanor and the reference to the Library of Congress would hopefully quell their doubts. Suddenly, two adult males closer to the stage stood and swiveled to look at the boys. They weren’t FBI. The hair on Evarts’ neck stood up. Something was wrong.

  He couldn’t see around the five standing students, so he stood and stepped into the stairway aisle. The two men were looking up at the students as they gathered their backpacks and began to shuffle into the aisle. Evarts had a bad feeling. As casually as possible, he moved down the stairs at a brisk pace. When he got to the students, he excused himself without making eye contact and jostled his
way passed them. He heard no objections until he came up to the other men.

  Then one said something startling. “Chief, get out of our way.”

  Evarts went for his gun. He felt movement behind him and ducked just in time to avert a blow to the head. The glancing hit caused him to lose his balance and tumbled down the stairs. By the time he recovered and looked up, chaos had ensued. The five boys were racing up the stairs, away from the men who were now giving chase. The pursuers had guns in their hands. Everyone screamed and tried to shove their way to the other side of the auditorium. Evarts regained his feet and pursued the pursuers.

  There were now four pursuers. There must have been another pair of men sitting on the opposite side of the aisle. One of them hit him from behind. Nine people, ten counting himself, all running pell-mell for the exit. Shit. There were only two agents stationed at the door above. Suddenly the door burst open with both FBI men extending guns in their right hands and IDs in their left. They shouted orders nobody obeyed.

  “Don’t shoot,” Evarts yelled.

  If they were going to break the Ikhwan, they needed these supposed students alive.

  They didn’t shoot and ended up being bulldozed by the rushing students who knocked them aside as they scurried into the hall.

  Evarts caught up with the laggard pursuer and lurched up the stairs with his arm extended to sweep his feet. The pursuer hit the stairs face first. Evarts ran over him stepping on his head to bash it against the stair one more time. He didn’t stop to see if that incapacitated him. He had three more still in front. He saw the lead pursuer tackled by one of the FBI agents, but the other two just ran right by their partner laying on the ground.

  Evarts climbed to the top mere seconds after the pursuers had rounded the corner. Shots fired! He came around the door jamb to see a raging gun battle. He jerked back behind cover in the auditorium. Then he crouched and leading with his gun, swung into the hall again. The remaining two pursuers were shooting, but as they did, their bodies twisted and contorted unnaturally. Two against five were not good odds. Evarts had to rise to get a clear shot over the pursuers and he fired a single round into a staggering man firing a semiautomatic pistol. He fell.

  Evarts leaped into a broad hall and ran around the two pursuers who were laying inert. Without examining them, he knew they were seriously injured. Ahead he spotted two of the students down. As he came up on them, he guessed they were already dead or close to it. He wanted the other three, so he kept running.

  As he came out of the building, he stooped low and took a quick peek around the corner to be rewarded with a couple of shots aimed in his direction. Deep breath, then he leaped out in pursuit. The three students were a half block away and running fast. They were younger and scared shitless. He would lose them in a footrace. He stopped, bent down on a knee, and fired into the buttocks of two of the students. They stumbled, then fell. He couldn’t get a shot off at the third who escaped around a corner of the building.

  Maybe not. He heard three rapid shots that sounded like a trained shooter. He ran to the men he shot, kicked their guns away, and threw himself against the wall of the building at the corner. He yelled FBI. When he heard someone respond “clear,” he stuck his head around and drew it back immediately. He spotted Crenshaw in a shooter’s stance and the fleeing student on the ground. Evarts knew he would be dead, so he returned his attention to the two he had shot in the buttocks. One was crawling toward his gun. He wasn’t in any condition to go fast and Evarts was out of breath, so he casually walked over and kicked the gun further out of reach.

  “Matt, I have two down over here. Both unarmed!” Evarts yelled.

  Crenshaw came around the corner cautiously. When he saw Evarts, he sighed and came over to where he was standing.

  After surveying the scene, Crenshaw said, “You need practice. That’s some half-assed shooting.”

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  Crenshaw called over an agent and ordered him to use campus police to secure the scene. Evarts warned them to keep an eye out for additional bad guys.

  Evarts knelt next to one of the students and ripped off the butt-shot man’s shirt to use as a compress. Crenshaw saw what he was doing and followed suit with the other wounded man who was screaming and writhing on the sidewalk. As Evarts held the compress in place, he used the other hand to call his wife. She was relieved to hear he was unharmed. Crenshaw had provided an agent guard and sequestered her in a faculty lounge. Evarts nodded a thank you to Crenshaw as he relayed the scene to Baldwin and asked that she stay put until he called again.

  Soon, campus firemen came on the scene and took over first-aid duties.

  Evarts stood and looked at Crenshaw. “Let’s see if we still have custody of the perps inside.”

  Crenshaw nodded and turned toward the building. “Any idea who those guys were who messed up our operation?”

  Evarts shrugged. “Could be a vigilante group that hunts Islamic terrorists.”

  “Shit, I was afraid of that. Templars.”

  “You know about them?”

  “I’m on a task team to weed them out of the FBI,” Crenshaw said. “Tough. They burrow deep.” He continued a few steps before asking, “Are you after them as well?”

  “I was originally brought in by General O’Brien to flush out the buggers at the Pentagon. Then some dickheads set off a bomb at the Capitol Hill Club and we shifted gears.” Crenshaw made an affirmative grunt, and he continued. “Damn, I think our ruse was working. Those boys were going to step into our trap.” Evarts shook his head. “This is why the general hates Templars. He claims they frequently interfere with his operations.”

  “Messed us up today, that’s for sure,” Crenshaw said. “But … if we’re lucky, we got a pair from both outfits.” Crenshaw quit walking and looked at Evarts. “You mentioned earlier that if those names were no good, you would’ve wasted some of your best interrogation tactics. Are you good?”

  “I tricked Kamil. Not sure we have time for that now.” Evarts hesitated, not sure he wanted to disclose more. Finally, he said, “In years past, I’ve used enhanced interrogation techniques.”

  “Are you willing to use them again?”

  Evarts looked at his watch. “The priority is those men back there. We need to round up the other teams pronto.”

  “My thinking as well. I’ll arrange agents to interview the Templars while you go back and get everything you can from those two. I’ll make some calls. Unless you hear from me, it’s sanctioned. After the ambulance paramedics have patched up the wounds, I need you to get everything you can out of them. Can you do this?”

  “You want me to do it because I’m a civilian?”

  “It’s for your country.”

  “Bullshit. If this blows up, you’ll throw me under the bus.”

  “Like I said, it’s for your country.”

  Evarts laughed thinking he could learn to like Crenshaw. He didn’t try to pull the wool over his eyes. And he had certainly gotten off his high horse.

  Evarts said, “I’ll do it, but in exchange, I want them taken to Walter Reed.”

  “Oh, wait a darn minute there, you want them under Army control?”

  “My price for doing your dirty work.”

  With hesitation, Crenshaw agreed and walked back into the conference center. Evarts returned to the two men bleeding on the sidewalk to find that the firemen had them tilted onto their sides so they could examine their fronts.

  “Exit wounds?” Evarts asked.

  One of the firemen answered with his head near the ground examining the gunshot victim’s pelvic area. “One, yes, the other no. An ambulance will be here soon.”

  “They’re going to Walter Reed,” Evarts said.

  “We have a good facility on campus,” the fireman said. “There’s a lot of blood, but these two are not seriously injured.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Evarts said, “but this is a national security issue. They go to Reed. Has anyone called the coroner for the dead?” />
  “Check with campus police over there.”

  Evarts did and the coroner, D.C. police, and paramedics had all been called. Evarts learned that there were five dead bodies, two wounded outside, one wounded inside, plus several people with injuries sustained in the stampede to get out of harm’s way. Evarts asked about the injured man inside and was told that he hit the stairs face first and broke his nose and possibly his jaw.

  What a mess. All caused by Templars. Then Evarts remembered that one of them had called him chief. Shit. If the Templars knew, who else?

  Evarts called his wife again as he sauntered out of earshot of the campus police.

  When she answered, he asked, “Trish, still okay?”

  “Of course. How about you?”

  “I have an assignment that may take several hours.” Without a segue, he went to why he called. “We have a problem. That second group were Templars and one of them called me chief. They know who we are and where we are.”

  The phone was quiet for a long moment. “Not necessarily,” she said. “They may have seen your picture and recognized you. They may not know our aliases or where we’re staying.”

  That made sense. Then Evarts realized it didn’t matter. She might be right, but they couldn’t rely on their secret identities any longer. Prudence dictated that they assume they had been blown. Then he realized something else.

  “Trish, can you leave?”

  “They better not try to stop me.”

  “Come out here on the street in front of the conference center. Find me. To the left as you come out the door.”

  “On my way.” The phone went dead.

  Evarts walked back over to the two Ikhwan students. The paramedics had arrived, and the two men were now calm as they were prepared to be lifted onto gurneys. Evarts assumed they had been given pain killers. That was his mistake. He should have told the firemen that they were not to be given anything to ease the pain. His job had suddenly become more difficult.

  “Are you charged with transporting these two to a medical facility?” Evarts asked.