The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  The paramedic looked at Evarts. He evidently saw something that give him pause. “Yes. We’re attached to MedStar Georgetown University Hospital, but we’ve been told to transport these two to Walter Reed.”

  “I’m going with you,” Evarts said.

  “Only if your name is David Johansen … and I will see ID.”

  Evarts fished out his wallet and handed over a driver’s license.

  “That’s it? A driver’s license? I expected FBI credentials.”

  “That’s it. Some of us work undercover. My partner will be joining us.”

  “No authorization and no room. He stays behind.”

  “It’s a she and she comes with. You and your partner crowd up front. I need to start interrogating these men in transit. This is a national security threat and every second counts, so let’s get these guys loaded and on our way.”

  The man stood to his full height. He was at least six-four and had fifty fit pounds on Evarts. “Does she have credentials?”

  “She’s my partner: meaning we both work undercover. We’re tasked with catching the terrorists who have been bombing members of Congress.” Evarts pointed at the patients. “These men are part of a terrorist cell. We need privacy to find out where the next bomb is set to go off.”

  “Not in my ambulance. I won’t be part of torture.” He appeared ready to defend his fiefdom. “Your partner sits in front.”

  Evarts sighed in exasperation. “Those men would behead you if they had a chance and then brag by posting the video on social media. The bombings to date have been a prelude to something much bigger. If you prefer your city and government intact, let me interview these men. And yes, I may need to be persuasive.”

  “Euphemisms. Why don’t you just say torture?”

  “You’re right. I may need to use torture. Inflict enough pain that they’ll tell me where the next bomb will go off. Transitory pain on one or two terrorists will keep an untold number of my countrymen alive and far more unmaimed. I can assure you; I’ll be gentler with them than they would be with me if the situation were reversed.”

  “Not in my ambulance. I won’t be party to this.”

  “Smart, mister,” one of the terrorists pantingly said. “Even if he tortures us, we will not talk. We never talk. Allah is with us. Keep him away … or after we’re free, we come for you and do you worse … and make you watch as we do the same to family. Do not listen to this man. Take us to your hospital, not his.”

  Evarts watched the paramedics face and saw his expression go from steadfast resistance to horror to resolve. In a few sentences, the terrorist had shown his inner nature and lost his guardian.

  The paramedic turned to his partner. “Let’s get ‘em loaded up and out of here.”

  They lifted the gurneys until they locked in a up position, rolled them to door, and they automatically collapsed as they were fed forward into the ambulance. Baldwin came up and watched the final stages.

  When they had the gurneys secure, the paramedic said, “Climb aboard, you two. We’ll ride up front.”

  As Evarts and Baldwin climbed in back, Evarts heard one of the terrorist plead, “Hey, don’t do this.”

  Without another word, the paramedic slammed the ambulance doors.

  Chapter 66

  Evarts pulled over a rolling stool while Baldwin hoovered over the men holding a ceiling strap for balance. They were cuffed behind their backs and laying on their sides due to the position of the wounds. Evarts sat facing the one who had threatened the paramedic. At first, Evarts didn’t say anything. He just sat beside the man. Then he reached over and rolled him onto his back. A relatively guarded groan told Evarts that the pain medication had not worn off. He impassively examined the man as he tilted him back on to his side. He was probably mid-twenties, clean-shaven, smell-free, and dressed like an American student. Evarts wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he passed him on the street.

  Finally, Evarts said, “I want to know the target of today’s bombs.”

  “You will die a thousand deaths in Jahannam.”

  “That’s neither here nor there. What’s the target?”

  The terrorist tried to spit at him, but Evarts lightly twisted his head until his mouth was against the mattress.

  As he held his head in that position, the student said, “I can’t breathe.”

  Evarts turned his head slightly to give him minimum relief. “We know the answer to my question. It’s a test to see if you’re truthful. We’ll get to the important stuff in a minute. Now … what is the target?”

  He pursed his lips to show defiance. Evarts twisted his head back into the mattress and pressed. In a couple seconds the man kicked his legs in anguish and made a weak attempt to attack Evarts, but a lack of oxygen and the pain from his wound kept him from moving too aggressively. Evarts kept his face firmly pressed into the mattress. When his struggling began to subside, Evarts turned his face just enough so he could breathe.

  “Last chance, what’s the target?”

  “You may torture me, but you won’t kill me.”

  “Of course, I will. Your compatriots killed my wife and daughter on Pont Neuf. My superiors gave me this assignment because they knew I was desperate for revenge.” He leaned in close. “Tell me the target or I’ll smother you and move on to your partner” He nodded his head to indicate the other gurney. “To tell the truth, I need to kill you, so he’ll see I’m not bound by absurd regulations.” He paused dramatically. “So, what’s the target?”

  Evarts expected that he would need to go a couple degrees further before getting answers, so he was surprised when the man said, “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

  Evarts bent his head forward as he twisted the terrorist’s head slightly more into the mattress.

  He whispered, “Kill Adham instead of me and I’ll tell you.”

  Clever bugger. Evarts vowed not to underestimate this man again. Evarts swiveled the stool to look at Adham on the other gurney.

  “Adham.”

  The man rolled toward him with insolent eyes.

  “Did you hear what your friend said?” Evarts asked.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  Evarts smiled at Adham as he pulled a lockback knife out of his pocket. With practiced elan, he flipped it open with his thumb. “He wants me to kill you to prove that I’m brutal enough to follow through on my threat.”

  “Then I go with Allah,” Adham said evenly.

  “Very well.”

  Using his body to shield Adham from the other man’s view, Evarts lifted the bandage off his buttocks and inserted a finger into his wound. Adham screamed and thrashed. Evarts rotated his finger. Adham screamed again. Evarts kept at it until the man fainted. He then turned Adham’s face away and watched for a moment. Absent close inspection, Adham appeared lifeless. Evarts wiped the blood off his finger onto the blade of the knife. He stood and removed a towel from a shelf against the ceiling. Then he spun around on his seat, casually wiping the blood off the blade. He dropped the bloody towel on the floor, folded the knife, and returned it to his pocket.

  With no preamble, the other man said, “Library of Congress.”

  Did he not want to die or was this disinformation? In his experience, extremists did not break this easily. The only way he’d know is through further questioning.

  “How?”

  “I was supposed to go to reading room this afternoon with Adham. We each have a Quran with a cover that can ignite. The cover will burn hot enough to put pages on fire which are soaked in poison chemical. The gas will kill all within twenty feet, make sick those further away. We are instructed to sit on opposite sides of the reading room.”

  “What other instructions did you receive?”

  “Gather loose paper, notices, brochures and such, and lay them under and over Quran to increase fire. When ready, go to bathroom and trigger ignition. Put wet paper towels over face and leave during confusion.”

  “Isn’t that blasphemous?” Bal
dwin asked skeptically.

  “Not Quran. Book of poems by Abu Tammam. Fake cover.”

  “Where are these books?” Evarts asked.

  “Dorm room. On desk. We were told to leave them in plain sight.”

  “Did you believe a wet paper towel would protect you against this poison gas?” Evarts asked.

  “Yes, yes. Of course.” He hesitated. “If not, Allah is with me.”

  Evarts sat back and thought. It sounded plausible. Too Plausible? He wanted to believe it, but it ran too close to their suppositions, something that seldom happened. He looked up at Baldwin and made a phone gesture with his hand. She immediately turned to face the rear door to call Crenshaw. They would at least know about the books soon enough.

  “What’s your name?” Evarts asked.

  “Omar.”

  “Okay, Omar, let’s assume for the moment that you’re telling the truth. How many cells does your organization have operating in D.C right now?”

  “One. There is—”

  Evarts interrupted. “Darn, you just lost all your credibility. There are three focused on setting off these bombs around my city. How do we find the other two?”

  “I know nothing of other cells. They tell us only what we need to do our job.”

  “Who is they? Who do you work for?”

  “Allah.”

  “You were sent here by a mortal. Who?”

  “Some people. I do not know names.”

  Evarts took out his knife and flicked it open in one smooth action. He put the point just under Omar’s eye and nicked the skin enough to draw a few drops of blood.

  “Wrong answer.”

  “If I tell you, you will not know it. It will just be a word you do not understand.”

  “Tell me.”

  Evarts nicked the skin above the eye this time and blood trickled into Omar’s eye.

  “Ikhwan! Ikhwan!” Omar screeched.

  Evarts sat back. Methow had told him the teams were completely compartmentalized. It was doubtful Omar knew anything about the other teams. What further information did he know? Was there any reason to continue this interrogation?

  “You bastard, you cut my eye. Please get doctor. They must save my eye. I must see. My job is photographer. I must have eyes.”

  Evarts was surprised by the outburst until he looked at Omar. His right eye was pool of red liquid. The cut about the eye had started bleeding profusely. Evarts knew it was minor, but the blood pool would interfere with his vision.

  “Tell me something that helps me, and I’ll get you the best eye surgeon in our nation.”

  “Forbidden Fruit. Forbidden Fruit.”

  “Forbidden fruit?” Evarts asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Escorts. In D.C. Forbidden Fruit serves Muslims.”

  “What has this … are you saying the other cells may have used escorts from Forbidden Fruit?”

  “Yes, yes. Get me to hospital. You promised best doctor. I trusted you.”

  Evarts stood and retrieved another towel. He saw a cabinet with drawers aplenty and started opening and closing them. He soon found butterfly bandages. In a minute, he had the eyelid dried and the bandage applied.

  “There, fixed,” Evarts said. “I’m not the best eye doctor in D.C., but I’m all you need.”

  “He need gravedigger,” Adham said from behind him. “I heard, traitorous scum.”

  Just then the ambulance came to a halt and shortly the doors flew open. Evarts and Baldwin stepped out into the sunlight smiling at each other.

  There’s nothing like emerging from a gunfight as the winner.

  Chapter 67

  O’Brian had arranged a reception at Walter Reed. The ambulance was met by doctors, orderlies, and enough military police to quell a small riot. That didn’t surprise Evarts. What did surprise him was that he had to sign transfer orders for the two detainees. He signed with his alias, which would irk the bureaucrats who had drawn up the orders. He cautioned the sergeant in charge that the two men wanted to kill each other and to separate them immediately. His message was reinforced by loud profanities in Arabic coming from inside the ambulance.

  Evarts and Baldwin were still smiling as they walked away. When they were out of earshot, Evarts asked, “Crenshaw?”

  “The books were in plain view in both rooms, just like Omar said. The FBI lab will examine them, but they already found a cooperative Muslim who assured them that these volumes were not Qurans.”

  Baldwin picked up her pace and made a beeline to a lunch wagon up ahead. Evarts knew she was going for coffee, so he wandered over to an open grassy area alongside the hospital to call O’Brian. It went to voicemail, so Evarts hung up and sent a text message requesting that he call immediately. He ended the text with two words: major lead.

  He waited less than thirty seconds.

  When he answered the ringtone, O’Brian said, “What’ve you got?”

  “Forbidden Fruit, an escort service that caters to Muslims. Our detainee believes members of the other cells used this service.”

  The phone went dead. That didn’t surprise Evarts. O’Brian was probably in a meeting, plus he wouldn’t want to lose a second running down the escort service. He hadn’t bothered telling O’Brian that the FBI had taken possession of the devices the Ikhwan were intending to use in today’s attack. He would already know everything of significance that had happened at the Georgetown Conference Center.

  Baldwin walked over with two cups of coffee. They sipped silently for a few seconds.

  “What now?” Baldwin asked agreeably.

  “Not sure,” Evarts said. “Maybe go back to the hotel and relax a spell. We’ve thwarted todays bombings and done as much as we can about the plots against Air Force One and Congress. O’Brian and the FBI are fully capable of following through on the escort service. If they learn anything, they’ll round up the other cells.” He took another sip of coffee. “What do you think?”

  Baldwin said, “I think we’ve done our duty.” She smiled coyly. “Let’s go back to the hotel while adrenaline still pumps through our veins.”

  Without further discussion, Evarts took out his cell phone and called for a taxi.

  As he put the phone in his pocket, Evarts watched a man in a smart-looking suit walk purposely toward them. He didn’t appear to be from the hospital, the Army, or the FBI. Evarts reached behind him and put his hand on the butt of his gun. The man noticed the movement and made a dismissive gesture with his fingers meant to reassure. Evarts kept his hand where it was.

  As he approached, he didn’t offer his hand, “My name is John. Your real names are Greg Evarts and Patricia Baldwin. We need to talk.”

  “No,” Evarts said. “I don’t talk to people who only offer a first name. Please hold still a moment.”

  Evarts moved his hand away from his gun to pull out his cell phone. John immediately turned his back on them and started walking away. Camera shy. Evarts replaced his phone and pulled out his gun.

  “Halt or I’ll shoot.”

  “Like hell you will.” John kept walking.

  Evarts was tempted to put a round into the ground to the side of him but instead went into a full run and tackled John from behind. He purposely hit him hard and drove him into the grassy ground. He had no cuffs, so he sat on his buttocks and twisted John’s arm behind him until he screeched in pain. With his other hand he patted him down. He found a small caliber auto tucked into the small of his back.

  Evarts released the safety and pressed it into his leg.

  “What’s your last name, John.”

  In a pained voice, he moaned, “You won’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Smith.”

  “You’re right, I don’t believe you. Hold very still.” Evarts removed John’s wallet and flipped it open. “What do you know, John Smith. Clever alias.”

  “No one would pick that as an alias. It’s my real name. Now, get off.”

  “Who are you with?”
/>   “You tell me,” Smith responded.

  “I’m going to guess … let me see … yeah, I’ll go with the Templars.”

  “You’d be right. Please, can I get up now?”

  Evarts released his arm and let him up. When he stood, he saw Baldwin had been out of John’s line of sight with her gun pointed at his head. Nice back up, he thought.

  Smith brushed himself off excessively. Then he muttered under his breath, “Fuck you.”

  “This is not a day to pull that kind of crap on us,” Evarts said in answer. “Why did you approach us?”

  “To warn you. To do you a favor. Despite you screwing up my operation at the conference center. Your interference cost the lives of two of my men and got others arrested. So, yeah, fuck you.”

  “That’s rich,” Baldwin said, having lowered her gun. “We interfered with your operation? If you hadn’t chased our targets, that gunfight would never have happened. We would’ve rounded up the bunch of them without any fuss. I’m afraid you got your men killed, not us.”

  “You delude yourself,” Smith smirked. “You waltzed in today for the first time. We’ve had an eye on that Ikhwan cell since they arrived in the country. What did you think you would do once you ‘rounded them up?’ They never would’ve talked.”

  “They’ve already talked,” Evarts interjected. “No thanks to your clumsy interference, we have the cell’s two remaining members, and we took possession of the devices they were going to ignite today.”

  “Bullshit!” Smith exclaimed. “These animals are fanatics. They’d go to their grave without talking.”

  “You’re wrong, but I don’t care if you accept it or not. You’ll fold just as quickly.” Evarts widened his stance slightly. “You’re under arrest.”

  Smith chuckled. “Chief, you’re out of your jurisdiction, besides, is this any way to treat a friend?”

  “I only have your word for that, and I have zero reason to trust you. Washington is a federal district and I’m empowered with arrest authority due to my position on a joint task force. You’re under arrest for violating four district laws dealing with the concealed carry of a lethal weapon.”