The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (read any book txt) 📕

handed the phone back.

Sergeant Wilson whistled. “Wow, I’m not the only one who’s been summarily ordered to perform disagreeable duty.”

“What makes you say that?” Evarts asked.

“Why else would you rattle the cage of a lieutenant general.”

Evarts laughed. “Right you are. Why else?”

“What rank?” she asked.

“What rank what?”

“What rank when you retired?”

“Guess.”

“Major.”

“Bingo. How’d you know?”

“Officers who retire as majors are disillusioned. Once safely beyond the reach of superior officers, they love to tweak their noses.”

“A swing and a miss. I got along fine with the brass. I just missed surfing and the ocean, so I quit to return home.”

“And joined the local police force?”

Evarts shrugged. “Paid better than the army and, in the beginning, I could surf all day because I worked nights.”

“You’re young for a chief. Connections?”

“Nary a one. I attribute my rapid rise to my Army experience.”

“Good to know. I might leave one day.”

“Give me a call when you do. You’re intuitive as hell and disciplined. A good combination for detective work.”

He laid a business card in a recess on her dash.

“Thanks. We’re here. Say hello to General O’Brian for me.”

Evarts grabbed his carryon and jumped out. Leaning back into the car, he asked, “You know General O’Brian?”

“You might say that. He’s my father-in-law.”

Chapter 10

Evarts slid into a seat along the wall of The Next Whiskey Bar.

“Hi, Jim.”

“Damn you, Greg. What the hell was that call about?”

Evarts made a point of surveying the small cocktail table. “Evidently not a thing. I don’t see my drink.”

“You didn’t call from a secure device to order a drink. Explain.”

Evarts gave O’Brian a direct look. “I wanted to make sure it was you I was meeting. Your clandestine shenanigans made me nervous.”

“I’ll talk with your driver,” O’Brian said. “She shouldn’t have let you use her phone.”

“That reminds me, she said hello.”

O’Brian merely nodded.

Evarts signaled for a hostess and ordered his drink.

After she left, he asked, “Jim, what’s this about?”

“For the moment, an informal debrief. Tell me about the attack and your interaction with the police.”

“Here?”

“Don’t shout, but yeah, here.”

Evart was able to give him a terse rundown before his drink arrived. O’Brian had asked no questions during his monologue, but as soon as the server departed, he asked several clarifying questions. Evarts gave clear, concise answers. When O’Brian ran out of questions, they sipped their respective drinks.

“Why did we do this off-premises?” Evarts asked.

For a moment, it appeared that O’Brian would ignore the question, but finally he said, “I’m not sure who to trust at the Pentagon.”

“Get better people,” Evarts responded.

“They are good people. The situation is complicated.”

Evarts thought about that. Islamic terrorism had remained a challenge for decades. A difficult situation … not complicated. Unless, of course, you made it purposely complicated with political correctness. But O’Brian did not engage in political correctness nor was he cowed by it. He was far too linear. What could make it complicated?

Evarts leaned across the small cocktail table. “That French reference to Templars and Masons, is there any substance to it?”

“I can’t say.”

“You can’t say because you don’t know, or you can’t say because it’s classified?”

“Classified.”

“Thank you for answering my question.”

Nothing about the exchange had been accidental. O’Brian knew how to convey information without violating protocol. But what did it mean? There was a vigilante group out there. But why was its existence classified. To avoid an ugly religious war? Could be. Governments officially downplayed the Islamic connection to terrorism. But if the Islamic terrorists had deadly foes, why would the government refuse to acknowledge their existence? Same reason? Probably. Most likely, it was further government attempts to tamp down a religious war. The government might also be protecting sources. Or … maybe it was more silly political correctness. Silly because it would be hard to referee a war when you pretend neither set of combatants exists. Then he had a thought. If there was substance behind the French insinuation of a connection between the Masons and Templars, then that would provide a huge stumbling block for the French and Americans. Masons permeated both security forces.

“Jim, you know I’m only a casual member of the Masons, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a Mason?”

“Yes.”

“Casual … or otherwise?”

“Otherwise.”

“Are you a Templar?”

“I thought I was interrogating you.”

“That ended when the debrief was complete. Will you answer my question?”

“No.”

“No, you won’t answer or no, you’re not a Templar.”

“You figure it out.”

Evarts and O’Brian had actually known each other for less than a year, but their teaming up to alleviate flooding during a recent hundred-year storm had built a great deal of trust between the men. Despite this bond, O’Brian acted as if he had already divulged enough information. He would not further violate protocol. So be it. Evarts didn’t need to know. Evarts didn’t want to know.

“Time for dinner?” Evarts asked.

“Unfortunately, I have an engagement,” O’Brian said. “Next time.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. At least not a command performance next time. Am I free to return home?”

“You are.”

Evarts pulled out his phone. After a brief check, he booked a red eye to LAX that departed in just over two hours.

Finished with the transaction, Evarts said, “I fly out at eleven-twenty. You can release the room, but don’t bother your daughter-in-law further. I’ll get a car service to take me to the airport.”

O’Brian smiled. “Don’t go away mad.”

“Why should I be mad? I love flying back and forth across the country.”

“I know this was inconvenient, but I needed to hear your story face to face.”

“So you could judge my veracity.”

“Of course.”

“Your conclusion?”

“I believe your version of events. Your actions on Pont Neuf no longer interest us.”

“Really? You know, it might have been nice if someone said thanks. I did keep the attack from being even more gruesome.”

O’Brian stood. “You’re a policeman. You should be used to people not saying thank you.”

To Evarts’ surprise, O’Brian strolled out of the posh bar. O’Brian had always been taciturn, but the two of them had been friends. Now, it seemed like he wanted distance between them.

What the hell was going on?