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

to escape from. Small airport, only one major highway. Pretty shoreline, rich people, but nothing iconic.” He took a swallow of his whiskey.  “Not sure, really, but let’s hope our fair city stays off the bad guys’ radar.”

“What did you mean when you said this is not a one-off? Should I be worried?”

“The gunmen were not radicalized Islamicists who swallowed a promise of seventy-two virgins. These were soldiers … non-suicidal professionals. The terrorist organization, whoever they are, sent their A-Team, a major investment in fighting capability. Marry that with the trend for jihadists to double or triple hit and you can conclude that they have one or more additional actions in play. And in answer to your last question, it does no good to worry. Terrorist attacks are relatively rare and those that do occur are unpredictable. If we knew where they were going to hit, we could stop them.”

“Why are you using the plural pronoun?”

“Am I?” He hesitated. “I guess I am.” Evarts though about it. “I’m in law enforcement, an unofficial worldwide fraternity, but I really think it’s about the events of the day. We’ve been drawn into it.”

“That’s not the way I’d put it. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time and lucky as hell to escape with our scalps. But this isn’t our problem, Greg. It’s not your case to solve. We’re here for a vacation. That’s it!”

She was fired up and Evarts didn’t blame her. He had been terrified. He knew she had been as well. They had met while fighting a secret society that wanted to rule North America and had fought side by side. She was the most courageous woman he had ever witnessed in battle, but that didn’t mean she welcomed the opportunity to engage in life or death combat. Evarts took a deep breath. She was right. This was not their fight.

“I understand,” he said. “I’m getting another drink. Do you want one.”

She nodded.

When he returned with a drink in each hand, she no longer appeared peeved.

“Sorry,” she said. “Tough day … especially the endless waiting in that dank room.”

“Yes, that was the hard part,” Evarts joked.

They both laughed.

After a sip of her freshened drink, she asked, “Do you think you can help? If you do, I won’t object.”

“Probably not. I keep up on the terrorist bulletins and attend an occasional seminar, but terrorism is not a high priority for me or my force.” He took a sip. “I am curious though. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to make a few calls.”

“Interpol?”

“No. No one over here will tell me anything. It would need to be our boys.”

“You’re talking about your old army buddies.”

Evarts nodded. He was officially in the signal corps, but she knew he had really worked for Army Intelligence. Electronic surveillance, not spy running. He left the service as a major, but his friends who remained in the army had one or more stars on their shoulders. They could tell him if there was a vigilante group who used the ancient Templar moniker. All he really wanted to know is if they operated in the good ol’ US of A.

“Now?” She asked.

He did a quick calculation and determined that even with the time difference, few would remain at work in Washington. He decided on a text message. He pulled out his phone and typed as they finished their second drink. It took him longer than normal to send the message because he didn’t want to use words that would be flagged by the NSA.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and smiled. “Done. Now, I think thanks are in order.”

Baldwin bounded up to her feet.

“Yes. Let celebrate being alive.”

Chapter 5

They were escorted into a cramped, disheveled office empty of people. The trophy wall confirmed that the tenant was Capitaine Durandus. They had slept late, ordered coffee and croissants to their room, and barely made it to the lobby in time to leave. Durandus had sent a uniformed officer to drive them to the station. Evarts assumed it was witness handing, rather than a courtesy.

Baldwin waved her hand around the room. “So much more civilized.”

“That remains to be seen,” Evarts said as he sat in a cushioned side chair.

He had received a return text from his army buddy, but it contained no information, only acknowledgment that his text had been received. He glanced at his watch. The Pentagon wouldn’t even start work for a couple hours. Evarts goal was to get out of this office as quickly as possible.

Durandus and Guerin burst into the office with much more energy than they had displayed the prior night.

“Pardon, we are very busy. This will be short.”

Durandus took his position behind his desk and Guerin pulled a wooden chair from against the wall to sit beside Evarts.

“Café?” Durandus asked.

“Yes, please,” Baldwin answered.

When Evarts also nodded, Durandus flicked his fingers and Guerin jumped up and left the office. Evarts assumed he went for coffee, but he returned shortly. Evidently, he just carried a message to an office assistant. Evarts wondered if the French had not discovered intercoms or Durandus just liked to order his underling around.

“Now,” Durandus said, “we verified your anniversary, your dinner reservation, and other details. We found no lies and only one obfuscation in yesterday’s interview.” He gave Evarts a direct look. “Your service record is sealed. Unusual for a major in the signal corps. Would you care to explain that?”

When Evarts didn’t respond, Durandus said, “Never mind. We can guess.” He rocked back in his chair. “Chief Evarts, unless we learn otherwise, we believe you were on that bridge by coincidence and reacted to save your lives. Admirably, I might add. I presume it was—”

“Why do you believe us now?” Baldwin blurted.

A little startled, Durandus switched his gaze from Evarts to Baldwin. “Your truthfulness. It has checked out. Forget my silliness last night. It was dumb of me to suspect your husband. No one would bring their wife to a terrorist