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

using for the terrorists is that they’re more lucky than skillful. In conference, few believed that these terrorists have the sophistication to fabricate an effective bomb that looked like a book, especially not hundreds of them.”

Wilson took a deep breath. “One last nail in our coffin; the review copies of The Vault aren’t some devious hoax. The general called the publisher and they are passing out copies to people on the hill.” Another deep breath. “General O’Brian is no longer sympathetic to our scenario.”

“Do you think our theory’s bogus?” Evarts asked.

Wilson didn’t even hesitate. “No way. The Johnson bomb was a decoy.”

Evarts said. “Did you mention your reservations to the general?”

“Vehemently. He won’t drop it entirely, but unless some confirming evidence come to light, his primary focus has shifted back to Reagan National.”

Evarts asked Wilson to give him a moment to think. He paced the room. Were they forcing facts to support their theory? Was General O’Brian taking the politically expedient course? Were the Ikhwan brilliant or inept clowns? Why would Johnson rush over to his campaign manager to pick up a parcel? If a major attack was set for this Friday, why kill a single congressman today?

Evarts spoke into the phone. “Diane, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“The general’s wrong.”

“What are we going to do about it?” she asked.

“We need to get confirming evidence.”

“And how do we do that?” Wilson asked.

“Get over here and I’ll tell you. Naps are cancelled.”

Chapter 48

Evarts answered the knock at the door. Wilson had responded almost instantly. Good. They couldn’t waste time. Evarts could think of no reason for the Ikhwan to target a single congressman. From everything he had seen to date, they liked big, surprise attacks. No warning. Violent and bloody. Enemies put in shock. They were terrorists, after all, which meant they wanted to instill terror in the general population. Bend people to their will through fear. The Capitol Hill Club bomb sent a message that they could kill you in your toniest enclave. The Pont Neuf attack said you weren’t safe taking an evening stroll in heavily guarded Paris. You weren’t safe anywhere … at any time. That was terror. Personal retrieval of a parcel didn’t send the same message.

“That parcel bomb doesn’t fit the pattern,” Wilson said breathlessly.

“Agreed,” Evarts said.

“I don’t understand,” Baldwin said.

Wilson and Evarts explained their conclusions to her.

“Is that confirming evidence?” Baldwin asked.

“No,” Evarts said. “It’s detective instinct. We think different than spooks. We examine known information and look for patterns and things amiss. Spooks look for unknown information and husband it. Different mind sets.”

“So how do we get confirming evidence?” Baldwin asked.

“By doing what we came here to do,” Evarts said. “We see Methow.”

“How do we get an appointment?” Wilson asked. “Or do we tail him after work until we find a place to intercept him?”

Evarts turned to his wife. “Trish, what type of case would be irresistible to an attorney?”

“Obviously, big bucks. Let me think a sec.” After a long moment, she said, “Class action is the biggest roulette gamble in law, but that doesn’t fit Methow’s case history. I say we stick with books and say we have clear evidence of plagiarism in a blockbuster. With solid evidence an attorney of Methow’s stature can force a quick and highly lucrative settlement.”

“What book?” Evarts asked.

Baldwin went to her laptop. After a few keystrokes, she said, “Race to Abort. Number one bestselling novel with secondary formats due to be released next month. If the game is legal extortion, this is the perfect book with perfect timing.”

“How long would it take to put together documentation that looks like plagiarism?” Evarts asked uneasily.

“I thought all you wanted was an appointment. I can do that with a phone call.” She gave him an exasperated look. “Greg, you do know the jig is up as soon as he sees either of us.”

Evarts laughed. “Good point. Then I’ll rephrase. How long do you need to prepare to make the call?”

Without answering she held out her hand for Evarts phone because O’Brian had keyed in Methow’s number along with his business address.

Evarts handed his phone over. “Try for this afternoon.”

“Wait a minute,” Wilson said. “General O’Brian told us to not see Methow until tomorrow.”

“That was so he had time to check our theory. Since he’s now put it on a back burner, I propose we return to the original plan.”

Wilson shrugged and Baldwin punched speed dial. She soon lifted a finger to signal that someone had answered.

“Hello, this is Jane Whitman. I’m calling for an appointment with Mr. Methow. It’s urgent.”

After a pause, she said, “I’m only in the city until noon tomorrow. This is very time sensitive. My preference would be for Mr. Methow to represent me, but if he’s unavailable before I return to Chicago, then I’ll find an attorney there.”

Another pause. “This concerning a plagiarism case. I have files date-marked showing that sections of a huge bestselling novel were lifted verbatim from my manuscript.”

Another pause. “Race to Abort.”

After a moment, Baldwin made a thumbs-up gesture.

“Yes, ma’am, I have digital copies with me. Jennifer Mead got access to my files because three years ago I hired her as a writing coach through Gotham Writers’ Workshop. I guess when I never published, she assumed I gave up on it. Well, actually I did until I read her book and realized big sections of it were my work.”

After another delay, she added, “The urgency is not only my return to Chicago. Race to Abort is about to come out in paperback, audio, and e-book. I want to stop her. That’s stolen property. Also, I read on the internet that her publisher is negotiating theatrical rights with Walt Disney Pictures. We need to get an injunction, or whatever you call it to stop her.”

Baldwin hit mute. “She asked me to hold.”

“Wow,” Wilson said, “you could be an actor. I’ve had undercover officers that didn’t do as well after weeks of practice.”

Baldwin laughed. “This is my wheelhouse. I have numerous bestsellers.”

“Really. You’re famous.”

“Among