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

time these messages were posted. I won’t bore you with the details, but we know these comments were the go orders. Since Ali as-Saad wasn’t issuing commands and he wasn’t participating in clandestine meetings, we ruled him out.”

“Could one of his assistants have posted the comments?” Wilson asked.

“We had them surveilled as well. At least enough that we felt confident they weren’t acting as electronic errand boys. Listen, at one time we suspected that Ali as-Saad was the caliph, but the Ikhwan used our inside man to send us disinformation. We swallowed it hook, line, and sinker, but we were wrong. Ali as-Saad was a decoy.”

“Like you’d like me to swallow this cock and bull story.” Evarts used his hard cop look and leaned into Methow. “What did you find when you took another look at Ali as-Saad?”

Methow sighed. Looked at each of his three guests and decided. “Okay, we found a different correlation. Ali as-Saad was in communication with someone a few days prior to each Caliph order. At first, we thought we had been mistaken and he was the caliph using a cut-out. But … with some corroborating information, we now believe Ali as-Saad is the leader of the backup triumvirate.”

“That’s big!” Wilson exclaimed. “What could you learn if you grabbed the backup team?”

“A lot. The caliph-in-waiting knows about operations, protocols, the identity of key players, and everything about finances. More about finances than the caliph. For all intents and purposes, he’s the chief financial officer of the Ikhwan. On the downside, he wouldn’t know the actual location of the caliph.” Methow hesitated for only a moment. “But … yeah, the amount of information Ali as-Saad holds would make it very worthwhile. We’ll grab him, if possible.”

Evarts nodded, then leaped to his feet. “Time to go.”

“Wait a minute,” Wilson interjected. “We need to know the status of the Ali as-Saad grab. What’s happening in Jakarta?”

“Diane, he won’t make inquiries while we’re here. We need to get out of here.”

Methow nodded.

Wilson appeared to want to argue further, but Evarts put his hand on her shoulder and nudged her out of the room.

Just before he exited, Evarts stuck his head back through the door and said, “We expect you to share all the intel from this grab. Remember, we know who you are, and where you live. You’d regret double crossing us.”

He turned but just before he left, he stuck his head in one more time.

“To be clear, this is me talking, not Army Intelligence. My personal stake precludes civility.”

As he slammed shut the door, he heard shattering glass followed by the report of a rifle shot.

Chapter 53

Evarts put his shoulder to the door and barged back into Methow’s office. What he saw caused him to instantly fall to the floor and roll onto his back to look behind him. Thankfully, the women had not followed him back into the office. He yelled for them to stay away when he heard additional rifle reports. The drywall by the door showed three holes, each about ten inches apart.

“Down! Down! Everyone on the floor!”

He had seen Methow and there was nothing he could do for him, so he swiftly crawled back out of the office frightened of what he might find. As he came around the doorjamb, he caught Baldwin’s eyes. They were full of fear, which meant she was alive. He saw Wilson race out of the assistant’s office and sprint through a cubicle maze that housed associates and paralegals. He knew she was racing to street level in the hopes of intercepting the sniper. Methow’s assistant had suffered the same fate as her boss. From the floor, Evarts could only see that she was slumped over her desk, but the blood splatter on the opposite wall indicated that she had been hit by one of the assassin’s bullets that had penetrated the drywall between rooms.

Evarts crawled to Baldwin and threw a protective arm over her shoulder. She shook her head and yelled at him to help Wilson. He crawled around the desk and then ran out in a crouch. As he navigated the cubicle farm, he spotted a conference room glass partition shattered. A bullet would have needed to pass through two walls to reach the conference room. The shooter was using a high-powered automatic rifle.

“Everybody stay down! Call 911 and get police and an ambulance here! Tell them active shooter.”

By the time he finished the sentence he was in the posh reception area. People were screaming questions at him, but he ignored them as he punched the elevator button. While he waited, he grabbed a relatively calm man. He put one hand on each shoulder and looked him straight in the eye.

“I’m a cop. There’s been a shooting. Jeffrey Methow and his assistant have been hit. Keep everyone on the floor until the police arrive. No one is to leave, and no one is to go into Methow outer office until cops arrive. Got it?”

He nodded apprehensively. “Do they need medical help?”

“No.” The elevator arrived. Evarts ran into it. Before the door closed, he said in a low voice he hoped only the man heard, “They’re both beyond medical help. Keep the crime scene sterile.”

As the elevator descended, Evarts was pleased he had picked the right man. His only question had been proper. Most people would have asked rapid-fired questions or gone comatose. Evarts always carried his police identification, so he pulled it out to flash at arriving cops or building security. He also always carried a gun, but he didn’t draw his weapon because it would distract attention away from the ID he held in his left hand.

The elevator door slid open to disorder on the ground floor. Building security was running every which way and people were standing around looking befuddled. Evarts exited the elevator with his badge held high.

An authoritative man marched up to him and asked, “Do you know of a shooting in the building?”

“Twelfth floor. Secure the floor. Police are on