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

“I presume we still need to file an official statement,” Evarts said.

“Yes, of course. Lieutenant Guerin will take it from you in a moment. But first, I have an idea I wish to broach with you.”

Again, Evarts sat silent.

Durandus sighed “We have made inquiries through your State Department. They have been in contact with your mayor, that is the mayor of Santa Barbara. She has consented for you to take leave to assist us.” He waited a beat. “We would like you to consult with our task force. It would be for a month,”—the gallic shrug— “perhaps six weeks. No more. We would cover your expenses, of course.”

Evarts was genuinely surprised. “Why? Why me?”

“Because when I asked about terrorist strategy, you gave a succinct and astute answer. You are a high-ranking policeman. You keep calm in an emergency. And … I presume you have experience in intelligence matters.”

“If you had been on Pont Neuf, the strategy would have been readily apparent. My professional obligations are to my city. I was lucky on the bridge, not good. And if I had knowledge in intelligence matters, it would be in technology driven electronic surveillance … fifteen years out of date. And finally … I’m on vacation.”

Durandus smiled patiently. “Pardon, but if I understand your oath of office, you are obligated to act whenever you see lawbreaking.”

“In the USA.”

“Let’s not quibble. You are an officer of the law. Your State Department thinks it’s a good idea and your mayor is already planning a trip to Paris to check on your work.”

Evarts almost laughed. The last sentence was undoubtedly true. When he had requested vacation time to celebrate his anniversary in Paris, Mayor Megan Walsh asked jokingly to tag along. She loved Paris and would welcome a paid official visit to the city.

Evarts shook his head. “I need a few days to think this over … and I have questions. Let’s start with the obvious; what would be my duties?” Durandus started to speak, but Evarts interrupted him. “Please, don’t take my questions as an affirmative response.”

“You may have twenty-four hours to decide. We’re under enormous pressure. We concur with your assessment that this group has planned a second and possibly third attack. I can’t spend time recruiting you. Understood?”

Evarts nodded.

The coffee service arrived, and they consumed a few minutes fixing their beverages. Durandus seemed anxious and Evarts didn’t think it was from lack of sleep. As he stirred his coffee, Evarts watched the capitaine over the rim of his cup. From the energy he displayed charging into the room, Evarts guessed a superior had royally chewed him out.

As they returned to their seats, Durandus continued as if there had been no interruption. “We would like you to assess the intent and plans of this terrorist group. We’ll provide you with our intelligence. We need to predict targets and timing. Any help in that area would be beneficial. Our first concern—hope, I should say—is to assess whether we have disrupted their other plans by killing the shooters.”

“We?” Evarts asked surprised.

“Yes, we. Pardon. Forget my ramblings of last night. It was late and I was overly tired. That whole thing about Templars is a fairy tale. A wild internet conspiracy. Dumb of me to have brought it up. The shooters were taken out by DGSI, our own counter-terrorism service. It was not a fourteenth century society of warrior monks.” He laughed nervously. “As you say in your country, my paygrade wasn’t high enough to be in the loop.” He smiled conspiratorially. “You’re no stranger to this, right. Your FBI and CIA have similar issues.” The gallic shrug. “The cops on the beat are the last to know.”

“I understand,” Evarts said. “Let’s say we wrap this up so my wife and I can make our statements. It looks like we have something to discuss. The sooner we can be alone, the sooner I can give you an answer.”

“Perfect,” Durandus said. “Lieutenant Guerin, please escort our friends to an interview room and take their statements.” He smiled. “Make it speedy. We already have a good picture of what happened. Bring the coffee service cart.”

They all stood, with Evarts and Baldwin holding their coffee cups. When they stepped into the hall, Guerin excused himself to use the toilette.

As they stood in the hallway sipping their coffee, Baldwin asked in a low voice, “Are you considering this?”

In an equally low voice, Evarts said, “No way in hell.”

Chapter 6

Their statement took a little over an hour. As a cop, Evarts knew how to succinctly report his actions and observations, and Baldwin added little to his narrative. Guerin, professional and emotionless, asked the type of clarifying questions that showed he had watched the CCTV video recordings of the attack. Just before departing, they were cautioned not to talk to the press and told they might be called back after correlating their statement with other people on the bridge. Evarts wondered about these other witnesses. What condition were they in to give statements? News reports put the number of dead at nineteen with an additional thirty-one injured. Evarts didn’t think there were fifty pedestrians on the bridge, so some of those dead and injured must have been in automobiles.

As soon as they vacated the Police Nationale station, Evarts and Baldwin found a quiet café in a residential district. Having only had croissants for breakfast, they were both hungry. They took seats on the same side of a sidewalk table facing the street. Evarts wondered if they were being surveilled, but he spotted no one watching them. They ordered ham and cheese sandwiches, pommes frites, and bottled water.

After the server left, Baldwin asked, “Why ‘no way in hell’?”

“Durandus was lying, but not last night, today. No matter how tired, a chief inspector won’t accidently throw around internet conspiracies after a terrorist attack. Even if he hadn’t been in the loop beforehand, by the time he interviewed us he would’ve known DGSI