The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) Read online

  “What sensitive subjects?” Baldwin demanded.

  Tiller appeared nonplussed. She was not used to being questioned. “Patricia, I’m sure you’re aware that we have hundreds of Muslim students, plus dozens of Muslim faculty and staff. This could ignite … well, let us just say uncomfortable conversations. You see that, don’t you?”

  Baldwin sat and crossed her arms. “No. You’ll need to explain it to me.”

  Mr. Horn Rims Glasses broke in. “Ms. Baldwin, if I may, the Muslim—”

  “Excuse me, who are you?” Baldwin asked.

  Tiller answered. “This is Mr. Glass. He’s here to help us craft our messaging.”

  “Here from where?” Baldwin asked.

  Glass looked at Tiller, “If I may?” After an affirmative nod, Glass addressed Baldwin and Evarts. “I’m with a public relations agency that specializes in Muslim issues. I’ve been retained by the university to mitigate the fallout from this unfortunate incident.”

  Baldwin bristled. “The unfortunate incident that left nineteen dead and another thirty-one seriously injured? That unfortunate incident?”

  “I know how you feel,” Glass said. “That kind of experience can be traumatic.” When she started to object, he added quickly, “You’re right, of course, the attack was dreadful. But we certainly don’t want to make matters worse by stoking religious biases on campus.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Baldwin said. “You think I’ve never been in front of a microphone before. You’re afraid I’ll say something impolitic?”

  “No, no, that’s not our fear, Patricia,” Tiller said. “In fact, we don’t want you in front of any microphone at all. The university will issue a carefully crafted press release. A bare bones narrative. That’s it. No interviews … and as a matter of policy, we won’t disclose your name, department, sex, or ethnicity.”

  “Then why don’t you just do it?” Evarts interjected. “Why do you need us? We don’t need to contribute to your carefully crafted messaging. That’s what Mr. Glass is for.”

  “We don’t need both of you,” Tiller said irritably. “Greg, you have serious responsibilities. There’s no need to pull you away from civic center. You’re free to go.”

  Both Baldwin and Evarts stood to leave.

  “Patricia, dear, we need you to stay,” Tiller said.

  “My husband was with me on the bridge, and he will be with me during the aftermath, as you call it. You can have both of us or neither of us.” She paused dramatically. “Your choice.”

  Exasperated, Tiller said, “Sit back down … you too Greg.”

  They did.

  “Now, I’m going to allow Mr. Glass to lead the discussion. This is his area of expertise, not mine.”

  With no objection, Glass opened with, “Thank you. Let’s start at the beginning. Why were you in Paris?”

  “What difference does that make?” Baldwin asked.

  “It’s important that we understand everything so that when we issue a statement, it can’t be debunked by an outside party. You may—”

  “What outside party?” Evarts asked.

  Glass appeared surprised at the question. “Any outside party.”

  “Who would want to debunk a milquetoast press release?” Evarts asked.

  Tiller nervously tapped her finger on the tabletop. “Excuse me Greg, this is the reason I didn’t invite you to this meeting. You’re a cop, not a public relations expert. You naturally ask awkward questions. Please allow Mr. Glass to do his job.”

  Ignoring Tiller, Evarts directed another question at Glass, “Have you read the newspaper accounts of the attack?”

  “Of course.” He looked smug. “I prepare for assignments.”

  “Then you know as much as any outside party. I see no reason to rehash events. Use newspaper clippings.”

  “You’d be surprised, Mr. Evarts, how some little detail can add interest and believability to an otherwise dull press release.”

  “This is a French national security issue.” Evarts gave Glass a direct look. “The French don’t want details reported that they haven’t already made public. I’m sure you know how it is … after all, you’re in public relations.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m aware of the security issues. I won’t reveal anything sensitive. I’ll be listening for personal interest aspects that I can weave into the story. We need something new and enticing to satisfy the news people.”

  “That doesn’t smell right,” Evarts said. “I thought you were going to issue a wham, bam, thank you ma’am press release. No details. Now you want to tell a story?”

  “You need to understand, if we’re not going to give them your wife’s name, then we need to give them something else, something new that can carry the story. That’s why I want to hear an account from your wife mouth. I won’t know what will work until I hear it.”

  “So, you want a complete debrief, and you expect us to believe that this is for a perfunctory press release?” He used his hard ass cop mien. “Who do you really work for?”

  “I work for Baylor & Company. We’re a premiere—”

  Tiller interrupted, “Mr. Glass’ credentials are not in question here. Greg, he’s been engaged by the university, not you. This is beyond rude. Please restrain yourself or I’ll call campus security.”

  Baldwin jumped into the conversation. “Greg, give it a rest. Please.” When he shrugged, she asked, “Mr. Glass, we want to cooperate. Please explain. How much detail do you want?”

  He smiled. “Everything. Describe the reason for your trip, how you came to be on the bridge at that moment, what happened on the bridge, how you escaped, and then tell us everything about your interaction with the French police. I’ll never know what might be useful until I hear it.”

  Baldwin gave Evarts an exasperated look. “Oh hell, he’s all yours, dear.”

  Evarts smiled and leaned toward Glass. “You’re asking for a full debrief. I’ve already given one of those last night in D.C. But you already know that, don’t you?” When Glass didn’t answer, he continued. “I’m not sure how you came to the university’s attention, but you have another employer. Sure, you’re probably on the roster at Baylor & Company, but your true employer resides in Washington D.C. Now, we may cooperate, but only if you start being forthright. Otherwise, we’re out of here.”

  Glass appeared neither embarrassed nor apprehensive about Evarts challenging his cover.

  “What tipped you off?” Glass asked.

  “You mean besides trying to isolate witnesses by putting three thousand miles between them? Mr. Glass, I do press releases. When there is an ongoing investigation, less is more. You don’t give out interesting tidbits. You never whet the appetite to dig further. In a situation like this, you don’t help them with a story, you give them parched verbiage to convince them there is no story. Dullness is also a tool of public relations.” Evarts leaned back. “Also, calling me Mr. Evarts didn’t help your cover. I wasn’t expected at this meeting and there is no reason Ms. Tiller would inform you that I went by a different name than my wife.” He let that sink in before adding, “You were briefed by someone outside this room.”

  “Agreed. Will you allow your wife to cooperate?”

  “Duck!” Evarts yelled.

  Glass did, but when nothing happened, he looked foolish.

  “What was that about?” Glass asked.

  “Sorry, I thought my wife might throw a glass at you for insinuating that I boss her around.”

  Glass looked at Baldwin. “I apologize. We did try to separate the two of you. Your husband can explain why. I’m with the CIA. The United States has their own reasons for being interested in the Pont Neuf Boucherie; as they call it in France. This is a debrief. Will you, Mrs. Baldwin, cooperate.”

  “My husband can remain?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded.

  Tiller excused herself before being invited to leave. Her flummoxed behavior told Evarts she had no idea that this meeting had be
en a setup. Most academics didn’t like being used by intelligence services, so a strong letter was sure to follow.

  For the next two hours, Baldwin relayed everything she could about the attack, omitting only that her husband killed two of the terrorists. Evarts never said a word, but occasionally nodded when Baldwin looked at him for confirmation of some detail. The whole time, the young woman dutifully transcribed their words. Evidently, she was Glass’ assistant, not Tiller’s. Evarts was sure Glass also secretly recorded Baldwin’s account. After she finished, Glass spent about an hour asking probing questions, including questions about the killing of two terrorists. Evarts surmised that Glass had been privy to the classified portions of the French report.

  When satisfied, Glass thanked them and apologized for the earlier subterfuge. Evarts concluded that Glass was professional and good at his job. He knew when to abandon his pose as a PR expert, and he asked penetrating questions.

  Baldwin asked, “What enticement did you use to gain the university’s cooperation?”

  “A grant,” Glass said matter-of-factly.

  Baldwin smiled knowingly. “Which will still be forthcoming, correct?”

  “Of course, you’ve been very helpful. In fact, I’ll try to get it enlarged.”

  “Good idea,” Baldwin said. “Wouldn’t want a press leak about the machinations inside of this room, would we?”

  He smiled “No, ma’am, we would not.”

  Evarts had been wrong about Tiller being blindsided and Trish had read the room better than he had. Tiller had left bewildered because she thought the grant had been blown.

  “Then we’re done here?” Evarts asked.

  “We are. And for the record, after I looked at your jacket, I told my superiors that this cover wouldn’t fool you. That’s the reason you were sent to meet General O’Brian.”

  “You mean one of the reasons.”

  He smiled again. “I stand corrected. I meant one of the reasons.”

  Evarts reached over and shook hands with Glass. After being called out, Glass ended up being one of the good guys. A polite, but thorough interviewer.

  Evarts asked, “Do you think this is the end of this episode?”

  Glass signaled his assistant that it was time to leave.

  Just before Glass exited, Evarts heard him speak, as if to himself.

  “Probably not.”

  Chapter 13

  Glass had been overly pessimistic. As Evarts drove home from a city council meeting, it occurred to him that it had been over a week since Trish’s debrief at UCSB. Not a further word. From anyone. The American press had moved on to other stories, the CIA and Army Intelligence must have been satisfied with their interviews, and the French hadn’t even sent a postcard. Most important, no follow-on attack had occurred. Taking out the Pont Neuf jihadists must have disrupted their plans.

  As he pulled off the road onto his driveway, a car without lights blocked access to his gate. It looked like a rental, not a government car. Evarts slowed to a stop away from the car and flipped on his off-road LED light bar. He drove a Ford Raptor rigged to light up the countryside. No one in the car. He instantly threw the truck into reverse and stomped the gas pedal. He ducked to steer by his rearview camera when a hail of bullets riddled the car. His quick reaction saved his life. The bullets hit forward of the driver’s compartment. As he backslid into the street, a car hit him in the rear. Not hard. The car must have been slowing to block his exit from the gravel driveway. Evarts put his truck in drive and punched it. As he rose to see where he was going, he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial for the police Command Center.

  “11-6, 11-56, track Chief Evarts cell. Now! Emergency! Send second detail to home.” Without waiting for a response, he punched the phone to end the call. The car that had rear-ended him was getting up to speed, but Evarts still had a good lead. He called Trish.

  Thankfully, she answered.

  “Trish, are you okay?”

  “Yes, but I heard shots. Where are you?”

  “Two cars ambushed me at our gate. Only one has given chase. The others may try to get through our security. Code Union. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Trish became quiet, but he could hear heavy breathing. Good. That meant she was racing to their saferoom. The codes he had given the dispatcher meant shots fired and officer being followed by auto with dangerous persons. He and Trish had set up Code Union to mean race for their saferoom which was hidden in the master suite.

  Early in his police career he had advised the wealthy on home security. Now, he was among the rich, so he had a state-of-the-art system. They lived on an outcropping in the San Ynez Mountains, and the only access was a serpentine road that twisted away from Santa Barbara. After a couple squealing turns, Evarts heard Trish say she was in. He ended the call. She was safe.

  Now, how to deal with these assholes behind him?

  He suddenly tapped the brakes and then accelerated, repeating the process several times. As he slowed, he hoped it looked like he had run out of gas. The chase car came barreling on. When it was fifty feet away, Evarts slammed on the brakes, coming to a complete stop, and then put it in reverse and punched it. He aimed right at the chase car. To avoid a crash, the car swerved to the center of the road. Evarts swung the back of his pickup to meet the pursuit car’s right front bumper. The sedan was no match for the heavy truck. The off-center hit spun the sedan and sent it flying into the low brush off the road. Evarts broke hard, unsnapped his seatbelt, and as he threw open his truck door, pulled his Glock .40 handgun. Before the pursuing car came to a rest, Evarts was racing toward the car.

  Not fast enough.

  Two men flew out of the car. Both with guns. Evarts shot the driver before he could raise his weapon. The assailant on the passenger side rested his gun on the roof of the sedan and fired three shots. Evarts had already dived to the ground. He rolled twice and got to his knees opposite the driver’s wide-open door. Firing through the car, Evarts shot the second assailant twice in the stomach, then snapped to his full height to shoot over the roof. He put a single shot into the head of the assailant.

  When the gunfire sound faded away, Evarts heard sirens. There were no streetlights, so Evarts holstered his pistol and raised his hands. Two squad cars with lights and sirens blazing, screeched to a stop on the other side of his Raptor.

  One of the officers ran hunched alongside his truck with his arms extended holding a pistol in both hands.

  He hesitated just a moment before yelling, “Chief, put your hands down.”

  Evarts lowered his hands. “Making sure you recognized me. Has a car reached my home?”

  “Yes. They reported no intruders.”

  “Did you pass anyone on the way to my house?”

  “An Uber and an SUV.”

  “No four-door sedan?”

  “The Uber. One occupant. Black U insignia in windshield.”

  Evarts pulled his phone. After reaching his Command Center, he asked, “What’s the report from my house?”

  “Officers on premises. No one inside the perimeter grounds. They’re talking to your wife on your home intercom.”

  “She okay?”

  After a pause, the dispatcher said, “She’s unharmed and still in the saferoom. Should we tell her to exit.”

  “Not yet. There’s another car of assailants. Put out a BOLO for a dark four-door sedan with an Uber logo in the windshield. If stopped, approach with caution. Armed and dangerous.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also send detectives to this site. Shots fired, two dead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get to it.”

  He ended the call.

  Chapter 14

  Since he had shot two assailants, Evarts had turned the investigation over to the Sheriff’s Department. A lethal shooting by a law enforcement official meant crossing every t and dotting every i. As a result, he was not allowed to leave the scene until two-thirty in the morning. Although he had talke
d to Trish several times on the phone, it was a relief to see her in person when he finally got home.

  Neither of the assailants had identification and the rental contract was not in the car nor on their person. Since the car was probably rented with false papers, Evarts didn’t expect much from the rental company. But … many times criminals were sloppy or stupid. It made his job easier.

  The second car had not been found. Evarts hoped they were in hiding in his city, not several hundred miles away. Pacific Coast Highway was the only major thoroughfare into or out of town, and he had verified that PCH had been covered quickly, so hopefully they hadn’t escaped. He instructed his patrol officers to exchange their police cruisers for personal vehicles. Maybe if the bad guys thought the heat was off, they’d break cover.

  By eight the next morning, Evarts was up, showered, dressed and at work. On the fifteen-minute drive, Evarts had been on the phone with the sheriff. He would need to do another interview, but so far, forensics corroborated his testimony. His detectives had heard from the rental company: the driver’s licenses were fake, and they had used prepaid debit cards. By mid-morning, they would know where the debit cards were purchased and interview the retailer. Evarts bet they were bought online, and the purchase funded with an opaque Paypal account. They’d run it to ground, but it would take days. Evarts would prefer to catch the second group of assailants.

  After he finished with his detectives, Evarts picked up a cup of coffee and chatted his way over to his office. As he approached, his assistant wordlessly handed Evarts a file folder. In the pocket, there were two paperclipped sets of phone call slips. The first group were journalists. He shoved these to the far edge of his desk. The second set were calls from law enforcement, city administration, or other government officials. He sorted them by importance. He crumpled the top one and threw it in the wastebasket. He had already talked to the sheriff. He speed-dialed the second caller.

  “Good morning, Mayor. You’re in early.”

  “Not every day that someone who works for me kills two people.”