The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) Page 8

  His next call was to General O’Brian to give him a debrief. When Evarts finished, O’Brian said he wanted to check a few things and would meet him at the restaurant.

  When he arrived, the restaurant appeared empty, but the bar crowded. Evarts selected a high table in the corner away from government workers who had left the office early. He wanted to be alone to think.

  Before he settled comfortably in his seat, O’Brian slid onto the barstool beside him.

  “You buying?” he asked.

  “Sure. What’ll you have?”

  “Macallans 18, neat.”

  Evarts laughed. If they intended to get drunk, this would be an expensive evening. The eighteen-year-old vintage of his favorite scotch was pricy by the bottle, outrageous in a bar.

  “Okay, I’ll do the same, but with an ice cube.”

  “Blasphemy,” O’Brian said.

  After ordering, Evarts asked, “Why are you early?”

  “You’re my most important remaining task of the day. When I was informed that you had left the hotel and instructed the cabbie to bring you here, I left the Pentagon and came right over.”

  “How’d you know what I told the cab driver?”

  “Come on, Greg. You worked electronic surveillance. Did you think we hadn’t made any progress in twelve years?”

  Evarts thought about the implications. O’Brian had him surveilled. He knew civilian directional microphones could pick up conversations four hundred feet away. Military-grade gear had to be far better.

  “How far?” Evarts asked.

  “Classified. But I will tell you we can hear through glass and sometimes even walls. That’s already been leaked. Anyone who thinks you can have a private conversation in this town is deluded.”

  “Miniaturized?”

  He nodded. “If you see someone chewing on a pen, watch your language.”

  “Crap, that’s James Bond stuff. How do you know we’re not being listened to right now?”

  “I have minders. They secure inside and out. Besides, it’s noisy in here. Outside of a secure room the only true barrier to eavesdroppers is heavy ambient noise. Listeners would need to aim very precisely. Hard to do from a distance and obvious when close.” He laughed. “Easier to hit us with a bullet than a narrow-field directional mic.”

  Evarts couldn’t spot the inside person or persons, but he took O’Brian’s word for it that they were around.

  “Then I assume you heard all of my conversation with Jim Lewis.”

  “I hadn’t when you called, but I have since. You do a good debrief.”

  “Jim, the claim of a reward on my head explains the attack at my home. That was damn quick.”

  “Yes. It means the bounty is high.”

  “Sky high. To move that quickly means those assailants expected competition.”

  Their drinks arrived.

  After an appreciative sip, Evarts asked, “Jim Lewis?”

  “Not a clue. Literally, not a clue. As you guessed, not his real name.”

  “What graves did he visit?”

  “None. He stayed on the path. Paid his respects from a distance. He knew we were watching. His man spotted us, and we spotted his man.”

  “He had more than one.”

  “I heard,” O’Brian said. “Worrisome. I think my crew got hoodwinked. Once they spotted his man, my guess is they quit looking. If there were others, they never saw them.”

  Evarts thought a minute. “They probably have our entire conversation. Civilian directional microphones are good enough to do the trick.”

  “I said worrisome.”

  “Any further indications his warning was real? And specifically, does it include my wife?”

  “Nothing yet. I can tell you more in a day or two, but unfortunately, it’s consistent with the behavior of these terrorists. They’re vindictive.”

  “Damn.”

  “Did you warn Patricia?”

  “Yeah,” He shook his head. “For now, she’ll rely on campus police. Disarmed, by the way. Best I can do is patrol the perimeter.”

  “Disarming campus police only sends a welcome message to nutcases,” O’Brian said. “Schools are already gun-free zones. A sign on the door hasn’t stop school shooting,”

  “Disarming campus police is the rage among student activists. When it was under consideration, I met with the university president and his deans to no avail.” He shrugged. “On campus, law enforcement is seen as provocateurs.”

  “Maybe I can get some covert resources applied,” O’Brian said.

  Evarts took a sip of his drink before speaking. “Which gets us to the point of this meeting.” O’Brian appeared placid, so Evarts continued. “Lewis’ crew at Arlington came not to spy, but to show me they could muster more people than you. They were showing off for a prospective member.” O’Brian showed some unease. “I assume you made that offer for covert assistance to see their wager.”

  “Greg, that’s an odd thing to say. Templars can’t compete with the might of the United States Army. You know that.”

  “Who assigned more people to the meet this morning? Who had intel that there was a price on my head and my wife’s? Who knew where I was staying and when I would return from my meeting with you? Who evaded your surveillance and vanished into thin air? How did they know in advance about this dinner meeting?” When O’Brian didn’t offer a counter argument, he continued. “You didn’t anticipate the intercept and know nothing about Jim Lewis.” He waited for that to sink in. “Our lives are at serious risk. If I were choosing a team, why wouldn’t I choose theirs?”

  Now it was O’Brian’s turn to sip his whisky to delay a response. “Perhaps you should … at our behest.”

  “Like hell,” Evarts said a bit too loud. “They’d never fully trust me, and you’d suspect they were playing me to send you disinformation. I’d be in No Man’s Land, caught in a crossfire.”

  “You could pull it off.”

  “You want me to assist you in running down the Templars? The Templars? They take out the same bad guys you’re supposed to be after. If I’m going to choose your team, this must be a two-way street. You know more than you’re telling me. If you want my help, help me. What kind of resources can I expect from the Army? How about some intel I can use to keep us safe?” Evarts finished his drink in one gulp. “And I won’t spy on the Templars.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it will put Trish in even greater danger. You see that … or you don’t deserve those three stars.”

  “Greg, we can—”

  “The terrorists are the enemy, not the Templars. The terrorists put a price on our heads, not the Templars. Jim, get your damn priorities straight.”

  “The terrorists are our enemy, but to our knowledge, this particular group of extremists don’t operate on our soil. The Templars do. And they’re deep inside my department. I must root them out. You should want to help. They’re lawless … and not your friends.”

  Evarts stood up. “I think I’ll skip dinner. I have some thinking to do.”

  He walked toward the front entrance. He noticed a man sitting at the end of the bar talking on his cell phone. The phone was oddly held horizonal, straight at the bar table he had just left.

  Evarts reached for his wallet and dropped it. As he came up from picking it off the floor, he slapped the man high on his back with the flat of his hand. His upper body crashed into the bar top. In a smooth motion, Evarts ripped the phone out of his hand. Then he marched back to O’Brian and handed him the phone.

  “If it’s yours,” Evarts said, “I’m returning your property. If not, you need better minders.”

  Chapter 21

  Evarts didn’t think long before deciding to go home again. This time he’d remain in Santa Barbara. He had no intention of being used by any of the parties in this charade. He returned directly to his hotel and ordered room service. For the next several hours he used the Internet to research the Templars of old, Freemasons, and Islamic terroris
m. It wasn’t productive. He already knew more about the Masons and terrorism than he could find on the web and although interesting, he didn’t learn anything useful about medieval Templars. He checked the news sites but couldn’t find any fresh reports on the Pont Neuf attack. It was literally yesterday’s news.

  He flew out of Dulles International in the morning and used a car service to drive him from Los Angeles International Airport to his house. On the two-hour drive from LAX, he laid his head back and thought. He and Trish were in a tough spot. The Islamic terrorists wanted revenge, Army Intelligence wanted him to spy on the Templars, and the Templars wanted him to fight and probably spy for their side. This wasn’t his fight. To hell with them all. He had already limited the damage from one attack, he didn’t need to do more.

  The only reason to align with either the Army or Templars would be for questionable protection against bounty hunters. The Templar Knights were obviously out. Beyond his misgivings about vigilantism, he would never spy against the Army. On the other hand, he could cooperate with Army Intelligence, but that didn’t mean he needed to fight or spy for them. Besides, O’Brian hadn’t been forthcoming. That pissed him off because he was sure that he knew more. He hadn’t shared any significant intelligence. Plus, he had bungled guarding him during his meeting with Lewis. His promised physical protection wouldn’t last long; weeks, maybe months, but it would end after the first budget review. The terrorists weren’t about to lift the bounty merely because they grew tired of waiting. If O’Brian wouldn’t share information and protection was temporary, then an Army alliance was worthless.

  A thought occurred to him. Had O’Brian known about the bounty? He gave no inkling of this when they discussed the attack outside his home. If he had known about the reward and hadn’t forewarned him, he’d be even more pissed. If not, then O’Brian didn’t know squat about the enemy’s intentions. Yet, another reason not to engage with the Army.

  Trish and he were better off on their own. The absence of an attack while under Army protection might lull them into complacency, and if they became lazy, they’d become easy targets. He and Trish might as well face the threat while they were frightened. They had battled a secret society previously and they could do it again. At that time, his police department was of no support because they suspected him of complicity in a crime. Now he ran the police department. The Santa Barbara Police Department? Not as big or mighty as the Army, but trustworthy and capable. Although they couldn’t gather information by lurking in the shadows like the Templar Knights, the department did have connections and alliances with federal anti-terrorist agencies. That could be valuable. He started putting together a plan and vowed to meet with Mayor Walsh at the first opportunity.

  Once he had decided to stiff-arm the Army and the Templars, he became calm and purposeful. He felt relaxed when the car dropped him off at his house.

  When he entered his home, it felt empty.

  Instead of calling out, he drew his gun. Something didn’t feel right. The rambling hacienda style house surrounded an interior patio. Instead of proceeding in the direction of the kitchen on the left side, he took the route through the library to the right. The prior owner had been a bibliophile, so the library was large. Evarts went over to a window and cautiously peeked through the saguaro shutters to the other side of the house. He saw no one in the center court and spotted no movement through the opposite side windows. He glanced at his watch. His wife could still be at work, but where was their maid? She usually cooked supper about this hour. There was a casual eating area beside the kitchen with a large window looking out onto the center court. From Evarts’ viewpoint, he could see directly into the kitchen. No movement.

  He carefully made his way through the house and around the courtyard until he arrived at the kitchen. He encountered no one. Dead silence. The kitchen was spick-and-span except for an envelope on the counter. Evarts apprehensively approached it until he recognized his wife’s writing. Then he jumped at it and ripped it open.

  Greg,

  Sorry about arguing with you on the phone. You’re right to worry. As a precaution, I’m staying at Bill Moore’s until you get home. I gave the maid the week off.

  Love you, Trish.

  Clever girl. They knew no one named Bill Moore, but they occasionally put up out-of-town guests at the Biltmore. If someone broke in and examined the note, they would have been at least temporarily thrown off track. The resort was much closer to UCSB, so her commute on public streets would be shorter. The only drawback was safety. Although the resort had excellent security for a hotel, it didn’t compare to the system surrounding his home.

  Evarts carefully examined the envelop and note. He could find no indication that it had been opened and resealed. He shredded them both in a small office off the kitchen.

  He carried his overnight bag upstairs and emptied it into the clothes hamper. He was about to refill it with fresh clothes but decided to exchange the bag for a large suitcase. He didn’t know for sure, but they could be at the Biltmore for an extended stay. Besides, a suitcase would accommodate some additional weapons. Never a bad idea when professional killers were after you. He rolled the suitcase to a gun safe in the master closet. After he opened it, he smiled. Trish’s favorite pistol was missing. She had armed herself. Good for her. He pulled out two additional pistols, a USMC KA-Bar knife, and an Armalite M-15 LE Carbine designed for law enforcement. After packing ammunition, Evarts was glad he had chosen a sturdy roller bag to handle the weight.

  When he rolled the bag to the garage, he was taken aback for a moment. He had forgotten that his truck was in an autobody shop. He glanced at the other two vehicles backed into the five-car garage. He considered the Sprinter that he used for surfing but decided against it. As a getaway vehicle, the Sprinter was awkward to drive and easy to spot. He seldom used his assigned police Utility Interceptor but that would have to do. On normal days, he drove his civilian pickup truck because the Interceptor screamed police, and he preferred to surveil his town unnoticed.

  After loading his gear in back, he was about to open the garage door when the home security system sounded an alarm. He unzipped the bag and pulled out the M-15 before going to a monitor in a tiny office off the mudroom.

  He felt himself suck in a breath. Four armed men approached the house.

  Chapter 22

  How did they get past the gate without setting off the alarm? Damn. As least the motion or vibration sensors had given him warning. He watched two approach the front door and the other two split up to go down either side of the house. The two at the front stayed with their back against the wall. One with a phone to his ear. They were waiting for their cohorts to assess the rear of the house.

  Evarts decided these odds were not in his favor.

  He got into his Interceptor and started the motor. The garage was fifty feet to the side of the front door, so the men in front hopefully would not hear the quiet motor. He lightly depressed the accelerator while in park and hit the garage door remote. He watched the garage door through the rearview mirror until he could see the bottom rise to just above the bottom of car’s rear window, then he dropped the transmission into reverse and slammed the accelerator to the floorboard. He crashed through the partially open door, spun the wheel, and skidded into a tight turn that put the front of the car heading for the gate. Before he even fully completed the turn, he triggered the gate remote and again pressed the gas pedal to the floor. His gravel driveway spewed pebbles everywhere and inhibited traction, but the all-wheel drive soon caught purchase and sped toward the gate. A glance to the rearview mirror showed the assailants raising weapons. He swerved. The utility vehicle bounced over a low curb and slid on the larger groundcover stones that provided fill for their natural landscaping. The Interceptor automatically downshifted and continued to pick up momentum. Evarts heard gunfire and bent low. A couple thuds meant that bullets had hit the car, so he veered sharply back onto the drive, keeping the gas pedal depressed.

  It was
going to be close. His steel gate inhibited crash-throughs and it was only partially open. He had to chance it. Aiming for the center, he willed it to open faster until the Interceptor flew through the opening without an inch to spare on either side. He slammed the brake pedal with both feet, sliding through the driveway that extended beyond the gate … and into the street. He braced for a crash. His luck held. No oncoming traffic. Then his luck ran out. Two additional men lingered by cars parked alongside the road. Evarts let off the brakes and punched the accelerator as he struggled to make a sliding turn into the road. One back wheel skidded onto the shoulder and more rocks got thrown in his wake.

  He was gone.

  The sentries had been too startled to shoot at him and a road curve took him out of their sight. Would they give chase? If they were smart, the two of them would jump in one car and leave the other for their comrades. Were they smart? He soon got a glimpse of a pursuit car in the distance. Thankfully, a rental car. The full-size sedan couldn’t match his Interceptor. He continued to drive hard as he flipped on the police radio and grabbed his mic. Before he could speak, he heard the dispatcher announce gunfire at his address. The gunshot detection locator system he had installed throughout the city had done its job and alerted the station.

  He triggered the mic. “This is Chief Evarts. Armed assailants at my home. One car in pursuit and another still at the house. Armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Blockade the street. Repeat, do not approach.”