The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) James Best (best books to read all time .txt) 📖

the user, but not absolutely hack-proof. Take my word for it, this terrorist group is highly sophisticated. They can get through firewalls and other security measure. Also, nothing leaves that room. Cell phones checked on entry and no thumb drives allowed inside. Telephone communication by landline. Everything recorded.”

“Aren’t we a bit paranoid?” Standish asked.

“We? I’m paranoid. You, on the other hand, need to ramp up your paranoia.”

“Yes, sir. Do you have an initial assignment or guidance? We can’t just thrash around looking for leads to a mystery organization.”

“Start with the attacks on me. Try to trace the assailants back to the Baltimore mob. Get everything the Baltimore police have on these mobsters. Try to make an Islamic connection. Get what you can from the Paris police. Establish formal communications with the National Counterterrorism Center. Offer them everything on the two attacks and give them access to our arrestees. That ought to nudge out of them at least some reciprocal information. Start with all the major Islamic terrorist groups. Whittle the list down. They have lots of money, so eliminate groups that operate hand to mouth. Our goal is to identify the group who perpetrated the Pont Neuf attack. Until we have their name, we can’t focus your task force efforts.”

Standish had been scribbling feverishly. When she caught up on notetaking, she asked, “And the assignment?”

“For now, get your unit grounded on terrorism. Oh, and another thing, Army Intelligence has an informant within this department … or possibly at civic center. Find him or her. When you do, report to me. Don’t confront them.”

Standish laid down her pen. “I know General O’Brian. He’s been a friend to you and the department. He’s not a villain in this piece.” When she got no response, she added, “It could be relatively benign.”

“Nevertheless, I want to know who it is?”

“To what purpose?”

“To my purpose.”

Chapter 29

Evarts arrived home early. Four plain-clothes officers had accompanied him. Two officers drove rental sedans that Trish and he would adopt as their own when they returned to the resort. Evarts pulled his Sprinter out of the garage, so the officers could stow the bland vehicles out of sight.

He didn’t expect trouble, but his distrust of Lewis caused him to take precautions. After double-checking the electronic surveillance system, he assigned two officers inside and two outside the house. One of the outside men would watch the front from inside his van. The second officer would keep an eye on the rear of the house. He assigned one inside officer to sit in the surveillance center off the mud room and the other would close himself into the small office off the kitchen.

Would Lewis come with ill intent? Evarts doubted it. He was still trying to play Evarts. But why was he being played? What could he contribute to the Templar Knights? As police chief of a sleepy coastal town, he had little to contribute to their secret intrigues that spanned the globe. He had shown some skill and presence of mind on Pont Neuf, but that kind of talent can be bought. He was a casual Mason and his electronic surveillance skills were woefully out of date. It didn’t make sense.

Then it did. He had one unique characteristic. A group of terrorists wanted him dead. Very much wanted him dead. To the tune of a million dollars. That gave him value to the Templars. As bait. As a lure. As an enticement to bring their enemy into the open. The Templars wanted to dangle him and his wife to attract vermin, and those vermin wanted them dead. What a predicament.

Evarts had a new thought. Why would the Pont Neuf terrorists so desperately want them dead? That remained a mystery. He had killed two of their own, but it had been late in the attack. People had already been herded toward the right bank. It made little difference to the outcome, and the men on the bridge with swords were pawns, expendable. Not nearly important enough to provoke a million-dollar grudge. Templar snipers foiled the major thrust of the attack and killed the A-Team. They should have been the ones to have drawn the terrorists’ ire.

Then Evarts understood. He understood it all.

The Templars had leaked that he was one of theirs. Probably high echelon. He and his wife weren’t just raw meat dangled in the wind; they were artfully crafted lures meant to tempt deadly prey. That was bad enough, but what really pissed Evarts off was that the Templars hadn’t asked permission. They could have protected themselves if they had known the plan. Instead, they had served as unwitting bait and had been attacked twice, attacks perpetrated by surrogates. That must have disappointed the Templars. Damn. That’s what this meeting’s about. And the meeting in Washington. Lewis’ surprise visit in D.C. wasn’t for recruitment, he was projecting an image of intimacy between Evarts and the Templars. They probably leaked photos of their stroll through Arlington. Yeah, that would make him a target of the bad guys. A policeman who foiled a terrorist attack cozying up with a Templar Knight.

Evarts slapped the kitchen countertop. He was being used. Without his permission. Without forewarning. His wife, as well. These shadowy figures had put their lives in jeopardy for nefarious purposes. And this meeting was nothing more than a continuance of the same charade.

Evarts was boiling hot and suddenly eager for Jim Lewis to arrive.

He heard noise from the front of the house. He recognized Trish by her footfall, but something was different. When she stepped into the kitchen, he hardly recognized her. Her deeply highlighted hair was now a consistent dull brown, and instead of purposely disheveled, it was shorter and coifed smoothly to the shape of her head. She wore heavier makeup, her glasses were gone, department store sportswear concealed her lithe body, and Vans sneakers replaced her normal flats.

Without preamble, she said, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m looking forward to this meeting.”