The Last Templar

by Raymond Khoury

  Vance suddenly frowned, his attention gripped by something beyond the suspended rig. Attal’s face brightened as he gripped Tess’s arm and nodded in the same direction, toward the west. She glanced beyond the bow and saw a ghostly shape in the distance. It was the Karadeniz, straining against the crushing waves and bearing down on them.

  Vance spun angrily to the helmsman. “Get us out of here,” he ordered, waving his handgun furiously.

  Streaks of sweat tinged with blood streaked down the helmsman’s face as he struggled to keep the ship from turning broadside to the waves. “We have to recover the divers first,” he protested.

  “Leave them,” Vance roared. “The patrol boat will pick them up. It’ll help delay them.”

  The helmsman’s eyes were darting around, taking in the wind readings on the weather radar. He pointed toward the Karadeniz. “The only way out of this storm is toward them.”

  “No. We can’t go that way,” Vance shouted.

  Tess watched the Karadeniz inch closer and turned to Vance. “Please, Bill. It’s over. They have us surrounded, and, if we don’t get out of here now, the storm’s going to kill us all.”

  Vance flashed her a silencing glare, then shot anxious glances out the windshield and down at the weather radar. His eyes turned to ice. “South,” he barked to the helmsman. “Take us south.”

  The helmsman’s eyes rocketed wide, as if he’d been punched in the gut. “South? That’s right into the storm,” he countered. “You’re insane.”

  Vance shoved his gun into the face of the hesitating man and, without warning, squeezed the trigger, nudging the gun slightly off to one side just as it erupted. The bullet just missed the helmsman and smashed into a bulkhead behind him. Vance shot a quick, threatening glance at the others on the bridge before shoving his handgun back into the shell-shocked man’s face. “You can take your chances with the waves…or with a bullet. It’s your call.”

  The helmsman just stared back at him for a moment, flicked a quick eye over his instruments, then spun the wheel and pushed forward on the throttles. The boat churned ahead, leaving the divers floundering helplessly in its wake, and plunged head-on into the wrath of the storm.

  It was only when Vance finally took his eyes off the helmsman that he noticed Tess was gone.

  Chapter 77

  On the bridge of the Karadeniz, De Angelis stared through the Fujinon marine binoculars in furious disbelief.

  “They’ve got it,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t believe it. They’ve managed to bring it up.”

  Reilly had also spotted it, and a ripple of concern raced down his spine. So it was all true after all. There it was, plucked out of the abyss after hundreds of years by one man’s unwavering tenacity.

  Tess. What have you done?

  And with a reeling horror, he knew De Angelis would stop at nothing now.

  The first officer, standing next to them, also had his eyes peeled on the dive boat but had other concerns. “They’re heading south. They’re abandoning the divers.”

  As soon as he heard that, Karakas began snapping orders. Instantly, a siren blasted, followed by rapid-fire commands over the gunboat’s loudspeakers. Divers began suiting up immediately, while out on deck, crewmen hastily readied one of the patrol boat’s inflatable craft.

  De Angelis watched the frenzied activity with utter disbelief. “Forget the damn divers,” he barked, pointing frantically at the Savarona. “They’re getting away. We need to stop them.”

  “We can’t leave them here,” Karakas shot back, the scorn in his eyes barely disguised. “Besides, that ship will never make it through this storm. The waves are too big. We need to get out of here as soon as we’ve recovered the divers.”

  “No,” the monsignor snapped back firmly. “Even if there’s just one chance in a million that they’ll make it out in one piece, we can’t allow it to happen.” He stared sharply out the windshield, then turned back to face the stocky captain, his eyes gleaming with menace. “Sink them.”

  Reilly couldn’t stand back any longer. He lunged at De Angelis, grabbing him and spinning him around heavily to face him. “You can’t do that, there’s no—”

  He stopped in his tracks.

  The monsignor had pulled out a big automatic and shoved its muzzle into Reilly’s face. “Stay out of this,” he shouted, nudging Reilly back toward the rear of the cockpit.

  Reilly stared beyond the cold steel barrel hovering millimeters from him and into De Angelis’s eyes. They blazed with murderous fury.

  “You’ve outlived your purpose here,” the monsignor rasped. “Do you understand me?”

  There was such implacability in De Angelis’s expression that Reilly believed he would pull the trigger without the slightest hesitation. He also knew that if he made a move on him, he would be dead long before he even reached him.

  He nodded and eased back, steadying himself against the motion of the boat. “Easy, now,” he said calmly. “Easy.”

  De Angelis kept his eyes locked firmly on Reilly. “Use the cannon,” he ordered the skipper. “Before they get out of range.”

  Reilly could tell that Karakas was hugely uncomfortable with what was taking place on his ship. “We’re in international waters,” he objected, “and if that’s not enough for you, that’s a Greek ship we’re talking about. We already have enough trouble with—”

  “I don’t care,” De Angelis raged, turning to face Karakas and waving his handgun furiously. “This ship is operating under NATO command and, as the ranking officer, I’m giving you a direct order, Captain—”

  This time, it was Karakas who interrupted. “No,” he stated flatly, staring down De Angelis. “I’ll take my chances with a military tribunal.”

  The two men squared off for a tense moment, the monsignor’s right arm fully extended, his handgun squarely in the captain’s face. To Karakas’s credit, he didn’t flinch. He just stood his ground until the monsignor thrust him aside, turned to Plunkett, and ordered him to watch them as he charged for the door to the gangway. “The hell with you,” he seethed. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Plunkett moved into position, pulling out his own holstered handgun as the monsignor slid the door open. The gale-force wind blasted into the bridge. De Angelis steeled himself and stepped out into the raging storm.

  Reilly darted an incredulous glance at Karakas just as a big wave slammed into the cutter broadside, rocking the bridge and forcing everyone on it to grab a handhold. Reilly saw the opportunity and took it. He bolted at Plunkett, getting to him just as the CIA operative was reaching out to steady himself against the console beside him. Reilly managed to block the hand that held the gun against the counter, while delivering a jarring uppercut that loosened Plunkett’s grip enough for Reilly to wrangle the gun off him. Plunkett came back with a furious, wild swing, but Reilly blocked it and, without hesitating, swung the handgun at the killer, connecting with a savage blow across his forehead. Plunkett slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  Reilly tucked the handgun under his belt, stepped past the captain, grabbed a life vest and frantically strapped it on, and followed De Angelis out.

  The wind pounded him immediately, slamming him back against the pilothouse’s wall like a rag doll. Reilly steadied himself and, pulling himself along the railing hand over hand, spotted the rain-lashed silhouette of the monsignor inching his way forward along the bulwark and heading inexorably for the foredeck, where the automatic cannon was mounted.

  Shielding his eyes as he advanced, he glanced beyond the bow and glimpsed the Savarona. It was lurching heavily, only a couple of hundred yards away now but separated from the patrol boat by a mountainous sea.

  Reilly suddenly froze. On the deck below the diving ship’s wheelhouse, a small figure appeared to be moving, battered by torrents of water, clinging desperately to the rigging.

  He felt the air leave his lungs.

  He was sure it was Tess.

  TESS HASTENED DOWN THE companionway, her th
oughts a blur and her heartbeat throbbing deafeningly in her ears. She scanned the walls, desperately trying to remember where she’d seen the ax.

  She finally found it, mounted on a bulkhead just outside the galley. Within seconds, she’d also found a life jacket and strapped it on. Sucking in a deep breath and rallying herself for what she was about to do, she yanked open the watertight door, stepped over the coaming, and threw herself into the fury that was raging outside.

  Tess knew Vance wouldn’t risk moving from the cockpit. Clutching the ax with one hand and using the other to steady herself, she moved carefully across the main deck, releasing life vests as she went, hoping they might be of some use to the stranded divers.

  She saw a huge wave crest over the bow and locked her arms around a railing, bracing herself as a wall of water hit her head-on and buried the deck. She then felt the deck slide away from under her as the Savarona flew off the top of the wave and rocketed down its steep back before landing heavily in its trough. She pulled herself up and, through the tangle of hair that whipped stingingly across her face, she spotted the falcon, dangling in midair several feet above the deck, swaying wildly. She scrambled toward the base of the crane and the wire rope emerging from its reel.

  Reaching it, she glanced up at the window of the cockpit. Through the veils of spray, she saw Vance’s alarmed face. She steeled herself, raised the ax, and swung it with all her might. She almost lost her grip as it bounced off the taut cable and looked up to see Vance rushing out of the wheelhouse and fighting the wind that plowed into him. He was gesturing wildly and screaming what looked like a continuous “No!” from the top of his lungs, but with the howling of the wind, Tess couldn’t hear it. Undeterred, she swung again, steadied herself, and then swung yet again. A strand snapped, then another as she smashed the ax down repeatedly in a frenzied flurry of blows.

  She wasn’t going to let Vance have it. Not this way. Not at this cost. She’d been a fool to give him the benefit of any doubt, and it was time to start making amends.

  The last strand finally gave way, and as the Savarona rolled to port, the falcon suddenly dropped, crashing down heavily into the sea.

  Tess clutched her way along the sloping deck, away from the pilothouse, ducking to avoid Vance’s sight line instinctively. Darting a quick backward glance, she glimpsed the flotation bags emerging from the foaming water. Her heart stopped as she waited to see if they still held the falcon, then she let out a heavy breath when she spotted its dark brown, rounded shape sticking out from between the inflated balloons.

  Her elation at succeeding was short-lived as, at that very moment, a staccato of small explosions rocked the Savarona. Diving for cover, Tess glanced back at the patrol boat pursuing them and was amazed to see the cannon at its bow spitting out a deadly fire.

  LASHED BY THE DRIVING spray and the ferocious wind, Reilly raced after De Angelis.

  The Karadeniz strained to hold its position, its rescue divers hauling one of the stranded divers onto a rigid inflatable boat, while the other man clung desperately to a life preserver until he too could be hauled aboard.

  The monsignor finally reached the foredeck. Within seconds, he had positioned himself firmly between the gun’s semicircular, padded-shoulder mounts. Unlocking the fearsome weapon and swinging it around with expert ease, he quickly found the escaping dive boat and unleashed a ferocious burst of incendiary 23mm shells.

  “No!” Reilly yelled, climbing over the railing and onto the cannon’s deck. Even with the wind screaming past his ears, the noise from the cannon was deafening.

  He lunged at De Angelis, jolting the gun off course and sending the tracers arcing away from the Savarona and disappearing harmlessly into the sea. The monsignor slid one of his shoulders out from the gun’s mount and grabbed Reilly’s hand, twisting his fingers back to an unnatural angle before swinging a savage blow that caught Reilly midcheek and sent him stumbling backward across the tilting, water-swept deck.

  Unable to regain his feet, Reilly was swept across the deck and carried away from De Angelis. He tried desperately to grab something to arrest his slide. His hand caught a piece of rope and he held on. He managed to pick himself up but could only hang on as the patrol boat lurched heavily up a mountain of water. By the time it crested the wave, De Angelis had pulled himself back into position, and the diving boat came back into view. The monsignor let rip with another volley. Horrified, Reilly stared helplessly as dozens of shells traced their brilliant, deadly paths through the near darkness to rain down on the dive boat. Flames and puffs of smoke leaped into the air as most of the shells impacted on the Savarona’s unprotected stern.

  CROUCHING LOW BEHIND A STEEL BOXING, Tess felt her heart beating its way out of her chest as the Savarona shuddered under the remorseless pounding from the rapid-firing chain gun. At a thousand rounds per minute, even a short burst packed a devastating punch.

  The shells were chewing up the deck all around her when a muffled explosion from deep inside the vessel rocked her, causing her to scream. Almost immediately, a cloud of black smoke billowed from the stern and out of the smokestacks on the whaledeck. The ship lurched sideways, almost as if someone had hit the brakes. Tess knew the engine had been hit. She guessed—hoped—that the fuel tank itself had been spared, as the ship hadn’t exploded from under her. She counted down each passing second, waiting for it to happen, but it didn’t.

  But this was just as bad.

  Without power, the crippled dive boat was helpless against the confused sea. Waves were coming in from all directions, pummeling the ship, and causing it to lurch and spin like a bumper car in a fairground.

  Tess stared in horror as a huge mountain of sea rose up behind the Savarona, caught up with it, and broke over the pilothouse. She barely managed to clip on a lifeline to the railing and clasp her arms around it before the water avalanched over the ship, inundating the entire deck and causing the half-inch Lexan windows of the cockpit to implode.

  She wiped the wet hair off her face and glanced up at the ravaged wheelhouse. There was no sign of Vance or of the others. She felt the onset of tears and crumpled herself up into a ball, hanging on for dear life. She looked to where she had last seen the patrol boat, expecting it to be even nearer now, but it was nowhere in sight.

  And then she saw it. A huge, sixty-foot wave. So steep it was almost vertical with a massive trough in front of it that seemed to be sucking the Savarona in.

  It was bearing down on the stricken ship across its port side.

  Tess shut her eyes, tight. Without power, there was no way to turn the dive boat to either face the wave, or run from it—not that there was anyone left at the helm. Either maneuver would have caused the ship to take a big hit and be engulfed by water, but it would have still come out right side up.

  This monster was about to slam into them broadside.

  And when it did, it lifted the 130-ton steel ship effortlessly and rolled it over like a child’s toy.

  REILLY WATCHED THE SHELLS erupting across the dive boat’s stern and the black smoke spewing out from it and yelled at De Angelis as loudly as he could, but he knew there was no way the monsignor was going to hear him over the screaming wind and the clamor of the gunfire.

  He suddenly felt exhausted and totally depleted, and, at that very moment, he realized what he had to do.

  Bracing himself against the railing, he pulled out the automatic, steadied its muzzle against the onslaught of the wind as best he could, and pulled the trigger repeatedly. Red puffs erupted from the monsignor’s back and he arced backward, then fell forward against the machine gun, tilting its barrel toward the angry sky.

  Reilly tossed the Glock aside and peered out from the patrol boat’s deck. Eyes straining against the squall, he searched for the Savarona, but all he could see through the sheets of rain were rampaging mountains and valleys of foaming, white-streaked water.

  The rescue divers had somehow managed to make it back on board with the men they had pulled out of the sea, a
nd Reilly felt the patrol boat turning away from its previous heading, the engines surging in an effort to hasten the turn and limit the time it would sit “beam-to” the waves and be exposed to broaching. A sense of panic gripped him as he realized they were heading back, away from the storm.

  Just then, the waves cleared for a few seconds and his eyes rocketed wide at the sight of the capsized dive boat, its filthy hull slipping below the converging waves.

  There was no sign of survivors.

  He looked back toward the bridge and saw the skipper motioning to him frantically to get back inside. Reilly shielded his face and pointed toward where he’d seen the Savarona, but Karakas waved his hands in a No gesture and pointed away, indicating they had to get out while they still could.

  Reilly gripped the railing with white knuckles, his mind feverishly sifting through his options, but there was really only one thing he could contemplate doing.

  He scrambled toward the gunboat’s rigid inflatable boat, which the divers had left tethered off its starboard side. Dredging everything in his memory that he could recall from a routine FBI training course with the U.S. Coast Guard, he leaped into the motorized lifeboat, pulled the release lever, and, hanging onto its handles, held his breath as it jettisoned off the patrol boat and into the raging sea.

  Chapter 78

  Reilly managed to fire up the inflatable’s motor and, peering into the blinding curtain of rain and spray, he steered toward where he thought he’d last seen the capsized Savarona. He was winging it as best he could in the constantly shifting landscape around him, riding on instinct and on hope, as he’d lost all sense of direction. The water was so frothy and the air so wet that it was almost impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began.