Johannson wouldn’t be fooled that easily, however. “I don’t believe you,” he said to Cade, “but that’s fine. You don’t have to convince me anyway. My people will get to the truth. We can talk about what you need to do to atone for your sins once you’ve had a chance to chat with them. I’m sure you’ll be in a more receptive state of mind at that point anyway.”
Cade wanted to reach through the slot and knock the smile of satisfaction off of Johannson’s face, but he knew that wouldn’t get him anything but momentary satisfaction. He’d still be here, locked in up a cell, and Johannson would be pissed off instead of smug.
Smug was less dangerous.
Still, he couldn’t let the Preceptor’s challenge – and it was a challenge, for Cade knew exactly how the Inquisitors got their information – go unanswered.
“By all means, bring them on down. I’ve got all day to sit around and talk,” Cade said with a belligerent smile. “You might want to make sure you have enough men this time, though, given how my last “chat” with your people went.”
Johannson answered Cade’s smile with one of his own.
“Oh, I think I have all the men I’m going to need,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”
Johannson then reached out and slid the cover over the slot, cutting off anything else Cade might have been about to say. Still smiling, he waved to someone down that hall out of Cade’s line of sight.
Sweet dreams?
Given its source, the usually pleasant phrase had a decidedly ominous tone to it and Cade knew in that second that he’d missed something.
Something important.
He turned away, dismissing the Preceptor with seemingly casual indifference, but inside his thoughts were whirling. Johannson clearly thought he had the upper hand. Maybe that was just because he was out there and Cade was in here, but he didn’t think so.
There was more to it than that.
From the corner of his eye he could see that Johannson was still watching him, as if waiting for something to happen, so Cade began to think that whatever it was, its arrival was rather imminent.
What was it Johannson said? Sweet dreams?
He glanced around the room, but didn’t see anything beyond the sink and the chemical toilet. Certainly nothing that could be a danger to him. There were a couple of scuff marks on the floor where the bed had been, but that was all.
What the hell…?
As he turned his gaze swept over the slot in the door in front of him, the slot that Johannson just closed from the outside, effectively isolating Cade’s cell from the rest of the facility.
He froze.
Almost unwillingly his head turned slightly and his gaze swept up the wall next to the door, all the way to the top where narrow ducts had been set into the wall just below the point where it met the ceiling.
Ducts that were part of the cell’s state-of-the-art air filtration system.
If a prisoner got too unruly, they could lower the amount of air getting to that individual cell or, if they had to take someone down fast, they could pump in a gas-based sedative and let nature take its course. Once the prisoner was too weak to put up a fight, a squad of guards could be sent in to deal with the situation without any fuss.
Suddenly Johannson’s “sweet dreams” made a hell of a lot more sense.
Cade stopped and listened. It took a moment, but once he shut out the sound of his pounding heart, he could make out a slight hissing sound at the edge of his hearing.
He didn’t envy the thought of being knocked unconscious for the third time in as many days.
The Preceptor was still watching him, no doubt waiting for him to start panicking, but he’d be damned if he would give the man a show. He was reasonably confident they wouldn’t kill him – they still thought he had information to provide. So short of an accidental overdose they would probably just gas him unconscious in order to move him to an interrogation room without putting themselves in danger.
It was the smart thing to do, after all, and a procedure that Cade himself had put into place for all such facilities in the Templar network three years earlier.
Not that it mattered; he was still pissed that they were using it on him.
Rather than wait for the gas to knock him on his ass, Cade walked to the center of the room and laid down on the ground. To be sure his bare hands didn’t touch anything when he passed out, he stuck them as deep into his pockets as he could manage.
After that, there wasn’t much to do but listen to the hiss of the gas and wait.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Getting to Scotland turned out to be easier than Riley thought it would be.
After making up his mind, Riley returned to his quarters and logged onto his computer. He wasn’t the tech whiz that Olsen had been, but he’d learned a thing or two from his former squad-mate that he put to good use now. When he was done, he printed out what he needed and then sent the rest of it winging its way through cyberspace to its final destination. It wouldn’t hold up to a forensic search, but it would certainly do the trick for the time being.
He quickly packed a bag and headed for the heliport where he tracked down one of the Blackhawk pilots he was friendly with and had him ferry him over to John F Kennedy airport, where the Order maintained a small selection of aircraft operated under the Vatican flag. A cargo plane was getting ready for a flight to Edinburgh, so Riley concocted a story about needing to be at the commandery before dawn and managed to secure a seat in the back with the cargo for the passage over. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable overseas trip he’d ever had, but it served its purpose and Riley had long ago given up any pretensions that comfort was a right that everyone was guaranteed. He knew better; he was a Templar, after all.
He did his best to catch some sleep which bouncing around on the bench seat in back and arrived in Edinburgh just over seven hours after boarding the plane in New York. He quickly made his way to Immigration and Customs, his Vatican-issued passport whisking him through the process without hassle or delay. Ten minutes later he was behind the wheel of a rental car, headed south toward the village of Roslin and the sprawling underground complex that housed the Templar world headquarters in the hills just beyond.
He entered through the De Molay Gate, named after the famed Grand Master who had been burned at the stake in 1307 for refusing to divulge the whereabouts of the Templar’s vast treasure to Pope Innocent and his ally, the King of France. The treasure had, in fact, been stored in the very first iteration of the very facility he was entering and Riley always tried to take this route when he could, if only to honor the man who had preserved their Order with both his foresight and his bravery. He left the car with one of the motor pool attendants, logged his entry into the commandery as was required, and then headed for the administrative wing in hopes of scoring an audience with the Seneschal.
It was late in the evening so the halls were empty for the most part and it didn’t take him long to get to his destination. To his surprise, and relief, he found the Seneschal’s aide still at his desk. He stepped up, identified himself, and asked for an immediate audience with the Seneschal.
“It is literally a matter of life and death.”
But the aide wasn’t moved. “I’m sorry, Captain Riley, but the Seneschal is in a meeting at the moment and won’t be done for several hours.” He glanced at his computer screen. “I can fit you, um, say mid-morning on Thursday?”
Riley wanted to laugh. He’d walked in the door saying it was a matter of life and death and this flunky wanted him to settle for an appointment seventy-two hours from now? Not going to happen.
“As I said, it’s rather urgent. I’ll wait for him to finish his meeting.”
Riley took a seat and settled in, over the aide’s protests. There wasn’t much the man could do short of calling security and Riley highly doubted that was going to happen. Riley was beginning to discover that there was a certain amount of prestige that went along with bei
ng head of the Order’s special combat teams and it wasn’t beyond him to throw his weight around a bit to ensure he got what he wanted or needed for his men.
He was going to see the Seneschal about Cade and that was that.
Riley had a bit more patience than Cade did, but only a little; both were men of action and sitting around and waiting for someone else to take the necessary action was not something that sat well with either one of them. The current Echo Team commander managed the first half-hour without too much trouble, but as that began to sink into an hour and beyond, his boredom began to turn to annoyance.
To get his point across, he took to staring directly at the aide for long periods of time, refusing to look away whenever the man looked up. Eventually he got so flustered that he jumped out of his seat, excused himself, and disappeared into the Seneschal’s inner office.
Riley was tempted to follow him inside, but resisted the urge, knowing the Seneschal was a bit of a stickler for proper decorum and Riley didn’t want to damage his chances of talking to the man by being pushy.
The aide was only gone a few minutes. When he returned he handed Riley a folded piece of paper with a decidedly relieved look on his face before returning to his seat at his desk.
Riley unfolded the piece of paper and saw that it was a handwritten note.
Captain Riley, it began.
I admire your dedication and support of our mutual friend but I have done all I can for the time being. Enjoy your stay in Scotland; I understand the chapel restoration looks particularly spectacular in the morning sunlight.
It was signed, Ferguson.
When he was finished reading, Riley folded the note up and stuffed it deep in his pocket. He thanked the aide for his help and then left the Seneschal’s office at a brisk walk.
Ferguson’s barely-veiled request to meet him at the chapel in the morning certainly wouldn’t be hard for anyone else to suss it out should they stumble upon the message, but then again, it didn’t really matter if it was well-hidden or not. The note had come from the Seneschal and, if pressed, he could say that it meant exactly what it seemed to say – that Captain Riley should take the time to see the Rosslyn Chapel restoration before leaving. To suggest otherwise, to question the validity of the Seneschal’s word, would be a tact that only the most foolish would pursue.
At least one thing was clear; the Seneschal was not abandoning Cade to his fate. At least Riley didn’t think so. If he was, he simply would have told Riley that Cade was on his own. The fact that Ferguson was arranging for a clandestine meeting with Riley seemed to suggest that Cade still had some allies within the Templar hierarchy.
That was a good thing, a very good thing indeed.
A glance at his watch told him that it was getting pretty late, so he decided to grab a sandwich from the galley and secure a room for himself in the visiting officer quarters for the night.
He was headed down the hall to his assigned room, munching on a turkey sub as he went, when he heard someone call his name from behind.
“Captain Riley! A word, if you please?”
He turned to see Preceptor Johannson beckoning to him from the doorway of an office he’d just passed. The Preceptor did not look very happy to see him.
Shit, Riley thought as he turned and retraced his footsteps. Johannson was the last person he wanted to run into, but now that he had he needed to play it cool. Thankfully he’d prepared in advance.
He dumped his sandwich in a nearby trash can and kept his expression neutral as he stepped up to the office door.
Game time, he thought.
Johannson had already retreated into the room by the time Riley reached it. Looking in from the doorway he could see that it was one of the temporary offices used by visiting staff. It had minimal furnishings – a desk, an office chair, a desktop computer and printer on a nearby shelf. There were two chairs arranged in front of the office, but Johannson didn’t offer him a seat as he told him to step into the room and close the door.
Riley did as he was told without comment, but one word kept reverberating around in his head as he did so.
Asshole.
Johannson’s next comment did little to relieve him of his opinion either.
“What in hell are you doing here, Captain? Are you so incompetent that you think the Adversary has taken to hiding in the halls of this commandery?”
“Sir, I...”
“Relieving you of command of the search wasn’t enough for you? Do I need to assign you to guard duty to get you to focus on the mission you’re assigned?”
Riley tried again. “With all due respect, sir,”
He didn’t get any further as Johannson cut him off again. “I’m beginning to think that your friendship with that traitor Williams has deprived you of all of your common sense. First you have that fiasco on the bridge, then you allow him to escape custody, it’s like a bad...”
Riley withdrew a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket and, stepping forward, laid it without a word on the Preceptor’s desk.
Johannson stopped in mid-sentence and stared at it.
“What is that?” he asked, his nostrils flaring as if he’d smelled something putrid.
Riley had to work to hold in his laughter. It wasn’t easy.
“My orders, sir,” he said quietly.
“Orders?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Preceptor snatched up the piece of paper, opened it, and read what was printed there.
Riley could practically hear the Preceptor’s irritation growing by the word.
When he was finished, Johannson brandished the paper in front of him like a weapon, his fury exploding into the room. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is this?!”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the computer keyboard closer to him and began pounding on the keys.
Riley didn’t need to see the screen to know that Johannson was pulling up the system that kept a record of all of the personnel orders issued across the Templar network and looking for the digital version of the set that Riley had just handed him. Orders that demanded Riley’s immediate presence in Rosslyn to discuss the Cade Williams situation. Orders supposedly issued by Seneschal Ferguson.
They weren’t, not really. Riley knew that because he’d hacked the system and issued them in Ferguson’s name. It would take a solid forensic investigation to prove that it hadn’t been issued by Ferguson, however, and Riley was confident that wasn’t going to happen in the near future. He cast a silent prayer heavenward to his old friend, Nick Olsen, for teaching him that particular trick; damn, but he missed him.
Johannson clearly wasn’t happy with what he found on the screen, for his face went a darker shade of red and there was now a thick vein throbbing visibly on the side of his head. Riley made sure to look away before he glanced up; the thousand yard stare over his shoulder was a tool every good noncom cultivated and he hadn’t lost his skill at it just because he’d been promoted to an officer.
The Preceptor sat fuming at the computer screen for a moment and then finally found his voice. “I don’t know what this is all about but I won’t stand for it. I am countermanding the Seneschal’s request and ordering you back to Ravensgate immediately to resume the search for the Adversary.”
Johannson simply didn’t have the authority to do what he was suggesting, but Riley didn’t think now was the best time to bring it up. He opted for an alternate tactic.
“The evening’s last flight has already left Edinburgh, sir. The next one isn’t until mid-morning.”
Johannson stared at him for a moment, then picked up his phone and called Operations, asking if there were any more flights to the States that evening.
Riley bit his tongue to keep him from saying anything and waited until the duty officer told Johannson the exact same thing – the last flight had left half an hour before and Edinburgh was closed for the night.
Johannson slammed down the phone. �
�I don’t know what bullshit you’re up to, Riley, but mark my words, if you cross me you will regret it. Now get out of my office and make sure you’re on that first flight out of here in the morning. That’s an order.”
This time Riley caught the man’s stare and held it, saying everything with his eyes that he couldn’t say with his mouth. When Johannson looked away first, Riley allowed a small smile to cross his face.
“Understood, sir,” he said and then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him as he went.
Asshole, he thought, as he headed off down the hall.
Orders or no orders, he had no intention of being on that flight.
# # #
When Cade came to, he found himself tied to a chair alone in an empty room.
His ankles were strapped to the chair’s legs while his wrists had been secured to the arms in similar fashion. His bare hands hung off the ends of the arm supports, but he couldn’t bend them back far enough to reach the knot just below his wrist on either side. Last but not least, a thick strap was wrapped several times around both his chest and the back of the chair.
He gave a few experimental tugs but whoever had done the work had done it properly. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Turning away from his bonds, he gave the room around him the rest of his attention.
The walls and the floor were bare stone and the only light came from a portable lamp that was hanging from an ancient-looking sconce set in the wall. An iron grate was set in the floor a few feet in front of him and it didn’t take much to imagine the kinds of things that had been sluiced between its bars over the years.
A wheeled cart was backed up against the wall directly in front of him. Several items were laid out for display across its top, which reminded Cade of some torturer’s cart from a B-grade horror flick. Except that instead of knives and saws and devices intended to maim and kill, these particular items were completely benign, in some cases even innocuous.
Judgment Day (Templar Chronicles Book 5) Page 13
