The Last Templar ts-1

by Raymond Khoury

  Tess thought she spotted something. She pointed excitedly at the corner of the screen. "What's that?

  Can you get a tighter shot of that?"

  Attal guided his robot as directed. Tess leaned in for a better look. In the bright glow of its spotlights, she could make out something rounded, barrel-like. It looked like it was made of rusted metal. It was hard to tell the relative scale of die objects on the screen, and, for a moment, she wondered if what she was seeing was a cannon. The thought triggered a sudden ripple of concern inside her—she knew a ship from the late Crusades wouldn't have been carrying one. But as die ROV swung closer, the curved metallic shape appeared different. It looked flatter and wider. From the corner of her eye, Tess saw an unhappy grimace break across Rassoulis's face.

  "That's steel plating," he said, shrugging. She knew what he meant before he said it. "It's not the Falcon.'' '

  The ROV banked around it, showing it from another angle. Attal nodded in grim confirmation. "And look, over here. That's paint." He looked up at Tess and shook his head with dismay. As the robot nosed around the sunken vessel's hull, it was pretty clear that what they had found were the remains of a far more recent ship.

  "Mid-nineteenth century," Rassoulis confirmed. "Sorry." He shot a glance out the window. The sea 176

  was getting increasingly restless, and dark-bellied clouds were rolling in from two fronts with alarming speed. "We'd better get out of here and head back anyway. This doesn't look good." He turned to Attal. "Bring Dori up. We're done here."

  Tess nodded slowly, heaving a dejected sigh. She was about to turn and leave the room when something at the edge of the screen caught her eye. She felt a sudden shiver of excitement and stared at it, wide-eyed, before jabbing a finger at the monitor's left side. "What's this? Right here?

  You see that?"

  Rassoulis craned his neck in, staring intently at the screen while Attal maneuvered the robot toward the spot Tess had pointed out. Peering between the two men, Tess studied the screen intently. At the edge of the ROV's frail light, a protrusion was coming into view. It looked like a leaning tree stump, rising out of a small mound. As the robot edged nearer, she could see that the mound was composed of what appeared to be spars, some of them trailing strands of seaweed, but which her imagination hoped were actually remnants of rigging. Some of the pieces were curved, like the ribs of an ancient carcass. Centuries of marine growth covered the ghostly remains.

  Her heart was racing. It had to be a ship. Another one, an older one, partially obscured by the more recent wreck lying on top of it.

  The ROV moved in closer, gliding over the disintegrating, coral-encrusted wreckage, its lights bathing the protrusion in their whitish glow.

  Tess suddenly felt the air being sucked out of the room around her.

  There, basking in the otherworldly glare of the spotlight and jutting out of the ocean floor in fierce defiance, stood the falcon figurehead.

  Chapter 75

  In the heaving wheelhouse, Rassoulis, Vance, and Tess stared out with growing concern at the approaching storm fronts. The wind had climbed to thirty knots, and the swell around the Savarona- had grown into breaking waves, the churning water now matching the roiling black clouds in their threat.

  Below the bridge, a small crane was settling the ROV down onto the main deck. Attal and two other crewmen stood there, braving the weather as they waited to fasten it down.

  Tess pulled the windblown hair out of her face. "Shouldn't we be heading back?" she asked Rassoulis.

  Vance jumped in, unhesitant. "Nonsense. It's not that bad. I'm sure we have time to send the ROV down for one more look," he said, smiling assertively to Rassoulis. "Don't you agree?"

  Tess watched the captain as he studied the bruised, angry skies bearing down on them. To their south, lightning tore at the clouds, and, even from this distance, they could see that thick veils of rain were now sweeping across the sea. "I don't like it. One front we can handle, but two . . . We can slip through them if we leave now." He turned to Vance. "Don't worry. Storms out here don't last too long, and our GPS locator's accurate to within a meter. We'll come back once it's passed, probably by morning."

  Vance scowled inwardly. "I'd really rather not leave here without something," he said calmly. "The falcon figurehead, for instance. Surely, we have time to recover that before we have to get out of here, don't we?" From Rassoulis's concerned frown, it was clear he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea. "I'm just worried that the storm will last longer than you expect," Vance pressed on, "and then, what with your other charter already booked, it could be months before we can get back and who knows what can happen in the meantime."

  Rassoulis scowled at the converging weather fronts, clearly evaluating whether or not the Savarona could afford to hang around the wreck site.

  "I'll make it worth your while," Vance persisted. "Bring up the falcon and I'm done here. You can have anything else that's down there."

  Rassoulis cocked a curious eyebrow. "That's all you want? The falcon?" He paused, scrutinizing Vance. Tess watched him and felt like she was intruding on a major poker game. "Why?"

  Vance shrugged, and his expression became distant. "It's personal. Call it a matter of. . . closure."

  His eyes hardened, settling back on Rassoulis. "We're wasting time. I'm sure we can do it if we move quickly. And after that, it's all yours."

  The captain seemed to consider his options for a few seconds, then nodded and stepped away, hollering orders at Attal and the other crewmen.

  Vance turned to Tess, his face jittery with nervous energy. "Almost there," he murmured, his voice crackling. "We're almost there."

  ***.

  "How much further?" De Angelis yelled to the captain.

  Reilly could feel the bridge of the Karadeniz reverberating heavily, much more so than it had before. For over an hour, they'd been cutting diagonally through waves that were stampeding toward their starboard side and pummeling the patrol boat's hull with increasing ferocity. With the wind shrieking in and the engines straining against the swell, they were having to shout to make themselves heard.

  "Just under twenty nautical miles," Karakas replied.

  "What about the chopper?"

  The skipper consulted his radar operator, then shouted back, "Contact estimated in just under five minutes."

  De Angelis breathed out heavily, stewing with impatience. "Can't this damn thing go any faster?"

  "Not in this sea," Karakas answered tersely.

  Reilly stepped closer to the skipper. "How bad will it be by the time we reach them?"

  Karakas shook his head, his expression grim. He didn't shout his answer, but Reilly heard it anyway.

  "God knows." He shrugged.

  ***

  Tess watched through rapt eyes as Attal's fingers coaxed Don's manipulator arm to attach the last of the harnesses to the falcon figurehead. Despite the difficult conditions, the crew had worked fast and with military precision in equipping the ROV with the necessary recovery equipment before sending it back into the churning water. Attal had performed his magic at the joystick, guiding the ROV down and positioning the retrieval netting with disarming efficiency. All that remained was to pull it back, use the remote control to trigger the simultaneous inflation of die three lift bags, and watch as the figurehead floated gently up to the surface.

  Attal nodded his readiness. "We can bring it up, but . . ." He let out a Gallic shrug, his eyes glancing toward the windshield, which was buffeted by the howling wind.

  Rassoulis frowned, staring out at the maelstrom raging around them. "I know. Getting it on board once it surfaces won't be easy." He turned to Vance, his expression dour. "We can't put a Zodiac down in this sea, and I don't want to risk sending divers in either. It's going to be hard enough getting the ROV back, but at least it's tethered and mobile." He paused, evaluating the rapidly deteriorating conditions, before seemingly making up his mind. "We won't be able to bring it up today. We'll leave the floats down th
ere and come back for it when the storm clears."

  Vance looked incredulous. "We have to bring it up now," he insisted. "We might not get another chance."

  "What are you talking about?" Rassoulis shot back. "No one's going to come out here and steal it 178

  from under us in this weather. We'll come back for it as soon as the weather allows it."

  "No!" Vance burst out angrily. "We have to do it now!"

  Rassoulis cocked his head back, surprised by the tone of Vance's outburst. "Look, I'm not risking anyone's life over this. We're heading back, and that's it." His eyes bored sharply into Vance's for a second before he turned to Attal. "Bring Dori up as quickly as you can," he snapped. But before he could issue any more orders, something attracted his attention. It was the familiar, guttural thumping of helicopter blades. Tess heard it too, and, from Vance's scowl, it was obvious he had as well.

  They grabbed some Windbreakers and stepped out onto the narrow deck outside the bridge. The wind had risen to a full gale, and sheets of rain were now sweeping in with it. Tess shielded her eyes with her hand as she scanned the turbulent sky, and she soon spotted it.

  "There," she yelled, pointing at it.

  It was skimming the water, heading straight for them. Within seconds, it was on them, bathtub white and with a wide diagonal red stripe, thundering over their heads before arcing up and banking for another pass. It slowed as it neared the ship, then hovered in place alongside the Savarona's port side, fighting the wind, its rotor wash blasting the sea and kicking up a swirling plume of water off the crests of the foaming waves. Tess could clearly make out the Turkish Coast Guard markings on its fuselage and could see the pilot talking into his microphone as his eyes moved over the vessel.

  He then pointed at his headset, gesturing vigorously for them to pick up their radio.

  ***

  On the Karadeniz's bridge, Reilly saw De Angelis's face light up. The report from the helicopter confirmed the contact to be a diving ship. Despite the gravely worsening conditions, it was holding position. The pilot could see activity on the deck around the crane, indicating the imminent recovery of a submersible of some sort. He had also spotted the two target figures on its deck, and their descriptions clearly left no doubt in the monsignor's mind.

  "I've asked him to establish radio contact with them," Karakas told De Angelis. "What do you want me to tell them?"

  De Angelis didn't hesitate. "Tell them they're about to get hit by a storm of biblical proportions,"

  he answered flatly. "Tell them they should get out of there if they want to live."

  Reilly studied De Angelis's face, and it only confirmed the uncompromising threat he had read into the monsignor's reply. The man was determined not to let them escape with what they had come for, at any cost. He'd already shown his callous disregard for human life when it came to protecting the Church's big secret. Everyone's expendable, he had stated in no uncertain terms back in Turkey.

  Reilly had to step in. "Our first priority should be their safety," he countered. "There's a whole diving crew out there."

  "My point, exactly," De Angelis calmly replied.

  "They don't have too many options," Karakas pointed out. He studied the radar screen, which showed the numerous blips clearing out of the area. "The storms have them boxed in from the north and the south. They can either head east, where we've got two patrol boats waiting to pick them up, or they can come west toward us. Either way, we've got them. I doubt they'd have much luck trying to outrun us in that." His smile wasn't particularly humorous. It occurred to Reilly that Karakas might actually relish a chase, which, combined with De Angelis's sanguine predisposition, didn't bode well.

  He glanced toward the foredeck and the 23mm automatic cannon mounted there and felt a surge of unease. He had to alert Tess and those with her as to what they were up against.

  "Let me talk to them," Reilly blurted out.

  De Angelis glanced at him, nonplussed by his request.

  "You wanted me to help," Reilly pressed on. "They don't know we're out here. They also might not be aware of the full scale of the storm that's about to hit them. Let me talk to them, convince them to follow us to shore."

  Karakas didn't look like he cared, either way. He looked at De Angelis for guidance.

  The monsignor held Reilly's gaze with cold, calculating eyes, then nodded his acquiescence. "Give him a mike," he ordered.

  ***

  Tess's heart leaped into her throat when she heard Reilly's voice on the ship's radio. She grabbed the microphone from Rassoulis.

  "Sean, it's Tess." She was breathless, her pulse pounding in her temples. "Where are you?"

  The helicopter had long since peeled off and headed back, disappearing quickly into the dark, rain-swept sky.

  "We're not far," Reilly's voice came crackling back. "I'm on a patrol boat, about fifteen nautical miles west of you. We have two other boats to your east. Listen to me, Tess. You need to drop whatever you're doing and get the hell out of there. The two storm fronts are about to collide right on top of you. You need to head west right now on a course of," he paused, seemingly waiting for the information before coming back with, "two seven zero. That's two, seven, zero. We'll meet you and escort you back to Marmaris."

  Tess noticed Rassoulis looking uncertainly at Vance, who grew visibly riled. Before she could answer Reilly, the captain took the mike from her. "This is George Rassoulis, the captain of the Savarona. Who am I talking to?"

  Some static followed, then Reilly's voice came back. "My name's Sean Reilly. I'm with the FBI."

  Tess saw Rassoulis's expression darken as he shot a dubious look at the professor. Vance just stood there, immobile, before turning away and taking a few steps toward the back of the bridge.

  Without taking his eyes off Vance, the captain asked, "What's the FBI doing warning a Greek diving ship about a storm in the middle of the Mediterranean?"

  Vance answered for him, his back still turned. "They're here for me," he said with surprising indifference. When he turned, Tess saw that he was holding a handgun aimed at Rassoulis. "I think we've heard enough from our friends at the FBI." And with that, he fired two shots into the radio.

  Tess screamed as sparks and debris came arcing out of it. The static coming from the speaker instantly died out.

  "Now," he hissed, his eyes seething with barely contained rage, "can we all get back to the business at hand?"

  Chapter 76

  Tess's entire body went rigid. She felt as if her legs were nailed to the floor of the cockpit and could only stand quietly in her corner and watch as Vance took a few menacing steps toward Rassoulis and ordered him to initiate the recovery sequence for the figurehead.

  "It's pointless," the captain argued. "I'm telling you we can't get it on board, not in these conditions."

  "Hit the damn button," Vance insisted, "or I'll do it for you." He glowered at Attal, who was still sitting at the command console of the ROV, his fingers frozen against the joystick.

  The engineer glanced at his captain, and Rassoulis relented, nodding slightly. Attal nudged the controls. On the monitor, the image from Doris camera grew smaller as the ROV receded, then, one after another, the orange lift bags started to inflate, blowing up to full girth within seconds. At first, the falcon didn't seem to move, stubbornly resisting the upward pull of the large floats. Then all of a sudden, in a burst of sand, it rose up like an uprooted tree trunk, trailing a swirling cloud of the sediment that had settled around it over the centuries. Attal guided the ROV up in a parallel climb, keeping the hazy, otherworldly image of the rising figurehead on-screen.

  Tess heard the door to the pilothouse rattle as a crewman stepped in from the gangway. She noticed Vance break his concentration and tear his entranced eyes away from the screen to glance over at the commotion. Abruptly, Rassoulis lunged at Vance and began wrestling with him for the gun. Tess stepped backward, screaming, "No!" Attal and another engineer rose to their feet to help the captain when, deafen
ingly loud in the enclosed space, the gun went off.

  For a moment, Vance and Rassoulis stood, locked together and immobile, before Vance pulled away and the captain slumped to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth as his eyes rolled upward and out of sight.

  Horrified, Tess stared down at the captain's body, which convulsed slightly before going limp. She glared at Vance. "What have you done?" she yelled as she sank to her knees by Rassoulis, unsure of what to do, then listening for a breath, feeling for a pulse.

  She found none.

  "He's dead," she cried. "You've killed him."

  Attal and the other crewmen were frozen in disbelief. Then the helmsman snapped into reflex action, hurling himself at Vance, clawing for the gun. With surprising speed, Vance clubbed him across the face with a blow from the butt of his handgun, sending him crashing to the floor. For a brief moment, Vance appeared to be in a daze, then his eyes focused and his expression hardened.

  "Get me the falcon and we can all go home," he ordered. "Now."

  Hesitantly, the first mate and Attal went about the recovery preparations, blurting orders out to the other crewmen, but the words blew by Tess in an indecipherable haze. She couldn't stop staring at Vance, whose eyes had taken on a life of their own. They didn't belong to the erudite professor she'd first met all those years ago, nor to the driven, broken man with whom she'd embarked on this misguided journey. She recognized the cold, detached harshness she saw in them. She'd first seen it at the Met, on the night of the raid. It had scared her then, and, right now, with a dead man on the floor beside her, it terrified her.

  Looking again at Rassoulis's body, a sudden realization hit her: that she might very well die here.

  And in that instant, she thought of her daughter, and wondered if she would ever see her again.

  ***

  Reilly snapped backward as Rassoulis's voice disappeared and the radio's speaker erupted into a loud, static hiss. A shiver of dread raced down his spine. He thought he'd heard what sounded like a gunshot through the radio, but he couldn't be sure.