The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  “One Class B misdemeanor, city jail.”

  Evarts paused, appearing to think it over. “Possibly … but that will be my call … after I hear what you’ve got to tell me.”

  Jesus thought it over. Finally, he nodded.

  “How much were you paid?”

  “Two grand up front and I would’ve gotten another three Gs after the job was done.”

  “How about the shooters?”

  “Four and six.”

  “That’s fifty thousand dollars spread between the six of you.”

  Jesus sighed before adding, “Unless we got your wife too. That would’ve been a thirty G bonus. Five each.”

  Evarts suppressed his rage. “Who hired you?”

  Jesus shrugged. “Pre-paid phones. I was the last recruited. In my case, bitcoins wired to a Mexican account. We never knew who they were, but they knew their shit.”

  “Accents?”

  “None. Not no Arab, for sure. Hate those bastards. If I had known they were behind this job, I would’ve said no.”

  “But it was okay if it was the mob?”

  “Hell yeah. Those are our guys.”

  “Did you know the others on the team?”

  “I worked with one before. The second driver. He got me this gig. The others were strangers … at first.”

  “At first?”

  “We got to know each other over last couple days. They put us up at the Hyatt.”

  “Hyatt Centric in Santa Barbara?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Did you speculate on who hired you?”

  He laughed. “Of course, dude. We guessed it was the boys from Baltimore.”

  “Boys?”

  “Mob. Whatever you cops call ’em nowadays.”

  “Why the Baltimore boys?”

  “The shooters were Baltimore contract players.” He shrugged. “Other than that, just the way it was handled. Their M.O.”

  “Are you still a Crip?”

  “Not for ten years. Got out before I was busted.”

  “What do you call this?”

  He laughed again. “Bad luck, man. I moved up to La Eme. They protect their guys.”

  “Were you told why I was to be hit?”

  “Nope. Didn’t care.”

  “Were you told there was a bounty on my head?”

  For the first time since talking, Jesus seemed hesitant.

  Evarts said, “Your answer may tip this into misdemeanor territory.”

  “Rumors. All we heard was rumors, man. The street said there was a big-ass bounty on a So Cal policeman. The bonus for your wife made us wonder, you know. If you were that policeman, then the Baltimore boys were takin’ a huge cut for being nothin’ more than middlemen.”

  “What was the rumored amount?” Evarts asked.

  “One million. For you and your wife. Package deal.”

  Chapter 25

  Evarts sat at his round conference table sipping coffee as he wrote up contemporaneous notes for the two interviews. It was late and he was tired. He marveled at how politically correct police had become. They used to be honest and call them interrogations. Evarts was too straightforward to believe a softer word spared anyone’s feelings. In the unlikely event he became president, his first act would be to change the name of the Department of Defense back to Department of War. The citizenry, politicians, and the department needed to be reminded about the purpose of armed forces. In Evarts view, euphemisms hindered communication.

  The second interview and follow-ups pretty much went in a similar fashion. Both drivers were affiliated with the Mexican mob, sometimes referred to as La Eme—Spanish for The M. They had names soon after they scanned Crips. Neither arrestee had priors. Smart guys. Plucked off the street by La Eme for their savvy and caution. In a way, the Crips acted as a farm team for the big boys. For a vigorish of 25%, La Eme had sanctioned these men for the job. Due to the shooters’ background, everyone assumed the contract was orchestrated by the Baltimore mob. When they got together in the Hyatt bar, they grumbled that if the reward was a cool million, they should have been paid more. Both hoodlums claimed that he was the priority, but they were to kill Trish if they encountered her.

  Commander Standish waltzed into Evarts office, imagining it was her space. That was okay. You couldn’t do the job without ego and ambition. She stopped in the middle of the room. Evarts raised an eyebrow and lifted his coffee cup. When Standish nodded, he gestured toward his credenza.

  After Standish fixed her coffee and sat down, Evarts shoved aside his interview notes.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Couple of bright thugs. Capable of more than driving. They over-staffed the hit because of your position and reputation.” Her tone turned sympathetic. “You were lucky.”

  “Damn lucky. If I hadn’t already been in the garage, you’d be coordinating the graveside Honor Guard.”

  “This isn’t over. You avoided two assassination attempts by good fortune and fast thinking. But … well … with a million-dollar reward, the hits will just keep coming.”

  His assistant knocked and when beckoned, stuck his head in the office.

  “Sir, you have another call from General O’Brian.”

  “Tell him I left for the day. Ask him to try me on my cell.”

  “He says your cell is off and your home landline goes directly to voice mail.” He appeared embarrassed. “He says it’s the same for your wife.”

  Evarts and Baldwin had talked several times since the attack and agreed to remain incommunicado for the time being.

  “Then I guess you can’t help him.”

  Evarts made a go-away gesture and his assistant retreated.

  Prior to the interviews, Evarts had briefed Standish on everything except the Templars. Since she was assigned as the lead officer on the other side of the two-way mirror, she needed context to evaluate the arrestees’ responses. The recording systems remained on and as per policy, and there were two observers. The order to turn off the system had been a ruse to place an element of fear into the arrestees. Evarts ethics would not allow him to break protocol, but he held no qualms about pretending to go off the rails.

  “How long can you stall the Pentagon?” Standish asked.

  “Until he sends his spy to me.”

  “He has a spy? Really? In the department?”

  “Or in City Hall. He knows everything that goes on here. Probably more of an informant than a spy.”

  “Do you suspect anyone?”

  It irritated Evarts that Standish sounded excited.

  “Only you,” he responded in jest.

  She laughed easily … and then stopped suddenly. “Was that a test?”

  He smiled. “Any thoughts on why Baltimore might be involved.”

  “Not really. Are they a hotbed for terrorism?”

  “Possibly an incubator,” Evarts said. “Could be opportunistic? Heard about the contract and decided to carve out a piece? I hope to hell those Islamic terrorists haven’t made a pact with the mob.”

  “I don’t think so,” Standish said.

  That got Evarts attention. “Why not?”

  “You heard Jesus. He said he wouldn’t have accepted the contract if he had known they were foreign terrorists. He said the mob were their guys. I don’t think he meant they were criminals like him. I think he meant Americans. It might seem odd, but the mob is patriotic. Look at World War II. Crime is their job, America’s their country.”

  “Jesus is Catholic,” Evarts said. “You don’t think it was a slight against Islam?”

  “Some of that maybe, but the mob protects its turf from rival gangs, be they domestic or foreign.”

  “Interesting,” Evarts said. “So, the mob views Islamic terrorists as another gang?”

  “Hey, I don’t know, I’m speculating.”

  “Still, an interesting perspective. Perhaps we should have called in some mob bosses to consult on the War on Terror.”

  “Yeah, right.
Then we’d have had more Whitey Bulgers and Jeffery Epsteins. They’d help, but the price would be mighty high.”

  “Until imprisoned … then they’d find out their minders weren’t all that loyal.” Evarts shook his head. “Back to the case at hand. Where do we go from here?”

  “You go on a surfing safari? Down the coast. Have some fun.” Standish presented it as a jest. “You seem to be a sitting duck here.”

  “Do you feel vulnerable unarmed?” Evarts asked.

  “Of course. All cops do. We’re used to the weight hanging on our waist. When it’s not there, we feel naked.”

  “And I’d feel the same way without the department surrounding me. It’s a comforting weight. So, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. But … maybe not in my home for the time being.”

  Evarts got up to leave. It was late and he wanted to see his wife. He also suddenly realized he was very hungry.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you after I meet with the mayor. Got any mobsters in your family?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  He walked out of the office, leaving Standish befuddled.

  Chapter 26

  The Santa Barbara Biltmore was built in 1927 and locals viewed the oceanside resort as a landmark. Although now a Four Seasons, the owners were smart enough to retain the historic Biltmore name. Evarts was familiar with the grounds, so he had Standish drop him off on Hill Street where he could walk directly to the bungalow his wife had reserved. He didn’t check out another police vehicle because he didn’t want to draw attention to his presence at the resort.

  He rang the bell. After he yelled though the door to confirm his identity, he heard the deadbolt releasing. Trish opened the door and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Greg, thank goodness.” She kissed him. “It’s almost ten. Have you eaten?”

  “No. Got anything?”

  “Cheese plate, wine and a bottle of Macallan’s, but let’s order you dinner.”

  “I have stuff to lug in. Could you order me a burger, salad instead of fries?”

  “Hurry. I’ll have your drink ready with a single ice cube.”

  Evarts dropped a polyester tactical case on the floor and reminded Trish to lock the door behind him. He returned in less than five minutes with two large roller suitcases. This time, it took her longer to answer the door. When she did, she still had the phone to her ear.

  The suite was large and luxurious. As a teen, he and a friend had occasionally snuck into the Biltmore to swim in their pool. They would lounge in chairs next to families and act as if they were guests. It usually worked for an hour or two before they were discreetly thrown out. Now he was properly registered in one of the resort’s famed bungalows. Most of the time he didn’t think about being rich. It was still foreign to him. But this bungalow reminded him how nice it was to have money. Then he remembered he still wasn’t properly registered. Although the hotel manager knew who they were, Trish had registered under a false name.

  After he put the suitcases in the bedroom, he went out to the private patio to find his wife. She sat at a wrought iron table in front of an extravagant cheese and fruit platter. He exhaled, feeling relaxed for the first time that day.

  He spotted his Macallan’s and took a sip before his tush hit the cushion. Grabbing a toothpick, he stabbed a piece of cheese and swallowed it in a single bite.

  “Nice,” Evarts said.

  “Enjoy it. We can’t stay long. We’re both too well known to hole up at the Biltmore.”

  “Let’s enjoy the evening first. Warm weather, nice accommodations, and the perfect company.”

  She smiled. “Okay, no talk about our predicament.”

  Evarts took a deeper sip of the scotch. “Unfortunately, we need to talk about a few things. What say we make plans until my food arrives? Then we enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  “Start by telling me what you learned today,” Baldwin said.

  He told her about the attack, the aftermath, and the interviews. She asked no questions as he talked, and after he finished, she sat thinking.

  “That means there are four assassins still in town.”

  She glanced nervously toward the door.

  “I doubt they hung around,” Evarts said. “Cops are out in full force.”

  “Nothing’s stopping them from switching cars and returning to earn their fee.”

  She became quiet again.

  “What are you thinking?” Evarts asked.

  “I’m wondering if I can trust the manager. Or more specifically, how much I can trust him.” She sipped her wine and nibbled on a piece of dried fruit. “I’m valuable to him. I hold at least three events a year at this establishment and treat my colleagues to lunch occasionally. Unless he’s put on the rack, he’ll stay quiet for a few days. No one else knows we’re here. Except … that boy who delivered this tray, but he didn’t appear to recognize me.”

  Evarts thought about it. “When my hamburger comes, wear a hotel robe in a way to expose your negligee and tip heavily. Act slightly guilty. A cheating wife is not unusual here. Even if he’s heard about the attack today, it’s being advertised as a drunk busting through a sobriety checkpoint.”

  “Okay, but we still need to move.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “You okay going downscale?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then I know how to get us an apartment at Hope Ranch. It won’t be much, but I can do it so that nobody knows except a professor who’s desperate to rent it.”

  “Is the professor any more secure than the Biltmore manager?”

  “Much more … she’s teaching in Florence for a year. Her renter bailed and she can’t afford to pay the mortgage payments and still live the high life in Italy. I’ll do it on her private email account. The only drawback is that I’ll need to rent it for the full eight months.”

  “Sounds good. Do it.”

  “Listen, should I keep working. I’m owed a sabbatical and I have a book project that could use more attention.”

  “Take sabbatical only if you’re willing to hole up. If you’re going to use the University library, you might as well work.”

  She nodded, then went quiet again.

  “Do you think you can return to the house?” she asked.

  “I need to. We’re still processing the scene.”

  “Then if you can get me books and documents from my study and the safe, I’ll go on sabbatical.”

  “A Lincoln book. Good. You get lost in those.”

  Baldwin was a nationally renowned Abraham Lincoln scholar. He guessed the subject of her book because she kept priceless Lincoln books and documents in the library’s walk-in vault. That would keep her busy.

  “What’s in the tactical case?” she asked.

  The question didn’t surprise him. Although a scholar, she had faced some violent episodes in her life.

  “Everything you’ll need to defend yourself against anything less than a platoon.”

  She smiled. “Just what a girl wants to hear on a romantic evening.”

  Chapter 27

  Over breakfast, Evarts and Baldwin finalized their schedules for the day. They were going to be busy. Evarts had to meet with the mayor, have his department order two rental cars delivered to the Biltmore, check out the processing of his home as a crime scene, gather up an extensive list of books and documents for Trish, and hopefully issue Standish her new assignment. Baldwin had to rent the apartment, meet with her department head to request a sabbatical, write course notes for her replacement, get a stash of cash from the bank, visit the Biltmore spa for a complete makeover, and shop for clothes that weren’t her style. Luckily, Trish still had an untraceable offshore account left over from her parents’ estate that she could use it for the apartment rental. Evarts would drop her at school and then drive her Mercedes sedan back to the house to be left in the garage. The Biltmore would send a car for
her return to the resort. From now on, neither of them would move around the city in their normal vehicles.

  The idea was to disappear in plain sight. They would move into a quiet community and drive nondescript cars. Baldwin wouldn’t teach or go to her office. The resort salon would darken her light brown hair and change the style, and from now on, she would wear atypical clothing. Many townsfolk knew her, but if she avoided her normal haunts, she should be able to move around without drawing attention. Evarts would continue to work but stay surrounded by police. Both would use evasive driving techniques when returning to their leased apartment.

  Evarts first task was to get money out of his tightfisted boss. He showed up at Mayor Walsh’s office fifteen minutes before his appointment but was ushered in immediately. From his email updates, she knew about the attack and interviews, but this would be their first face to face meeting since the assault incident. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “Good morning mayor.”

  “Good morning. What mayhem have you planned for my city today?”

  “Hopefully, none. We charged our arrestees with multiple class A misdemeanors. They should get a couple years.”

  “Only misdemeanors?”

  “We allowed them to plead down in return for cooperation. They were only getaway drivers.”

  “Hopefully, you got your money’s worth.”

  “Yet to be seen. The others escaped. Just like last time.” He shook his head. “They sure know how to skip town.”

  “Greg, that’s not supposed to be easy when your city is hemmed in by ocean and mountains.”

  “Both times they moved fast … before I could reposition resources.”

  “Is that why you’re here: to give me an update … or is there something else?”

  “Something else. I want to start an anti-terrorism task force. I’m here to request a bump in our budget.”

  Evarts slid over a green folder used by the city for budget issues.

  She opened it and scanned the contents.

  “Approved.”

  “That easy?” Evarts said, a bit astonished.

  “It’s not a huge sum and I believe it’s needed, especially after these incidents. I can use it with the media and council to show that we’re doing something.” She leaned forward. “Also, I’m grateful you’re not requesting an extended leave.”