The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  Baldwin smiled mischievously. “I told you to put aside your sensitivity training. I meant it. Please excuse the dramatics. I wasn’t offended. It was an act and you caved without a moment’s thought. If we encounter the terrorists, they’ll do something similar. If you cave with them, you’ll put our nation at risk.” She gave him a steady look. “Now … do you understand.”

  “Shit,” Adams said. “This is embarrassing.” He looked furtively at his partner, then dropped his eyes. “You’re right, of course. This is our first venture into the field. We’re recent Quantico graduates. The department is going crazy searching for these terrorists and bombs, so we got called to duty.” He genuinely appeared contrite. “I was trying to play the badass FBI agent and ended up getting my butt handed to me.”

  “But you’re good students,” Evarts said. “Quick on the uptake. If you were my recruits, I’d give you high marks.”

  Adams took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “We appreciate your help ... and the object lesson.”

  To help cement their new working relationship, Evarts explained how the alternate caliph used academic surroundings to appear innocuous and that this caliph-in-waiting had recommended several presenters at this conference. Evarts provided them with the names. They seemed pleased to get intel not provided in their brief.

  After further discussion on how to proceed, Adam’s asked, “Did you know your wife was playacting?”

  Evarts gave his wife a glace and she smiled at him. “Of course. Despite being an academic, she’s seldom speaks politically correct lingo. Either of you two gentlemen married?” After they both nodded, Evarts added, “Then you know how your wives act when they’re angry. If you had really offended her, she would have cut you off at the knees with a sharp retort.”

  Meadows spoke up. “Can you tell us how she saved your life?”

  Evarts thought about the coming day and decided. “This is classified by two countries. I never said anything. Understood?” Both nodded. “We were on Pont Neuf during the Paris attack. Don’t bother trying to look us up. Any record of us has been expunged. By the French for national security reasons and by the CIA to protect us.” After another set of nods, he continued. “We charged two terrorists that were using scimitars to hack people to death. I killed the first one by shoving a selfie-stick through his neck. The second one was about to decapitate me when my wife yelled in French to stop or she would shoot. The terrorist turned in her direction and I picked up the first assailant’s scimitar and cut him nearly in two before he could return his attention to me.”

  “Why didn’t she shoot him?” Meadows asked bewildered.

  “Because she was pointing a finger at the killer.”

  Chapter 60

  They exited through an underground security check point leading to a parking area reserved for pool cars. Adams and Meadows had checked out a standard issue four-door sedan. Evarts and Baldwin recovered their weapons without incident, and the two agents seemed unsurprised that Baldwin carried a gun. Baldwin stuffed her nine-millimeter short-barreled semiautomatic into her purse. Adams and Meadows had also armed themselves and donned blue blazers with an FBI logo on the breast.

  As Meadows drove, Adams briefed them on what the FBI knew about the school.

  “Georgetown School of Foreign Service has been monitored ever since a member of the Saudi royal family contributed twenty million dollars for Islamic studies. We suspect the Islamic department has been bending toward radical doctrines. We’ve run background checks on presenters and attendees, and no known terrorists are in attendance. That doesn’t mean they aren’t there, only that our system doesn’t know about them.”

  “Where’s the conference being held?” Baldwin asked.

  “The Georgetown University Conference Center. It’s mid campus.”

  “I’ve presented there,” Baldwin said matter-of-factly.

  “Then you’re aware there’s a Guest House attached. Presenters have assigned rooms. Attendees are housed in dorms. Do you suspect one or the other?”

  “Both,” Baldwin said simply.

  “Then let’s start with the presenters. In fact, we’ll start with the names you gave us.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Baldwin said. “They’ve been careful up to now. I’d be surprised if they left such an obvious clue. It wouldn’t be beyond them to drop cookie crumbs that would lead us to decoys.”

  “I thought you said the second highest honcho recommended these people,” Meadows said over his shoulder.

  “He did, but besides being a terrorist, he’s a legitimate academic. He would know all the renown Islamic scholars. He could have recommended a few of the genuine article while burying the Ikhwan teams amongst the attendees.”

  “Where do you want to start then?” Adams asked.

  “With the recommended presenters,” Baldwin said. “Just letting you know I have reservations.”

  After the short drive, they pulled into the campus and Meadows drove directly to the conference center and after showing ID, pulled into a restricted parking structure. Adams and Meadows had shown Evarts and Baldwin more respect after the description of the Pont Neuf attack. He hadn’t reveled their true names but if they were any good at their job, they would probably be able to dig them out from the information they had disclosed. Evarts had cringed when Baldwin had admitted presenting at the university conference center, but on second thought, wasn’t concerned. He didn’t care if the FBI knew, he just didn’t want their whereabouts disclosed to the Ikhwan.

  Adams led them directly into the Guest House for visiting dignitaries. At reception, he showed his identification and asked for the first name on the list. The receptionist told them that he was with colleagues in the dining hall. He pointed to an open double door on the other side of the room.

  The unadorned dining room was mostly empty. Six men in traditional Arab garb sat chatting at a round table. They appeared to have finished breakfast and were lingering over coffee. Evarts and Baldwin held back a step and allowed the FBI to take the lead. Adams displayed his badge and then respectfully told them this was a routine inquiry relating to two recent bombings. Adams didn’t request identification from the men or even their names. The Arabs maintained an unwelcoming demeanor. One of the Arab men took charge. He smiled broadly and said with an affable manner that they would help in any way they could.

  Adams asked, “Have any of you heard anything that might assist us in our investigation?”

  The jovial man answered. “No, nothing. We’re here for an Islamic conference that encourages cooperation between Christians and Muslims. It’s not really a venue for gossip about terrorist acts. The insensitivity would taint our working relationship.”

  “Understood, and I apologize for the intrusion. Do you happen to know any others at the school that can assist us?”

  One of the other men angerly asked, “Are you suggesting that a religious conference could be a hotbed of terrorism?”

  “No, sir,” Adams answered smoothly. “Having graduated recently, we’re familiar with Georgetown University but unfamiliar with Islam. Seeing an alumni email about the conference, we thought maybe we could learn something from experts on the subject.”

  “It’s not a subject. It’s our religion,” the angry man said. “Do you assume every Muslim is a terrorist?”

  “No, sir, but—”

  The jovial man remained agreeable. “Excuse me, has anyone claimed credit for these bombing?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Then why are you here?” the angry man demanded. “You just assumed Muslims? It’s our fault? Islam is a religion of peace. It was probably some of your hillbillies who did this. Look to yourself. Don’t blame us.”

  “We’re not blaming you; we were hoping you might give us a direction for our inquiries.”

  “A Muslim direction?” The angry one said.

  “Yes, if you will. The FBI has teams working other angles.” Adams appeared embarrassed. “As you can see,
we’re junior, so our superiors are not prioritizing an Islamic connection but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to cover all the bases. Their priorities are probably right, but it would still be embarrassing to return empty handed. Anything would help. Even a reason to look elsewhere.”

  “I’ll give you a reason,” the angry one said. “We didn’t do it.” He made a dismissal wave with his hand. “Now leave us.”

  “You six didn’t do it or Muslims didn’t do it?” Adams asked evenly.

  “Tozz feek!” the angry one exclaimed. “That is your job to prove who did these deeds. Not ours. Your accusations offend me. Take your Islamophobia to a distant place. I will no longer listen to you.”

  Adams stiffened and his voice lost its polite tone. “It is our job to find the killers. Whoever they are. You profess innocence for all Muslims, but your coreligionists have blood on their hands. As recently as last month on Pont Neuf they slaughtered nineteen innocents and injured many others.” Adams paused and gave the angry Arab a long, hard look. “Do you have any information for us?”

  “Innocence is in the eye of the beholder,” the angry one blurted out.

  “In Islam, what’s innocent?” Adams asked. “Explain it to me.”

  “I would, but you’re too untrained to comprehend our theology,” the angry one muttered. In a louder voice he added. “Now, go with God.”

  Adams started to press, but Baldwin interrupted by laying a hand on his forearm. “I’m familiar with the teachings of Sayyid Qutb. Perhaps you can explain innocence from his perspective.”

  Everyone at the table sat dumbfounded.

  “A woman … a woman cannot understand Qutb,” the angry one retorted. “Especially not an American woman. It takes years of study from a perspective that is foreign to an aimra'at 'amrikiat.”

  She turned to the jovial man. “You asked if anyone had claimed credit for the bombings.” He nodded agreement. “Do you believe killing non-believers is an accomplishment worthy of credit?”

  “Of course not. It’s a turn of phrase.” He seemed perplexed. “I never thought about it before.”

  Baldwin leaned in. “A turn of phrase? That’s all? Odd. Is handing out candy to the siblings and friends of child suicide bombers a gesture of condolence?” She straightened to her full height. “Your turn of phrase offends me. Your mistreatment of women offends me. Your weaponization of mere children offends me. Your teaching of hatred of Jews offends me. Your coreligionists’ eagerness to kill kuffar offends me. So, don’t play that damned victim game with me.”

  “You cannot talk to us like that!” the angry one exclaimed. “We are renown Egyptian scholars and distinguished guests at this conference. I will file a formal protest with the dean and our embassy.”

  Baldwin reached behind her, swung around another chair, and sat at the table with the men. They recoiled like she had cooties. She smiled pleasantly. “Who among you was recommended as a presenter by Ali as-Saad.”

  “You know Ali as-Saad?” the jovial man asked.

  “Not the man. His work,” Baldwin answered. “How could I claim to be familiar with Sayyid Qutb and not know of Ali as-Saad?”

  “You could not,” the jovial man admitted. “He is the foremost living expert on Qutb.”

  “He is,” she said. “In fact, I have not read In the Shade of the Qur'an. I know Qutb only through as-Saad’s teachings.”

  “Then you know Qutb,” the jovial man said. “I have read both and as-Saad is meticulously accurate. This is fascinating. Did you—”

  “Excuse me,” the angry one said. “We must prepare for this afternoon’s session. Attendees depend on us and we are tardy in coordinating our talks.”

  “Please Yousef, you underestimate yourself,” the jovial one said. “You could present this material in your sleep.” He laughed. “Come to think of it, I believe you have. Now, just a few moments. It’s rare to encounter an American who—”

  “This is not appropriate!” Yousef exclaimed. “We do not speak of Islam with a woman, a kafir. It is not done.”

  The jovial man turned to Baldwin. “Are you a believer?”

  “No,” Baldwin answered. “I’m an academic.”

  “See, she studies us like a caravan of camels in the wild,” Yousef stood. “I’m leaving.”

  “You may leave as soon as you answer my question,” Baldwin said with tone of a schoolmarm scolding an unruly child. “Sit down please.”

  Yousef looked to his colleagues for support. “It is haram. Forbidden.”

  “Just answer the question,” Adams insisted. “Who here was endorsed by Ali as-Saad?”

  “Why?” demanded the angry man. “What significance? I’m honored to have been recommended by one of the greatest scholars of Islam.”

  Adams scanned the remaining men at the table. “Who else?”

  Another man who had remained silent made a motion indicating that he had also been referred by as-Saad. Then he put a hand on Yousef’s shoulder.

  Yousef threw off the hand and slapped the table hard. “I demand to know why this is of significance.”

  Baldwin answered. “Because Ali as-Saad has informed our consulate in Jakarta that he may have made a mistake and sent a terrorist to this conference.”

  “Who?” demanded Yousef.

  “He doesn’t know,” Adams answered. “We don’t even know why he suspects someone.” He gave Baldwin a stern look. “In fact, this was classified.” After Baldwin’s expression turned sheepish, Adams continued. “This is highly confidential. Please do not contact him or mention his name outside this room. Lives could be endangered. Even Ali as-Saad’s life might be endangered.” He met the eyes of each man. “May I have your sacred oath not to speak further of this with anyone not currently present in this room?”

  “No!” screamed Yousef. “You lie. As-Saad would never betray a Muslim. Never!” He pulled a cell phone from his robe. “I’m calling him.”

  Adams ripped the phone out of his hand.

  “I’m going to have to insist that you come to FBI headquarters with us.”

  “Never,” Yousef yelled as he stood and tried to pull a pistol from the folds of his robe.

  Chapter 61

  The dining room burst into noise and motion. The agents and Evarts drew weapons as they moved sideways so they weren’t bunched. All three were faster than Yousef, who didn’t have a clean pull due to his flowing robe. The other Muslims screamed in Arabic and jumped away from the table to get out of harm’s way. Evarts, Adams, and Meadows yelled warnings at Yousef. Evarts saw defeat in his eyes. His expression turned from anger to fear as he realized he had lost.

  Yousef lifted the gun high, letting the barrel point down by holding the grip with a thumb and forefinger.

  “Slowly … lay it on the table,” Adams commanded. “Very slowly.”

  Evarts and Meadows shifted their aim to the other Arabs. All of them looked terrified and none made a threatening move. Evarts sensed that Baldwin had extracted her gun from her purse and was holding it aimed at the floor. All ten people in the room started breathing again when Yousef’s gun had been laid on the table and he had backed away.

  “I apologize.” Yousef said with a self-deprecating shrug. “My temper is my curse.”

  “Anyone else armed?” Meadows barked.

  The other five Arabs immediately said no while throwing their hands high and wide while shaking their heads.

  “I’m sorry,” Meadows said, “but I need to pat you down. Johansen, cover?”

  It took Evarts a moment to realize Meadows was talking to him. He needed to get better at responding to his alias.

  “Susan and I have you covered,” Evarts responded belatedly.

  Meadows professionally patted down the five men to find no additional weapons.

  When he had finished, Meadows said, “Everyone but Yousef, sit.”

  Everyone retook their seats. Adams roughly turned Yousef by shoving one shoulder and expertly forced his hands behind him. Before he knew what
had happened, Yousef had a plastic restraint on his wrists.

  “Take these off me!” Yousef yelled. “You have no right. I apologized. I’m an Egyptian national. I’m an esteemed Islamic scholar. I have a great following. You do not want to anger them.”

  “Please be quiet while I read you your rights,” Adams said.

  “Don’t you dare!” Yousef shrieked. “You do not arrest me. I will make international incident. My ambassador will demand apology from your president. My followers will march on your justice building. Your career over, you be disgraced, and humbled before Allah. Perhaps you go to jail.”

  As Yousef yelled these objections, Adams ignored his outrage and dutifully read him his rights.

  “You cannot do this,” Yousef insisted.

  “What cannot be done is pulling a gun on an FBI agent,” Adams said. “You do not walk away from that with an apology. Our country doesn’t work that way.”

  “Be thankful we’re only arresting you,” Baldwin said. “In Egypt, the ENP would have killed you on the spot.”

  Yousef spat at her.

  Baldwin instantly slapped him across the face. Hard. Yousef was livid. Evarts had never seen such a hateful expression on a man. If he were free, Evarts was certain that Yousef would have ripped her throat open with his bare hands. Adams immediately threw himself between the two of them and shoved Yourself into his chair.

  “You will die for that!” Yourself yelled. “My disciples will hunt you down and give you a long, painful death after they force you to service their needs. You are dead, eahira.”

  Baldwin took a handkerchief that Evarts offered and while she wiped her face, she asked, “Why should I be scared? Your followers are in Cairo; too poor to buy airline tickets. Your threats are empty bluster. You are an old fool.”

  She threw the soiled handkerchief at Yousef. He tried to leap to his feet, but Adams roughly shoved him back down. Yousef fumed. Baldwin glanced at Meadows and Evarts. They had the others under their eye, so she returned her gun to her purse and swung it to hang behind her back. She leaned in close to Yousef.