“Pilsner Urquell, my favorite. How’d you know?”
“I used to work in intelligence,” Evarts quipped.
As he got up to serve drinks, he heard Baldwin say, “Don’t let him kid you. He bought what he likes.”
After drinks were distributed, Evarts said, “Diane has an idea. I asked her to wait until you were present to explain it.”
“Already?” Baldwin said. “You only spent a few hours with Standish.”
“But I had a plane ride to study the situation … and think. The idea may be a dud. It depends on whether the current Templars follow the rule of their ancestors.”
“Which rule?” Baldwin asked.
“It’s not singular,” Evarts said. “The rule was a formal list of behaviors monks had to adhere to. Usually composed by a bishop. Templars were warrior monks and had a rule that was amended continuously.”
“Correct,” Wilson said, “but I may have used the term incorrectly. Templars were also bound by bulls, which were formal proclamations issued by the pope or royal decree. Some of these were incorporated into the rule, others not.”
“What specifically are you referring to?” Evarts asked.
“Not paying taxes,” Wilson said.
“What?” Baldwin exclaimed. “No taxes! How’s that possible?”
“In the Middle Ages, the pope and royalty issued edicts that exempted the Templars from tithes and taxes,” Wilson said. “It was cheaper than giving the Templars money, but the monastic order used the exemption to amass an incredible fortune.”
“How does this help,” Evarts asked.
“I can’t find any evidence that the Templars pay U.S. income taxes,” Wilson explained. “And, needless to say, the Templars do not possess a U.S. Government decree that exempts them.”
Evarts laughed. “You’re proposing we get the Templars the same way they got Al Capone.”
Wilson smiled. “Not exactly.”
Chapter 78
Evarts didn’t believe the idea held promise. The Templars had their money dispersed in numerous enterprises that paid taxes. For the ruse to work, these enterprises would need to transfer funds to a Templar entity inside the United States that failed to pay taxes. The problem would be documentation. The Templars did not officially exist, nor did anyone know the identities of the members, so good luck with that. It seemed a long shot and besides, nothing could be done fast enough to do them any good.
After expressing these reservations, Wilson asked, “What would Templars spend money on?”
“I don’t know,” Evarts said. “Guns, hired assassins, computer systems, travel, legal services, member compensation. It could be any number of things.”
“First, you need to think like an ancient pious knight in armor, not a modern business organization. The rule originally required an oath of poverty. I presume that’s been struck-through, but decadent profligacy probably remains discouraged. They’re monks, after all. They wouldn’t draw a salary. Thus, no personal tax liability. They’d wouldn’t build their own computer systems. They’d buy a service bureau with a state-of-the-art server farm. The service bureau would have dozens, possibly hundreds of customers, so Templar computing would be buried under mounds of legitimate activity. The bureau would pay appropriate taxes, so no opportunity there. Legal services would go through Methow’s firm with everything recorded lawfully. Same with other services. Spying, assassins, travel? You’re too U.S. centric. Their enemy is the Ikhwan. Until recently, they operated overseas, and we need something domestic to get press coverage.”
“You’re making my case.”
“Don’t be too sure. What else does a secret society need in this age of omnipresent electronic and physical surveillance?”
Evarts was smart enough to keep his mouth shut until he thought that question through. Finally, he said, “A secure place to meet where they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers.”
“Bingo. All we need to do is find this clubhouse, determine who owns it, and then investigate the entity’s source of income.”
“This is a big country,” Baldwin interjected.
“Very big. More important, a record search needs a timeframe, and the Templars are older than this country. They could have acquired this property at any time in the past. We’re in a hurry, so we need a narrow search.”
“Why do I suspect you already know the answer?” Baldwin asked.
“Damn, you won’t allow me even a moment of suspense,” Wilson complained.
“Okay, let the suspense hover. I’m going to freshen our drinks,” Baldwin disappeared into the kitchen.
In less than a minute, she returned with two beers and a bottle of white wine. As she refilled her glass, she casually said, “Suspense suspended. 1948.”
Wilson laughed. “I forgot that you’re a researcher.”
“The reactivation of the Templars,” Evarts said. “Of course. They bought their clubhouse when the Holy Land again needed their protection.”
“Actually, they bought it in 1949. In that year, a shadowy country club bought a very secluded lodge in the Poconos. It’s named The Rockbrook Lodge. I suppose the Templars felt it was fitting to save a bankrupt Jewish resort.”
“Who bought it?” Baldwin asked excitedly.
“A limited partnership that’s long defunct. The deed is currently registered to a sub-chapter S corporation names Rockbrook Enterprises. Ownership is buried in a legal labyrinth. Luckily, that’s my job, so I sorted through the maze until I found a company that Standish has already mentioned to you.”
“Night Work,” Evarts guessed. “They clean commercial buildings during off hours. The Templars probably get a kick out of that name.”
“Excellent. Night Work appears aboveboard, but Rockbrook Enterprises has no web presence, licenses, or tax returns. No filings of any kind. Whatever income they receive is probably reported as Night Work cash flow. The Rockbrook Lodge itself is a very private club. Zero information about how to join. It’s like they’re dormant. Except, they’re not. The umbrella corporation owns and maintains lots of properties. Expensive properties. They own townhouses in New York, D.C., Boston, condos in Miami, Los Angeles, Denver, and lofts in Chicago, Detroit, San Francisco. That’s what we found so far. I’m sure there’re more. Townhouses, condos, and lofts are turnkey. Just lock them up and walk away. No one notices how much they’re used, and the absence of external landscaping means they don’t have regular maintenance people visiting the properties. Night Work pays their property taxes and association dues where appropriate. Rockbrook Enterprises not only doesn’t pay income tax, but it also doesn’t file returns.”
“How does this do us any good?” Evarts asked.
“I need to solidify this tomorrow, then on Monday I’ll get General O’Brian on it. The Treasury Department will issue liens against all the properties and announce that a grand jury has indicted Rockbrook Enterprises for a whole host of financial violations. Treasury will issue a press release giving credit to the Standish task force for breaking the case and say that the proceeds will be split between the government agencies involved. Later, Commander Standish will hold a press conference with you at her shoulder. In case that’s too subtle, we’ll get stories out the following week that you directed Standish in her investigation. And there you have it, a major publicized strike at the heart of the Templars.”
“If Night Work can prove that they paid Rockbrook Enterprise taxes, then the case won’t hold up. It will only cost the Templars legal fees.”
“I thought the goal was to get the bounty off your heads so you can get on with your lives,” Wilson said.
Evarts laughed. “Crap, you’re right. I got lost in the process and missed the point. Thank you. Great work.”
“A lot of the credit belongs to Commander Standish. I brought her an outline, and we ran down the details.”
Baldwin asked, “How long can you keep a case alive?”
“We should be able to tie them up for eighteen to twenty-four m
onths. We’ll leak disinformation along the way about how you infiltrated an underground organization to build a case against Rockbrook Enterprises. Played right, the Ikhwan’s interest should wan, never to be rekindled.”
Evarts felt ill at ease. This was too easy. “How did the two of you discover so much so quickly? You had only hours.”
Wilson took a long swallow of beer before answering. “Once we had the Rockbrook name, I called General O’Brian. He had unearthed this lead months ago and their research had turned up the other properties. They had recently concluded that the Rockbrook club and the Templars were one in the same and were putting together a surveillance plan when the attack on Washington distracted them.” She paused dramatically. “He gave us permission to pursue the tax ploy to help you and Patricia out of this mess.”
“Bullshit,” Evarts said instantly. “No matter how much he owes me, that intel is far too valuable to throw away on trumped up charges. If he surveils those properties, he’ll discover the Templar membership. What’s his angle?”
Wilson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He told me you’d catch on. The Rockbrook Lodge was bought seventy years ago. All the other properties were purchased in the last twenty years and are operated under a different name: The Hildebrand Club. His idea is to file liens against the Hildebrand properties only.” Wilson gave him a long look. “There are other aspects of the operation I’m not authorized to share, but I can tell you that the objective is to drive the Templar leadership into the Poconos to plan their defensive moves.”
“And once corralled at the Rockbrook Lodge, arrest them all in one fell swoop?” Baldwin asked excitedly.
“Possibly,” Wilson said uncommittedly.
“Possibly?” Baldwin said. “What does that mean?”
Evarts finished his beer and softly settled the bottle on the table. In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “It means the real goal is to turn the Templars. Capture them as a weapon to augment the United States anti-terrorism arsenal.”
Baldwin was perplexed. “But why?”
“To kill Ikhwan.” Evarts said.
Chapter 79
After a dinner of grilled steaks, corn, baked potatoes, and salad, the three of them went to their respective rooms. They were all tired. Evarts didn’t mind O’Brian’s plan to co-opt the Templars, but he didn’t think it would work. Templars outside the country wouldn’t abide it, so it would need to remain clandestine. With Masons all over the government, secrecy wouldn’t last. He was sure O’Brian had a good plan, but it would need to be ironclad.
The next morning, Evarts went down to snitch a newspaper at the mailboxes. The article appeared in the left column of the front page. They used his name in the headline, so the Egyptians shouldn’t miss it if they bothered to scan local news. He read the full article over coffee while sitting on their balcony. The piece should send the Egyptians south, but it also served the newspaper’s purpose of starting a feud between the mayor and police chief. After setting it aside, he gazed off into the distance where a sliver of ocean could be seen above the trees and buildings. It was a perfect Santa Barbara Sunday morning. Still and bright.
Wilson wandered out with a cup of coffee and took a seat at the round balcony table. When Evarts woke, she had been up, groomed, and on the internet. He handed the newspaper to her and tapped the article. She read in silence as they sipped coffee and enjoyed the morning.
“Think they’ll buy it?” Wilson asked.
“They should. They’ve been searching here for nearly a week. They’ll be anxious to follow a new lead.”
“If you return to the station, they’ll know.”
“So, I’ll hunker down here until your plan succeeds or fails.” He thought about what he would do, and then suddenly said, “I need a surfboard.”
“Come again.”
He laughed. “I was thinking out loud. I surf and Hope Ranch has good waves. I need to find a way to get one of my boards without alerting anyone in town.”
“Buy a new one,” Baldwin said as she came onto the balcony. “Get it in Oxnard.”
“Splendid idea. Want to go shopping today?”
“For a surfboard? You must be kidding. No thank you. There’s nothing in a surfboard shop that interests me. I’ll help Diane. You go. And take your time, by the way.”
“In days gone by, you weren’t so dismissive when I bought you a bikini in a surf shop to use as underwear.”
Baldwin laughed. “That was an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?” Wilson asked with a smile. “Sounds like this could be an interesting story.”
“It is, but it can wait until cocktail hour. Believe me, it will be funnier.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Wilson said.
“Breakfast?” Evarts asked.
“Toast,” Wilson and Baldwin said almost together.
“Then I’m going. If I leave now, I can find a decent board off the rack and be back to try it out before the wind comes up.” Evarts stood. “I’ll get a breakfast sandwich at a drive-thru.”
“Yuck,” both women exclaimed.
Evarts ignored them, grabbed his car keys and heading down to the garage. For the first time in weeks he felt energized and excited. Hell, hunkering down in this pristine community could be a fun vacation with surfing, reading, old movies, and long walks on the beach with his beautiful wife. To make it perfect, he only had to find a way to send Wilson home. That shouldn’t be too hard. Give her a day or two more with Standish and she could do the rest of her work from D.C.
Evarts sighed in pleasure. A new board, decent waves, sunshine, and windless conditions. It would take a couple hours for him to drive south, pick out a board and wetsuit, and drive back to Hope Ranch. He hoped the surf conditions weren’t spoiled before his return.
Chapter 80
As Evarts drove back to Santa Barbara, he realized that he had underestimated Sunday traffic. The round trip was going to take him three hours. At least the wind had remained calm. If the waves held, they should present a good test for his new board. Part of the delay was due to the rental car. He had to buy a roof rack to carry the nine-footer. At home he had a quiver of seven boards, all different sizes and shapes for different conditions, but if he could only have one at this apartment, he decided on a long board.
His cell rang. Caller ID said it was Trish.
“Hi, Trish. On my way.”
“Where are you?” she said anxiously.
“Just past Ventura. About a half hour away in this traffic. Why?”
“Hurry. I think they found us. We have bad guys at the door.”
“Hold,” Evarts said.
He hit speaker and set the phone down as he slipped over to the inside emergency lane that ran along the center divider. He punched it. The car’s acceleration felt anemic. Why the hell hadn’t he rented a more powerful car. He knew why. They had wanted anonymity, not speed.
“Okay,” he said, “I’m in the emergency lane picking up speed. Explain the situation.”
“We heard someone knocking on unit doors. When they reached our door, I almost opened it before checking the camera. They were dark skinned males, two of them, and two more knocking on units across the way. How did they find us?”
“Doesn’t matter, at this point. Are you and Diane secure?”
“For the moment. Secure and armed.”
“Both of you into the bedroom. If the shades are up, don’t try to close them. Stay below the windowsill. Call 911 and report an armed break-in. Act hysterical. Then call Standish. Is Diane there?” He heard a yes. “Okay, keep an eye on the monitor pointed at the rear. If you see someone raise a missile launcher or approach with a satchel or anything, you take them out. That’s your most vulnerable point. It will take a long time to break down those doors, but if they discover that you’re in the bedroom, they may try to blow the rear of the unit. Understand?”
“Yes. No visible activity yet.”
“Good. Hang up and make the calls. I’m
up to ninety-five miles an hour. Be there soon.”
Evarts focused on the road and pushed it past one hundred. This was dangerous. He had no siren or lights to warn traffic, the narrow lane next to the wall was littered with debris, and the rental car didn’t drive like a police interceptor. He kept his speed up anyway. With luck, he would draw the attention of the Highway Patrol and he could pull them along with him to Hope Ranch. Then he noticed motion above his windscreen. The surfboard was oscillating like a tuning fork. He had forgotten about it. No wonder the car handled sluggishly. The board was secure, but the surfboard and rack didn’t enhance the aerodynamics of the vehicle.
His phone rang. He picked it up off the seat and answered with speaker.
“Yeah?”
“They left.” The voice belonged to Wilson.
Evarts eased the pressure on the gas pedal.
“Sitrep?”
He had automatically spoken to her in Army lingo.
“No visible tangos, police on way, we’re armed and in the safe room.” He heard a deep breath. “I don’t believe they knew anyone was here. When we didn’t answer, they politely knocked a couple more times, then looked around and went away. They may still be in the complex knocking on other doors.”
“They’re canvassing. Asking about strangers. Shit! Call the police back. Tell them not to come to your apartment. Explain that if they come direct to your door, they’ll be giving away who called 911. Tell them they’re banging on doors all over. They should find them, then you’ll talk. Do It!”
The call ended.
Evarts kept the speed at just under ninety. He wasn’t sure the crisis was over, but he wouldn’t be much help unless he got to them in one piece. It appeared the Ikhwan knew they were in Hope Ranch but not an exact location. That meant they had been seen entering or exiting the community. That seemed unlikely. They had been careful. He asked himself how would he do it? Then he knew. He had been underestimating their skillset. They figured out that if they had burrowed into a hidey-hole, they’d reinforce their dwelling. If they queried security companies, they would eventually land on the one he used. Playing rich Egyptian refugees, they could ask about references and recent work. Properly constructed questions would elicit responses that would hint at recent work.
The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) Page 32
