The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3)

by James D. Best

  She quick-stepped over to punch the call button laying alongside his arm.

  “Good evening,” Baldwin said, still smiling. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I was hit by a ton of bricks.”

  She laughed. “Close. What do you remember?”

  “Diving for my life. I saw that asshole triggering a bomb. Standish?”

  “Next room. Broken arm, facial lacerations, and a concussion. Wilson’s more serious. A piece of metal hit her in the abdomen and penetrated several inches. Pierced her spleen, but the doctors saved it. Also, lacerations, bruises, and hearing loss. Doctor says that’s probably temporary. She’s in intensive care, but stable. The doctors think all three of you will fully recover.”

  “What the hell am I recovering from?”

  “Mostly a dislocated shoulder. You also had a concussion. They sedated you to put your shoulder back in place. You’ve been out for nearly two hours.”

  “My officers?”

  “Relatively minor injuries from flying glass. The three who needed more than first aid were treated in ER and released.”

  Evarts cursed, “Damn, I’m sorry, I should have asked about you first.”

  “Indeed, you should have.” Smiled broadly. “We’re fine, but the doctor says I need to quit drinking.”

  Her exuberance gave it away. “We’re fine? Is that the royal we or are you pregnant?”

  She laughed. “You’re fast. Just found out a half hour ago. I’ve been grinning ever since.”

  “That’s great. Lean down so I can kiss you.”

  She did, but instead of trying to kiss her toothy grin, he kissed her cheek.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “And I love you. I thought I had lost you today. That explosion was horrific. The other car flew into the air and landed on top of Standish’s police car. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get you out.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I was over a hundred yards away. They still checked me out. A short while ago, they told me that all three of you would fully recover and that I was pregnant. So, I left to wallow in my joy and get a cup of hospital coffee to celebrate.”

  “I’m happy for us,” Evarts said.

  “Me too.”

  The nurse came in, checked his vitals, fluffed his pillow, and gave him some pain relief for his head. He felt better by the time she left.

  “O’Brian?”

  “He’ll fly in tomorrow evening with his son. He talked to the doctors and was satisfied that Diane will be fine.”

  “Everything is good then.” Evarts could feel himself smiling as well.

  “One problem. And you’re not going to like it.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “You’ll be almost normal in a couple weeks, but you won’t be able to surf for three months. Maybe longer. No shoulder exertion.”

  “That’s it? That’s the bad news? I can live with that.”

  “Glad to hear it because I thought you loved surfing more than me.”

  “Different kind of love. One I can live without for a few months, the other, not so much.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Any word on the bad guys down in Westwood Village?”

  “Both teams picked up. LA police report picking up one team in their motel room, and the other team drinking alcohol in a strip bar on Sunset Boulevard.”

  “Guess they didn’t know that what happens in Hollywood doesn’t necessarily stay in Hollywood.”

  Evarts lifted his head and was pleased that the ache had receded. As Baldwin helped him sit more upright, he swung his legs off the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to see Standish. You said she’s next door.”

  “You’re not supposed to be up and about. You could get nauseated. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

  “Smart girl. Don’t challenge my masculinity, use it as a positive force. Not buying it. I feel fine. I want to see my fellow officer.”

  “Odd phrasing. She’s your subordinate.”

  “Not in this moment. She’s a fellow officer that survived taking on the bad guys.”

  Evarts stood to test his steadiness. He felt better than expected. A nurse burst in and Evarts realized Baldwin had buzzed her.

  “Better bring us a wheelchair. He’s going to visit the patient next door.”

  “Excuse me, but—”

  Baldwin interrupted. “No use arguing. Does he hold my arm as we walk, or do you bring us a chair?”

  None too pleased, the nurse whirled around and left the room.

  Evarts smiled and gave his wife another kiss on the cheek. “You’re a great advocate.”

  “Sit!” She ordered, and he sat on the edge of the bed to wait for the wheelchair. “And don’t get cocky. I wouldn’t let you go except the doctor said your highest risk was nausea. I’ve seen you throw up before.”

  “Hopefully, that treat will remain in the future for Standish.”

  The nurse returned with a wheelchair and orderly. With one on each side, he was soon comfortably seated in the chair.

  The nurse motioned toward the orderly. “Chief Evarts, this is Pete. If you feel anything out of the ordinary, tell Pete and he get you back in bed pronto. You are to go nowhere except the room next door. Remain in the chair. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Damn, right,” she said as she marched out of the room.

  When he first saw Standish, he had to suppress a gasp. Her faced looked much more bruised and cut than he had supposed. Surprisingly, she was smiling. Probably in relief of still being alive.

  After introducing Pete and some small talk between the women, Evarts asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore … and victorious,” she answered.

  “Same here. Feels great, doesn’t it?”

  “Way better than the alternative. Thanks for pulling me down. That half second made a difference.”

  “I didn’t break your arm, did I?”

  “It’s the left arm, dummy. You jerked my right arm.”

  He smiled to show he already knew that. “Good to know. How’s the head?’

  “Slight concussion. Feeling better already.”

  “Mine still aches.” Evarts felt awkward. “Thanks. I mean thank you for sticking with me and my shitty plan.”

  “Not that shitty. It worked.”

  “I should have anticipated martyrdom. It’s what they do.”

  “You can’t think of everything.”

  “I’ll do better, next time.”

  “There damn well better not be a next time. Enough is enough.”

  He laughed. “When I came in, you were smiling. What were you thinking about?”

  She laughed lightly. “You really want to know?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll was envisaging four jerks running around hell outraged because they can’t find their seventy-two virgins.”

  Chapter 84

  Evarts gave the nurse permission to allow O’Brian into his room. Despite the sore shoulder, he felt much better because his headache had receded. The general had been with his daughter-in-law for the last hour, and he was probably ready to give Evarts a piece of his mind. He braced as he saw O’Brian walk in wearing khaki pants with a blue blazer over a strikingly white shirt. He didn’t blame O’Brian for being angry. Thankfully, they had transferred her out of intensive care prior to his arrival.

  “You look good,” O’Brian said.

  “I feel okay. Don’t spoil it, now.”

  “Why would I?”

  “If I were you, I’d be pissed. Sergeant Wilson came out to help with an investigation, not get into a firefight.”

  “She’s a soldier,” O’Brian said dismissively. “But … there is a reason my son’s not with me. He’s still with Diane.”

  “Too bad. I never met him.”

  “You’ll get a chance later. He’s not really angry.” O’Brian pulled over a chair and
sat. “She did well?”

  “Yes, sir. In research and battle. She took out three assailants in nothing flat. Three bullets, three dead. Nice work.” He handed O’Brian a sealed envelope. “Can you get this to her commanding officer.”

  “Of course. Can I ask what’s in it?”

  “An action report … and my suggestion that he should recommend her for a Silver Star to go with her Purple Heart.”

  “She’s upset she didn’t get the fourth, you know.”

  “The targets were moving and after she got the first three, the car was no longer in her field of vision. That was sharp shooting in a high stress situation. There’s nothing for her to be upset about.”

  O’Brian nodded and put the envelop in the breast pocket of his sport coat.

  “Did you succeed with your other plans?” Evart asked.

  O’Brian took a deep breath. “I can’t say much, but Washington is back to normal, Jakarta is a cleaner city, and those vigilantes are corralled.”

  “And my situation?”

  “I should have guessed that would remain a concern of yours. I can confirm that the bounty has been withdrawn, but it would be because they brought the contract inhouse. We started executing that financial scenario we discussed. The Hildebrand Club assets are frozen for myriad financial transgressions. When you get up and about, a press conference will confirm that your taskforce led the investigation and deserves the lion share of the credit. Together with some other leaks and public pronouncements the Ikhwan should be dissuaded from believing that you’re a Templar Knight. Hopefully, the threat will fully go away in the weeks ahead. In the meantime, intelligence says that all the Ikhwan villains not captured or killed have fled the country. It’s a judgment call, but I believe you’re in the clear.

  “Can it be confirmed?”

  “Not until we nurture an inside asset. But … I think we’ll know if the Ikhwan returns to U.S. soil. That incident in D.C. has increased situational awareness. We’ll keep a careful watch on entry points to our country, and hopefully, we’ll keep them too busy overseas for them to return to our soil. In the meantime, my recommendation is that you assume that you’re no longer on their radar.

  “Assume is a weak word.”

  O’Brian stood and prepared to leave. At the door, he paused.

  “Greg, thanks. You and Patricia were a great help. And … you’re right, assume is a weak word.”

  Chapter 85

  Evarts buried his bare heels in the sand. He had told Trish that he had no problem with abstaining from surfing for a few months. As he stretched out in his beach chair, he knew that had been a falsehood. Not to Trish, but to himself. It was easy to forgo getting in the water when the waves were crummy, but today was a different matter. A slight offshore breeze feathered the breaking surf, causing a fine spray of water to lift skyward with each wave. The well-formed shoulder-height waves were perfect for long boards. Even the youngsters in the water had abandoned their short boards to hauled logs out of the garage. Now he watched one long nose ride after another, punctuated with shouts of glee.

  It was hard to sit on the beach when conditions were perfect, especially when his shoulder bothered him only in the mornings. He prayed for heavy onshore winds and white caps. That might be his only salvation.

  “No,” Baldwin said as she plopped down beside him.

  She had gone to his Sprinter to change into a bathing suit. They had moved back home, but since they had paid for the Hope Ranch apartment, they decided to enjoy the private beach that came with it. It had been overcast and chilly when they left home, so Baldwin had worn sweats. Luckily, she kept a bathing suit in the van.

  “No? To what?” Evarts asked.

  “You may not go surfing. The doctor was adamant. Watch those kids. Maybe you’ll learn something you can use when you’re fully recovered.”

  “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “Of course, you can, besides you’re only forty-one.”

  “Which means I’ll be nearly sixty when my first kid goes to college.”

  “First?”

  “Yeah, I want a dozen. If I can’t surf, I need something to keep me busy.”

  “Better wait until you see how much work one is. You’ll be busy enough.”

  “Yeah, making brothers and sisters.”

  “Greg, I saw the boards in the van. You’re not going out.”

  “Trish, I always store my boards in the van. Besides, I might hurt my shoulder if I lift them out to put in the garage. Perhaps if I—”

  “You’re not going out.”

  “Balderdash!”

  “I take back what I said earlier, you are old.”

  “A dying man’s last wish?”

  “No. What did you decide about Megan?”

  “I can recognize deflection.”

  “All right, I’m deflecting. What about Megan?”

  “I wrote her a campaign a check for twenty-five hundred.”

  “After she threw you under the bus? Why?”

  “I would have given her five thousand if she had stood by me. I gave her half. Enough not to make an enemy. In the end, I’m more politician than law enforcement. Not a good idea to be on the bad side of the lieutenant governor.”

  “You think she’ll win?”

  “She’ll win.”

  “You don’t have a good history with mayors. You may regret her leaving.”

  “I already do. Bedford is considering running.”

  “Jon Bedford? If he wins, you damn well better have Sacramento in your pocket.”

  “I’m not worried. I can always become a beach bum.”

  “Not in your nature.”

  “What about D.C?”

  “D.C? What about D.C?”

  “O’Brian offered me a job. You could teach at Georgetown.”

  “You hate East Coast surf.”

  “Can’t surf here … and it’s perfect.”

  “Greg, is this real or are you trying to convince me to let you paddle out?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to go to D.C., but I won’t succumb to blackmail.”

  Deep sigh. “Then I guess it’s just as well I already turned it down.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “But that was before I learned that Bedford was running for mayor. Now … I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, get sure. We have a good life here and it’s a great place to raise children.”

  “Good point. Guess we better stay.”

  He took her hand and held it as they watched the surfers cavort.

  The Shopkeeper, A Steve Dancy Tale

  The Steve Dancy Tales are seven novel series. Honest westerns filled with dishonest characters.

  Sample: Chapter 1

  “Two.”

  Richard scratched his stubbly chin with ink-stained fingers. “Pass.”

  I turned to my partner. He passed but not before giving me a sour look.

  Everyone stared at Dr. Dooley. He took his time, but we all knew. After forcing us to watch his little drama, he finally said, “Pass,” and I immediately responded with, “Hearts.”

  I caught an uneasy glance from Jeremiah, but I gave my partner a wink and led with the ace of spades. Richard’s three of hearts was in mid-flight when a distant gunshot froze everything but the floating card. When I started to speak, Jeremiah halted me with an upraised palm and perked ears.

  After a few moments, my companions’ rigid expressions suddenly regained life. “Damn,” Dooley said.

  “Looks like ya might have some work, Doc,” Jeremiah said.

  “A series of gunshots means a drunk got rowdy, but one or two means somebody probably got himself shot,” Richard said.

  The explanation was for me, the newly arrived city dweller. The year was 1879, and I had come to the western frontier to explore and find adventure. I had arrived in this Nevada mining settlement only four days before and had soon made friends with the only literate men in this
stove-top town.

  “Stay here.” Dr. Dooley scratched his chair away from the table. “I’ll have a look.”

  “Doc, just hang in and finish the hand,” Richard said. “They’ll come and get ya if they need ya.”

  On hot nights, Richard propped the front door ajar with a heavy can of ink. Dooley glanced through the opening to see if any hysterical men were running in our direction.

  “They know where ya are,” Richard added.

  Dooley scooted his chair back up to the table. “All right, let’s play.”

  When I arrived in town, I had gone over to the newspaper office to buy current and back issues of the town paper, a habit I had picked up in my travels. A quick read of four or five issues gave a person a fair grasp of the town and its grand denizens. Pickhandle Gulch seemed to have a penchant for rowdiness, but the newspaper stories concentrated on the silver mines and their monthly production. As best I could tell, people with good claims were growing richer than the paper miners I was familiar with on Wall Street.

  When I had entered his print shop four days ago, Richard—reporter, editor, and printer—looked pleased to sell some old copies, but he was absolutely delighted when I answered a casual query in the affirmative: yes, I knew how to play whist. Reverend Cunningham, their fourth, had died a few weeks prior, and the three men had been in a funk ever since.

  Thus started our nightly ritual of after-dinner whist. Funny how the little pleasures make life worth living, and life in Pickhandle Gulch needed some diversion beyond the predictable fare at Ruby’s whorehouse. I had visited many western towns, but Pickhandle Gulch seemed especially bleak. The discovery of silver had attracted rough-hewn men from all over the continent, and now the settlement had grown to be the largest in southwest Nevada.

  “Richard, it’s your lead, for God’s sake.” Jeremiah used an oath I presumed the Reverend Cunningham would have objected to.

  Everybody returned their attention to the cards, Richard with a smidgen of glee, and my partner with elevating levels of disgust every time Richard pulled another heart from his hand. Despite my best efforts, the hand played out badly for us, and we went set.