The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗

number of my countrymen alive and far more unmaimed. I can assure you; I’ll be gentler with them than they would be with me if the situation were reversed.”

“Not in my ambulance. I won’t be party to this.”

“Smart, mister,” one of the terrorists pantingly said. “Even if he tortures us, we will not talk. We never talk. Allah is with us. Keep him away … or after we’re free, we come for you and do you worse … and make you watch as we do the same to family. Do not listen to this man. Take us to your hospital, not his.”

Evarts watched the paramedics face and saw his expression go from steadfast resistance to horror to resolve. In a few sentences, the terrorist had shown his inner nature and lost his guardian.

The paramedic turned to his partner. “Let’s get ‘em loaded up and out of here.”

They lifted the gurneys until they locked in a up position, rolled them to door, and they automatically collapsed as they were fed forward into the ambulance. Baldwin came up and watched the final stages.

When they had the gurneys secure, the paramedic said, “Climb aboard, you two. We’ll ride up front.”

As Evarts and Baldwin climbed in back, Evarts heard one of the terrorist plead, “Hey, don’t do this.”

Without another word, the paramedic slammed the ambulance doors.

Chapter 66

Evarts pulled over a rolling stool while Baldwin hoovered over the men holding a ceiling strap for balance. They were cuffed behind their backs and laying on their sides due to the position of the wounds. Evarts sat facing the one who had threatened the paramedic. At first, Evarts didn’t say anything. He just sat beside the man. Then he reached over and rolled him onto his back. A relatively guarded groan told Evarts that the pain medication had not worn off. He impassively examined the man as he tilted him back on to his side. He was probably mid-twenties, clean-shaven, smell-free, and dressed like an American student. Evarts wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he passed him on the street.

Finally, Evarts said, “I want to know the target of today’s bombs.”

“You will die a thousand deaths in Jahannam.”

“That’s neither here nor there. What’s the target?”

The terrorist tried to spit at him, but Evarts lightly twisted his head until his mouth was against the mattress.

As he held his head in that position, the student said, “I can’t breathe.”

Evarts turned his head slightly to give him minimum relief. “We know the answer to my question. It’s a test to see if you’re truthful. We’ll get to the important stuff in a minute. Now … what is the target?”

He pursed his lips to show defiance. Evarts twisted his head back into the mattress and pressed. In a couple seconds the man kicked his legs in anguish and made a weak attempt to attack Evarts, but a lack of oxygen and the pain from his wound kept him from moving too aggressively. Evarts kept his face firmly pressed into the mattress. When his struggling began to subside, Evarts turned his face just enough so he could breathe.

“Last chance, what’s the target?”

“You may torture me, but you won’t kill me.”

“Of course, I will. Your compatriots killed my wife and daughter on Pont Neuf. My superiors gave me this assignment because they knew I was desperate for revenge.” He leaned in close. “Tell me the target or I’ll smother you and move on to your partner” He nodded his head to indicate the other gurney. “To tell the truth, I need to kill you, so he’ll see I’m not bound by absurd regulations.” He paused dramatically. “So, what’s the target?”

Evarts expected that he would need to go a couple degrees further before getting answers, so he was surprised when the man said, “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Evarts bent his head forward as he twisted the terrorist’s head slightly more into the mattress.

He whispered, “Kill Adham instead of me and I’ll tell you.”

Clever bugger. Evarts vowed not to underestimate this man again. Evarts swiveled the stool to look at Adham on the other gurney.

“Adham.”

The man rolled toward him with insolent eyes.

“Did you hear what your friend said?” Evarts asked.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Evarts smiled at Adham as he pulled a lockback knife out of his pocket. With practiced elan, he flipped it open with his thumb. “He wants me to kill you to prove that I’m brutal enough to follow through on my threat.”

“Then I go with Allah,” Adham said evenly.

“Very well.”

Using his body to shield Adham from the other man’s view, Evarts lifted the bandage off his buttocks and inserted a finger into his wound. Adham screamed and thrashed. Evarts rotated his finger. Adham screamed again. Evarts kept at it until the man fainted. He then turned Adham’s face away and watched for a moment. Absent close inspection, Adham appeared lifeless. Evarts wiped the blood off his finger onto the blade of the knife. He stood and removed a towel from a shelf against the ceiling. Then he spun around on his seat, casually wiping the blood off the blade. He dropped the bloody towel on the floor, folded the knife, and returned it to his pocket.

With no preamble, the other man said, “Library of Congress.”

Did he not want to die or was this disinformation? In his experience, extremists did not break this easily. The only way he’d know is through further questioning.

“How?”

“I was supposed to go to reading room this afternoon with Adham. We each have a Quran with a cover that can ignite. The cover will burn hot enough to put pages on fire which are soaked in poison chemical. The gas will kill all within twenty feet, make sick those further away. We are instructed to sit on opposite sides of the reading room.”

“What other instructions did you receive?”

“Gather loose paper, notices, brochures and such, and lay them under and over Quran to increase fire. When ready, go to bathroom and trigger ignition. Put