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

I did? Maybe I denied your bull crap story about a recall.”

“Then on landing I would’ve had angry texts and voice messages waiting for me.”

This time her smile was unaffected. “You’re right. I backed up your story. But advanced warning would have been nice.”

He shrugged. “We were hot to get out of Dodge and I suspected the French were monitoring my communications.”

“What? Why?” She appeared perplexed. “Do they keep all their consulting investigators under surveillance?”

“Just the ones they suspect to be part of the opposition.”

“Opposition?” Again, she appeared puzzled. “Oh, you mean Washington.”

“No, the French think I might be a vigilante.” She started to raise a question, but Evarts held up a hand to stop her. “I was on that bridge during the attack. Trish and I were almost killed. We barely escaped, but I killed two of the terrorists. Their offer of a consultancy was their way of keeping an eye on me while they sorted things out.”

“I see.” She hesitated, then she added in a light voice, “So, I aided and abetted a fleeing felon.”

He laughed. “Too bad that’s not true. I could hold it over you.”

He had a good relationship with this mayor. That had not been the case with her predecessor. Maybe it wouldn’t be true of the next mayor, either. Walsh had confided to him that she was going to run for Lieutenant Governor. He hoped she won. She deserved to win. But he didn’t like any of the announced mayoral candidates, so her moving up the ladder was a mixed bag.

“Tell me all about it,” she said.

He explained everything except the Templar connection. Instead, he also used Captain Durandus’ DGSI ruse. Evarts conveyed a thought he had on the plane ride home. He now suspected that the French thought he might be connected to US intelligence. Their subterfuge was understandable if they thought the U.S. had advance knowledge of the attack and failed to share the information with them.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“You’re the boss, you tell me.”

She thought a second. “Get me a crackerjack grant request to back up our need for national emergency funds. Granted, flood damage is worse in other parts of the state, but that’s their problem. We did more than our share in handling refugees. Your responsibility is Santa Barbara, so don’t pull any punches. Help me get a lion’s share of the money.”

“And Paris.”

“I thought I made myself clear. Santa Barbara pays our salaries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said happily. “With your permission, I’ll work from home. Give me a chance to shower.”

“Have yourself a Macallan’s as well. It sounds like you earned it.”

Chapter 8

Evarts collapsed into his bed. He had sipped a glass of Macallan’s while doing some preliminary work on Emergency Relief paperwork. They had a week until the council meeting and his Deputy Chief had already completed the grunt work. Walsh hadn’t been serious about the urgency; it was just her way of telling him that she had his back when it came to French intransigency.

The need for emergency funding was real. California had suffered the worst flooding in a hundred and fifty years. Santa Barbara had less damage than inland areas but despite the milder downpour, Santa Barbara’s infrastructure had been ravaged. City parks, roads, waste treatment, and businesses had been severely hurt and city coffers depleted because Santa Barbara had served as a refuge for people fleeing northern and eastern floodwaters.

Other areas might be more deserving, but Evarts long ago learned that assistance was utilized best by well-managed entities. Cities and counties that were badly run before a disaster remained badly run when they dealt with the aftermath of a disaster. His conscience was clear, and he vowed to make their city’s application preeminent within the state.

He cleared his mind. All that could wait until tomorrow. Although it was still hours before dark, he didn’t care. He wanted sleep. Baldwin had come directly home and evidently went straight to bed. His movements had not disturbed her slumber. He was jealous.

The phone rang!

Damn it!

Evarts grabbed his cell and bounded out of bed, intent on taking it into the bathroom so it wouldn’t wake his wife. As he scurried across the carpet, his bleary eyes read the Caller ID. He would need to take this call and it would probably be long. He reversed direction and headed for the staircase. Directly below their bedroom was a great room that spanned the entire rear of the house.

He punched to answer the phone but didn’t say hello until he had descended a few more steps.

“Hello, Greg, are you there?”

“Yeah, Trish’s asleep and I’m going to another part of the house.” He took a few more steps. “Okay, I’m good now.”

“Where are you?” Jim O’Brian asked.

“Home, general. Just arrived … and was about to join my wife in Slumberland.”

“The French let you go?”

“I didn’t give them a chance to stop me. I somehow forgot to call until I was through security at De Gaulle.”

“Good. I need you in D.C. Pronto.”

“What? When? I have work here in Santa Barbara.”

“You have good commanders under you. Let them handle things.”

“General, it’s not day-to-day stuff. I’m on deadline to submit our application for federal emergency relief funds.”

“Greg, quit calling me general.”

“Yes, sir.”

O’Brian laughed. “Okay, smartass. Listen, I understand the issue, but you can work on the application in flight.”

“Jim, come on. I’m tired. What’s the urgency?”

“Not on the phone. This communication is non-secure. Can you take the first flight tomorrow?”

“I can. But why should I? Can you give me a clue?”

“It has to do with the text you sent. Some found it intriguing.”

“Short visit?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Shag your butt back here and we’ll sort it out. Otherwise …”

“Otherwise what? You’ll send the FBI to haul me back?”

“Probably.”

Evarts could almost hear the shrug.

“I need sleep. Can I call you back tomorrow morning?”

“Yes. With your flight number and arrival time. I’ll send a car.”

“Jim, is this really that important?”

“It is.”

“All right. I’ll make the arrangements and text you before I