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

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.

Evarts felt sick. He called Standish.

She answered with, “Chief, I got a call from Patricia. Are you in town?”

“No time for explanations. Have the Egyptians cruised anywhere other than my house and the station?”

“Hope Ranch. Started yesterday. We thought it was weird but assumed they liked looking at mansions.”

“Gotta go.”

He ended the call and phoned Baldwin. She answered in a calm voice.

“Police called. Arriving in moments. They’ll search the complex before seeing us.” She laughed nervously. “I think I may have been paranoid.”

“No, you were right on the mark. Those men were not knocking on doors to talk to people, they were knocking to find a steel door. They appeared to leave because they found it. How many—”

“Now you’re the paranoid one,” Baldwin said.

“With good