The Templar Salvation (2010) (33 page)

After two rings, a drowsy voice picked up.

Zahed’s tone went all gregarious. “Abdulkerim? Good morning. Ali Sharafi here. Suleyman’s client. We spoke last night?”

The man he’d called—Abdulkerim, Sully’s uncle, the expert the guide had wanted to contact when they were up by the ruins of the monastery—had clearly been asleep. After a quiet moment, Zahed’s words seemed to have registered. “Yes, good morning to you,” the man blurted into the Iranian’s ear. His voice trailed off, obviously surprised by the early call and still foggy-headed.

“I’m sorry to be calling you this early,” Zahed continued, “but our plans changed and we got here a bit earlier than expected. I was hoping we could meet sooner than agreed, perhaps in the next hour or so? You know, get an early start. Our time here is unfortunately limited, so the sooner we get going, the better, really.”

Abdulkerim cleared his throat audibly and said, “Of course, of course. It’s not a problem. Earlier will be better anyway. Less sun.”

“That’s great,” Zahed said. “We’ll see you soon. And thanks for being so accommodating.”

He took note of where and when they would meet up and ended the call, satisfied with the outcome. He approached the car and glanced through the rear windshield. He could see the silhouette of Tess’s head from behind. His mood darkened. There was something else he needed to do.

He opened the Discovery’s rear hatch, picked something out of it, and slammed it shut again. Then he went around to Tess’s door and swung it open.

“Get out,” he told her.

Tess stared at him for a beat, a look of surprise on her face, then climbed out. She stood there in front of him, in silence. He just looked at her without saying a word—then, with lightning agility, his hand flew up and struck her with a vicious, backhanded slap.

Her head twisted sideways violently under the impact and she fell to the ground. She stayed down, motionless, her head turned away, saying nothing. After a moment, she pushed herself back onto her feet and, brushing the soil off her hands, turned back to face him. Her eyes were tearful, but defiant. Her cheek was seared red, the imprint of his hand and fingers clearly visible on it.

“Don’t lie to me again,” he told her. “Understood?”

She didn’t react. He raised his hand menacingly again, ready to swing again. She didn’t flinch, but this time she nodded faintly.

He lifted up his other hand. In it was a wide canvas belt.

He held it out to her and said, “I’m going to need you to put this on.”

Chapter 34

R
eilly was moving fast, as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He was finding it a bit easier, now that the steep, uneven trail down the mountain had given way to a flatter and smoother dirt road. Still, he was barely managing to stay on his feet. The nearest town, a small cluster of houses at the base of the volcano, was still half a mile away. He needed to find some kind of transportation that would give his muscles a rest if he didn’t want his body to shut down in protest at the appalling treatment it was getting. And he had to do it fast.

The drone, he knew, was long gone.

Every second counted.

He cleared a low ridge and spotted something moving a couple of hundred yards ahead. Someone, riding something. The sight gave him a small boost. As he closed in on it, Reilly saw that it was an old man sitting astride a haggard-looking horse. The scrawny animal had two huge straw baskets slung on either side of its rump and was trudging ahead lazily, oblivious to the fleet of flies that were circling it.

Reilly picked up his pace and shouted, “Hey,” waving his arms frantically. He saw the man turn his head nonchalantly, without slowing down. “Hey,” he shouted again, and again, and this time, the man pulled on the reins and the horse stopped.

“Your horse,” Reilly told him, pointing and gesturing wildly, his panting making him sound even more incoherent to the confused local. “I need your horse.”

The man’s weathered face suddenly tensed up as his eyes fell on the weapon in Reilly’s waistband. But instead of going all fearful and panicky, he started shouting at Reilly, seemingly berating him for his affront. Young or old, strong or frail, the men Reilly was encountering didn’t seem to be easily cowed. Reilly shook his head and spread his arms out calmingly, doing his best to get the man to ease back.

“Please, just listen to me. It’s not like that. I need your help, okay? I need your horse,” he told him, making all kinds of gestures that he thought could signal humility and respect.

The man was still eyeing him suspiciously, but after a moment he calmed down a touch.

Reilly remembered something and reached into an inside pocket. He pulled out his wallet.

“Here,” he told him as he fished out all the cash he had in it. It wasn’t much—but it was still more than he suspected the tired old horse was worth. He held it out to the man. “Please. Take it. Come on. Don’t make me reach for the gun.” He knew the man wouldn’t understand that last bit.

The man studied him curiously for a beat, then muttered something and relented. He climbed off the horse with surprising ease and handed Reilly the reins.

Reilly smiled at him, the gratitude on his face clearly coming through. The man’s expression softened up. Reilly looked into the baskets. They were filled with grapes.

“Here, you keep these,” he told him as he loosened the ties that held them in place and helped the old man set them down by the side of the road. He then climbed on the tattered blankets that were there in lieu of a saddle, pulled out Tess’s map, and studied it.

He thought of asking the old man to confirm his heading, but he knew the Jandarma’s backup would soon be crawling all over the mountain and he didn’t want to give them a head start. Instead, he used the sun’s position to orient himself. The road from his location to the target area Tess had marked up, somewhere called the Ihlara Valley, was a circuitous one. That would be the road the bomber would be taking. A more direct route across open terrain, as the proverbial crow would fly, was far shorter and didn’t seem to be intersected by any major obstructions such as a river or a mountain range. And given that his steed wasn’t exactly a Thoroughbred, Reilly decided that any gain in distance that needed to be covered was a gift he couldn’t turn down.

He put the map away, gave the man a parting nod and wave, and spurred the horse forward, leading it off the road and into a wide open field, and hoping the poor animal wouldn’t die on him before he got to where he needed to be.

Chapter 35

T
he miles blew by as the Discovery traveled south along the winding, pockmarked road. The barren landscape only added to the numbness that Tess felt, both in body and soul, a numbness that was only pierced by the painful questions that remained unanswered.

She looked across at her captor. He felt her gaze and glanced over at her.

“We should be at the rendezvous in about ten minutes,” he told her, then filled her in on the cover story they’d be using, the same one he’d used on Sully—the one that had him posing as a university professor called Ali Sharafi.

Tess’s face tightened at his casual use of the dead Iranian historian’s name. “You have no shame, do you,” she said. “Using his name like that. After what you did to him.”

She wasn’t asking, and he didn’t react.

“Why am I here anyway?” she pressed. “What do you need me for? The Turks aren’t going to bargain with you just because you have me. Not after everything you’ve done.”

He shrugged. “You’re not here as a hostage, Tess. You’re here because of your expertise. I can’t do this by myself. And since I had to give up your dear friend Jed, I need you to step into his shoes.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, whether or not Simmons was now safe. Somehow, given the precedents in Rome, she doubted it. The thought sent a shot of bile up her throat. “And what is it exactly that you can’t do by yourself?”

He glanced sideways at her, looking amused. “Come now, Tess. You read the monk’s confession. You saw the terms he used to describe this …
trove
. These monks, these gentle, pious servants of God—they actually resorted to murder to keep it hidden. So you tell me, Tess … What do you think I’m after?”

There was no point in playing coy. “The devil’s handiwork? Something that could shake the very rock upon which our world is founded?”

He smiled. “It’s worth finding, don’t you think?”

“Not this way,” she grumbled. “Who are you? What do you want with it?”

He didn’t say anything and just kept his eyes dead ahead. After a moment, he said, “My country and yours … we’ve been fighting a dirty, undeclared war for over fifty years. I’m just a patriot trying to help my side win.”

“Your side being Iran,” she ventured.

He glanced at her and smiled enigmatically.

“We’re not at war with you,” she told him. “And whatever your problems are, we’re not the reason for them.”

That raised a dubious eyebrow on him. “Aren’t you?”

“Hey, we’re not the ones funding terrorists and threatening to wipe other countries off the face of the earth.”

Her words didn’t seem to cause any flutter inside him. Instead, he just coolly asked her, “Do you know about Operation Ajax, Tess?”

She’d never heard of it. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s part of your problem, you see. You people have no appreciation for history. You only have time for tweets and Facebook and who Tiger Woods is fucking. And when it comes to the big stories, to wars that can kill thousands and ruin millions of lives, you never bother to look behind the headlines, you don’t take the time to read about why things are the way they are and look for the truth behind the spin of your politicians or the hysteria of those talking heads on your TV screens.”

Tess scoffed. “That’s just great. I’m being lectured on the subtleties of history and the great failings of our democracy by a man who cut off an innocent woman’s head just to prove a point. There’s so much we can learn from you guys, isn’t there?”

He turned to face her again, only this time there was something deeply unsettling in his look. Something very dark and sinister had been prodded awake. His hand slid sideways and settled on her thigh. It sent a jolt of dread through her. He just let it sit there for a few interminable seconds, saying nothing. Then he squeezed her thigh slightly before giving it a patronizing little tap.

“You’re a very attractive woman, Tess. Attractive, and clever too. But you really need to brush up on your history,” he told her, looking at her while keeping an eye on the road. “Look up Operation Ajax. It’s an important milestone in the history of our two countries. And while you’re at it, find out what happened on the morning of the 3rd of July, in 1988. What
really
happened that day.” His face darkened further. The mention of the date seemed to stir up a cauldron of hatred deep in his soul. He held her gaze for a beat, then turned his attention back to the road ahead.

Tess’s heart was thudding against her rib cage like an alien wanting out. She fought to keep her composure as she racked her brain for any insight into what he was talking about, and was frustrated at coming up blank. She hated not knowing what he was referring to, and hated not being able to throw his smug assumptions back in his face.

“I think this is it,” he finally announced, then pointed ahead. “And that’s got to be our man. Let’s hope he knows his stuff.”

Tess followed his gaze. Up the road, by a dusty three-way intersection, she saw a ramshackle fruit and vegetable stall next to a small gas station. A man was standing there, by a parked mustard-colored Jeep Cherokee. He seemed to be in his late fifties and looked somewhat incongruous in his cargo pants, denim shirt, and khaki boonie hat. He had to be their contact, Abdulkerim, Sully’s Byzantinist uncle. Confirming it, the man waved as he saw them approach.

The Iranian slowed down, and as he pulled over, he gave Tess a stern look. “This doesn’t have to end badly for you. You understand that, don’t you?”