The Last Templar - Страница 26

"We were fools to put our lives in the hands of those ignorant, arrogant charlatans. It won't happen again. Not to anyone. I'll make sure of that." He gazed at the emptiness around them. "The world has changed a lot in a thousand years. Life's not about the will of God or about the malice of the devil. It's about scientific fact. And it's time people understand that."

And in that instant, Tess knew.

Her blood froze as it hit her with absolute certainty.

He was the man in the museum. William Vance was the fourth horseman.

Images raced through her mind of the panic at the museum, the knights charging, the gunfire, the mayhem, and the screams.

"Veritas vos liberabit." The words just stumbled out of her mouth.

He looked at her, his gray eyes boring into her with rage and realization.

"Exactly."

She had to get away, but her legs had turned to lead. She was utterly rigid and, in that moment, she thought of Reilly.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here," was all she could say. She thought of the museum again, about the fact that people had died because of what this man had done. She looked around, hoping to see other mourners, or any of the tourists or bird-watchers who frequented the cemetery, but it was way too early for that. They were alone.

"I'm glad you did. I do appreciate the company, and you, of all people, should appreciate what I'm trying to do."

"Please, I ... I was only trying to . . ." She managed to will her legs back to life and hesitantly took a few steps backward, darting nervous glances around, desperately trying to figure out an escape route. And at that moment, her cell phone rang.

Her eyes turned to saucers as she looked at Vance and, still stumbling backward, with Vance advancing slowly toward her, she held out one hand as her other hand dived into the bag for the phone, which was still ringing.

"Please," she pleaded.

"Don't," he said. And that's when she realized he was holding some kind of gun in his hand. It looked like a toy gun, with yellow stripes on its short, squared-off barrel. And before she could move or cry out, her fingers grasping at the cell phone in her bag, she watched him pull the trigger, and two probes came flying out through the air. They struck her chest, and she felt burning waves of unbearable pain.

Instantly, her legs buckled; then she was paralyzed, helpless.

Falling to the ground.

Spinning into unconsciousness.

* * *

From behind a nearby tree, a tall man whose dark clothing reeked of stale cigarettes felt a surge of adrenaline as he saw Tess get hit and fall to the ground. Spitting out a wad of Nicorette gum, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed-dial button, his other hand diving for the Heckler & Koch USP compact in the holster behind his back.

De Angelis was quick to answer. "What's going on?"

"I'm still at the cemetery. The girl—" Joe Plunkett paused, watching her as she lay there on the wet grass. "She met up with some guy, and he's just zapped her with a Taser."

"What?"

"I'm telling you, she's down for the count. What do you want me to do? You want me to take him out?" His mind was already laying out a plan of action. The Taser wouldn't be a threat. He wasn't sure about whether or not the silver-haired man standing over the girl had any other weapon on him, but it wouldn't matter either way; he'd be able to overwhelm him before the man had a chance to react, especially since the older man seemed to be out here on his own.

Plunkett waited for the order. His heart was already priming itself for the rush, and he could practically hear De Angelis's mind whirring away. Then the monsignor spoke with a calm, subdued voice.

"No. Do nothing. She doesn't matter anymore. He's now your priority. Stay with him and make sure you don't lose him. I'm on my way."

Chapter 33

A gale of dread blew through Reilly as he listened, his ear glued to his phone. "Tess? Tess!"

His calls remained unanswered, and then the line abruptly cut off.

He immediately hit the redial button, but after four rings, her recorded voice came up and asked him to leave a message. Another re-dial produced the same result.

Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.

He'd seen that Tess had called, but she hadn't left a message and had already left the office by the time he'd tried calling her back. He wasn't sure about how far he wanted to push her Templar angle anyway. He had felt awkward, almost embarrassed to have brought it up at the meeting with the rest of the team and the monsignor. Still, he had called her office bright and early and spoken to Lizzie Harding, her secretary, who had told him Tess hadn't come in that morning. "She called to say she might be coming in late," was how she'd put it.

"How late?"

"She didn't say."

When he had asked for her cell-phone number, he was told they didn't give out personal information, but he decided it was about time he had the number, and the Institute's position was quickly reversed once he explained that he was with the FBI.

After three rings, her cell phone had clicked through but she hadn't said anything. He had heard only a shuffling noise, like when someone accidentally triggers a speed-dialed call from a cell phone in their handbag or pocket; but then he had heard her say "Please," in a tone that was disturbing. She had sounded scared. Like someone pleading. And then there was a succession of noises he was racing to make sense of: a sharp crack, then a couple of small thumps, what sounded like a brief, muffled cry of pain, and a much louder thump. He had shouted "Tess" into the phone again, but didn't get an answer, and then the line went dead.

Staring at his phone now, his heart was pounding. He really didn't like the way that "Please" had sounded.

Something was definitely, horribly wrong.

His mind racing, he dialed the Institute again and got through to Lizzie.

"It's Agent Reilly again. I need to know where Tess—" He quickly corrected himself, "—where Miss Chaykin is. It's urgent."

"I don't know where she is. She didn't say where she was going. All she said was that she'd be coming in late."

"I need you to have a look at her diary, check her e-mail. Does she keep an electronic calendar, maybe a program that's in sync with her PDA? There's got to be something there."

"Just give me a minute," she said, sounding edgy.

Reilly could see his partner now looking at him with concern.

"What's going on?" Aparo asked.

Reilly cupped the mouthpiece with one hand and scribbled down Tess's cell-phone number for Aparo with the other. "It's Tess. Something's happened. Get a fix on her cell."

** ** **

Across the East River, a gray Volvo was slowly making its way up the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

Three cars behind the Volvo and keeping a discreet distance was a gunmetal gray Ford sedan, driven by a man who had the nasty habit of flicking cigarette butts out the car window while they were still lit.

To his left and across the river, the spires of the Lower East Side beckoned.

As he had guessed, the Volvo was soon on the bridge and heading into Manhattan.

Chapter 34

E ven before she opened her eyes, Tess was aware of the smell of incense. When she did open them, she saw what appeared to be hundreds of candles, their yellow flames throwing a soft, glowing light around the room she was in.

She was lying on a carpet of some kind, an old kilim. It felt rough and worn to her fingers.

Suddenly, her encounter with Bill Vance flooded back and she felt a chill of fear. But he wasn't there. She was alone.

Sitting up, she felt dizzy, but forced herself to rise unsteadily to her feet. She felt a sharp pain in her chest and another in her left side. She glanced down, feeling around, trying to remember what had happened.

He shot me. I can't believe he actually shot me.

But I'm not dead . . . ?

She examined her clothes, actually looking for telltale entry points, wondering why she was still breathing. Then she noticed the two spots where she'd been hit, the two places where her clothes were punctured, the edges of the holes slightly frayed and burned. And then it slowly came back to her, the image of Vance and die gun he'd been holding. She realized he hadn't meant to kill her, only to incapacitate her, and that the gun he'd shot her with must have been some kind of stun gun.

Not that that was a particularly comforting thought either.

Looking around through eyes that were still hazy, she guessed that she was in a cellar. Bare walls, paved floor, low-vaulted ceiling carried on elaborate pillars. No windows. No doors. In one corner was a wooden staircase leading upward into a darkness that wasn't reached by the light from the candles, most of which stood on shapeless masses of melted wax.

She slowly realized that the place was more than a cellar. Someone lived here. Against one wall was a cot, with an old wooden box for a bedside table. It was crammed with books and papers. At the opposite end of the space stood a long table. Before it, tilted slightly as though it had seen many years of service, stood a large swivel office chair. The table was piled with more books and papers at each end and there, centrally placed and surrounded by yet more candles, sat the encoder from the Met.

Even in the darkness of the candlelit chamber, it shone with an otherworldly presence. It seemed to be in better condition than she remembered it.