The Last Templar - Страница 43

She nodded. "Yes."

"But you're not going to tell me where it is?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather not. Although I'm pretty sure you can make me, right?" Overhead, the nasal voice made another announcement, inviting die last passengers to board the aircraft. Tess turned to Reilly. "That's my flight."

He watched as the last passengers went through the gate. "You're sure you still want to do this?"

She gave him a nervous nod. "I'm sure."

"Let us handle it. You'll get the full credit for any find, I'll make sure of that. Just let us get him out of the way first."

She looked deep into his eyes. "It's not just about the credit. It's . . . it's what I do. And it's what I have to do." She scoured his face for signs of empathy, for clues as to what he was thinking.

"Besides, it might be out of your hands. International finds ... it can get very territorial and very messy." She managed a tentative grin. "So can I go now, or are you gonna arrest me or something?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm thinking about it." His face wasn't giving away any hints that he could be joking. Far from it.

"On what charge?"

"I don't know. I'll find something. Maybe plant a couple of pouches of coke on you." He faked patting down his pockets. "I know I have some on me somewhere."

Her face relaxed.

His expression turned dead serious. "What can I say to make you change your mind?"

She loved the way it felt to hear him ask her that. Maybe I haven't completely screwed this up yet.

She stood up. "I'll be fine." Not that she believed it.

He got up and for a brief moment, they just stood there. She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. A small part of her was even hoping he would grab her and stop her from going. But he didn't do that either. She glanced toward the gate then turned to face him again. "I'll see you soon."

He didn't answer.

She walked off and reached the overly cheerful woman staffing the boarding pass scanner. Tess pulled out her passport and, as she handed it to her, she looked back at where she'd left Reilly. He was still standing there, watching her go. She managed a queasy half-smile before turning away and walking down the white-paneled finger.

***

The four turbofan engines whined to life as the flight crew up and down the aisles made their final preparations for take-off. Tess had been assigned a window seat for the ten-hour flight and was relieved to find an empty seat beside hers. As she watched the ground staff clear the last of the servicing gear from around the aircraft, Tess felt a strange mix of exhilaration and foreboding. She couldn't help but be excited by the journey ahead, and yet Reilly's news about die dead horsemen rattled her. She blocked the disturbing imagery her mind was conjuring up and tried to convince herself that as long as she took some basic precautions, she should be safe.

She hoped.

She was reaching for the in-flight magazine when she noticed some commotion coming from the front of the aircraft. Her whole body went rigid when she realized it was due to Reilly, who was making his way down the aisle to her.

Damn it. He's had a change of heart. He's coming to take me off the plane.

Staring at him with amazement, she felt a surge of anger. As he reached her row, she edged back against die window. "Don't, okay? Don't pull me off this plane. You've got no right. I'll be fine—I mean, come on, you've got people there, right? They can keep an eye on me. I can do this."

His face was impassive. "I know." He then eased his way into the seat next to hers.

Tess stared at him, stunned. Her mouth was having trouble forming any coherent words.

He matter-of-factly took the magazine from her hands as he buckled his belt. "So," he said, "do they have any decent movies on?"

Chapter 52

The man seated six rows back from Tess was far from comfortable. He hated flying. It didn't have anything to do with an irrational fear of it, nor was he in any way claustrophobic. He simply couldn't stand being confined for hours in a tin can where he wasn't allowed to smoke. Ten hours. And that wasn't counting the time spent in the equally smoke-free terminal.

Nicorette country.

He'd been lucky. Tasked with keeping an eye on Tess, he'd had to make do with an uncomfortably remote viewing spot due to the police watch on her house. Had he been any closer, though, he would have probably missed her slipping away from the back of the house, across two neighboring houses' backyards, then back to the street and the cab that was waiting for her only yards from where he'd been parked.

He'd alerted De Angelis and tailed her to the airport. From his seat in the departure lounge, he'd been able to observe Tess and Reilly at ease without any risk of detection. Neither of them was aware of his existence. He had called De Angelis from his cell phone twice. The first time to let him know that Tess had been allowed to board the aircraft. The second shortly after, this time from his seat inside the plane, when he'd barely had time to inform the monsignor of Reilly's appearance before his conversation was cut short by an insistent flight attendant who made him shut off his cell phone.

Leaning out to look up the aisle, he studied his two targets as he twirled a small disc no bigger than a quarter across his fingers. He'd noticed that Reilly hadn't brought any hand luggage on board. It didn't really matter. Tess had a carry-on bag stuffed into the overhead compartment, and she was his primary target. As he watched them, he knew he didn't need to rush things. It was going to be a long flight, and most of the cabin, including his targets, would be asleep at some point. He'd have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity to plant his tracking device. At least, he mused, it would provide him with some distraction on this otherwise irksome journey.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frowning as the flight attendant passed him and proceeded down the aisle, checking to make sure die seat belts were all fastened. He hated the rigidity of the whole travail. He felt like he was back in sixth grade. Can't smoke, can't call. Can't call them stewardesses. What's next? Permission slips to use the John?

He glared out the window and stuffed two more pieces of Nicorette into his mouth.

****

De Angelis was arriving at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey when Plunkett called him. The small airport was a quieter and more efficient option for his hastily arranged trip; seven miles from Manhattan, it was a favored haven for celebrities, business executives, and their private jets.

Sitting in the back of the Lincoln Town Car, the monsignor was almost unrecognizable. He had discarded his austere attire for the smart black Zegna suit he was more used to, and, although he always had some misgivings when he set aside his Roman collar, he had readily done so now, opting for a blue dress shirt instead. He had also done away with the dowdy, smeared glasses he had worn during his stay in Manhattan; in their place were his habitual, rimless pair. His tattered leather briefcase was gone, a slim aluminum one now sitting next to him as the dark limousine whisked him right up to the aircraft's door.

As he climbed aboard the Gulfstream IV, he glanced at his watch again and did a quick calculation.

He knew he was in good shape. He would probably land in Rome slightly before Tess and Reilly reached Istanbul. The G-IV wasn't just one of the handful of private jets that had the range to reach Rome without refueling; it was also faster than the massive, four-engined Airbus in which they were flying. He would have a bit of time to collect whatever equipment he needed to complete his mission and still be able to meet them wherever they were headed.

Taking his seat, he pondered again the dilemma Tess Chaykin presented. All the FBI really cared about was locking up Vance for the attack on the Met. She, on the other hand, was after something else; he knew that long after Vance was behind bars, she would keep on searching, turning over stones, looking for it. It was in her nature.

No, he had no doubt about it; at some point, after she had outlived her current usefulness, he would probably have to deal with this problem. A problem that had just been exacerbated by Reilly and his ill-advised decision to accompany her.

He shut his eyes and leaned back against the soft headrest of his plush swivel chair. He wasn't worried in the least. It was an unfortunate complication he would simply have to deal with.

Chapter 53

They were at cruising altitude before Tess began to explain her findings to Reilly. "We were looking for a place that doesn't exist, that's all."

They had managed to get a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline, shimmering in dizzying golden-blue hues from the setting sun, the Twin Towers even more notable now for their absence, the full scale of the catastrophe made even more visceral from the air. Then the red-tailed aircraft had banked and powered itself skyward through thin cloud cover, effortlessly reaching the clear air at thirty-seven thousand feet. Night would come quickly now as they rushed headlong into the approaching darkness.

"Aimard of Villiers was smart and he knew that the man he was writing the letter to, the master of the Paris Preceptory, was as smart as he was." Tess was visibly excited about her discovery. "There is no Fonsalis.'' There never was. But in Latin, fans is the word for 'well'—not as in 'feeling well,' but the kind with water, like a wishing well—and well means 'willow' "