The Last Templar

Chapter 18

N either Reilly nor Aparo had been hurt, just a few seat belt bruises and a couple of minor lesions from windshield debris. They had trailed the speeding ambulance carrying Gus Waldron up the FDR Drive to the New York-Presbyterian Hospital. Once Waldron was in the operating room, a black nurse with a short temper persuaded them to let her check them over. When they finally relented, she cleaned and bandaged their cuts, more brusquely than they would have liked, and they were free to go.

According to the doctors in the ER, their man was unlikely to be in any condition to talk to them for at least a couple of days, maybe more. His wounds were extensive. All they could do was wait for him to be fit for questioning, while hoping the agents and detectives now looking into the wounded raider's life got a handle on where he'd been holed up since the robbery.

Aparo told Reilly he'd call it a day and head home to his wife who had, in her midforties, managed to become pregnant with their third child. Reilly decided to stick around and wait until the raider came out of surgery before heading home. Although he was physically and mentally exhausted by the events of the day, he was never in that much of a rush to go back to the solitude of his apartment. Living alone in a city teeming with life did that to you.

Wandering in search of a hot cup of coffee, Reilly stepped into an elevator to find a familiar face staring back at him. There was no mistaking those green eyes. She gave him a brief, cordial nod before turning away. He could see she was preoccupied with something and looked elsewhere, his gaze setting on the doors of the elevator as they slid shut.

Reilly was surprised to find that the confines of the small elevator cabin made her proximity unnerving. As the elevator hummed its way down, he glanced over and saw her acknowledge him again. He hazarded something that was trying to be a smile, a quasi-smile, and was surprised to see a look of recognition crossing her face.

"You were there, weren't you? At the museum, the night of. . ." she ventured.

"Yes, sort of. I came in later." He paused, thinking he was being too coy. "I'm with the FBI." He hated the way tiiat must have sounded, although there was no simpler way of putting it.

"Oh."

There was an uncomfortable pause before they spoke at the same time, her "How is the—" colliding with his "So are you—." They both stopped and smiled mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry," Reilly offered. "You were saying?"

"I was just going to ask how the investigation was going, but then I don't suppose it's something you can discuss freely."

"Not really." That sounded way too self-aggrandizing, Reilly thought, quickly catching it up with,

"But it's not like there's that much to tell anyway. Why are you here?"

"I was just visiting a friend. He was hurt that night."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

The elevator pinged, having reached the ground level. As he watched her walk out, she turned, seeming to make her mind up about bringing something up.

"I've been meaning to contact your office again. Agent Gaines gave me her card that night."

"Amelia. We work together. I'm Reilly. Sean Reilly." He extended his hand.

Tess took it and told him her name.

"Is it anything I can help you with?" he asked.

"Well, it's just. . . she said to call if I thought of anything, and, well, there's this one thing I've been thinking about. It's actually something my friend who's here has been helping me with. But then I'm sure you guys have already looked into it."

"Not necessarily. And believe me, we're always open to new leads. What is it?"

"It's that whole Templar thing."

Reilly clearly didn't know what she was talking about. "What Templar thing?"

"You know, the outfits they were wearing, the decoder they took. And the Latin saying one of die horsemen said when he grabbed it."

Reilly looked at her, perplexed. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"