The Last Templar

Chapter 50

T he next morning, Reilly and Aparo were both working the phones from their desks at Federal Plaza. Reilly was getting updated by Kendricks. The news wasn't good. The brain boxes at the NSA were still stumped by the Fonsalis reference. Kendricks warned him that the progress from here on would be much slower. Phone calls to friendly experts around the world had failed to enlighten them, and electronic searches of relevant databases had long been exhausted. The analysts were now working their way through tomes of literature in the traditional way, physically reading through them, searching for any reference to the grave's location.

Reilly wasn't holding his breath.

From across his desk, Aparo shot him a grim nod before he ended his own conversation. Reilly could tell that whatever bad news his partner had, it seemed to at least have some urgency to it.

Aparo soon confirmed it. The call was from Buchinski. A man's body had been found earlier that morning in an alley behind an apartment building in the Astoria section of Queens. The relevance of the find was that the dead man had traces of Lidocaine in him. He also had telltale puncture marks in his neck. The victim's name was Mitch Adeson.

Reilly felt a deepening unease that the case was slipping away from them. "How'd he die?"

"Fell from the roof. Fell, jumped, got pushed—take your pick."

Reilly leaned back, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Three out of four. One to go. Question is, will he pop up with a needle mark in his neck ... or is he already halfway to Europe?"

Glancing around the room, he noticed the monsignor emerging from the double doors that led to the elevator foyer. The fact that he was here in person could only mean that he didn't have any breaks to report.

The somber look on his face as he sat with Reilly only confirmed it.

"I'm afraid my colleagues in Rome haven't been successful yet. They're still searching, but ..." He didn't seem optimistic. "I take it . . . ?" He didn't need to continue.

"Yeah, we're still drawing blanks here too, Father."

"Oh, well." Then he managed a hopeful smile. "If neither our scholars nor your experts have been able to find it so far . . . perhaps he's also having a hard time figuring it out."

Deep down, Reilly knew this was only wishful thinking. Pictures of Vance had been circulated to all the major libraries from D.C. to Boston, and so far none of them had reported any sightings.

Vance either already knew where he was headed, or he had his own resources, which the FBI wouldn't have access to. Either way, it didn't augur well.

The monsignor was silent for a moment, then said, "Miss Chaykin. She seems to be very . . . resourceful."

Reilly couldn't suppress a tired grin. "Oh, I'm sure she's racking her brains looking for it as we speak."

This seemed to confirm De Angelis's guess. "Have you heard from her?"

"Not yet."

De Angelis nodded quietly. Reilly could tell something was troubling the man, that he was holding something back.

"What is it, Father?"

The monsignor looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm not sure. I'm just a litde concerned, that's all."

"What about?"

The priest pursed his lips. "Are you sure she would call? If she found out?"

Coming from De Angelis, this surprised Reilly. He doesn't trust her? He leaned forward. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, she seems to be rather driven, it's her field after all. And a discovery like this . . .

careers have been made from far less. If I were to put myself in her shoes for a moment, I wonder what my priorities would be. Catching this Vance ... or discovering something any archaeologist would give his right arm for. Would I inform the authorities and risk losing the credit and the glory ... or would I go after it myself?" His tone was soft-spoken but irresistibly confident. "She comes across as a very ambitious lady, and ambition ... it can often lead one to choose the less, shall we say, magnanimous path."

De Angelis's words stayed with Reilly long after the priest had left.

Would she call? It hadn't even crossed his mind that she wouldn't. But then, what if the Vatican envoy was right? What incentive did she have to call? If she did figure it out and gave the FBI its location, agents would be flown out to try and intercept Vance, local law enforcement agencies would be drafted in, and the situation would quickly get out of hand; there would be little room, or consideration, for her quest. The priority, as far as the authorities were concerned, was to apprehend a fugitive. The archaeological discovery was of little consequence.

Still, she wouldn't be so reckless ... or would she? What's she going to do, fly out there by herself?

A surge of trepidation rushed over him. No, that's insane.

He reached for the phone and dialed her home number. There was no answer. He let it ring until her answering machine picked up, then hung up without leaving a message. He quickly tried her cell phone. It rang five times before diverting to her messaging service.

With rapidly swelling unease, Reilly hung up and called up the internal operator. Within seconds, he was patched through to the officer parked outside Tess's house. "Have you seen her today?"

The officer's reply was stolidly assured. "No, not since she got home late last night."

His internal alarms were blaring. Something felt very, very wrong. "I need you to go up to her front door and make sure she's okay. I'll hang on."

The officer sounded like he was already getting out of his car. "You got it."

Reilly waited anxiously as the seconds ticked by. He visualized the officer crossing the road, walking up the path across her front yard, climbing up the three stone steps, and ringing the bell. It would take her a few more seconds to come down if she were upstairs. Right about now, she'd be opening the front door.

Nothing.

His discomfort grew alarmingly as the seconds dragged on. Then the officer's voice crackled back through his handset. "She's not answering the door. I had a look out back and nothing's been disturbed, there's no sign of forced entry, but it doesn't look like she's around."

Reilly was already scrambling into action. "Okay, listen to me," he fired back as he gestured urgently to Aparo, "I need you to just get in there right now and confirm to me that the house is empty. Break in if you have to."

Aparo was rising out of his seat. "What's going on?"

Reilly was already reaching for another phone. "Get onto Customs and Borders." Cupping the phone with his hand, he looked at his partner, frustration and anger in his eyes. "I think Tess might be doing a runner."