The Templar Salvation

Chapter 33

Tess sat quietly in the passenger seat, crippled with dread, as the Discovery cut through the sleepy town. The roads were deserted at that early hour. There were a few signs of life here and there—an old man on a rickety horse-drawn cart lumbering down the side of the road, another man and his son walking across a vineyard—but none of it was really registering in her mind. All she was thinking about and agonizing over was what had happened farther up the mountain from where she’d been, who might still be alive, and who might have died. She’d seen him kill up close, she knew how effective he was at it, and no matter how hard she tried to console herself and stay hopeful, the thought that Reilly could be lying somewhere up there, bleeding out—or worse—was tearing her up inside.

She saw her abductor check his watch, then look ahead again, his mind clearly planning.

“Are we late for something?” she asked, trying to appear stoic and avoiding the question that was burning inside her.

He didn’t react for a moment, then turned to her, sphinxlike as ever, and gave her a humorless smile that reeked of pity and condescension. “Did you miss me?”

She felt her spine tighten up, but made sure nothing in her expression gave it away. She thought of a snappy retort or two that she could hit him with, but she didn’t want to engage with him that way, preferring to keep some kind of barrier between them. Instead, she finally succumbed to her desperate need to know and asked, “What happened up there?”

He ignored her for a beat, then said, “I had to improvise.”

His smugness was driving her nuts. She felt like grabbing his head and pounding it repeatedly against the steering wheel, and she found a snippet of pleasure in picturing herself doing it. She ran through a couple of wild moves in her mind—yanking the steering wheel from him and forcing the car off the road, waiting for a slow turn and leaping out the door—but decided against them. They wouldn’t work. She resigned herself to the idea that she needed to bide her time and hope for a more promising opening to present itself.

She calmed herself and asked, “And Jed?”

He looked at her curiously. “You ask about him, and not about your boyfriend? Despite everything Reilly did to get you back?”

She really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could toy with her emotions like that, but she had to know. “Are they still alive?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It was pretty dark up there. But you shouldn’t worry too much about them. Think more about yourself, and about what you can do to stay alive.” He paused, then added, “You can start by telling me how they found me.”

Tess froze, conflicting thoughts colliding in her mind. She couldn’t put off answering for too long, so she said, “I don’t know,” realizing how unconvincing she sounded even before the words had left her mouth.

Her abductor slid a knowing look her way, then reached into his waistband and pulled out a handgun. He swung it across until it settled against her cheek. “Please. Your boyfriend’s leading the charge and you’re not exactly a wallflower. So I’ll ask you one last time: How did you find me?”

The steel muzzle was pressing uncomfortably against her jaw. “We … we guessed.” She thought the pause, and his inevitable retort, would buy her time.

“You guessed?”

“Well, an educated guess, really. We looked at the probable route the Templars took from Constantinople, what side of the mountain they’d most likely have been on when they stumbled on the monastery. Then we studied detailed topographic maps of that area and applied the inquisitor’s notes from the Registry to them. And we got lucky.”

“It’s a big mountain,” the man pressed. “How did you pinpoint our position?”

“They used a satellite,” she lied. “They fed it details of recently stolen cars from the Istanbul police.” She hoped he already knew what she had only recently learned from Reilly about the difference between the loitering capabilities of a satellite and a drone. If he did, and if he bought her lie, maybe he wouldn’t worry that a drone could still be up there tracking them.

The man pondered her words for a beat, then pulled his gun back and tucked it away. He focused ahead, and at the next curve, he slowed the car and pulled over by a thicket of pine trees.

He parked under the cover of the trees, then took the key out of the ignition. “Wait here,” he told her.

She watched him get out and walk to the edge of the shaded area. He then just stood there and looked up into the sky, in the direction of the mountain.

ZAHED SURVEYED THE SKY OVERHEAD, looking for the dark spot that would confirm his suspicions.

She was good, he had to give her that. Able to finesse the truth to try to keep some kind of an advantage. But this was his field of expertise, not hers. And given their requirements and the urgency involved, and the realities of what was quickly achievable, he knew they were far more likely to be using an unmanned surveillance drone than a satellite.

Sure enough, he soon spotted it, a tiny dot hovering silently high up in the virgin dawn sky, keeping track of his movements. It was circling at high altitude, but given that it had the wingspan of a 737, it wasn’t exactly invisible. He scowled as he stared at it, studying its trajectory. Evading it would be very tricky—even more so with a prisoner in tow.

Then he saw something he hadn’t expected. The drone entered into a long, banking maneuver before gliding away in an easterly direction, back toward the mountain. He tracked it until he couldn’t see it anymore, then scanned the rest of the sky, looking for another dot.

He didn’t see one.

Zahed smiled inwardly. The drone must have reached the limit of its loiter, and it seemed to him like they hadn’t anticipated needing a replacement to continue its mission. He stayed there for another ten minutes, at the edge of the canopy of the trees, scrutinizing the sky, making sure another drone didn’t show up. Once he was reasonably confident that there wouldn’t be one, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the call button twice, redialing the last number he had called. It was a number he had taken off Sully’s phone.

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.”