The two writers didn’t move.
Then the gunman flicked his gun slightly away and pulled the trigger — once, twice, three times.
The walls shook with the echoes of the detonations as the mattress Khoury was sitting on exploded, bits of springs, foam and cotton flying into the air.
Khoury was on his feet in a flash, staring at Berry, who was equally shaken. The gunman lowered his gun, studied the two men, then nodded.
“Now that you know I’m serious… how about we get down to business?”
4
Reilly gave Cotton Malone an acknowledging nod as he spotted the agent-turned-bookseller emerge from the customs area at London’s Heathrow airport.
He hadn’t waited long. Reilly’s flight from JFK had landed just half an hour before Malone’s short hop from Copenhagen, where he’d lived since handing in his creds and leaving the Justice Department over a decade ago. It was just enough time for a cup of coffee, a croissant and a quick trawl through e-mails and intel updates before they were reunited and driven into London in a car the embassy had sent for them.
“Templars, huh?” Malone asked.
“I thought that might pique your interest.”
“I’m a bit rusty on the subject,” Malone chortled. “It’s been a while.”
“Ten years. For us both.”
Malone stared out the window for a moment as the car barreled down the M4 towards the city. Cloud cover the color of slate squatted overhead, threatening to unleash a torrent at any moment, but for now, the rain was holding off. In the distance ahead, a swathe of pink was livening up the horizon.
“Weird, wasn’t it?” Malone asked.
“What?”
“Both of us getting sucked into two totally unrelated Templar situations within a few weeks of each other?”
“And both having to do with ancient writings related to the origin of the faith.”
“Seriously, what are the odds?”
Reilly let out a small chuckle. “You couldn’t make it up if you tried.”
“You had another run-in with their legacy a few years ago, right?”
Reilly grimaced, remembering the events in Rome and in Turkey that followed Tess’s kidnapping at the hands of a particularly savage Iranian agent a few years after his first misadventure. “Yeah, lucky me. And there I was thinking there’s no way I could possibly get dragged into another Templar plot.”
“And yet, here we are.”
“Yep,” Reilly nodded. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Anytime, buddy. So where are we with this anyway? Anything new since we spoke?”
“No. You saw the transcripts.” He handed Malone the printouts of the relevant chatter. “We have no idea what they’re planning. But these guys are up to something, today, somewhere here in London.”
Malone went over the transcript, his eyes pausing at something Reilly had already mentioned to him in his call to action. “‘The books?’ You think they might be after another old stash of gospels?”
“Maybe.”
Malone rolled his eyes. “I thought Constantine had them all burned back in the 4th century.”
“His minions clearly didn’t do a great job with that. I don’t think we’re ever going to hear the last of them.”
“Great,” Malone groaned. “Okay, so where do we start?
“A Lebanese restaurant on Edgware Road,” Reilly said. He pulled out his smartphone and showed Malone an image stored on it. “The three phones GCHQ got the hits off are burner phones, they aren’t registered to anyone. But by tracking their cell movements over the last week, since the SIM cards went live, the eggheads came up with something.”
Malone studied the map on the screen. It was a city map of London and had three lines of different colors snaking around the city. He pointed at where the lines intersected. “This is the place?”
“Exactly,” Reilly said. “All three have been there at some point in the last week. Not at the same time. But they’ve all been there.”
“Which doesn’t mean they’ll be going there again. Unless…”
Reilly smiled. “Exactly. You’ve been out there. You know how addictive a great shawarma wrap is.”
“And not easy to find.”
“I’m betting these guys get hungry again. And when they do, we’ll make sure it’s their last supper.”
Malone gave him a dubious look, pained by the pun.
“I know, sorry,” Reilly concurred. “Anyway, we should be there in about fifteen minutes. Are you carrying?”
“Can’t. Not officially.”
“Here you go.” Reilly handed him a Glock 17 handgun, along with an extra magazine that housed seventeen nine-millimeter rounds. “I signed it out in my name. Try not to make too many holes with it.”
Malone checked it, then tucked it in under his belt. “No promises.”
5
“You’re probably wondering why we brought you here.”
“The question did pop up,” Khoury said.
Their captor ignored the remark. “It has to do with your work. You see, we need you to come up with a new idea. A new plot. Something… epic.”
Khoury and Berry looked at each other with evident confusion.
Khoury asked, “You’re, what — a rival publisher?”
“It’s not for a book.”
“A TV show then, or,” Khoury’s eyes lit up, “a movie?”
“Either way, you really need to go through our agents,” Berry offered. “That’s the way it’s usually done.”
“Yeah, I mean, look, we’re flattered, we appreciate your putting up this whole song and dance to impress us, but, seriously—”
The man twirled his gun playfully before letting it settle with its barrel lined up on the author’s face.
Khoury lost his grin. “Maybe I should let you tell us some more.”
“It’s not for a movie or a television show. It’s for us to do. In real life.” He paused, clearly wanting to watch the confusion on his prisoners’ faces morph into fear.
“‘To do?’” Berry asked. “You mean—”
“I mean I want you to come up with a great plot, something really bad that we can do to cause a lot of death and suffering.” His tone took on a dark, messianic fervor. “Something spectacular, something that hasn’t been done before. Something that will bring America to its knees and shake the whole world. Something that will never be forgotten.”
Berry and Khoury were speechless.
The man seemed to be enjoying the effect of his words on them.
Berry asked, “You want us to plan something for you?”
“Exactly.”
Berry considered his reply for a moment, then calmly added, “Why us?”
“Because we keep getting caught. Every time we try something, every plan my brothers out there come up has failed. Since 9/11, every time one of our groups has tried to attack America, it’s ended in disaster.” His eyes narrowed. “We need you to come up with something foolproof. Something unexpected, but that will work. Because you’ll have thought of everything that can go wrong and planned around it. In this story, you’ll make the bad guys win.”
“That’s a twist, for sure, but… why us?” Khoury asked.
“You’re writers,” the man said. “You do this every day.”
“Yeah, but I mean, why us, why me and Steve? The kind of thing you’re talking about, terrorist-counter-terrorist stuff — it’s not really what we do. You need someone like, I don’t know, Brad Thor. Or Kyle Mills. They’d be your best bet.”
Berry added, “Or Terry Hayes. Have you read I Am Pilgrim? He’d be perfect.”
“Or maybe someone like Howard Gordon. He did 24. And Homeland. What you’re talking about is right up his alley.”