Free The Templar Salvation (2010) by Raymond Khoury Page B

had figured out what was happening and was here to end his nightmare—was quickly extinguished as the now familiar silhouette of his abductor came into view.
    A spurt of adrenaline shot through him as his anger flared. He felt outraged at being held like this, by someone whose name and intent he knew nothing about. His abductor had been maddeningly disciplined about following his need-to-know code. Simmons didn’t know anything beyond the bare basics: that he was there to help the man recover whatever it was some small band of Templars had whisked out of Constantinople. Beyond that, who the man was, who he was working for, why he was after it—none of that was forthcoming.
    He wondered if he’d die without knowing. The thought angered him even more.
    A shiver rippled through Simmons as he spotted the codex the man had brought with him. He watched helplessly as the man got down on his haunches in front of him and, with one quick flick, ripped the duct tape off his mouth.
    “Good news,” he told Simmons as he set it down on the tiles in front of him. “I have it. Which means that you’re still useful to me.”
    “Tess … Where is she? Is she okay?” The words were coming out weak and slurred.
    “She’s just fine, Jed. She’s perfectly all right. She helped me, and so she’s free. You see? I’ll do the same for you if you just do what I ask and help me find what I’m looking for. How does that sound?”
    Simmons stared at him, a caustic hatred burning his gut. He wanted to believe the man, wanted to believe Tess was all right, but somehow, he doubted it was true.
    “What about Sharafi?”
    The man smiled. “He’s fine too. I don’t need him anymore, so he was free to go. It’s that simple.” He reached out and gave Simmons’s cheeks a patronizing squeeze. “Now … how about we get you nice and comfortable—and awake—so you can get to work?”
    The man’s hand slipped down into his pocket and came back up with a syringe in it. His other hand brought out a small bottle of medication from another pocket. He plunged the needle through the rubber cap of the bottle and sucked the clear liquid up into the syringe, then held it up for the obligatory squirt to clear out any air holes.
    The archaeologist stared at the needle and didn’t say anything. He just nodded, his tenebrous gaze dropping down to the ancient book, silently ruing the day that he’d first heard about it and wishing he’d never mentioned the damn thing.

Chapter 10

    T ucked away in the Palace of the Tribunal behind St Peter’s Cathedral, the Central Office of the Vatican Gendarmeria was in meltdown. Urgent footfalls were stampeding up and down the medieval building’s cavernous hallways, phones were ringing all over the place, questions and updates were being shouted out across rooms and through doorways, the whole discordant chaos drilling into Tess Chaykin’s ears and echoing painfully inside her skull.
    Reilly and some carabinieri had brought her here, away from the rigged car, and settled her on a couch in a waiting room. A couple of paramedics had been drafted in to check her over. She was dehydrated, weak from hunger—but otherwise unharmed. They’d given her some rehydrating drinks, some Gatorade, and someone was dispatched to rustle up some clean clothes and some food for her. The whole thing had gone by in a blur, except for one question that was firmly anchored in her mind:
    Rome?
    How the hell did I get to Rome?
    She glanced up at Reilly, who was talking to the paramedics. He must have sensed her look, as he turned and smiled at her. She watched him thank the paramedics, then he joined her.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Much better now that I’m not in that damn coffin.” She had a million questions for him, but still felt groggy and was having trouble ordering her thoughts.
    “I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can. They’re going to find you a room and a bed.”
    “Thanks.” Her voice was still weak, her