The Templar Concordat Read Online Free PDF

you sure seem ready, my stallion.”
    Up another floor, and down the hall. Room 915 had a couple in bed watching TV. “Sorry, wrong room.” He backed out and raced for the stairs.
    “I’ve waited four whole days to get you in bed,” Marie cooed, “and now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The earpiece played it all for Callahan.
    On the next floor, 1015 was empty. Back on the stairs, he crashed into the concrete block inside the stairwell,  pumped his legs, and pulled himself up with the railing.
    “This is sooo wonderful,” said Marie. The signal. That was the signal. She had pulled him down on top of her on the bed. She was calling Callahan to come out of the closet and grab this guy. Again he heard the signal, but a bit louder, “Hmmm, soooooo wonderful!”
    Room 1115 was a party, and when he entered a very large woman immediately thrust a drink at him. “Party Pooper!” she shouted after him.
    Now Marie knew something was wrong, terribly wrong. She glanced toward the closet. Nothing.  And something else was wrong. Rashid had expertly twisted her over on her front, looped an arm around her throat, and cut off her air supply. The pressure of his arm on the sides of her neck and his other hand pushing her head down had also cut off the vital supply of blood through her carotid arteries to her brain. Her last thought was it only took four seconds without blood for the brain to lose consciousness.
    Racing up the stairs, Callahan heard nothing in his earpiece, nothing at all. How many more floors? He had just left eleven. That meant six more, or was it seven? One minute per floor? Seven minutes? Or was it thirty seconds per floor? Three minutes? Or four minutes? Math wasn’t working. He raced out the stairwell door and down the hall to 1215. Two naked men on the bed gaped in surprise, and laughed madly when he left and ran back to the stairwell.
    Now the sing-song humming came through the earpiece, not Marie, but Rashid.
    Marie came awake to Rashid’s face hovering above her. “You’re Ok,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Just a momentary interruption of blood flow so we could get more comfortable. There. Now I think we can really get to know each other.”
    She tried to sit up, but both arms were stretched out above her head and she couldn’t move. The same with her feet. She swiveled her head around and saw both arms and legs were securely tied to the sturdy bedposts.
     “What? What’s going on? Why… I’m… I’m tied up? What is this?” She was stammering, and knew she had to regain control. Callahan wasn’t going to come to the rescue, and she had to do it alone. Calm. Control. Think. She giggled. “Is this a game, my stallion? Tie my hands, tie my feet, and I’m yours? Mmmm, this is soooo wonderful.” She moved her hips in a beckoning way, and forced a seductive smile through the sick terror gripping her body.
    Tied? Tied? He had her tied up? Callahan hit another empty room. What’s going on here? Did Rashid know she was a Templar? Had they been made?
    Rashid turned back to Marie with the bartender’s long-bladed filleting knife in his hand. “A game, my American whore? Yes. I suppose it is. It’s a game. A wonderful game, and it begins now.” He grabbed the hem of her skirt and easily slit it up to her waist. Then he continued, slicing off each button, gingerly hooking each side of the split dress with his knife tip, and flipping it to the side.
    He stood back with his hand on his chin, appraising her. “Very nice, very nice. You do me honor, slut. Tonight, my dear, we will make great art.” He leaned over and traced his fingers across her forehead and down the line of her jaw. “Great art. I am the artist, and you are the… what shall we say? You are the slut? No, the slut is the canvas. And this,” he held up the knife, “this is my expressive tool, transferring muse to the medium.”  He waited for the scream. Nothing. Damn. Some people are no fun. He sighed