The Templar Curse by Ernest Dempsey

Author:Ernest Dempsey [Dempsey, Ernest]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ernest Dempsey
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

22

Charlottesville

Tusun watched from the forest. They’d followed Wyatt and Schultz from the hotel earlier that morning, keeping their distance. It didn’t take long to figure out where the two were going. The direction their quarry took had eliminated the Monroe plantation, leaving only Monticello.

Once they’d arrived, Tusun and his men split up to cover more ground. They also did that to prevent Wyatt and Schultz from trying anything, like some kind of elaborate escape.

Of course, Tusun was operating under the assumption that Wyatt didn’t know he was being followed, a dangerous thing to do considering Wyatt’s history. It was entirely possible that the man was toying with Tusun, something he’d considered more than once on the journey from New York to Washington and now to Virginia.

There was no way to know for sure, but he had a hunch that wasn’t happening.

He peered through his binoculars while four other men surrounded him, two on either side. Two of them were watching the rear, the other two the flanks. It was a standard formation for this sort of thing, and the men didn’t need to be told what to do. They’d been in similar situations before, not to mention the intense training required of every member of the order.

Tusun narrowed his eyes as Schultz and Wyatt made their way into the garden pavilion and looked out the front opening. “What are they doing?” he whispered to himself, too quiet for the others to hear.

The two then left the pavilion and walked around the nearest corner to the lower section. They were inspecting something, but what, he didn’t know. The foundation? Tusun hated not having enough information. He was accustomed to having files on everything from targets to locations and everything in between. He was flying blind on this one, and it irritated him. It happened, though, and Tusun would deal with it as he always did.

Nothing was ever perfect. The ability to adapt was drilled into each man long before they ever went out on a mission.

Failure to do so had caused their demise some five hundred years prior. The order had nearly been wiped out as a result; their numbers dwindled to a mere handful. The name Assassins faded to the stuff of legend, nothing more than a morning mist blown away by a dry, easterly wind.

Tusun and his men were far enough away from the targets to remain unnoticed. Their camouflage gear made sure they blended in almost seamlessly with the environment. They were, however, close enough to hear the picking sound as Schultz started chipping away at the outbuilding’s foundation. His eyes were already slits but narrowed even more as he stared at the two men, one knocking pieces of mortar from the rocks while the other, Wyatt, kept watch.

At first, Wyatt went around to the other end of the pavilion, probably to make sure no one from the mansion was paying attention. Maybe he was concerned the noise his comrade was making might draw the eye of one of the workers.

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