C. Palov - Templar's Quest

‘No! Absolutely not. Finn’s been falsely accused of murder. That’s why we’re here, so he can find the real killer and avenge his comrades. Furthermore, Finn’s a brave soldier who –’

‘That’s enough, Kate,’ McGuire interjected in a lowered voice. ‘The less he knows, the better.’

‘It just so happens that I know quite a bit.’ Deciding the time had come to divide and conquer, Cædmon directed his next remark to the scowling commando. ‘Have you told Kate that your twin brother Mychal is a notorious gangster in Boston’s Irish mob?’

‘Fuck you!’

‘I believe that we’ve already had that conversation,’ he calmly replied.

‘No, I … I had no idea.’ Kate’s eyes opened wide, the rose tint thoroughly removed from her glasses. ‘A gangster … my God.’

Having successfully ‘divided’, it was now time to hand the commando his Waterloo.

‘Even more worrisome, my intelligence report indicates that Mychal McGuire has, on more than one occasion, aided and abetted terrorist cells in Northern Ireland, providing them with cash, arms, bomb-making devices and moral support.’

‘That’s Mickey for ya.’ The American smirked, proving that he was not yet vanquished. ‘Always had a generous streak.’

The callous remark incited a silent rage, a fury so dense, so potent, Cædmon’s hands noticeably shook. After the bomb blast in London, there had hardly been enough left of Juliana Howe to even bury.

Cædmon blinked and took a deep breath, clearing the gruesome image from his mind’s eye.

‘British Intelligence would very much like to question Sergeant’s McGuire’s brother,’ he continued. ‘I mention this, Kate, because I’m deeply concerned that you may have unwittingly aligned yourself with a very dangerous cohort.’

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but it was her ‘cohort’ who returned the salvo.

‘Listen, asshole! I’m only going to say this one time: Mickey’s business is just that, Mickey’s business. Look at your friggin’ dossier, will ya? The McGuire brothers took radically different paths. I’ve spent the last seventeen years risking my life in places with names that I can’t even pronounce to keep people safe from terrorism. Not that it’s any of your business.’ Folding his arms over his chest, McGuire turned his head and stared sullenly out of the window.

‘Oh, but it is my business.’ MI5 was responsible for intelligence gathering related to terrorism in Northern Ireland. The official tie may have been severed, but the bond with Five still ran deep. ‘While you claim not to be your brother’s keeper, I suspect that you’re very good at keeping the family secrets. And that makes you complicit.’

‘In your book.’

‘In a great many books, I daresay. Poisoned fruit falling from the same tree and all that.’

Swivelling his head, the commando glared at him. ‘Hey, Aisquith. Go fuck my left nut.’

‘Stop it! Just stop it! The both of you!’ The normally placid Kate shot each of them a look that powerfully conveyed the message ‘Cease and desist’. ‘Okay, I get it. You don’t like each other. But that’s no reason why we can’t act like grown adults. That said, I can personally attest to the fact that Finn McGuire did not kill anyone. ’

‘That you know of,’ Cædmon retorted. Despite the fact that he had once deeply loved Kate Bauer, he would not concede the field to a cold-blooded killer.

‘I told you: we came to Paris so that Finn can apprehend the assassin hired to kill his two slain comrades.’ Chest heaving, Kate placed a hand on the commando’s shoulder. A show of good faith. ‘The individual whom you undoubtedly saw dive into the Seine freely confessed to the murders. And I was a witness to that confession.’ Removing her hand from McGuire’s shoulder, she leaned forward and grabbed hold of Cædmon’s upper arm. ‘Please, Cædmon. I’m begging –’

‘No way am I begging anything from this guy,’ McGuire gruffly said over the top of her.

‘If you let your pride intervene, you won’t be able to get justice for your two friends. They were both brave soldiers who didn’t deserve to be tortured to death. You know full well that you’re the only person who can avenge those brutal murders.’ Kate shot McGuire a meaningful glance. ‘But you won’t be able to do that if you’re apprehended by the authorities.’

Cædmon watched the exchange, glimpsing a moment’s hesitation in the other man’s eyes. Unknowingly, Kate had brought up the rear and struck a nerve, all in one fell swoop.

I might yet win the battle.

Having no qualms about kicking the commando when he was down, Cædmon said, ‘For Kate’s sake, I won’t turn you over to the police … provided you make a full confession to Father Cædmon.’

28

‘I need some fresh air.’ Purposefully testing his jailer’s limits, Finn didn’t wait for a reply. Opening the back door on the Citroën, he got out, slamming the door behind him. To his surprise, Aisquith made no move to stop him.

Why expend the energy? It wasn’t like he could fly the coop. The place was crawling with cops, one of ’em propped against a dark blue Yamaha bike no more than thirty feet away.

Strolling to the back of the vehicle, Finn leaned against the Citroën’s hatch, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest. The cop glared at him; he glared right back.

The English bastard was clever, he’d give him that. But goddamn the man. Just when he’d been so close to apprehending the Dark Angel. Shit! Back to square one. Except he now had Aisquith trying to nail his dick to the wall.

Thank you, Mickey.

Because that’s what really had Aisquith up in arms, the fact that his brother had ‘aided and abetted’ Irish rebels who refused to accept the Good Friday Peace Agreement.

Hearing a car door open, he didn’t bother to turn his head. A few seconds later, just as he figured, Kate materialized at his side. Anxious expression a given.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not planning a prison break,’ he assured her. ‘Just taking a breather while I consider the Scarlet Pimpernel’s magnanimous offer.’

Kate sidled next to him, the curve of her outer hip brushing against his leg. ‘Is it true?’

‘That I have a twin brother? Guilty as charged. Although Mickey’s the one with the goatee. That’s how you can tell us apart.’

‘That’s not what I meant, Finn.’

Don’t I know it? Little Katie wanted to know if Mychal McGuire really was a gunslinging gangster.

Always uncomfortable when the topic of family came up, he stared at his boot tip. On the plus side, his brother loved Irish music, beautiful women and shooting the breeze. But in the debit column, he loved robbing banks, running guns and snorting coke. Which made Mickey a big-league criminal. His mother used to say that Finn got the brawn and Mickey got the brains. What a crock.

He shrugged, not sure what, exactly, Kate wanted to hear. ‘In all honesty, I have no friggin’ idea if Mickey did the things that Ass-wipe –’

‘ Aisquith. ’

‘– accused him of. Although …’ He hesitated, his gut churning, forced to admit that Mickey had taken his criminal activity to the next level. ‘There’s probably more than a little truth in Aisquith’s accusation. I won’t lie. My parents raised us to hate the English. What can I say? They were Irish Catholics from Derry. For the last seventeen years of his life, my old man carried a piece of lead in his back courtesy of a British soldier firing into an unarmed crowd of demonstrators.’ Finn shook his head, having heard the story so many times he could recite it in his sleep. ‘Fourteen people lost their lives on that Bloody Sunday. So I guess Da got off lucky.’