C. Palov - Templar's Quest

Within seconds, the two of them were suddenly engulfed by a crowd of jostling tourists, all excitedly chattering and gesturing about what they’d just witnessed on the far side of the plaza. Overhead, fast-moving clouds malevolently cast a dark shadow, a summer storm about to break.

As if on cue, soft raindrops pelted the ground.

Worried that Finn might not have successfully escaped, Kate peered behind her. As she did, she caught sight of a red-faced, bald-headed man, fifty yards away, stridently moving in their direction. Hit with a burst of raw terror, she opened her mouth to sound an alert but her larynx produced a sound more akin to a high-pitched wheeze. Unable to speak, she yanked on Cædmon’s tweed jacket.

‘What’s the mat– Bloody hell!’

Cædmon’s expletive confirmed her worst fear – the gunman and the great hulk of a man charging towards them were one and the same.

‘Hurry!’ Cædmon’s hoarse command was punctuated with a loud clap of thunder. ‘We need to reach the portal!’

A split-second later, the skies opened up, soft raindrops instantly transformed into stinging pellets that fell at a furious rate.

Another ear-splitting boom of thunder reverberated in the Cour Napoléon.

The ominous sound triggered a mad dash towards the guichet , at least two hundred people rushing, en masse, in that direction. A long tunnel cut into the massive north wing of the Louvre, the narrow pedestrian guichet was the only shelter to be had in the near vicinity.

Kate spared a furtive glance over her shoulder, relieved to see that their assailant was completely enveloped by a large group of Japanese tourists, a human dragnet having been thrown around him.

‘ Arigato ,’ she whispered, grateful for the reprieve. Even if it was accompanied by a driving rain. And even if it was only temporary.

Cinching his left arm around Kate’s shoulders, Cædmon pulled her close to him as he navigated through the horde.

Up ahead, a bottleneck had formed at the entrance to the guichet as a veritable mob descended on the single six-foot-wide opening. While there were a total of six guichets on the northern wing of the Louvre, the four large wickets in the middle were strictly for vehicular traffic. Conversely, the two narrow portals flanking either side of the thoroughfare were designated for pedestrians. At a glance, Kate could see that there was a similar log jam across the street in front of the second pedestrian portal.

With each boom of thunder, the soaking wet crowd to the rear of them became more insistent. Pushing that much harder. A living, breathing battering ram. Stuck in the middle of the pack, she feared they might not make it through the guichet .

But even if they did reach it, then what? Their assailant was a mere fifty metres behind them. He had a gun with a silencer. No doubt he intended to follow them through the portal. Then pull the trigger with no one the wiser.

‘I th-think we should s-summon the g-gendarmes,’ she stammered, grasping the front of Cædmon’s jacket to get his attention.

Barely glancing at her, Cædmon scotched the idea with a terse shake of the head. ‘Too much is at stake. If we go to the police, the Montségur Medallion will end up in the bloody Louvre.’

‘B-better that than the two of us ending up in the grave,’ she retorted.

Cædmon made no reply.

Fear level spiking, Kate took a deep stabilizing breath. In through her nostrils, out through her mouth. She kept a mental count until finally they reached the guichet .

‘Quickly! Take the lead!’ Cædmon ordered, pulling her in front of him.

Shoving wet hanks of hair out of her face, she did as instructed, belatedly realizing that Cædmon was shielding her with his own body, protecting her from the monster to the rear of them.

Although a full storey in height, the dimly lit guichet was stifling. Kate was pressed in on all four sides. The crowd’s mood having noticeably soured, the thick stream of soaking wet tourists trudged through the dank chasm.

Craning her neck, Kate caught Cædmon’s eye. ‘Is he still –’

‘Yes. About forty metres back.’

‘How are we going to elude him?’

‘I’m not altogether certain.’

Seconds later, like projectiles fired from a cannon, they burst free of the guichet , the summer tempest no less severe on the other side. Many in the throng rushed across the street, taking shelter under the covered arcade that ran parallel to Rue de Rivoli.

‘We mustn’t tarry. Our assailant will emerge from the portal at any moment.’ Snatching hold of her hand, Cædmon turned to the right and ran up to a middle-aged man holding a large black umbrella over his head.

Tapping the bespectacled gentleman on the shoulder, Cædmon, speaking in flawless French, told the stranger that he’d give him fifty euros for his umbrella.

Brown eyes opened wide. ‘ Mais, oui! ’

Ten seconds later, the transaction complete, Cædmon shepherded the two of them, now huddled under the umbrella, down Rue de Rivoli.

‘Cædmon, have you lost your mind?’ Kate hissed. ‘You just paid that man the equivalent of sixty-eight dollars. For an umbrella! ’

‘I didn’t think that twenty euros would seal the deal. Trust me. There’s a method to my madness.’

‘Who cares if we get – Oh, I get it,’ she said abruptly, noticing that the pavement teemed with people carrying umbrellas, most of which were basic black. Just like the one that Cædmon now held over their heads. ‘The black umbrella isn’t to keep us dry. It’s to camouflage us.’

‘Our assailant will, hopefully, assume that like everyone else who doesn’t have an umbrella, we sought dry shelter under the arcade.’

‘So, what’s our next move?’ she huffed, barely able to speak and draw breath at the same time.

Cædmon jutted his chin towards the taxi stand a block away. ‘Do you have enough energy left for one last sprint?’

Despite the fact that her shins ached and the sides of her abdomen were painfully cramped, Kate gamely nodded. She hoped fear would make her fleet of foot. Or at least keep her on her feet.

Hand in hand, they sloshed down the pavement.

A few moments later, her lungs on fire, they reached the taxi stand. Opening the door of the cab, Cædmon motioned her into the back seat. He then closed the umbrella and sidled next to her.

Red hair plastered to his skull, Cædmon leaned forward and said, ‘ À la Tour Eiffel, s’il vous plaît .’

42

‘… avec le citron. ’

Nodding, the waiter scribbled the drink order on to a notepad before heading back into the café, muttering under his breath about the crazy Englishman who insisted on sitting outside during a deluge.

What the sulking Frenchman failed to mutter was that Cædmon and Kate were protected from the rain, their small table situated beneath a canvas awning.

‘Where is he?’ For the fourth time in as many minutes, Kate anxiously glanced at her wristwatch.

About to inform his overwrought companion that he didn’t know and, moreover, he didn’t give a monkey’s, Cædmon thought better of it at the last. ‘He’s only six minutes late. Let’s not sound retreat just yet, eh?’ At least, not until my G&T arrives .

‘What if Finn didn’t make it? Maybe the gunman shot him at the Arc de Triomphe plaza. If that happened, he could be injured or –’

‘But he’s not,’ Cædmon interjected in a firm tone, alarmed by Kate’s runaway imagination, concerned that she might be suffering from a mild case of hysteria. An understandable enough reaction given the recent hair-raising episode.