C. Palov - Templar's Quest

In truth, the skin on the back of his neck still prickled, his senses in a heightened state of awareness.

Feigning an interest in the large potted palm diagonally opposite their table, he surreptitiously scanned the bustling cityscape; the driver of a panel truck parked directly across the street was in the process of delivering plastic tanks of bottled water; motorists weaved in and out of traffic; pedestrians, huddled beneath their brollies, scurried down the pavement.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

So, why this dread feeling in the pit of my stomach?

The waiter, lips turned down in a classic Gallic sneer, returned with their drinks. Cædmon, accustomed to the French and their infernal bad manners, wordlessly handed the man ten euros.

Reaching for the white ceramic cup set in front of her, Kate smiled weakly. ‘If I didn’t need the caffeine fix, I would have joined you.’

She referred, of course, to the fact that he’d ordered a gin and tonic. And a double, at that.

Unable to meet her gaze, Cædmon squeezed the wedge of lemon before dropping the mutilated piece of fruit into his glass. ‘Having successfully outwitted the evil ogre, a celebratory drink is in order.’ Affecting a jovial air, he toasted the sentiment with a raised glass. A glass punctured with a red light beam.

No sooner did the unexpected image hit his ocular nerve than the glass shattered in his hand.

‘Shite!’

In the next instant, a green bottle of Perrier exploded.

Lurching at Kate, Cædmon none too gently yanked her out of the bistro chair, pulling her under their table. Hunched over the top of her, he grabbed the nearby potted palm and dragged it in front of them. Because of the rain, all of the outdoor tables were vacant. Because the gunman’s weapon was suppressed, no one inside the café was even aware of what was happening, the bullets silently lodging in the stucco wall behind them.

‘Oh, God!’ Kate moaned, her body contorted into a quivering ball.

Acid churning like mad in the pit of his gut, Cædmon ventured a glance across the street. The gunman had to be hiding behind the delivery van parked on the other side of the road!

Just then, a taxi pulled up to the front of the café. Both rear doors, as well as the front passenger door, flung open. Four tall Swedes, businessmen on a working holiday from the looks of them, got out of the cab.

Cædmon, seizing what might be their one and only chance to escape unscathed, quickly stood up. Extending a hand, he helped Kate to her feet. ‘She lost a contact lens,’ he said to one of the men in the group who glanced quizzically at them.

‘Found it.’ Raising an index finger, Kate displayed a nonexistent lens.

Explanation offered, Cædmon immediately insinuated himself into the middle of the foursome, dragging Kate along with him, purposefully sandwiching her between his chest and a hefty blond bloke. Tightly clustered, the six of them entered the café. Once they were safely over the threshold, Cædmon splintered off, pulling Kate towards the polished bar that ran along the back wall of the café. Out of the gunman’s line of sight.

‘Are you all right?’ As soon as he asked, he shook his head. ‘Yes, I know, an asinine question.’

‘H-how is this happening?’ she stammered. ‘How does he k-keep f-finding us?’

‘That is a damn good question.’ His gaze trained on the truck still parked across the street, he said matter-of-factly, ‘The situation being what it is, we can no longer wait for your mastodon.’

‘My what !?’

‘I refer, of course, to McGuire, who is –’

‘Right here. I came in through the back exit.’

Hearing that raspy baritone, Kate spun around, throwing herself at Finnegan McGuire’s chest. Drenched from head to foot, the commando hesitated a moment before wrapping his wet arms around Kate’s backside.

‘I was so worried about you, Finn! I thought … thought that something terrible had –’

‘Hey, Katie. Shhh. I’m here now. It’s all right.’ His movements curiously tender, McGuire smoothed his hand over Kate’s flushed cheek.

‘Actually, it’s not all right. We just came under fire,’ Cædmon informed the other man in a lowered voice. ‘I suspect our gunman is positioned behind the delivery truck that’s parked across the street.’

Eyes narrowed, McGuire stared out of the bank of plate-glass windows. ‘I know that the bastard didn’t follow me. Hell, my own shadow couldn’t keep up.’

‘I assume that our assailant is using some sort of GPS device.’ Cædmon grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the top of the bar, ignoring the waiter’s furious glare. As he dabbed at his jacket, trying to soak up the spilled gin and tonic as best he could, he turned to Kate. ‘I need the laptop computer that’s in your rucksack.’

‘We’ve got a gun-toting Oom-pah-pah on our six and you’re worried about a damned computer!’

Cædmon shoved the saturated napkins on to the bar, halfway tempted to stuff the wad into the commando’s mouth. ‘You earlier mentioned that it was Fabius Jutier’s laptop, did you not?’ When McGuire nodded warily, he said, ‘I believe that’s how the Seven Research Foundation tracked you from Washington to Paris.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Commandos attack, snoops track. Trust me, there’s a microchip implanted on your pilfered laptop.’

McGuire snatched the laptop out of Kate’s hands. ‘If that’s the case, I’m going to use this sucker to throw the hound off the scent. While I’m doing that, I want the two of you to exit out the back alley.’

‘I have a better idea.’ Cædmon reached for his mobile phone. ‘While I may not have battlefield experience, I know how to escape the enemy.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Calling for an ambulance.’

‘Hey, grow a pair, will ya? I’m planning on all of us getting out of here alive.’

‘As am I.’ Turning his back on McGuire, Cædmon informed the emergency operator that an ambulance was immediately required at the Bistro de la Tour Eiffel, an older gentleman having just gone into cardiac arrest in the men’s WC. Call made, he redirected his attention to McGuire. ‘Take the laptop and hide it behind the commode in the gents. When you leave, make certain that the door is locked from the inside.’

Scowling, the commando strode towards the back of the café.

Her delicate features marred with anxiety, Kate sidled next to him. ‘What are our chances of getting out of here alive?’

Unable to offer false comfort, Cædmon told the truth. ‘The situation is extremely fluid. The dynamics could change in an instant.’ He jutted his chin, first at the crowded café with its harried waiters and boisterous clientele, then at the congested streetscape beyond the plate-glass windows.

‘But as long as we stay inside the café, we’re safe, right?’ There was no mistaking the hopeful glimmer in Kate’s eyes.

‘The danger is that our gunman will simply charge through the front entrance, gun barrels blazing.’ Glancing at his right hand, Cædmon noticed that it was visibly shaking. Bloody hell, but I need a drink. ‘However, you mustn’t dwell on –’

‘The laptop is out of sight, stuffed behind the water tank,’ McGuire interjected. ‘Now what?’ He had to raise his voice to be heard over the shrieking siren, a bright-red ambulance having just pulled up to the front door of the café. ‘I hope to God that you’re not expecting me to fake a heart attack.’

‘I’m not. That said, follow my lead.’

Just as he expected, the atmosphere inside the café instantly changed with the arrival of the ambulance, patrons frantically glancing about, huddled waiters pointing to the front entrance. Everyone wondering for whom the sirens blared.