C. Palov - Templar's Quest

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he interjected. ‘Now, let’s hit it.’

Looking none too pleased, Kate pulled away from the kerb and headed down the street, turning right at the corner and driving around the block to Boulevard St Germain. As per the mission op that Finn had earlier devised, they would cross the Seine at Pont de Sully then proceed to Place de la Bastille.

Finn popped the magazine from the pistol. Seeing twelve .45 bullets, a full mag, he smiled. Beautiful. He next pulled the slide a fraction, just far enough to glimpse the chambered bonus round. His smile widened. He always liked the heft and feel of a Mark 23, the sidearm carried by most of the Special Forces. It was a good, reliable piece. Of course, the last time he used one, it’d been blown out of his hand by a trigger-happy Syrian.

‘I think the chauffeur’s coming to,’ Kate announced anxiously a few moments later when a huge bald head suddenly appeared in the rear-view mirror.

Twisting at the waist, Finn peered over the back of his seat at the black-suited chauffeur. ‘ That is a wicked broken nose,’ he remarked smugly as he appraised his handiwork. Like any man, he took pride in a job well done.

Clearly disorientated, the chauffeur turned his head from side to side. At seeing his employer slumped against the seat, his face contorted into an ugly grimace. ‘ Du verdammter arschficker! You killed Herr Doktor Uhlemann!’

‘The old dude’s not dead. Just down for the count.’ Ready for a confrontation, Finn aimed the Mark 23 at the goon’s forehead. ‘Take off your clothes.’

The other man vehemently shook his head. ‘ Nein! I vill not!’

‘Shuck the monkey suit.’ He toggled the gun barrel. A silent threat.

Muttering under his breath, the chauffeur tugged at his garments, flinging each discarded piece into the footwell. Teeth clenched, he divested himself of his last bit of dignity, yanking off his tidy undies.

Finn glanced at the German’s chest, wondering if the big bastard sported a Black Sun tattoo. ‘Nice jugs,’ he snickered. ‘Since you don’t rate a tattoo, I’m guessing that makes you low man on the totem pole.’

‘We’ve just arrived at Place de la Bastille,’ Kate informed him. Both hands gripped on the steering wheel, she navigated the Mercedes to the inside lane of the traffic circle. Following the mission op, she continuously drove around the circle.

‘Listen up, Cue Ball. When you get back to the Seven Research Foundation, you’re to tell your pals that I want the Dark Angel,’ Finn said in a measured tone of voice, thrusting the gun barrel against his broken schnoz. ‘And if I don’t get her, Doctor Ivo Uhlemann will not be returning. Those are my demands. Here’s the number where I can be contacted.’ With his left hand, Finn slapped a strip of duct tape on to the naked man’s chest, his cell phone number scrawled on it. Knowing that a naked man was a vulnerable man – and that a vulnerable man would not carjack a vehicle and give chase – he jutted his chin at the passenger side door. ‘Okay. Time to head out into the wild blue yonder and let your freak flag fly.’

‘ Fich dich, arschgesicht! ’ the chauffeur hissed, beady eyes narrowed.

‘Right back at ya. Now get out of the car, asshole!’

‘ Nein! ’

‘Hey, grow a pair, will ya? Or I vill put a bullet between your eyes.’

Slowing the vehicle to a snail’s pace, Kate released the door locks. Several annoyed drivers laid on their horns. All of ’em got an eyeful when, several seconds later, a stark naked man emerged from the back of the Mercedes.

Lowering the window, Finn shot the chauffeur a parting glance. The bastard stood beneath a huge marble pillar situated in the middle of the traffic circle, his hands cupped over his groin. Which was when Finn noticed that there was a statue of a naked man on top of the pillar.

A damned funny sight to behold.

61

Rue de la Roquette, Paris

0213 hours

Nerves frayed, Kate spared a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

‘Don’t worry. Uhlemann’s still out cold.’ An implacable expression on his face, Finn stared straight ahead.

What in God’s name was he plotting? The episode at Place de la Bastille had come as a complete surprise to her.

As the Mercedes sped down Rue de la Roquette, Kate tightly grasped the steering wheel. ‘Finn … I think you should know that …’ She hesitated, afraid to broach what she knew would prove a touchy subject. ‘I’m starting to have second thoughts about all this. Surely you have enough incriminating, if not damning, evidence on the digital voice recorder?’ Taking her eyes off the road, she looked over at him. ‘Don’t you think that’s enough?’

Surprisingly calm, as though he’d been expecting the question, Finn said, ‘While the conversation that we recorded earlier today at the Grande Arche will probably clear me of the murder charges, it’s not enough for the police to arrest Angelika, a.k.a. the Dark Angel. The police are gonna need more than just a first name to make an arrest.’

Full of misgivings, Kate followed up with the obvious: ‘What if the Seven Research Foundation refuses to bargain with you? What then?’

‘You mean what am I planning to do with the old dude?’ When she nodded, Finn shrugged and said, ‘Since I’m not in the habit of making idle threats, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

Kate’s breath caught in her throat.

If the Seven Research Foundation failed to comply, she would do all in her power to stave off a deadly turn of events. Not just for Dr Uhlemann’s sake, but for Finn’s as well. She feared that, blinded by his need for vengeance, Finn couldn’t foresee the consequence of a violent reckoning. The night that Sammy died, the ambulance driver had had to physically restrain her from plunging a steak knife into her husband’s heart. Thank God that he did. While she was no longer a practising Buddhist, she still believed that purposefully taking a life would keep one chained to the wheel of Samsāra. Haunted by karmic fallout.

Her feelings for Finn McGuire were too strong to let that happen.

As they drove through a somnolent neighbourhood, neither spoke, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Approaching the terminus of a dead-end street, Kate applied the brakes, bringing the Mercedes to a full stop. Straight ahead was a bright green metal gate in the middle of a tall brick wall surmounted by barbed wire. The back entrance to Cimetière du Père Lachaise. The fabled cemetery, situated on the outskirts of the city, was the final resting place for some of France’s most prominent citizens: Molière, Proust, Delacroix, Sarah Bernhardt, Edith Piaf. The list went on and on.

‘Do you want me to turn off the engine?’

‘Leave it running,’ Finn told her. ‘Now get out of the car.’

‘ What? ’ Since this hadn’t been part of the plan, the unexpected request bewildered her.

‘You heard me, get out. I’ll let you know when you can get back in.’

Wondering if he intended to leave her stranded on the outskirts of Paris, Kate yielded without a fight, too stunned to protest. Arms folded over her chest, she stood on the pavement as Finn got behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Where he intended to go was a mystery. Since the cemetery was closed for the night, the entrance gate was locked.

Finn gunned the powerful V-12 engine.

Oh, no! Don’t tell me!

Realizing that he intended to drive right through the locked gate, Kate shoved a balled fist to her mouth, muffling a horrified shriek. Breaking into the historic cemetery had not been part of the mission op. But, then again, that business with the naked chauffeur had not been part of the original plan either.