C. Palov - Templar's Quest

Seconds later, engine roaring, Finn rammed the Mercedes Benz into the iron gate, nearly ripping it from the hinges. No match for German engineering and American resolve.

Opening his car door, Finn waved his arm, signalling for her to get back into the vehicle. Afraid that a local resident might sound the alarm, Kate sprinted towards the Mercedes. If the police showed up, they’d be arrested on the spot.

Fear mounting, she slid into the front seat. Finn offered no explanation and no apology. As he drove down a narrow cobbled lane, she detected a faint smile on his lips. She realized that he had thoroughly enjoyed using the now dented and dinged luxury sedan as a mobile wrecking ball. Boys and their toys , she mused disagreeably.

‘Now what?’ she enquired, dreading the reply.

‘Now we find a place to hunker down.’

She raised a dubious brow. ‘In a graveyard?’

‘You’re not scared of ghosts, are you?’

‘No. And that’s not why I asked,’ she muttered under her breath, only now beginning to understand that Finn was operating on a ‘need to know’ basis, revealing the mission op to her in piecemeal fashion.

Several twists and turns later, he stopped the car and cut the ignition.

Kate glanced at the still-unconscious Uhlemann. ‘What are you planning to do with our passenger?’

‘Take him with us.’

Getting out of the car, Finn opened the back door and hauled Uhlemann out of the Mercedes. He then hefted the unconscious man over his shoulders fireman-style and strode down the cobbled lane. Banked on both sides by stately mausoleums, it reminded Kate of the visit she’d once made to New Orleans’ famed St Louis cemetery.

‘ “We die only once and for such a long time,” ’ she read aloud as they passed an elaborately designed crypt, struck by the morbid phrase that had been carved over the doorway. Not exactly the sort of sentiment that one would ever see printed on a Hallmark condolence card. Unnerved, she shivered.

A trio of tabby cats eyed their approach warily, the cemetery home to a motley tribe of feral cats.

‘This’ll do,’ Finn muttered as he stopped in front of a large crypt, the name ‘Touzet-Guibert’ carved above the lintel. Without warning, he kicked in the metal door. ‘Wait out here until I get a couple of light sticks out of my Go Bag.’

Kate silently complied, in no hurry to enter the mausoleum.

A few moments later, Finn motioned her inside. Reluctantly entering, her gaze was drawn to the two light sticks wedged into wall crevices, the makeshift sconces illuminating the crypt with an eerie green glow. The unmoving Ivo Uhlemann was on the floor, propped against a marble wall.

‘Have a seat,’ Finn said, gesturing to an ornately carved sarcophagus.

Envisioning what was inside that stone coffin, Kate shook her head. ‘No, thanks. What’s next on the agenda?’ she asked, thinking it was time for Finn to divulge the rest of the mission op.

Turning his head, he glanced at Uhlemann. ‘Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.’ None too gently, he ripped the piece of duct tape from the older man’s mouth. He then slapped Uhlemann once on each cheek.

Dr Uhlemann blinked his eyes. With his perfectly coifed white hair, neatly trimmed beard and expensive, tailored suit, he cut an elegant figure. Hardly Kate’s image of a villainous neo-Nazi.

‘Where are we?’ their captive enquired calmly, remarkably composed.

Removing his penknife from its sheath, Finn squatted in front of Uhlemann and cut the duct tape binding his wrists. ‘We’re in a mausoleum on the outskirts of town.’

‘What an ironic choice given that you intend to kill me.’ Dr Uhlemann glanced at the beautifully crafted marble walls. ‘My compliments, Sergeant McGuire. Such a lovely setting in which to spend the eternal quietus.’

‘Actually, I intend to trade you for the Dark Angel. Your chauffeur – nice fella, by the way – volunteered to deliver the ransom demand to your pals at the Seven Research Foundation.’

The older man slowly moved his hands in a circular motion to restore circulation. ‘A futile exercise since the Seven will never remand the Dark Angel to your custody,’ he replied. Then, smiling enigmatically, he said, ‘To save time, may I suggest that you put the gun to my head and pull the trigger?’

62

The Seven Research Foundation, Paris

0215 hours

‘ Du bist ein dummkopf! ’ Angelika Schwärz railed, furiously pounding on the driver’s chest with a balled fist. Standing in the middle of the front lobby, she didn’t care who witnessed the dressing down. The big oaf was lucky that she didn’t jab a letter opener into his heart and impale him to the wall. ‘How could you have bungled this so badly? You couldn’t take a piss in the dark without wetting both feet.’

A computer technician who worked down the hall scurried past. Although bug-eyed, and clearly shocked, he knew better than to intervene.

‘It’s not my fault,’ Dolf Reinhardt whined, brow-beaten and pussy-whipped. ‘McGuire ambushed us!’ Attired in a too-tight trench coat with no buttons and belted with plastic bags that had been twisted and knotted together, he looked like a woebegone tramp. Obviously, he’d scavenged the garment from a rubbish heap.

‘Of course he ambushed you. That’s because McGuire is a real man with a big swinging dick. Not like your shrivelled little schwanz. ’ Angelika forcefully ripped the piece of grey duct tape off of Reinhardt’s chest, causing the driver to squeal like a little girl.

Eyes watering with tears, Reinhardt stared at the floor. Somewhere between losing the Mercedes and the clothes on his back, the big oaf had also lost his manly pride. If ever he had it.

Bunching the strip of tape into a tight ball, Angelika disgustedly tossed it into a nearby waste bin.

The driver wiped a meaty hand over his lip, swiping at a ribbon of snot. ‘Aren’t you going to call him?’

‘Who? McGuire? Only if I need a good fuck.’

‘But he said he would kill Herr Doktor Uhlemann if you didn’t remand yourself to his custody!’ Reinhardt doggedly insisted. ‘Do you not care what happens to –’

‘I care.’ More than you will ever know, pussy man.

Still in a murderous rage, Angelika strode over to the computer station at the reception desk and sat down. Like a lost puppy, Reinhardt followed after her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m locating the Mercedes Benz,’ she informed him, quickly typing in a secure password.

‘But you have no idea where McGuire is hiding.’

‘I will soon know exactly where he is hiding. The vehicle is outfitted with a GPS tracking device.’

The buffoon’s mouth fell open in a slack-jawed ‘O’. ‘No one told me.’

Ignoring him, she pulled up the satellite data. Père Lachaise Cemetery. With its many monuments and hilly terrain, it was the perfect hideaway. Clever, McGuire. Very clever.

Angelika spared the driver a quick glance. ‘Of course there’s a tracking device on the vehicle. Do you think we would trust you with such an expensive automobile otherwise?’

‘Herr Doktor Uhlemann trusts me implicitly.’

‘He trusts you to change the oil and clean up after Wolfgang when he shits on the pavement. That is all.’

‘But I … I am … Herr Doktor’s aide-de-camp,’ the big oaf sputtered, a crestfallen expression on his face.

‘You are the village idiot.’ Grimacing, she put the back of her hand to her nose. ‘And what is that stench? Go and find some disinfectant.’ She dismissed the driver with a wave of the same hand.

Contemplating her next move, Angelika pulled up an aerial photograph of Père Lachaise. For several seconds, she stared at the computer screen. Luckily, she had the element of surprise in her favour. That, and a full moon.