C. Palov: Templar's Quest

‘The Montségur Medallion?’ One side of Finn’s mouth turned down at the corner as he shook his head. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘Do not play me for the fool, monsieur. I speak of the thirteenth-century gold pendant that you recovered in Al-Qanawat.’

‘What makes you think that I have it?’

‘Because you are the only man on the Delta team who could have it.’

‘Like I said –’ folding his arms over his chest, Finn leaned back in his chair – ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Jutier slapped the palm of his left hand against the glass table top. ‘Do not lie to me, monsieur!’ A blue vein throbbed at his temple. ‘Before his death, General Cavanaugh was kind enough to provide us with a copy of the Al-Qanawat mission debrief. You were the only Delta trooper who entered the chapel where the Montségur Medallion was kept.’

‘And so you naturally assume that I have your freakin’ medallion.’

‘ Mais, oui ,’ he replied, lifting his shoulder in a Gallic shrug. ‘In addition to the one million dollars that will be deposited into an offshore account, we will provide DNA evidence to prove your innocence. Not only will you be a free man, you will also be a very rich one.’

Even with the price of gold being sky high, the medallion couldn’t be worth that much. Which meant it had some value other than a purely monetary one.

Just what the hell did I step into?

‘You knew before you killed Dixie and Johnny K that you’d be offering me this deal, didn’t you?’ Finn shoved aside the untouched whiskey and leaned towards the desk. ‘That’s why you set me up for both their murders. With my back to the wall, you figured I’d be in no position to turn you down.’

‘We even went to the trouble and expense of recovering your knife from Al-Qanawat. A clever plan, n’est-ce pas ?’

‘How about I take that plan and shove it up your skinny French ass!’ Lurching to his feet, Finn strode behind the desk. Very deliberately, he placed his right hand on the back of Jutier’s chair, imprisoning the Frenchman. ‘I didn’t come here for a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. And I didn’t show up to get my share of the blood money. I came here for one reason: to get the name of the bastard who killed Dixie and Johnny K.’

‘I am not at liberty to say.’

Finn took a moment to ruminate on that. He already knew that Minister Fabius Jutier wasn’t the killer. Men like Jutier never got their hands bloodied. They hired men like Finn – i.e. ex-commandos – to do their dirty work.

Finn leaned in close. Their faces separated by only a few inches, he could see the faint meandering of blood vessels splotched across the other man’s cheekbones. ‘Unless you want things to turn real ugly, real quick, you’re going to give me that name.’

‘Do not threaten me, monsieur.’

‘Okay, fine.’ Finn hauled Jutier out of the chair and bent him backwards over the glass-topped desk. ‘Consider what I just said as a statement of intent.’ He wrapped his hands around the Frenchman’s neck, forcefully pressing his thumbs into Jutier’s windpipe.

Eyes bulging, Jutier tried, unsuccessfully, to pull Finn’s hands away from his neck.

‘Please … let me go,’ he gasped, his face starting to turn blue.

‘I’m going to ask you again … who killed Dixie and Johnny K?’ Knowing a show of mercy would get him nowhere, Finn tightened his hold. Strangulation wasn’t an exact science, but he figured Jutier had another thirty seconds of life left in him. He also figured the Frenchman would surrender before those thirty seconds lapsed.

As if on cue, Jutier began to frantically beat his hands against Finn’s forearms. He eased his hold just enough for the other man to speak.

‘The Dark Angel,’ Jutier sputtered, his chest heaving as he noisily drew in a deep breath. ‘The … Dark Angel … killed them.’

The Dark Angel? If there was an assassin operating under that name, Finn had never heard of him.

Granting a reprieve, Finn removed his hands from the Frenchman’s throat. ‘Next question: where can I find this Dark Angel?’

Gracelessly rolling on to his stomach, Jutier pushed himself upright. With a pained look on his face, he clutched the left side of his jacket. ‘I’m having severe chest pains. In the lacquer box –’ he jutted his chin at the cherry-red box on top of his desk – ‘I keep my glyceryl trinitrate. Please permit me to –’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Finn lifted the lid on the box, inspecting for hidden weapons. Not seeing anything suspicious, he shoved the box in Jutier’s direction.

‘Thank you, monsieur.’ The Frenchman rummaged through the plastic prescription bottles before making his selection. He popped a capsule into his mouth, his hands shaking visibly.

‘Okay, now that you’ve had your pharm candy, tell me where I can find the Dark Angel.’

‘I’ve said too much already.’

Without warning, the Frenchman began to violently convulse. A second later, Finn caught the faint but distinct smell of almonds.

Potassium cyanide.

‘Crap!’

Knowing he had to act fast, Finn roughly flipped Jutier over and wrapped his arms around him from behind. He then yanked violently upward to induce vomiting.

The Frenchman went limp as Finn lost the battle.

Furious that he’d been bested, Finn plunked the dead bastard into the black leather swivel chair. He searched methodically through Jutier’s coat pockets and removed an engraved lighter, a set of keys and a gold Mont Blanc pen.

Hearing the hinges on the office door creak, Finn peered over his shoulder.

Jesus H! What was she doing here?

Face as pale as February snow, Kate Bauer stood in the doorway. Clearly stunned, she stared at the dead man sprawled in the chair … then shot Finn an accusing glare.

‘My God … you killed him!’

7

‘I know how bad this must look, but it’s not what it seems,’ Finn McGuire said as he closed the office door.

‘Don’t come near me!’

‘Keep your voice down, will ya? I’m not going to hurt you.’

Refusing to trust a cold-blooded killer, Kate darted over to the sideboard and grabbed the first weapon she saw – an ornate letter opener.

‘If you take one step in my direction, I will not hesitate to use this!’ she exclaimed, grasping the letter opener like a dagger.

Instead of heeding the warning, Finn lunged in her direction, parrying her reflexive thrust with his left forearm. In a dizzyingly fast move, he gripped her right thumb and twisted. Like magic, the letter opener instantly slipped through Kate’s fingers and bounced off the red carpet.

‘You bastard!’ Refusing to surrender, she used her nails like talons, slashing at his face with her free hand.

With a muttered expletive, Finn grabbed both her wrists and twirled her clockwise. With her arms now crossed over her breasts, he pinned her to his chest, the buttons of his uniform jacket pressing into her backside.

‘Calm down!’

Instead of complying, she kicked him in the shins. He retaliated by lifting her several inches off the ground.

‘If you promise not to do anything harebrained, I’ll let go of you.’

Her heart painfully thumping in her chest cavity, Kate nodded.

‘Good girl.’ Finn lowered her, her feet once again making contact with the floor. ‘Sorry for being so rough.’

Tottering unsteadily on her heels, Kate turned round to face the uniformed Goliath. ‘What were you planning to do after you killed him? Rejoin me in the reception hall, drink a little champagne, then call it a night?’

‘I’m only going to say this one time … I didn’t kill him.’