Templar's Quest

26

‘And just so we’re clear –’ smiling mirthlessly, Finn tossed the Montségur Medallion into the air, catching it in his left hand – ‘this has no value to me whatsoever. One wrong move from you and I will not hesitate to fling it like a damned frisbee into the Seine.’

He hoped to God the bravado worked. If not, they were screwed. Other than the somnolent old man with the hook’n’line dangling in the water, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He and Kate were in the open. Completely exposed. Even the old man wouldn’t know what had happened until all was said and done; the bad guy’s HK semi-automatic had a silencer on the end of it.

Which probably explained why Kate was quaking against his backside.

Or maybe she knew there was one really big chink in his armour – he had no weapon.

In those few seconds before the motorcycle roared on to the wharf, he thought about grabbing the KA-BAR knife. He had a deadly aim and to hell with the legal consequences. He always said he’d rather be tried by twelve than carried by six. But at the last moment something made him reach for the medallion instead. He wasn’t altogether certain why he did it, other than he had a gut feeling it was the better weapon to draw from his holster.

The helmeted rider, his features obscured by the black-tinted face guard, lowered his weapon, setting it on the ground. The bastard then did the unexpected and kicked the damned thing into the Seine, the gun hitting the water with a loud splash.

Cocky motherfucker.

Finn raised a quizzical brow. ‘You know, I was fully expecting you to play a few more hands before folding. You must want this medallion real bad.’ When his adversary made no reply, he said, ‘I’ll take that as a “Yes”. Now that we’ve got that settled, lose the helmet, asshole. I want to see your face. Slowly. No sudden moves or the medallion will end up next to the HK at the bottom of the river.’

Clasping either side of the metallic grey helmet, the other man complied with the request.

The moment the helmet was removed, Finn sucked in a deep breath, completely blown away.

Holy shit!

Unhurriedly, well of aware of the effect, his adversary shook out a mane of long, silver-blonde hair. Hearing Kate’s indrawn breath, Finn could only assume that she was equally stunned to discover that the person standing opposite them was a woman.

Quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded to know, still getting over the shock.

‘Some call me Angelika; others, the Dark Angel,’ the woman calmly replied in a husky French accent.

The Dark Angel!

Fuck!

Finn glared at the leather-clad assassin. Although sorely tempted to kill the bitch with his bare hands, he’d vowed that Dixie and Johnny K’s murderer would stand trial. That meant he had to have her alive and kicking. She wasn’t worth a damn to him dead.

‘So, which do you prefer … the Dark Angel or Angelika?’

‘I prefer the Dark Angel.’

‘What is that, your alter ego?’

‘Mais, oui. In the war between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness, the Dark Angel will be triumphant.’

Finn snorted derisively. ‘Thanks, Yoda. So, how about telling me how you tracked us. Hell, we haven’t been in Paris but a few hours.’

‘While you have many skills, you committed a glaring blunder.’

‘Yeah? What was that?’

‘You took Fabius Jutier’s laptop from his embassy office.’ Her lips curled in a gloating smirk. ‘We surmised that you did so in order to mine the computer for information regarding our organization. Information which would have led you directly to our headquarters here in Paris.’

‘I didn’t steal a damned thing,’ Finn said with a shake of the head.

‘There’s no sense lying. The misdeed is done. Since you are a decisive man, we knew that you would go on the offensive. Which is why we’ve been watching the airports and train stations around Paris.’ The smirk morphed into a come-hither smile. ‘If you must know, I had you in my gun sights earlier this morning at Gare du Nord.’

‘Why didn’t you pull the trigger?’

‘Regardless of what you think, the Seven has no desire to see you dead.’ As she spoke, the Dark Angel unzipped the pocket on the left arm of her jacket and removed a box of Lucky Strike cigarettes. ‘If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you at any time.’ She nodded at the Ducati 999R parked a few feet from where she stood. ‘Mine is the more powerful vehicle. It would have been child’s play to have caused a fatal accident.’

‘And the only reason you didn’t mow us over with your Italian crotch rocket is because you had no way of knowing whether or not I had the medallion on me.’ For damn sure, she didn’t spare their lives out of the goodness of her heart.

Opening the box of Lucky Strikes, the Dark Angel removed a gold lighter. She then shook a cigarette loose and extended her arm towards Finn. ‘Fumez-vous? ’ When he shook his head, she lit a cigarette, throwing her head back as she languidly blew out a perfectly shaped smoke ring.

‘I’m curious: are you just a hired gun or are you a card-carrying member of the Seven?’ he asked, admittedly having a hard time getting a handle on her.

Her brow wrinkled. Either she didn’t understand the question or she was playing dumb.

‘Okay, I’ll put it another way … are you the proud owner of a Black Sun tattoo?’

‘Would you like to see my tattoo?’ Looking like a poster girl for sin city, the blonde started to unzip her Joe Rocket motorcycle jacket.

‘Not especially.’

Affecting a pout, she released the zipper. ‘Perhaps later I could tempt you into taking a peek.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ he snarled, refusing to let himself be affected by his adversary’s beautiful packaging.

Just then, Kate stepped out from behind him, taking up a new position on his left flank. ‘What do you know about the connection between the Black Sun and the Vril force?’ she asked in a quavering voice. Although scared, she didn’t lack for gumption.

‘Ah, le petit souris avec les yeux bleus. Ou peut-être gris.’ Tilting her head to one side, the Dark Angel contemplatively assessed Kate. ‘Blue. Grey. It matters not. To answer your question, little mouse, Vril is the force that allows us to escape the prison of the here and now.’

What the fuck did that mean?

‘Okay, next question: who hired you to kill Dixie and Johnny K?’ Finn asked, steering away from the mumbo-jumbo.

‘I was sent by the Seven Research Foundation.’ She lifted a shoulder in an elegant Gallic shrug. ‘But then you already knew that.’ With an impatient flick of the wrist, the Dark Angel flung her cigarette aside. ‘You do realize, don’t you, that we have a great deal in common?’

‘News flash: We don’t have a damned thing in common.’

‘Don’t fool yourself, Finnegan … We are both killers, n’est-ce pas?’

‘I’ve only killed out of necessity.’

‘And I kill for the sheer pleasure of it, but that doesn’t change the end result.’

‘What about Dixie and Johnny K? Did you enjoy killing them?’

She wistfully sighed as though recalling a fond memory. ‘Oui. Very much so. They were both strong, their will to live immense. Their deaths brought me much pleasure.’

Jesus H! What a fucking psychopath.

A male assassin wouldn’t have stood a chance getting through a Delta trooper’s front door. But Angelika was the enemy a man didn’t expect – a drop-dead gorgeous woman.

‘I want names and I want them right now. Who hired you?’ All he needed to squeeze out of her was one goddamn name.

The Dark Angel answered the demand with stony-faced silence.

Fine. Finn unclipped the phone from his waistband and handed it to Kate. Although he wanted to personally avenge the deaths of his two comrades, he knew that he had to turn the Dark Angel over to the authorities. Since they were in Paris, that would be the French authorities. They, in turn, could contact CID and arrange to have the bitch extradited to the US.

‘Call the police for me, will ya?’ he said to Kate.

‘Non! ’

Surprised by the blonde’s frantic tone, Finn raised his hand, signalling Kate to hold off on making the call. ‘Okay, you’ve got a temporary reprieve. Give me a name.’

Staring at the medallion, the Dark Angel extended an arm in his direction, a beseeching look in her eyes. ‘The Montségur Medallion is the key to unlock the door to other worlds. We must have it returned to us. Soon the great star will rise with the sun. You have but to name your price.’

Not missing a beat, Finn said, ‘You. That’s my price. And I also want a signed confession. When I get that, I’ll gladly turn over the Montségur Medallion to whichever tattooed bastard wants it. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.’

‘Ne soyez pas un idiot! ’

‘Hey, I’ve been accused of worse things than being an idiot.’ He took several steps in her direction.

‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘Or what? You gonna chomp down on a cyanide –’ Finn stopped midstream, suddenly catching sight of a black Citroën C4 barrelling down the quayside ramp, its tyres loudly squealing as the driver took a sharp left at the bottom of the incline – the speeding vehicle heading right towards them.

‘What the … ?’

Seizing her chance, the Dark Angel charged forward, taking a nosedive into the River Seine.

‘Oh, my God!’ Kate screamed.

An instant later, the bitch had vanished from sight, cloudy water rippling in her wake.

Fuck!

The Citroën skidded to a stop a few feet from where they stood, the four-door hatch shaking on its frame from the sudden manoeuvre. Almost immediately, the dark-tinted front passenger window came down.

Finn caught a glimpse of dark-red hair.

‘What the … ?’

‘Get in!’ Aisquith hissed.

‘Fuck you!’ Finn hissed right back at him.

‘I think not.’

To Finn’s surprise, the Brit, in a lightning-fast move, whipped out a Ruger P89 semi-automatic pistol. Even more surprising, there was deadly intent in the other man’s eyes. Like it wouldn’t take much for him to pull the trigger. In that instant, Finn knew that Cædmon Aisquith did not play the lute at the Renaissance Festival.

But he’d bank that the other man was a player. SAS? Counter Terrorism Command? The Royal Marines?

Fuck.

Muttering under his breath, Finn opened the back passenger door and, ducking his head and crouching low, clambered into the not-so-roomy vehicle. He immediately slid across the leather bench seat, making room for Kate, who was right behind him.

Still training the gun on him, the Brit smiled nastily. ‘You made a wise decision, Sergeant McGuire.’