Templar's Quest

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.

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?’