Templar's Quest

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.

She smiled, actually looking forward to the upcoming battle with the American commando.

Soon, McGuire. Very soon.