Templar's Quest

67

Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris

0421 hours

A ghost warrior, Finn wended his way through the dark necropolis, purposefully keeping to the charcoal shadows.

Fifty feet from the cemetery entrance, he ducked behind a granite plinth. Knowing that there were more than four enemy gunmen prowling about, he strained his ears, listening, unable to detect any sound save for the innocuous rustle of leaves.

Stuffing the Mark 23 into his waistband, he snatched the night-vision goggles out of his Go Bag.

Fuck. The sentry posted at the gate was packing a Heckler & Koch MP5-K sub-machine gun. German-made bang-bang that had thirty rounds of nine mil ammo. When set to ‘full automatic’, it could blow that many holes in a man in a matter of seconds. Urban warfare at its deadliest.

Stuffing the NVGs back into his Go Bag, Finn wrapped his hand around the grip on the Mark 23 and quietly made his approach, the sentry now forty feet away.

Thirty.

Twenty.

His actions honed from years of training, he flipped on the laser sight. Grateful that his weapon had a sound suppressor, he stilled his breath as he raised his right arm. A red dot instantly appeared on the other man’s forehead. Not about to second-guess the morality of the act, Finn squeezed the trigger.

The force of the shot hurled the sentry backward, knocking him off his feet.

In the split-second before he crash landed and his brain permanently shut down, the bastard reflexively pulled the trigger on the MP5-K, strafing the night sky with nine mil bullets, shattering the silence.

PaPaPaPaPaPaPaPaPaPop

Fuck!

Knowing that the burst of gunfire would draw unfriendlies like buzzards to road kill, Finn spun on his heel and took off running.

For God’s sake, Katie, stay put! I’m on my way!

Chest tight, heart thundering, he charged through the labyrinth, dodging statues and headstones.

In his peripheral vision, a dark blur suddenly materialized. Finn turned his head; verified that it was an unfriendly. Raising his right arm, he took aim and fired. The bullet entered the other man’s brain via his eye socket. Like a marionette jerked by a puppeteer, the gunman twitched viciously. Then, strings cut, he fell gracelessly to the ground.

No time to gloat, Finn kept running.

A few moments later, he vaulted over the marble ledge.

Where the hell was Kate?

‘Katie!’ he whispered urgently. ‘It’s me!’

The only sound he could hear was his own harsh breath. Hit with a hinky feeling, Finn turned full circle. Which is when he spied the black plastic Taser laying on the ground. Still connected to two metal wires. Obviously, Kate had fired it. And missed the target.

Fuck!

Acting purely on impulse, Finn leaped back over the ledge and headed towards the mausoleum where they’d left Ivo Uhlemann. He figured – hoped – that Kate was still alive. Had they killed her on the spot, they would have left her corpse behind. A gruesome message. He figured – again, hoped – that they’d abducted Kate to force his hand.

Hauling ass, Finn cannonballed down the hill. To hell with stealth. They already knew he was coming.

As he neared the mausoleum, Finn could see that someone had pulled the Mercedes sedan in front of the crypt. The engine idling, twin plumes of smoke wafted out of the tailpipes.

Thank God! There was still time to make the trade.

Needing to collect his thoughts, Finn quickly devised a game plan, well aware that he had to be proactive, not reactive. No question, he’d give Uhlemann what he wanted – the Montségur Medallion – but, in return, he needed an iron-clad guarantee that Kate would be given safe passage out of the cemetery. Like Kate said earlier, he had enough evidence on the digital voice recorder.

Fifteen yards from the mausoleum, Finn stopped in his tracks. Although he had the Mark 23 clutched in his right hand, he held it off to the side. Non-threatening, but still in plain sight. Just in case.

From where he stood, he watched as Ivo Uhlemann, supported by a big dude in a black chauffeur’s suit, exited the mausoleum. Given his shuffling gait, the old German looked to be in a lot of pain. Next, Kate and the Dark Angel emerged from the crypt.

Turning her head, Kate caught sight of Finn standing in the middle of the cobblestone lane.

‘Finn! It’s an am–’ Kate was silenced in mid-shout, the Dark Angel viciously shoving a gun muzzle to her head.

Decked out in skintight black leather, the blonde bitch smiled flirtatiously at Finn – just before two men, each armed with a MP5-K sub-machine gun, lunged from the shadows and opened fire.

Weapons set on full auto, they unleashed a torrent of nine mil bullets in Finn’s direction.

PaPaPaPaPaPaPaPaPaPop

Shit!

Finn dived behind a mortuary statue. Hitting the ground, he tucked and rolled. In his wake, marble chips flew through the air like wedding confetti, clumps of turf pelting the statue’s granite base. An instant later, a leafy tree branch crashed to the ground beside him, severed from its limb by the hail of bullets. The noise was deafening.

Hugging the granite plinth, he peered around the corner. Muzzle flashes flickered like a swarm of fireflies, spent shells arcing through the air. He pulled back. Mark 23 clutched to his chest, he waited. Although he couldn’t see, he heard the squeal of tyre rubber as the Mercedes floored it down the cobblestone lane towards the open gate.

Just as Finn hoped would happen, both gunmen ran out of ammo at the same time.

A three-second lull at the most, he seized his chance. In one smooth, well-practised move, he spun around the corner and dropped to his knee. Grasping his right wrist with his left hand, he sighted the first target and pulled the trigger. The gunman on the left barrelled through the air, a hole blown through his heart. A split-second later, he pivoted, aimed and fired again, taking out the gunman on the right.

Both targets neutralized, he lurched to his feet. The acrid smell of gun smoke permeated the air. In the near distance, he heard the distinctive two-tone bleat of French police sirens. At any moment, the cops would careen through the gate at the end of the cobblestone lane.

Time to beat a hasty retreat.

Galvanized into action, Finn shoved the Mark 23 into his Go Bag before taking off in the complete opposite direction to the cemetery gate. Nerves sizzling, brain synapses firing, adrenaline pumping, his brain and body chemistry quickly adapted to the new situation. Charging uphill, he didn’t venture a backward glance. Intent on escaping, he couldn’t spare the half-second to look over his shoulder.

He spied a mausoleum situated next to an oak tree, which in turn was rooted next to the eight-foot-high cemetery wall, and headed in that direction. Literally flying by the seat of his pants, Finn leaped on to a sturdy headstone. From there, he lunged on to the roof of the mausoleum. Waking the dead, he charged across the clay-tiled roof to the towering oak tree. An instant later, he was airborne. Grabbing hold of a limb with both hands, he catapulted over the barbed wire strung along the top of the brick wall … landing on the hood of a Renault hatchback parked on the other side of the wall.

Mercifully, he caught a break; the Renault wasn’t rigged with an anti-theft alarm.

Jumping off the bonnet, Finn sprinted across the street towards an apartment complex, managing to duck behind a large plastic rubbish container just as a police car sped past.

Not about to be caught red-handed with a damned smoking gun, he raised the lid on the rubbish bin and dumped the Mark 23. Disposing of some very incriminating evidence.

He then slipped into the shadows and made good his escape.

The easy part done, he now had to figure out how the hell he was going to rescue Kate.