Templar's Quest

77

0538 hours

Having committed the Grande Arche building plan to memory, McGuire promptly headed for a door located thirty feet away from the exterior entry. The placard read ‘escalier’. Beneath that was the international zigzag symbol for ‘stairs’. The commando wordlessly opened the door and entered the stairwell, Cædmon following right behind him.

They went down four flights of steps, descending into the bowels of the building. Exiting the stairwell, they traversed another dimly lit corridor lined with office suites, left and right. All of the doors were closed; each had a security keypad above the door knob. A uniformly designed rabbit warren. Although the chance of running into someone at that hour was remote, Cædmon nonetheless slid his right hand under his jacket. Ignoring the burst of pain in his upper arm, he grasped the Ruger’s gun handle, suddenly wishing they’d had more time to prepare for the mission.

McGuire came to a halt in front of a closed door with a polished bronze plaque engraved ‘SEVEN RESEARCH FOUNDATION’. The shiny surface reflected their joint image. He keyed in a security code, the door unlocking with a soft click!

Pulling a military-style torch from his Go Bag, the commando smirked and said in a hushed voice, ‘Come on, Jonah. Time to gut the whale.’

As he stepped across the threshold, Cædmon, worried they might have tripped a silent alarm, slid the Ruger P89 pistol from its holster and thumbed the safety lever to the ‘off’ position.

Nerves jangling, he scrutinized the shadowy antechamber, searching for a surveillance device. Relieved when he didn’t see any, he released a pent-up breath.

‘Nice joint,’ McGuire said as he shined the torch around the room.

Boasting a sleekly modern design, the reception lounge was a notch above the typical office suite. Behind the curved reception desk, cascading water sluiced over a floor-to-ceiling copper panel. Off to the side, four leather chairs were grouped around a square-topped table on which there was an abstract marble sculpture and a few glossy magazines artfully arranged. A large Dufy canvas hung on the wall. A cheery Fauvist seascape, it was an unexpected splash of colour in an otherwise monochromatic setting.

The commando elbowed him. ‘According to the architectural plan, there’s supposed to be a door leading to the laboratory. Where the hell is it?’

‘My guess is behind the waterfall. At least that’s where a door should be located.’

The designated point man, McGuire strode towards the water feature and peered behind the sturdy copper frame. Nodding his head, he disappeared behind the panel.

Gun tightly gripped in his hand, Cædmon stepped around the faux wall. McGuire, the torch protruding from his mouth, stood in front of an intimidating black door with a security keypad inlaid above the knob. Unlike the door on the other side of the office, this was a bullet- and fire-resistant, galvanized steel entry.

Shining his torch at the numeric pad, McGuire keyed in the third, and last, hacked security code.

The lock softly popped. Removing the torch from his mouth, the commando pushed down on the polished steel handle and eased the door open a few scant inches. Just far enough for him to peep through the crack and scan the environs beyond.

‘Coast is clear,’ he whispered, swinging the door open and making his exit.

Ruger at the ready, Cædmon stepped cautiously into the research facility, the steel door automatically closing behind him. He glanced about, stunned.

It was as though he’d just entered another world.

Designed as a spacious three-storey atrium, the lofty space very cleverly fooled one into thinking that it was an airy, light-filled courtyard when, in fact, it was a subterranean bunker. An ethereal one, at that, with abundant white marble, polished chrome and alternating banks of clear and frosted glass. The illusion was further enhanced by potted Areca palm trees and towering rubber plants.

Directly across from them, the centre of the mezzanine resembled a collegiate study hall. There were seven identical tables each outfitted with flat-screen computer monitors and ergonomic roller chairs. On the far side of the mezzanine there was a capsule-like lift. From the architectural blueprints, Cædmon knew that there was an enclosed stairwell in the atrium’s northwest quadrant.

Grim-faced, McGuire ducked into the shadows cast by a rectangular pillar, Cædmon following in his wake. Like a medieval cloister, columns were set every eight feet around the perimeter of the mezzanine supporting the promenade above.

‘Forty-six minutes and counting,’ McGuire informed him in a lowered voice. ‘Time to say “ta ta” and go our separate ways.’ His objective was to locate the maintenance room below the mezzanine where the mechanical systems were housed.

While he did that, Cædmon would search for Kate.

‘Good luck, McGuire.’

‘Yeah … same to you, Aisquith.’ One side of the commando’s mouth quirked upward. ‘If things don’t go according to plan, I’ll meet you at the pearly gates.’

Not the least bit amused, Cædmon said, ‘Heaven or hell, dead is dead. Ask any corpse.’