Templar's Quest

78

Seven Research Facility

0538 hours

Angelika dumped the knotted heavy-duty plastic bag into the rubbish bin. ‘Bye-bye, doggie.’

Finished with the chore, she walked over to the lavatory mirror and checked her make-up. Puckering her lips, she decided that another coat of lipstick was in order. She reached for the lacquered tube – crimson red – her favourite shade.

‘Better,’ she murmured, pleased with the effect, the slash of crimson the only colour on her pale face. That and her cornflower blue eyes. Today she wore her hair pulled back in a tight chignon, a severe style that accentuated her pale skin.

Make-up applied, she reached for the HK semi-automatic holstered on her thigh. She quickly rechecked her weapon, having cleaned and oiled it before taking care of Wolfgang. Satisfied that everything was in working order, she slid the pistol back into the holster.

While she might look like a woman, she thought like a man. Fought and killed like one, too. That was her strength. Her power. It always had been. Ever since that first time when she’d persuaded another little girl to walk out on to the thin ice in the middle of the lake. When the silly child fell through the ice, Angelika had stood on the shoreline, thrilled, as she watched the frantic struggle take place. Only to feel keenly disappointed when the little girl disappeared beneath the ice, having succumbed too quickly. She decided then and there that killing from afar was no fun. It was always better when you could see the tears well in their eyes and hear their voices crack as they begged and pleaded.

In high spirits, Angelika turned off the light in the lavatory and stepped into the hall. She peered over the railing that overlooked the mezzanine below. The atrium was deserted, not a soul in sight. All of the researchers had been dismissed two days ago, informed that the facility would be temporarily closed while new carpet was installed. A few minutes ago, as a stop-gap measure, she’d gone into the security computer system and changed the code for the facility entry.

Needing to issue a few last orders, she headed for the library. To her vexation, the little mouse was still alive. For some inexplicable reason her father had not yet given the kill order for the Bauer woman and seemed reluctant to do so. Earlier in the day she’d come very close to shoving the little mouse over the railing, but had been thwarted when an armed sentry showed up for guard duty.

Rankled by the recollection, Angelika entered the library. Dolf Reinhardt sat at one end of the table, watching football on his laptop, and Axel Weber, an ex-military gun-for-hire, sat at the other end, expertly shuffling a deck of cards. She glanced at her watch; the chauffeur had clocked-in twenty minutes early. No doubt trying to make up for his colossal fuck-ups. I’d like to shove him over the railing. What a useless excuse for a man.

Ignoring the bald-headed oaf, she turned her attention to Weber. ‘You are to report to the Groß Versuch viewing room for guard duty.’

Impudently smiling, Weber ran his thumbs over the edge of the deck before cutting the stack. ‘As you can see, Angelika, I’m still on my break. Another five minutes and then I will do your bidding.’

‘You will do my bidding now.’

Weber put the deck aside and folded his arms over his chest. The chauffeur looked up nervously; then just as quickly tucked his chin into his chest and stared intently at his laptop. Hear no evil. See no evil.

‘My break is over in five minutes,’ Weber reiterated. ‘Time for one last cigarette.’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘I have five minutes to learn the habit.’ He eyed Angelika, a lewd gleam in his eyes. ‘Would you like to light my cigarette?’

Angelika reached for the HK semi-automatic, sliding it from her thigh holster. ‘I’d be happy to oblige you.’ She aimed the gun at his crotch.

Not the least bit intimidated, Axel chortled. ‘Warm and creamy on the inside but, oh, so cold on the outside.’

‘I was going to let you kill the little mouse, but I don’t think you’re man enough to do it,’ she taunted.

‘But you are, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ The macho bastard leaned back in his chair. ‘I only kill when I get paid to do so. If I don’t get paid, I don’t pull the trigger … unless somebody makes the mistake of waylaying me in the dark.’

Angelika returned the pistol to its holster. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she purred, already plotting the ambush. She glanced at the oaf. ‘Dolfie, go and ask the little mouse what she wants for breakfast.’

Orders issued, Angelika turned around and walked towards the door. Very slowly. Letting them both get an eyeful.

Her strength. Her power.