The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER THREE

Two policeman came warily toward them, hands hovering over the holsters that contained their guns. On guard at the train station, they must have spotted the altercation and seen Webb being dragged away.

Both his captors turned instantly, the sight of the approaching cops fazing them not one bit. Several passersby stopped to watch and, as if Webb didn’t know already, the street cams would have spotted them. What happened next shocked every onlooker, including Webb.

Taking things into madness, the two goons drew their own weapons and instantly opened fire. No warning. No aiming. Bullets glanced off the asphalt and perforated a parked car. The cops dived for cover, one lucky, the other not so much. A bullet slammed into the meat of his calf, leaving him prone on the ground.

The Frenchman lined him up with a vicious leer.

The second cop fired now, bullets whizzing past Webb. Both thugs backed away. The second cop was already on the radio, calling for backup. And it would arrive in a hurry, the French assuming this another terrorist incident. Webb was caught in two minds as he was manhandled: stay put or run? Luckily, he knew that he was a coward now. But would these men shoot him in the back?

Doubtful. This mysterious ‘group’ wanted to question him, not kill him. They wanted to know what he’d already discovered. And how.

Taking the biggest chance of his life, he pushed Frenchie and kicked out at Swarthy. Parked cars were everywhere, so he pulled free and ran for one, slipping round the front end. Grating shouts pursued him. He veered away from the cops, spying a side street that ran alongside the station. A bullet zinged past, probably a warning but Webb felt his insides turn to jelly. One more and he’d wet himself, he knew. Head down he continued. The next sound of gunfire was further away as the cops engaged, and already sirens were screaming through the night.

This was his chance.

If he made it fast he’d be on a train before they shut the stations down. The witnesses saw him as a victim, not a perpetrator. The authorities wouldn’t be as fixated on him as they were on the others. One brisk look back revealed that the swarthy man still watched, tracking his progress, but appeared to be pinned down. Webb wanted to grin or give a childish wave, but didn’t dare. Not yet. Only when he was guaranteed safety.

Sirens shrieked closer, beginning to light up the black vault above with their lurid blue flashes. Webb felt for the reassuring packet inside his jacket — the phone and the scroll, carefully wrapped. All was well then. His teeth hurt like hell and his mouth still bled, but he’d cry about that later. First he needed to get on that train.

Inside, the station buzzed with activity, almost everyone ignorant of the events outside. Webb hurried as best he could, still trying to avoid cameras but realizing that particular game was up for tonight. It would take a while for the recognition to hit the right people anyway, and by then…

Webb grinned, spotting the time of the next train out.

Seven minutes. Perfect.

Paris beckoned then, along with the scroll’s third clue. The pure alchemy evidence should be next, the full reveal. Then that could only lead him to greater things.

Le Comte de Saint Germain unraveled.

More treasures. More ciphers. If he could decode the Baconian cipher, around at the time of Leopold and one of the cipher’s associated with the mystery of Saint Germain, then he should be able to at least interpret all the others. All connected with the Count — the Shakespearian code, Merlin, Plato and Columbus. All doors stopped at Saint Germain.

Webb had gambled his life on this.

The fruits of that stake were already paying off.