The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER FORTY

The whirlwind started inside his head — a horrifying mix of incredulity and doubt — quickly becoming a physical presence as Beauregard Alain finally showed his true colors and betrayed them. The man of smoke and shadow flitted among them like a wraith, taking every advantage of their shock and reluctance to believe.

First he felled Lauren, the New Yorker at his side and totally unprepared, going down clutching her throat. Then he took out Smyth, the soldier totally focused on Webb and collapsing in agony from a blow to a nerve cluster behind the neck. Next, he went for Mai, probably realizing her reactions were the quickest, and won on the trust factor. Even as she whirled to see him coming at her she just didn’t believe what she was seeing. Then, Yorgi and Hayden and Kinimaka with single blows, whirling like a genie released after a thousand years of captivity, darting and striking among them, every punch a blow of devastation.

Hayden was incapacitated, lying on her back and able only to claw feebly at the air, trying to catch her breath. Kinimaka fell hard on his face, blood splashing into his eyes. Then Beau was spinning at Drake, Dahl and Alicia, and still only seconds had passed since he acted. The latter two still hadn’t turned around, still processing, but the Mad Swede was swiveling, reddening, and inclined to trust his own gut.

The punch came around, a fraction of a moment too late to impact against Beau’s skull. The Frenchman was inside, feeling relieved, and dealt out a painful flurry. Even then Dahl manned it beyond Beau’s expectation, catching him with a sharp jab as he went down and then kicking out. Beau’s feet tangled for a moment, but he was fleet and fit enough to skip free.

Right into Alicia. Her eyes were wildfire, pits of magma, her features firm with disbelief. Beau wiped it away from her with two fists, unfeeling, uncaring it seemed. The perfect, emotionless weapon of death.

“You live or die by my will alone,” Webb shrieked back. “Remember that.”

Drake faced Beau.

“Why?” the Yorkshireman managed. “We trusted you. And what about Michael Crouch? Is he—?”

Beau assailed him like a bullet and a battering ram, making him feel little like a Special Forces soldier and very much the backstreet kid. Pain erupted from several nerve masses and his legs went to jelly. Still, he barely believed.

“Why?”

The Frenchman was already leaving, following his master, but glanced back with a snarl of disdain.

“The thing Webb seeks. The thing he will find. It will make me live forever. When you people lie old surrounded by your deathbed memories, I will still look like this.” He preened.

Alicia, on her knees, somehow managed to look up and croak: “A big cock?”

Then Beau turned and was quickly gone. Footsteps could be heard behind as the cops came along to investigate and the SPEAR team tried to recover. A long, heavy minute passed.

Drake contemplated all that Webb had told them.

Then came the explosion, deep and terribly dark, so powerful it shook the entire British Museum to its foundations.