The Templar's Quest

by C. M. Palov

  Gracelessly rolling on to his stomach, Jutier pushed himself upright. With a pained look on his face, he clutched the left side of his jacket. ‘I’m having severe chest pains. In the lacquer box –’ he jutted his chin at the cherry-red box on top of his desk – ‘I keep my glyceryl trinitrate. Please permit me to –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Finn lifted the lid on the box, inspecting for hidden weapons. Not seeing anything suspicious, he shoved the box in Jutier’s direction.

  ‘Thank you, monsieur.’ The Frenchman rummaged through the plastic prescription bottles before making his selection. He popped a capsule into his mouth, his hands shaking visibly.

  ‘Okay, now that you’ve had your pharm candy, tell me where I can find the Dark Angel.’

  ‘I’ve said too much already.’

  Without warning, the Frenchman began to violently convulse. A second later, Finn caught the faint but distinct smell of almonds.

  Potassium cyanide.

  ‘Crap!’

  Knowing he had to act fast, Finn roughly flipped Jutier over and wrapped his arms around him from behind. He then yanked violently upward to induce vomiting.

  The Frenchman went limp as Finn lost the battle.

  Furious that he’d been bested, Finn plunked the dead bastard into the black leather swivel chair. He searched methodically through Jutier’s coat pockets and removed an engraved lighter, a set of keys and a gold Mont Blanc pen.

  Hearing the hinges on the office door creak, Finn peered over his shoulder.

  Jesus H! What was she doing here?

  Face as pale as February snow, Kate Bauer stood in the doorway. Clearly stunned, she stared at the dead man sprawled in the chair … then shot Finn an accusing glare.

  ‘My God … you killed him!’

  7

  ‘I know how bad this must look, but it’s not what it seems,’ Finn McGuire said as he closed the office door.

  ‘Don’t come near me!’

  ‘Keep your voice down, will ya? I’m not going to hurt you.’

  Refusing to trust a cold-blooded killer, Kate darted over to the sideboard and grabbed the first weapon she saw – an ornate letter opener.

  ‘If you take one step in my direction, I will not hesitate to use this!’ she exclaimed, grasping the letter opener like a dagger.

  Instead of heeding the warning, Finn lunged in her direction, parrying her reflexive thrust with his left forearm. In a dizzyingly fast move, he gripped her right thumb and twisted. Like magic, the letter opener instantly slipped through Kate’s fingers and bounced off the red carpet.

  ‘You bastard!’ Refusing to surrender, she used her nails like talons, slashing at his face with her free hand.

  With a muttered expletive, Finn grabbed both her wrists and twirled her clockwise. With her arms now crossed over her breasts, he pinned her to his chest, the buttons of his uniform jacket pressing into her backside.

  ‘Calm down!’

  Instead of complying, she kicked him in the shins. He retaliated by lifting her several inches off the ground.

  ‘If you promise not to do anything harebrained, I’ll let go of you.’

  Her heart painfully thumping in her chest cavity, Kate nodded.

  ‘Good girl.’ Finn lowered her, her feet once again making contact with the floor. ‘Sorry for being so rough.’

  Tottering unsteadily on her heels, Kate turned round to face the uniformed Goliath. ‘What were you planning to do after you killed him? Rejoin me in the reception hall, drink a little champagne, then call it a night?’

  ‘I’m only going to say this one time … I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘I’ve got two eyes. I can see what happened here.’

  Finn McGuire’s jaw tightened. ‘Assuming you haven’t lost your sense of smell, you can verify for yourself that I didn’t kill anyone.’ Seeing her quizzical frown, he elaborated. ‘Walk over to the desk and take a whiff. You should be able to smell almonds. Although it wasn’t almonds that killed him; it was a fatal dose of cyanide which emits the telltale scent of almonds.’

  Wondering if he might actually be telling the truth, Kate walked over and peered at the dead man sprawled in the leather chair. With a frothy ribbon of spittle lodged at the corner of his open mouth, he bore little resemblance to the elegantly attired man she’d seen earlier in the reception hall.

  ‘Well, what do you smell?’

  ‘Almonds.’ Shuddering, she stepped away from the desk. ‘But that doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here or why this man committed suicide.’

  ‘You wanna know what happened? Fine. Last night, two Delta troopers were brutally murdered and I’m next in line for execution,’ Finn said matter-of-factly. ‘Fabius Jutier was the mastermind behind the murders. As to why he killed himself … I have no idea.’

  The explanation stunned her. ‘Have you alerted the authorities?’

  Rather than answer, Finn walked over to the computer work station on the other side of the office. Wordlessly, he picked up a notebook computer and tucked it under his arm.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Spoils of war.’

  His answer was so coolly detached, it made Kate wonder what war she’d stumbled into.

  ‘I am not going to stand idly by and watch you pilfer from a – Now what are you doing?’ she demanded to know as he began to unbutton Jutier’s shirt.

  ‘It’s called a costume change. This army uniform is like having an “Arrest Me” sign pinned to my back. I’ll be less conspicuous in Jutier’s black suit.’

  ‘Meaning you have no intention of contacting the authorities.’ She turned her head as he started to disrobe. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of bronzed skin and a quick glimpse of a bunched bicep.

  ‘Whoa!’ Finn exclaimed. ‘The bastard’s got some ink. Check out the tat on his left pec.’

  Kate glanced in Finn’s direction. Confirming that he was decent, she walked over to the desk. A moment later, her breath caught in her throat. Transfixed, she stared at the strange tattoo centred above the Frenchman’s heart.

  ‘I think those are Norse runes and – my God!’ Her eyes opened wide. ‘I’ve seen this sun-wheel design before! Unless I’m mistaken, it has something to do with Nazis and the occult.’

  ‘Well, do me a favour and take a photo of it, will ya?’ Still in the process of getting dressed, Finn handed his cell phone to her. ‘The tat is too weird not to be significant.’

  Kate snapped the shot.

  ‘According to a documentary that I saw on TV last year, many of the high-ranking members of the Third Reich practised occult rituals. Not only that, but they were obsessed with the magical power of runes. Given the tattoo, I think it’s safe to assume that Fabius Jutier was involved in an esoteric Nazi –’

  ‘Later,’ he interjected, snatching the cell phone and depositing it in his coat pocket. ‘Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.’

  Kate shook her head adamantly. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

  ‘If you don’t come with me, they’ll kill you.’

  ‘I don’t believe –’

  ‘You have to believe.’ He cupped her cheek, the gesture curiously paternal. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. I never intended to involve you in any of this. You weren’t supposed to have walked through that door.’

  ‘But I did.’ Afraid of what might happen if she was left behind, she reluctantly acquiesced. ‘All right, I’ll go with you.’

  Shoving his rolled-up uniform and Jutier’s laptop under his arm, Finn walked over and opened the office door.

  ‘The elevator is to the left,’ she informed him.

  ‘We’re taking the stairs. You never know who’ll greet you with a loaded gun when the elevator door slides open.’

  8

  Passing a trash receptacle, Finn nonchalantly shoved the wadded bundle into it. Uniform disposed of, he said, ‘Scrunch down a few inches.’

  Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘What?’

  ‘Just like this.�
�� Bending his knees, Finn instantly reduced his height to six feet. ‘If we each shave a couple of inches, we stand a better chance of slinking out of here undetected.’

  Like fishes and loaves, the crowd inside the ballroom had doubled during their absence. Navigating their way through the throng was slow going at best. Worried that he might lose Kate amidst all the schmoozing and networking, Finn took hold of her right hand. In his other hand was the pilfered notebook computer. It was probably a long shot, but he was hoping there might be something on the laptop that could help him track down Dixie and Johnny K’s murderer.

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, there are guards posted at all the exits,’ Kate hissed out of the side of her mouth.

  ‘Who are probably wearing bullet-proof vests under their dark-coloured jackets and have a loaded SIG Sauer in the shoulder holster.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Her delicate features morphed into a panic-stricken expression.

  ‘Stay calm. Don’t give ’em a reason to notice you in the crowd.’

  While they’d managed to return to the reception hall without incident, Finn didn’t know how much longer their luck would hold. Despite the little meet-and-greet with Jutier, he still had no idea why the gold pendant was so valuable. The rat bastards in the Seven had proved that they’d stop at nothing to retrieve the Montségur Medallion.

  The damned thing must have once belonged to some dead king. Why else would it be worth so much money?

  Whatever the reason, the Seven had been willing to give him one million dollars for it. A paltry sum compared to the worth of two patriotic soldiers. Simply put, some things couldn’t be measured in dollars and cents. Like valour and honour. And retribution. And as God was his witness, he’d personally make sure that the Dark Angel paid dearly for killing Dixie and Johnny K.

  Still baffled by the Frenchman’s suicide, Finn had no idea why Jutier had chomped down on the cyanide capsule. It was like he’d been programmed to kill himself rather than be taken alive. Which suggested that he had something to hide. Something he feared might be revealed during a gruelling interrogation.

  Finn spared Kate a quick sideways glance. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask: how did you wind up at Jutier’s office?’

  ‘When I saw you leave the reception hall, I found out your companion’s name from an embassy employee. I then came across a directory in the main lobby. Using that, I managed to locate the Office of Cultural Affairs.’

  ‘You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that.’ Tugging on her hand, Finn pulled her towards a swinging door from which a steady stream of waiters went to and fro. On the other side of that swinging door there was a kitchen.

  ‘Just follow my lead,’ he said, pushing the door with his shoulder.

  ‘I assume you’ve devised an exit strategy.’

  Finn shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m winging this all the way.’

  ‘You do realize there’s an eight-foot electric fence around the entire embassy compound and armed guards manning the front gate?’

  ‘I never said getting out of here would be easy.’

  On the other side of the swinging door, the kitchen was a veritable mob scene, with white-coated, white-capped staff scurrying pell-mell. Finn quickly surveyed the cavernous stainless-steel kitchen – there wasn’t a red EXIT sign in sight. Undeterred, he pulled Kate down the central aisle. On his right flank, Finn spied a mustachioed man wearing a pleated chef’s cap determinedly bearing down on them. While he wasn’t wearing a badge, the guy had ‘kitchen cop’ written all over him.

  ‘Do you happen to know the French word for vomit?’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Um, vomir … at least, I think that’s the word.’

  ‘Got it. Now hunch over and try to look nauseous.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it,’ he ordered, putting an arm around her back as he loudly boomed, ‘Vomir! Vomir! ’

  Moses couldn’t have done a better job parting the Red Sea, the kitchen staff hurriedly clearing the deck.

  So far, so good.

  ‘Now, how about giving me the French word for exit.’

  Actually managing to look green around the gills, Kate looked up and croaked, ‘Sortie.’

  ‘Sortie! Sortie! ’ he next hollered.

  The mustachioed man rushed over and, in a flurry of unintelligible French, grabbed Kate’s other arm, urging them to move at an even faster clip towards a set of double doors at the rear of the kitchen. Obviously he didn’t want to mop up after a sick woman.

  Their French escort shoved the doors wide open – just before he shoved Finn and Kate across the threshold and on to a concrete loading dock. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Coming out from a climate-controlled environment, the humid night air hit both of them like a slap in the face.

  Kate peered from side to side. ‘Okay, now what?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’ Taking hold of her elbow, Finn ushered his companion down the flight of concrete steps that led to an asphalt parking area.

  ‘I suggest that we walk around to the front gate. That is, after all, how we arrived at the embassy.’

  Finn shook his head, putting the kibosh on her suggestion. ‘We can’t risk it. For all we know, Jutier’s body has already been discovered. That makes the embassy a crime scene and everyone inside the embassy a potential suspect. Trust me, no one will be allowed to exit through the front gate until they’ve been cleared by the police.’

  A crease appeared between Kate’s brows. ‘Bringing me right back to my original question … now what?’

  He gestured to the three purple and gold catering trucks parked a few feet from the loading dock. ‘Assuming one of these bad boys has a key in the ignition, we’re going for a ride in a big purple truck.’

  Kate baulked, coming to a complete standstill. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that we steal a catering truck?’

  ‘I prefer the word “borrow”.’

  ‘Beg, borrow or steal, it’s all the same thing – we would be taking a vehicle that doesn’t belong to us. And what about my car? We just can’t leave it parked all night on Reservoir Road.’

  ‘Sure we can. We’ll pick up your Toyota first thing in the morning.’

  Like most of the guests at the party, they’d had to park outside the embassy complex on the public street adjacent to the front gate.

  Tuning out the barrage of dire scenarios that Kate proceeded to enumerate, Finn slid open the driver’s-side door of the first truck. He leaned his upper body inside and peered at the dashboard.

  No keys.

  He slammed the door shut and jogged over to the next truck.

  Catching sight of a silver key protruding from the ignition, he offered up a thankful prayer. ‘Okay, this one’s got a key. Hurry up and jump in.’

  ‘I really don’t think we should –’

  ‘Just do it!’ Regretting the harsh tone, he backtracked. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a jiff.’

  Her face scrunched in a leery frown, Kate scrambled into the passenger seat. Finn handed her the notebook computer for safekeeping. He then started the engine, flipped on the headlights and maneouvered the vehicle on to the nearby delivery access road that led to the entrance of the embassy compound.

  Two hundred metres from the front gate, he glanced in the wing mirror. A dark-coloured Mercedes Benz SUV was riding their tail. When the vehicle gunned its engine menacingly, Finn knew it wasn’t an impatient party guest. He figured it was either embassy security or an SUV full of gun-toting, tattooed Frenchmen.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Kate asked anxiously.

  There being no time to reply – and besides, Finn knew she wouldn’t much care for the answer – he pushed the accelerator to the floor.

  At the main gate a uniformed guard motioned furiously for them to stop.

  ‘Slow down!’ Kate screamed. ‘There’s a guard up ahead!’

  Finn tuned her out.

  Seeing the uniformed guard pull a pistol from h
is holster and go into a crouched shooter’s stance, Finn flipped on his high beams. Blinded by the glaring light, the armed guard dropped his weapon and dived to safety seconds before the catering truck crashed through the gate.

  The ensuing scream from his co-pilot nearly pierced Finn’s eardrum.

  ‘Oh, my God! Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Hold on!’ he yelled, yanking on the steering wheel, the catering truck going up on two wheels as they made the left-hand turn on to Reservoir Road.

  In the back of the truck, pots and pans clanged together loudly.

  Although they’d managed to exit the embassy compound, a quick glance in the mirror verified what Finn already suspected – the Mercedes was still dogging them. An easy enough feat since the truck’s top speed was only fifty m.p.h. – a speed he wouldn’t be able to maintain much longer. Up ahead were the congested streets of Georgetown.

  ‘What’s the first one-way cross street?’ he hollered at Kate. Since she lived in the area, he hoped she might know.

  One hand braced on the passenger door, the other clutching the notebook computer to her chest, she shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe thirty-fourth street.’

  ‘One-way going in which direction?’

  ‘Um, south … I think.’

  Finn eyeballed the passing street signs. 37th … 36th … 35th …

  34th Street.

  About to risk everything on a ‘maybe’ and an ‘I think’, Finn made a sharp left-hand turn – putting the truck on a one-way street heading in the wrong direction. Overshooting the turn, the truck jumped the curve, careening through a neatly clipped hedge. Again, Finn yanked on the steering wheel, the truck wildly fishtailing from side to side.

  As they mowed through the hedge, he heard Kate scream at the top of her lungs. ‘Finn! Watch out for the –’

  Fire hydrant.

  Knowing it was a done deal, Finn threw out his right arm, pinning Kate to the passenger seat as the catering truck ploughed into the hydrant.

  9

  Sixth Arrondissement, Paris, France