by C. M. Palov
‘English would be nice.’
‘A meeting of the Seven,’ she translated, still grinning from ear to ear.
‘Paydirt! Yeah, boy.’ Although he didn’t grin, Finn came damned close. ‘Where’s the meeting being held?’
Kate moved the cursor over the calendar date and clicked. ‘The detail screen is blank.’
‘No problem. Let’s go out on the Internet and get the route information for Air France Flight 039.’
Minimizing the calendar, Kate quickly accessed the Air France webpage. ‘It’s a nonstop between Washington and Paris.’
‘And Paris is a big, freaking city.’ Shit. A roadblock. He got up and walked over to the kitchen, the bottle of Jameson’s starting to look real good.
‘I just found the Seven.’
‘What?’ Finn spun on his heel, wondering if he’d heard correctly. ‘What do you mean, you just found the Seven?’
‘I mean that I went to an online search engine and I typed the words “Paris”, “Seven” and “Fabius Jutier”. The Seven Research Foundation is a private endowment and Fabius Jutier is listed as one of the board members. A man by the name of Ivo Uhlemann is listed as the Director. Here. See for yourself.’
Bracing one hand on the back of Kate’s chair and the other on the table, Finn leaned over her shoulder. Only to back away a split-second later. ‘It’s in French. As in no par-lay-voo.’
‘According to their site, the Seven Research Foundation is a private institute that awards research grants to qualified scholars in the fields of astronomy, physics, geology, electrical engineering, linguistics, history and archaeology.’ She peered at him, brows drawn together in a quizzical frown. ‘That’s a rather unusual mix, don’t you think? Particularly for a group that may be linked to esoteric Nazis.’
‘Maybe the foundation is just a front. And what were you expecting? For them to put a bunch of Nazi symbols on the home page?’
Jesus. The Nazis. When he was a kid, their upstairs neighbour used to tell stories about the day his army unit liberated the Dachau concentration camp and how the black vultures were circling around stacked corpses left outside to rot. Old man Garrett sure knew how to scare the shit out of a six-year-old.
‘According to the contact page, the Seven Research Foundation is headquartered in the Grande Arche office building just west of Paris,’ Kate remarked.
‘Then it’s a do-able.’
Greyish-blue eyes opened wide. ‘You’re actually going to Paris?’
‘You got a better plan?’ Not waiting for her reply, he said, ‘Something tells me that I want to have a little meet-and-greet with this Ivo Uhlemann dude. Best way to catch a lion is to track him to his lair.’
‘And then what?’
Backing away from the table, Finn said, ‘I’ll figure that out once I get to Paris.’
‘Then you better book two seats. I’m going with you.’
17
Paris, France
Alas, Paris is the key, Ivo Uhlemann ruminated. A key that fitted a unique lock designed centuries ago by the Knights Templar.
Not Berlin, or even Vienna, but Paris.
As his chauffer-driven Mercedes Benz cruised through the eighth arrondissement, the city lights passed in a blurred collage. Peering out of the window, Ivo contemplated the night sky, the cosmic sphere that taunted so many physicists.
And was so intimately conjoined to Paris and the Lapis Exillis.
Because Paris was the key, it had been spared from destruction in 1940. At the time, many feared the German Luftwaffe would reduce the city to rubble. But the Führer never gave the order. Not because he had a sentimental attachment to Baroque architecture or possessed a magnanimous heart. The order wasn’t given because the Seven had briefed Adolf Hitler several months prior to the invasion of France. In that extraordinary meeting, they’d shown the Führer why das Groß Versuch, the Great Experiment, had to take place in Paris.
‘For better or for worse,’ Ivo muttered as he set his gaze on the Grande Arche, the massive white marble hypercube visible at the western terminus of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
‘It’s a warm night. Would you like me to turn on the air conditioner, Herr Doktor?’
Lost in thought, Ivo glanced at his driver. As usual, he thought the ridiculous chauffeur’s cap accentuated Dolf Reinhardt’s cauliflower ears and misshapen skull, the unsightly keepsakes of an ex-boxer who’d lost more bouts than he’d won. Like so many men of middling intelligence, Dolf had been forced to use his body to earn his keep. Although to his chauffeur’s credit, he was loyal to a fault.
‘I am comfortable. Thank you, Dolf.’
Having been apprised that Katsumi Bauer survived the explosion, Ivo now feared that they were dealing with a cunning enemy. Moreover, he worried that the American commando had somehow discovered that the Montségur Medallion contained a treasure map. One that had been devised nearly eight hundred years ago by a group of religious heretics known as the Cathars.
On the verge of total annihilation, the Pope having called a bloodthirsty crusade against them, the beleaguered Cathars sought the aid of the only Catholics who’d not turned against them, the Knights Templar. In exchange for their military support, the Cathars offered to give the Templars their most prized possession, the Lapis Exillis. Rightly concerned that the Templars might not hold up their end of the bargain, the Cathars crafted a magnificent gold medallion. Engraved on one side of the medallion was an encrypted map that indicated where the Lapis Exillis had been hidden. The Templars would not be given the encryption key until their battle-ready knights arrived at Montségur. Tragically, the besieged Cathar stronghold fell to papal forces before the military contingent arrived. To the Templars’ great dismay, for without the encryption key, they could not decipher the ingeniously devised map.
Although that didn’t stop them from spending the next sixty years searching for the Lapis Exillis. In 1307, their search came to an abrupt end when the French king, Philippe le Bel, issued a general arrest warrant for the Knights Templar, the entire order accused of committing religious heresy. To ensure that the covetous king didn’t acquire the Montségur Medallion, the Templars hid it in the catacombs beneath their Paris preceptory.
Which is where the Seven discovered the medallion in the summer of 1940. Five years later, in the wake of the Reich’s defeat, Friedrich Uhlemann managed to safely smuggle it out of Germany. Like the Templars before him, he spent years searching, in vain, for the Lapis Exillis.
In the hours before his death, Friedrich composed one last letter, imploring Ivo to continue the search for the Lapis Exillis. Considering it an honour, Ivo gladly accepted the passed torch.
In the hopes that, one day, he could shine a bright light upon a new Reich.
‘Gott in Himmel,’ his chauffeur angrily muttered. ‘Do these people never sleep?’
Ivo wondered the same thing as he caught sight of a gypsy woman standing on the street corner, a passel of grubby-faced children huddled at her feet. A repulsive display, he thought, annoyed when the sloe-eyed slattern dared to raise her right hand, palm up, in his direction. The beggar’s age-old appeal for alms.
‘Give me some of your hard-earned money because I am too stupid and lazy to earn my own keep.’
An inbred race of conniving ingrates, the gypsies, or the Romani as they indignantly preferred; they were only skilled at one thing, sucking on society’s teat. And they’d done so since their ragtag horde first emigrated to Europe from the Indian subcontinent during the Middle Ages. In all that time, they’d produced nothing of lasting value. No art. No science. No literature. No music worthy of the name. They merely reproduced. Fathers sleeping with daughters. Brothers sleeping with sisters. Uncles sleeping with anyone they could find. Utterly disgusting. Indeed, the marvel of the human brain was completely wasted on them. A spinal column alone would have sufficed.
Too busy rounding up Jews, the Reich’s high command greatly erred when they didn’t eradicate the Romani. Yes, m
any gypsies were killed, but like rodents, they spent the post-war years reproducing at a frantic pace. Six decades later, they littered the streets of every major city in Europe. Like so much trash.
Trash that would be picked up and put into a garbage bin once they located the Lapis Exillis.
But first they had to find the medallion. And we only have five days to do so.
Since his father had been afraid to ship the Montségur Medallion to Germany, lest it be confiscated by an inquisitive customs inspector, his last letter contained a drawing, front and back, of the pendant. Disastrously, by the time the missive arrived in Göttingen, the ink had smudged, the symbols and inscription illegible.
Although stymied by the setback, the seed of an idea began to germinate: what if the other members of the Seven had sent their children letters? Perhaps there were others, like Ivo, who wanted to continue their fathers’ research, but didn’t know how to find the Lapis Exillis. Or, more importantly, what to do with the ancient relic should they manage to locate it.
Inspired, Ivo spent several months tracking down the second generation.
As fate would have it, those children, now grown adults, had also received letters from fathers who’d eluded arrest by stealing away to Buenos Aires, Cairo, New York. Contained within those dispatches was the cumulative research of the original Seven. Thrilled at the prospect of continuing the great work begun by their fathers, the second generation vowed to find the Lapis Exillis. To honour their fathers, they unanimously decided to call themselves ‘The Seven Research Foundation’.
Naturally, the first order of business was to find the Montségur Medallion, Ivo’s father making no mention in his last missive of its whereabouts. Since that letter had a Damascus postmark, they surmised that the medallion was in Syria. It took them more than twenty-five years to locate it, finally tracking the medallion to the remote village of Al-Qanawat. Not wishing to garner unwanted attention, they contracted a third party to retrieve the medallion.
A costly blunder. One that must be rectified as soon as possible.
Without the Montségur Medallion, they could not find the Lapis Exillis, the requisite component to perform das Groß Versuch. Once the Great Experiment was successfully executed, they would be able to awaken the sleeping soul of the Aryan people.
Then they could begin again. Bolder. Stronger. More resolute.
Just as their fathers had envisioned.
18
‘Sorry, Kate. You can’t come with me to Paris.’
‘Since it’s not safe for me to stay in Washington, what am I supposed to do?’ Kate retorted, quick to bat the objection right back at Finn. ‘I need you to protect me. There’s no place in the city where I can hide. They know my name and address. No doubt, they’ve mined all my personal data off of a computer database. My place of employment and my –’
‘This is strictly a one-man operation,’ Finn said over the top of her. ‘And just so you know, the matter is not open for debate.’ Ultimatum issued, he walked over to the coffee table to retrieve his belongings.
Kate trailed after him. ‘But I have an expertise that you’ll need once you get to Paris.’
‘Oh, really?’ It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. ‘Is this where you tell me that you took karate lessons at the local Y?’
‘No. This is where I tell you that I speak passably good French. When I was an undergraduate in college, I had a three-month summer internship at the Musée de l’Homme.’
‘Good for you.’ Finn stuffed his cell phone into his pocket. ‘But I was planning to buy one of those electronic translators.’ He didn’t enjoy being a hard ass, but he needed to end this discussion here and now. If he was going to get out of Washington without putting CID on the scent, he’d have to call in some old debts. Get the ball rolling. He already knew that if he went to an ATM or used a credit card, he’d be signing his death warrant.
Apocalypse now.
However, like any trained commando, he had a contingency plan. His involved a well-stocked storage locker in Arlington, Virginia. Cash. Guns. KA-BAR knife. Night-vision goggles. Everything he needed to take out the enemy.
‘Okay, here’s my second offer,’ Kate said with a surprising measure of boldness. ‘Not only does my friend Cædmon Aisquith live in Paris, but he’s a walking encyclopedia when it comes to symbols and their meanings. If you want to decipher the tattoo and medallion, Cædmon is your man.’
Hearing that, his gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘I thought you were the symbol expert.’
‘My field of expertise is the peoples and culture of Central Asia. Cædmon is a medieval scholar with a graduate degree from Oxford.’
‘Loosely translated? He’s one of those nut jobs who plays the lute at the Renaissance Festival.’ This time, Finn did roll his eyes.
‘I’ll have you know that Cædmon is a serious scholar.’
‘I don’t need a scholar. All I need is a loaded weapon and a clear shot.’
‘Did I mention that he owns a bookstore on the Left Bank?’ Knowing full well that she hadn’t, Kate kept pounding at a very dead horse. ‘He has a zillion reference books at his fingertips.’
‘And I’ve got Google at mine.’
‘You said it yourself –’ snatching the medallion off the coffee table, Kate hefted it in the air – ‘this is your leverage with the Seven. So it might be a good idea to know what this means. As Cædmon is fond of saying, “Knowledge is power”.’
‘This is my fight, not yours. And it sure as hell ain’t Lute Boy’s battle.’
‘Where do you get off claiming this isn’t my fight? A few hours ago the Seven arranged to have me killed. Why? Because I chauffeured you to the embassy. And I only did that because you conned me into giving you a lift. You knew full well how dangerous these people are, yet that didn’t stop you from dragging me into the viper’s nest.’ Having just laid the mother of all guilt trips on him, Kate, arms belligerently crossed over her chest, stared him down.
‘Do I feel bad about what happened? Hell, yeah. But it doesn’t change my mind.’
‘Let me be blunt, Sergeant. Because you did drag me into this mess, I now require your protection. I’m scared to death. And, trust me, I didn’t like saying that any more than you liked hearing it.’
Finn opened his mouth to lob the next salvo. Only to clamp it shut an instant later. Arguing with Kate Bauer was a lot like arguing with a computerized voicemail system. You could talk yourself blue in the face, but it wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Taking her to Paris would be a major pain in the ass. Hell, they’d be flying directly into the eye of the shit storm. But what choice did he have? She’d been targeted for execution. And he’d always been good at juggling more than one ball. So, yeah, he figured that he could protect her and hunt down the Dark Angel.
‘You’ve got me pinned in a corner. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?’ There was no mistaking the flicker of hope in those grey-blue eyes.
Finn nodded tersely, already regretting his decision. ‘You might know a lot about symbols, Doctor Bauer, but when it comes to dealing with unfriendlies, you don’t know your left from your right. My mission is to apprehend the Dark Angel and get my buddies the justice they deserve. And I don’t want anything to distract me from that. Which is why you will obey all of my orders. Without question. Understood?’
She nodded eagerly. ‘Understood. When do we leave?’
‘As soon as we can pack it up. And, Kate –’ he paused, making sure he had her full, undivided attention – ‘once we leave this houseboat, the only safe day will be the day just passed.’
PART II
‘I am convinced that there are universal currents of Divine Thought vibrating the ether everywhere and that any who can feel these vibrations is inspired’ – Richard Wagner
19
Paris, France
4 August, 0848 hours
‘Before we blow this joint, I need to lay down some ground rules. First of all, we’re not on a French wine-tasting tour. This is a search and destroy mission. Period. The end. That said, you will stay close to me at all times; you will obey every order given to you; and you will not question my authority. Am I making myself clear?’
Topsails slack, Kate nodded silently. In that instant, it occurred to her, yet again, that Fate was not merely capricious, but threw a mean sucker punch.
She hitched the knapsack strap a bit higher on her shoulder and lengthened her stride. Several minutes ago they had disembarked from the high-speed Eurostar, Finn now in a ‘big-ass hurry to put the mission op into play’. A one-man assault on the City of Love.
At this hour of the morning, the cavernous Gare du Nord train station brimmed with hundreds of travellers rushing pell-mell in every direction. Overhead, the departure board loudly click-clacked, yellow letters and numbers flipping past at a dizzying speed, like a slot machine run amuck. Kate averted her gaze, the rolling tabs inciting a nauseous churn. To add to the chaos, a strident female voice incessantly announced the arrivals and departures on the PA system.
Finn inclined his head in her direction. Although his lips moved, the ensuing remark was completely drowned out.
‘You’ll have to repeat that,’ she told him, cupping a hand to her ear.
Coming to a halt, Finn leaned towards her, his cheek brushing against hers. ‘Just outside the station, I see a line of cabs.’
Taken aback by the combination of warm breath, warm body and prickly stubble, Kate recoiled, hit with an unexpected jolt of sexual awareness. Something that had been happening with an unnerving frequency over the last few days. When they’d shared an office suite at the Pentagon, she’d been intimidated by Finn’s sheer physicality, the man taller, broader, more muscular than most. Now, for some inexplicable reason, she found herself strangely attracted to those very qualities.
