by C. M. Palov
‘The old dude’s not dead. Just down for the count.’ Ready for a confrontation, Finn aimed the Mark 23 at the goon’s forehead. ‘Take off your clothes.’
The other man vehemently shook his head. ‘Nein! I vill not!’
‘Shuck the monkey suit.’ He toggled the gun barrel. A silent threat.
Muttering under his breath, the chauffeur tugged at his garments, flinging each discarded piece into the footwell. Teeth clenched, he divested himself of his last bit of dignity, yanking off his tidy undies.
Finn glanced at the German’s chest, wondering if the big bastard sported a Black Sun tattoo. ‘Nice jugs,’ he snickered. ‘Since you don’t rate a tattoo, I’m guessing that makes you low man on the totem pole.’
‘We’ve just arrived at Place de la Bastille,’ Kate informed him. Both hands gripped on the steering wheel, she navigated the Mercedes to the inside lane of the traffic circle. Following the mission op, she continuously drove around the circle.
‘Listen up, Cue Ball. When you get back to the Seven Research Foundation, you’re to tell your pals that I want the Dark Angel,’ Finn said in a measured tone of voice, thrusting the gun barrel against his broken schnoz. ‘And if I don’t get her, Doctor Ivo Uhlemann will not be returning. Those are my demands. Here’s the number where I can be contacted.’ With his left hand, Finn slapped a strip of duct tape on to the naked man’s chest, his cell phone number scrawled on it. Knowing that a naked man was a vulnerable man – and that a vulnerable man would not carjack a vehicle and give chase – he jutted his chin at the passenger side door. ‘Okay. Time to head out into the wild blue yonder and let your freak flag fly.’
‘Fich dich, arschgesicht! ’ the chauffeur hissed, beady eyes narrowed.
‘Right back at ya. Now get out of the car, asshole!’
‘Nein!’
‘Hey, grow a pair, will ya? Or I vill put a bullet between your eyes.’
Slowing the vehicle to a snail’s pace, Kate released the door locks. Several annoyed drivers laid on their horns. All of ’em got an eyeful when, several seconds later, a stark naked man emerged from the back of the Mercedes.
Lowering the window, Finn shot the chauffeur a parting glance. The bastard stood beneath a huge marble pillar situated in the middle of the traffic circle, his hands cupped over his groin. Which was when Finn noticed that there was a statue of a naked man on top of the pillar.
A damned funny sight to behold.
61
Rue de la Roquette, Paris
0213 hours
Nerves frayed, Kate spared a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.
‘Don’t worry. Uhlemann’s still out cold.’ An implacable expression on his face, Finn stared straight ahead.
What in God’s name was he plotting? The episode at Place de la Bastille had come as a complete surprise to her.
As the Mercedes sped down Rue de la Roquette, Kate tightly grasped the steering wheel. ‘Finn … I think you should know that …’ She hesitated, afraid to broach what she knew would prove a touchy subject. ‘I’m starting to have second thoughts about all this. Surely you have enough incriminating, if not damning, evidence on the digital voice recorder?’ Taking her eyes off the road, she looked over at him. ‘Don’t you think that’s enough?’
Surprisingly calm, as though he’d been expecting the question, Finn said, ‘While the conversation that we recorded earlier today at the Grande Arche will probably clear me of the murder charges, it’s not enough for the police to arrest Angelika, a.k.a. the Dark Angel. The police are gonna need more than just a first name to make an arrest.’
Full of misgivings, Kate followed up with the obvious: ‘What if the Seven Research Foundation refuses to bargain with you? What then?’
‘You mean what am I planning to do with the old dude?’ When she nodded, Finn shrugged and said, ‘Since I’m not in the habit of making idle threats, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
Kate’s breath caught in her throat.
If the Seven Research Foundation failed to comply, she would do all in her power to stave off a deadly turn of events. Not just for Dr Uhlemann’s sake, but for Finn’s as well. She feared that, blinded by his need for vengeance, Finn couldn’t foresee the consequence of a violent reckoning. The night that Sammy died, the ambulance driver had had to physically restrain her from plunging a steak knife into her husband’s heart. Thank God that he did. While she was no longer a practising Buddhist, she still believed that purposefully taking a life would keep one chained to the wheel of Samsāra. Haunted by karmic fallout.
Her feelings for Finn McGuire were too strong to let that happen.
As they drove through a somnolent neighbourhood, neither spoke, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Approaching the terminus of a dead-end street, Kate applied the brakes, bringing the Mercedes to a full stop. Straight ahead was a bright green metal gate in the middle of a tall brick wall surmounted by barbed wire. The back entrance to Cimetière du Père Lachaise. The fabled cemetery, situated on the outskirts of the city, was the final resting place for some of France’s most prominent citizens: Molière, Proust, Delacroix, Sarah Bernhardt, Edith Piaf. The list went on and on.
‘Do you want me to turn off the engine?’
‘Leave it running,’ Finn told her. ‘Now get out of the car.’
‘What?’ Since this hadn’t been part of the plan, the unexpected request bewildered her.
‘You heard me, get out. I’ll let you know when you can get back in.’
Wondering if he intended to leave her stranded on the outskirts of Paris, Kate yielded without a fight, too stunned to protest. Arms folded over her chest, she stood on the pavement as Finn got behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Where he intended to go was a mystery. Since the cemetery was closed for the night, the entrance gate was locked.
Finn gunned the powerful V-12 engine.
Oh, no! Don’t tell me!
Realizing that he intended to drive right through the locked gate, Kate shoved a balled fist to her mouth, muffling a horrified shriek. Breaking into the historic cemetery had not been part of the mission op. But, then again, that business with the naked chauffeur had not been part of the original plan either.
Seconds later, engine roaring, Finn rammed the Mercedes Benz into the iron gate, nearly ripping it from the hinges. No match for German engineering and American resolve.
Opening his car door, Finn waved his arm, signalling for her to get back into the vehicle. Afraid that a local resident might sound the alarm, Kate sprinted towards the Mercedes. If the police showed up, they’d be arrested on the spot.
Fear mounting, she slid into the front seat. Finn offered no explanation and no apology. As he drove down a narrow cobbled lane, she detected a faint smile on his lips. She realized that he had thoroughly enjoyed using the now dented and dinged luxury sedan as a mobile wrecking ball. Boys and their toys, she mused disagreeably.
‘Now what?’ she enquired, dreading the reply.
‘Now we find a place to hunker down.’
She raised a dubious brow. ‘In a graveyard?’
‘You’re not scared of ghosts, are you?’
‘No. And that’s not why I asked,’ she muttered under her breath, only now beginning to understand that Finn was operating on a ‘need to know’ basis, revealing the mission op to her in piecemeal fashion.
Several twists and turns later, he stopped the car and cut the ignition.
Kate glanced at the still-unconscious Uhlemann. ‘What are you planning to do with our passenger?’
‘Take him with us.’
Getting out of the car, Finn opened the back door and hauled Uhlemann out of the Mercedes. He then hefted the unconscious man over his shoulders fireman-style and strode down the cobbled lane. Banked on both sides by stately mausoleums, it reminded Kate of the visit she’d once made to New Orleans’ famed St Louis cemetery.
‘ “We die only once and for such a long time,” ’ she read aloud as they passed an elaborately designe
d crypt, struck by the morbid phrase that had been carved over the doorway. Not exactly the sort of sentiment that one would ever see printed on a Hallmark condolence card. Unnerved, she shivered.
A trio of tabby cats eyed their approach warily, the cemetery home to a motley tribe of feral cats.
‘This’ll do,’ Finn muttered as he stopped in front of a large crypt, the name ‘Touzet-Guibert’ carved above the lintel. Without warning, he kicked in the metal door. ‘Wait out here until I get a couple of light sticks out of my Go Bag.’
Kate silently complied, in no hurry to enter the mausoleum.
A few moments later, Finn motioned her inside. Reluctantly entering, her gaze was drawn to the two light sticks wedged into wall crevices, the makeshift sconces illuminating the crypt with an eerie green glow. The unmoving Ivo Uhlemann was on the floor, propped against a marble wall.
‘Have a seat,’ Finn said, gesturing to an ornately carved sarcophagus.
Envisioning what was inside that stone coffin, Kate shook her head. ‘No, thanks. What’s next on the agenda?’ she asked, thinking it was time for Finn to divulge the rest of the mission op.
Turning his head, he glanced at Uhlemann. ‘Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.’ None too gently, he ripped the piece of duct tape from the older man’s mouth. He then slapped Uhlemann once on each cheek.
Dr Uhlemann blinked his eyes. With his perfectly coifed white hair, neatly trimmed beard and expensive, tailored suit, he cut an elegant figure. Hardly Kate’s image of a villainous neo-Nazi.
‘Where are we?’ their captive enquired calmly, remarkably composed.
Removing his penknife from its sheath, Finn squatted in front of Uhlemann and cut the duct tape binding his wrists. ‘We’re in a mausoleum on the outskirts of town.’
‘What an ironic choice given that you intend to kill me.’ Dr Uhlemann glanced at the beautifully crafted marble walls. ‘My compliments, Sergeant McGuire. Such a lovely setting in which to spend the eternal quietus.’
‘Actually, I intend to trade you for the Dark Angel. Your chauffeur – nice fella, by the way – volunteered to deliver the ransom demand to your pals at the Seven Research Foundation.’
The older man slowly moved his hands in a circular motion to restore circulation. ‘A futile exercise since the Seven will never remand the Dark Angel to your custody,’ he replied. Then, smiling enigmatically, he said, ‘To save time, may I suggest that you put the gun to my head and pull the trigger?’
62
The Seven Research Foundation, Paris
0215 hours
‘Du bist ein dummkopf!’ Angelika Schwärz railed, furiously pounding on the driver’s chest with a balled fist. Standing in the middle of the front lobby, she didn’t care who witnessed the dressing down. The big oaf was lucky that she didn’t jab a letter opener into his heart and impale him to the wall. ‘How could you have bungled this so badly? You couldn’t take a piss in the dark without wetting both feet.’
A computer technician who worked down the hall scurried past. Although bug-eyed, and clearly shocked, he knew better than to intervene.
‘It’s not my fault,’ Dolf Reinhardt whined, brow-beaten and pussy-whipped. ‘McGuire ambushed us!’ Attired in a too-tight trench coat with no buttons and belted with plastic bags that had been twisted and knotted together, he looked like a woebegone tramp. Obviously, he’d scavenged the garment from a rubbish heap.
‘Of course he ambushed you. That’s because McGuire is a real man with a big swinging dick. Not like your shrivelled little schwanz.’ Angelika forcefully ripped the piece of grey duct tape off of Reinhardt’s chest, causing the driver to squeal like a little girl.
Eyes watering with tears, Reinhardt stared at the floor. Somewhere between losing the Mercedes and the clothes on his back, the big oaf had also lost his manly pride. If ever he had it.
Bunching the strip of tape into a tight ball, Angelika disgustedly tossed it into a nearby waste bin.
The driver wiped a meaty hand over his lip, swiping at a ribbon of snot. ‘Aren’t you going to call him?’
‘Who? McGuire? Only if I need a good fuck.’
‘But he said he would kill Herr Doktor Uhlemann if you didn’t remand yourself to his custody!’ Reinhardt doggedly insisted. ‘Do you not care what happens to –’
‘I care.’ More than you will ever know, pussy man.
Still in a murderous rage, Angelika strode over to the computer station at the reception desk and sat down. Like a lost puppy, Reinhardt followed after her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m locating the Mercedes Benz,’ she informed him, quickly typing in a secure password.
‘But you have no idea where McGuire is hiding.’
‘I will soon know exactly where he is hiding. The vehicle is outfitted with a GPS tracking device.’
The buffoon’s mouth fell open in a slack-jawed ‘O’. ‘No one told me.’
Ignoring him, she pulled up the satellite data. Père Lachaise Cemetery. With its many monuments and hilly terrain, it was the perfect hideaway. Clever, McGuire. Very clever.
Angelika spared the driver a quick glance. ‘Of course there’s a tracking device on the vehicle. Do you think we would trust you with such an expensive automobile otherwise?’
‘Herr Doktor Uhlemann trusts me implicitly.’
‘He trusts you to change the oil and clean up after Wolfgang when he shits on the pavement. That is all.’
‘But I … I am … Herr Doktor’s aide-de-camp,’ the big oaf sputtered, a crestfallen expression on his face.
‘You are the village idiot.’ Grimacing, she put the back of her hand to her nose. ‘And what is that stench? Go and find some disinfectant.’ She dismissed the driver with a wave of the same hand.
Contemplating her next move, Angelika pulled up an aerial photograph of Père Lachaise. For several seconds, she stared at the computer screen. Luckily, she had the element of surprise in her favour. That, and a full moon.
She smiled, actually looking forward to the upcoming battle with the American commando.
Soon, McGuire. Very soon.
63
Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris
0245 hours
Furious, Finn lowered the Mark 23 pistol, shoving it into his waistband. ‘You better hope to God that your cohorts at the Seven Research Foundation meet my demand and turn over the Dark Angel.’
‘God? That half-mad despot who demands constant ego-stroking?’ Uhlemann mocked.
‘Yeah, that God.’
‘Not only are you brash, Sergeant McGuire, but you clearly have no idea what’s at stake.’
‘So, why don’t you fill me in?’ he taunted, hoping to pry loose a few answers.
‘Very well.’ Even in the dim light, Finn could see the calculating gleam in the other man’s eyes. ‘I take it that you know about the Lapis Exillis?’
‘You mean the Grail?’ Finn sauntered over to the sarcophagus. ‘Yeah, big whup.’ Pronouncement made, he plunked his ass on the marble lid.
‘While Finn may not be interested, I’m admittedly curious,’ Kate remarked as she sat down beside him. ‘We know that your father was a member of the SS Ahnenerbe and, as I understand it, they were actively hunting for the Lapis Exillis.’
‘You are, if anything, well informed. Touché.’ The derision in the German’s voice countermanded the compliment. ‘In the 1930s, my father, Friedrich Uhlemann, was teaching theoretical physics at Göttingen University. Something of a rebel, particularly given the anti-Jewish climate of the day, he was using Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity to explore the effect of gravity and light on the space–time continuum.’
‘That’s an interesting research niche,’ Kate conceded in a polite tone.
‘Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS, thought the same thing. Greatly impressed, he placed my father in an elite interdisciplinary think tank that came to be known as the Seven.’
‘You make it sound like your old man won the Nobel Pr
ize,’ Finn harrumphed. ‘Hell, he was just a jackbooted SS thug.’
‘How dare you! My father was a brilliant scientist!’
‘No doubt he was,’ Kate readily agreed, quick to smooth the old rooster’s feathers. ‘I assume that Heinrich Himmler ordered the Seven to find the Lapis Exillis.’
Mollified, Uhlemann nodded curtly. ‘Although Reichsführer Himmler first ordered them to find out why the Egyptians built the Sacred Axis at Thebes. Determined to solve the ancient riddle, in 1938 the Seven set sail for Egypt.’
‘But your father was a theoretical physicist …’ Kate paused. ‘What could he possibly contribute to the project?’
‘Really, my dear, you must learn to think outside the box. When Jean-Claude Jutier, the Seven’s resident archaeologist, unearthed a hieroglyphic inscription regarding a sacred stone that emitted a “blue fire”, it was my father who astutely realized that the inscription described an exothermic reaction involving a massive energy transfer. Had it not been for my father, the Seven would never have uncovered the Lost Science of ancient Egypt.’
‘I take it that the blue fire mentioned in the inscription was the Vril force.’
Uhlemann clapped his hands mockingly. ‘My, my, aren’t you the clever puss?’
Having hit his bullshit quota, Finn rolled his eyes. ‘So where the hell are the mathematical calculations and scientific equations to back up this Lost Science? Did your old man find any of those carved on a temple wall? Wait! I think I know the answer …’ He paused. Snickered. Then said, ‘There aren’t any calculations or equations. Ergo, Ivo, there isn’t a “Lost Science”.’
The old German snorted disdainfully.
‘Actually, Finn does raise a valid point.’
‘Ah! Time for a history lesson.’ Lips twisted in an ugly smile, Uhlemann folded his arms over his chest. ‘Did you know that Albert Einstein first conceived his Theory of General Relativity in 1905?’
