by C. M. Palov
The commando elbowed him. ‘According to the architectural plan, there’s supposed to be a door leading to the laboratory. Where the hell is it?’
‘My guess is behind the waterfall. At least that’s where a door should be located.’
The designated point man, McGuire strode towards the water feature and peered behind the sturdy copper frame. Nodding his head, he disappeared behind the panel.
Gun tightly gripped in his hand, Cædmon stepped around the faux wall. McGuire, the torch protruding from his mouth, stood in front of an intimidating black door with a security keypad inlaid above the knob. Unlike the door on the other side of the office, this was a bullet- and fire-resistant, galvanized steel entry.
Shining his torch at the numeric pad, McGuire keyed in the third, and last, hacked security code.
The lock softly popped. Removing the torch from his mouth, the commando pushed down on the polished steel handle and eased the door open a few scant inches. Just far enough for him to peep through the crack and scan the environs beyond.
‘Coast is clear,’ he whispered, swinging the door open and making his exit.
Ruger at the ready, Cædmon stepped cautiously into the research facility, the steel door automatically closing behind him. He glanced about, stunned.
It was as though he’d just entered another world.
Designed as a spacious three-storey atrium, the lofty space very cleverly fooled one into thinking that it was an airy, light-filled courtyard when, in fact, it was a subterranean bunker. An ethereal one, at that, with abundant white marble, polished chrome and alternating banks of clear and frosted glass. The illusion was further enhanced by potted Areca palm trees and towering rubber plants.
Directly across from them, the centre of the mezzanine resembled a collegiate study hall. There were seven identical tables each outfitted with flat-screen computer monitors and ergonomic roller chairs. On the far side of the mezzanine there was a capsule-like lift. From the architectural blueprints, Cædmon knew that there was an enclosed stairwell in the atrium’s northwest quadrant.
Grim-faced, McGuire ducked into the shadows cast by a rectangular pillar, Cædmon following in his wake. Like a medieval cloister, columns were set every eight feet around the perimeter of the mezzanine supporting the promenade above.
‘Forty-six minutes and counting,’ McGuire informed him in a lowered voice. ‘Time to say “ta ta” and go our separate ways.’ His objective was to locate the maintenance room below the mezzanine where the mechanical systems were housed.
While he did that, Cædmon would search for Kate.
‘Good luck, McGuire.’
‘Yeah … same to you, Aisquith.’ One side of the commando’s mouth quirked upward. ‘If things don’t go according to plan, I’ll meet you at the pearly gates.’
Not the least bit amused, Cædmon said, ‘Heaven or hell, dead is dead. Ask any corpse.’
78
Seven Research Facility
0538 hours
Angelika dumped the knotted heavy-duty plastic bag into the rubbish bin. ‘Bye-bye, doggie.’
Finished with the chore, she walked over to the lavatory mirror and checked her make-up. Puckering her lips, she decided that another coat of lipstick was in order. She reached for the lacquered tube – crimson red – her favourite shade.
‘Better,’ she murmured, pleased with the effect, the slash of crimson the only colour on her pale face. That and her cornflower blue eyes. Today she wore her hair pulled back in a tight chignon, a severe style that accentuated her pale skin.
Make-up applied, she reached for the HK semi-automatic holstered on her thigh. She quickly rechecked her weapon, having cleaned and oiled it before taking care of Wolfgang. Satisfied that everything was in working order, she slid the pistol back into the holster.
While she might look like a woman, she thought like a man. Fought and killed like one, too. That was her strength. Her power. It always had been. Ever since that first time when she’d persuaded another little girl to walk out on to the thin ice in the middle of the lake. When the silly child fell through the ice, Angelika had stood on the shoreline, thrilled, as she watched the frantic struggle take place. Only to feel keenly disappointed when the little girl disappeared beneath the ice, having succumbed too quickly. She decided then and there that killing from afar was no fun. It was always better when you could see the tears well in their eyes and hear their voices crack as they begged and pleaded.
In high spirits, Angelika turned off the light in the lavatory and stepped into the hall. She peered over the railing that overlooked the mezzanine below. The atrium was deserted, not a soul in sight. All of the researchers had been dismissed two days ago, informed that the facility would be temporarily closed while new carpet was installed. A few minutes ago, as a stop-gap measure, she’d gone into the security computer system and changed the code for the facility entry.
Needing to issue a few last orders, she headed for the library. To her vexation, the little mouse was still alive. For some inexplicable reason her father had not yet given the kill order for the Bauer woman and seemed reluctant to do so. Earlier in the day she’d come very close to shoving the little mouse over the railing, but had been thwarted when an armed sentry showed up for guard duty.
Rankled by the recollection, Angelika entered the library. Dolf Reinhardt sat at one end of the table, watching football on his laptop, and Axel Weber, an ex-military gun-for-hire, sat at the other end, expertly shuffling a deck of cards. She glanced at her watch; the chauffeur had clocked-in twenty minutes early. No doubt trying to make up for his colossal fuck-ups. I’d like to shove him over the railing. What a useless excuse for a man.
Ignoring the bald-headed oaf, she turned her attention to Weber. ‘You are to report to the Groß Versuch viewing room for guard duty.’
Impudently smiling, Weber ran his thumbs over the edge of the deck before cutting the stack. ‘As you can see, Angelika, I’m still on my break. Another five minutes and then I will do your bidding.’
‘You will do my bidding now.’
Weber put the deck aside and folded his arms over his chest. The chauffeur looked up nervously; then just as quickly tucked his chin into his chest and stared intently at his laptop. Hear no evil. See no evil.
‘My break is over in five minutes,’ Weber reiterated. ‘Time for one last cigarette.’
‘You don’t smoke.’
‘I have five minutes to learn the habit.’ He eyed Angelika, a lewd gleam in his eyes. ‘Would you like to light my cigarette?’
Angelika reached for the HK semi-automatic, sliding it from her thigh holster. ‘I’d be happy to oblige you.’ She aimed the gun at his crotch.
Not the least bit intimidated, Axel chortled. ‘Warm and creamy on the inside but, oh, so cold on the outside.’
‘I was going to let you kill the little mouse, but I don’t think you’re man enough to do it,’ she taunted.
‘But you are, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ The macho bastard leaned back in his chair. ‘I only kill when I get paid to do so. If I don’t get paid, I don’t pull the trigger … unless somebody makes the mistake of waylaying me in the dark.’
Angelika returned the pistol to its holster. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she purred, already plotting the ambush. She glanced at the oaf. ‘Dolfie, go and ask the little mouse what she wants for breakfast.’
Orders issued, Angelika turned around and walked towards the door. Very slowly. Letting them both get an eyeful.
Her strength. Her power.
79
0544 hours
The two men headed in opposite directions, their plan to divide and conquer.
Although Cædmon would settle for finding Kate, retrieving the Grail and getting out alive.
While McGuire surreptitiously made his way to the stairwell, Cædmon navigated a different route, crabbing along the mezzanine’s colonnaded walkway. Since they had no idea where Kate was being held, his job was to systematically open each
closed door on the mezzanine level. A total of eight doors. After checking each and every room, he would then ascend to the second level and repeat the process. If that proved fruitless, he would search the third floor. Again, proceeding room by room until he found her.
He glanced at the upper levels of the atrium, counting half a dozen frosted glass walls that incandescently glowed – two on the second floor and four on the third – indicating that the lights had been turned on in those rooms. That implied that there were bodies afoot. No doubt preparing for the astral event soon to take place. However many troops were on hand, it was a sure bet that he and McGuire were outnumbered.
Approaching the first closed door, Cædmon reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small torch. He clicked it on and stuck the slender rod between his pursed lips, freeing his left hand to open the door. At a glance he could see that he had just entered the employee lounge. Like the rest of the facility, it was starkly modern, what one might expect to see in an upscale bistro. He backed out of the lounge and proceeded to the next door.
Three minutes later, having opened all eight doors on the mezzanine level and verified that all eight rooms were vacant, he headed for the stairwell at the end of the walkway. He’d taken no more than three steps when the lift unexpectedly began to glide upward.
Cædmon hurriedly concealed himself behind a concrete pillar. A few moments later, he heard a high-pitched chime. Whoever had summoned the lift descended to the mezzanine.
He furtively peered around the corner … just in time to see an armed man – a semi-automatic pistol holstered at his waist – exit the lift. One of Uhlemann’s foot soldiers, he had a mean street look about him. Clearly someone who could comport himself in a firefight or a fist fight. Oblivious to the fact that he was being watched, the armed man strode towards the stairwell. Opening the door, he disappeared from sight.
Where the bloody hell was he going?
Since the armed thug had just come from the third floor, completely bypassing the second, Cædmon surmised that he was headed to the maintenance level, one storey below. Finnegan McGuire’s current location.
Baffled by the unexpected turn of events, Cædmon slid the Ruger into its holster. Unclipping a phone from his waistband, he quickly typed a text message to McGuire and hit the ‘send’ button. Warning issued, he stepped away from the pillar.
Only to hurriedly retreat when the lift unexpectedly returned to the third floor. Presumably to pick up another passenger.
Shite! The research facility was fast turning into Victoria Station.
Holding the pistol in a two-handed grip, Cædmon waited. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. For a fleeting instant it felt as though the earth turned faster on its axis.
The chime pinged again. A few seconds later, like a theatre curtain, the lift doors slid open, a Goliath of a man emerging on to the stage.
The bald-headed brute from the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel!
Plastering himself to the pillar, he watched the black-suited Myrmidon stride across the mezzanine to the employee lounge. The instant the bald brute disappeared into the break room, Cædmon hastily made his way to the stairwell.
Circumspect, he opened the door and assessed the dim interior. When no malevolent shape emerged from the shadows, he stepped inside. He then stealthily climbed the steps, hugging the outer wall so that he could better view the shaft above.
Reaching the second floor, Cædmon paused, wondering if he should deviate from the mission op.
Decision made, he continued to the third floor.
80
0545 hours
Cracking the door on the stairwell, Finn scanned the shadowy hallway. Not a soul in sight.
Dumb bastards.
The reason why there weren’t any sentries posted in the laboratory was because the Seven didn’t think that he and Aisquith had a snowball’s chance of breaching the security system. Big mistake, underestimating the enemy. It will always come back to haunt you.
Making like a ghost warrior, Finn hoofed down the hall. According to the architectural blueprint, the maintenance engineering room was located sixty feet from the stairwell, entry on the right. His mission was straightforward: destroy the laboratory’s infrastructure and functional capability without compromising the structural integrity of the building above. With his training in explosives, Finn was confident that he could demolish the mechanical system without bringing down the house.
In theory, it would be similar to what happened in ’93 when the car bomb went off in the basement of the World Trade Center. The blast did a helluva lot of damage underground, but didn’t disturb a thing top side. Which, in retrospect, proved a bad thing, inciting the terrorists to change tactics. Terrorists, like Uhlemann and his Nazi fuckers, were a primeval force of evil.
Arriving at the maintenance engineering room, Finn opened the door and peered inside the dark recess. No unfriendlies. I love it when the op goes according to plan.
He stepped across the threshold, closed the door and turned on the light switch. His ocular nerve was instantly blasted with a blinding burst of light. It felt like he’d just gone snow blind.
‘I don’t care if fluorescent lights are more energy efficient,’ he muttered. ‘There ought to be a law against ’em.’
Still squinting, he scoped out the room. Basic concrete block construction with a poured cement floor. Everything, including the walls, was painted a blah shade of grey, khaki or black. Strictly utilitarian. Unlike the slick Euro design of the research facility. Upstairs, downstairs. World of difference.
At a glance, Finn could see that the room housed a state-of-the-art system with an array of pipes, ducts, tubes, coils, conduit boxes, boilers and compressors. Building anatomy no different to human anatomy, these were the internal organs that made the pretty office space upstairs functional. The heart, bladder, liver and kidneys.
He walked over to a large industrial panel box bolted into the wall. Opening the metal door, he smiled at seeing the configured cables, connectors and signal modules. Sweet. It was the building automation system. An integrated assembly that controlled the electric, heating and air-conditioning. The joint’s cerebral cortex.
The six homemade pipe bombs would more than do the trick.
I got a feeling this is going to be a clean job instead of a suicide mission, Finn thought with a measure of relief as he removed the towelling-wrapped bundle from his Go Bag.
‘God, I hope so.’
There were things that he needed to tell Kate. Should have told her back at the hotel. But didn’t. Probably because he didn’t have a lot of experience with the man–woman thing. At least, not the emotional part of it. The physical part, oh yeah. Put a blush to your face.
Walking over to a nearby work bench, he removed his supplies from the Go Bag. He felt a strange tightening in his gut. He didn’t know if he loved Kate Bauer. Hell, he barely knew her. But she was different from any other woman he’d ever known. Serene, smart, sexy. And incredibly fragile. He had no idea whether she’d be interested in a man like him. For the long haul, that is. Find out soon enough. Hopefully.
Not there to sightsee, Finn rummaged through his Go Bag, retrieving a plastic zip-lock bag that contained two lighters. One he stuck into his T-shirt breast pocket; the second one – the emergency back-up lighter – he stuffed into his boot. That done, he surveyed the room, determining where to set the pipe bombs to achieve maximum effect. The plan was to set the six bombs then wait until he had confirmation from Aisquith that Kate had been safely removed from the premises before he detonated. The gasoline-soaked fuses would ensure a slow burn and that, in turn, should give him enough lag time to clear out. Wouldn’t want to get his ass blown to Kingdom Come.
Logistics figured out, he very carefully picked up two pipe bombs. Ready to rock and roll.
As if on cue, his phone softly vibrated against his waist.
Finn set the bombs back on the table and checked the LCD screen. Incoming from Aisquith. He a
ssumed the Brit was letting him know that he’d found Kate. He flipped the phone open.
Fuck!
Message read, Finn flipped the clam phone shut and clipped it on his waistband. According to Aisquith, there was an armed unfriendly headed in his direction.
He re-wrapped the six pipe bombs in the towel, taking care even as he hurriedly cleared the work table. He did not want it carved on his tombstone that he was a dumb-fuck bomb maker who died from bad dumb luck.
No sooner had he slipped the bundled pipe bombs into his Go Bag and unsheathed his KA-BAR knife than he heard footsteps just outside the door.
He ducked behind a rotund hot-water boiler, stashing his Go Bag in the corner.
The doorknob turned. Finn stilled his breath. Completely hidden out of sight, he had the advantage. And the beauty of an edged weapon? It would not run out of bullets or jam on him. If you knew how to hit the sweet spot, a knife could be just as lethal as a loaded gun.
The door swung open. Finn peered between the boiler and a set of copper pipes. A big bruiser with a solid build entered the room. He had the confident stride of a man who had some serious military training. Uhlemann’s muscle, obviously.
Luckily, the bruiser didn’t seem the least bit perturbed that the overhead lights were turned on. Finn’s gaze honed in on the holstered Sig Sauer P6.
Finn wanted that gun in the worst awful way.
Quickly he ran through his options: attacking and using the KA-BAR in a close-quarter situation, slicing or punching a hole in a major artery; tossing the KA-BAR at the dude’s heart; or tossing the knife at his backside, then disarming him from behind.
Settling on the last option, he soft-footed away from the boiler, keeping to the shadows. The bruiser was headed for the trio of big aluminium condensers on the other side of the room. Finn took aim and hurled the KA-BAR knife.
The bruiser, seeing the blur of motion reflected in the shiny aluminium, lurched out of the way at the last possible instant, the KA-BAR puncturing a hole in the condenser instead of the bruiser.
