The Templar's Quest

by C. M. Palov

  Possessed with quick reflexes, the other man spun on his heel as he reached for the P6.

  Fuck!

  81

  0550 hours

  Acting on a hunch, Cædmon silently trod the third-floor promenade that overlooked the mezzanine. Like a guilty thief with the goods in his pocket, he clung to the shadows. Off-script, he headed for the nearest room that had visible light shining through the frosted glass. Something was here, on the third floor. He could feel it in his blood.

  The same blood that coursed through his heart muscle in dizzying contractions. The same blood painfully thumping against the gauze bandage wrapped around his skull.

  Where are you, Kate?

  He prayed that he’d find her sooner rather than later, his energy flagging. The tension wrought by the situation, his recent injuries and the lack of sleep, it was all starting to wear on his pitiful reserves, the initial burst of adrenaline having run its course.

  Christ! Bugger the horse. My kingdom for a wee sip of gin.

  Kicking that thought to the kerb, he trudged forward, walking, breathing, everything now noticeably laboured.

  Ruger in hand, he approached the illuminated room. Grasping the doorknob with his left hand, he pushed the door open a few inches and furtively peered inside. On the other side of the threshold was a snuggery lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. All of them jam-packed with leather-bound volumes. For a crazed half-second, he thought he’d been transported to a parallel universe, albeit a tidier universe than the one at L’Equinoxe.

  Cædmon cautiously stepped into the library, closing the door behind him. Like every other room he’d investigated, it was eerily vacant, although he sensed it had recently been occupied – there was a small stack of books and an open laptop computer on the centre table. He walked over and perused the pile. Nazi Mysticism. The Secret of Luxor. Parzival. The Monuments of Paris. An eclectic assortment, to be sure. And, in one way or another, all related to the Grail and the Axe Historique. He next examined the laptop computer, the screen frozen on an image from a football match. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Espying a narrow passageway between two bookcases, Cædmon padded over to it. Holding his gun in front of him, he peeked around the corner. Although the lights were low, he could see that it was a small study. His gaze zoomed over to the boxy sofa set against the far wall. There was a huddled body, backside turned to him, curled on the cushions. Shoulders visibly shaking, the occupant was clearly sobbing.

  Kate!

  Clicking off the safety, he shoved the Ruger into its holster before rushing over to the sofa. Without turning her head, Kate raised a hand and limply waved it in the direction of the library.

  ‘You can set the tray on the table,’ she warbled in a tear-weakened voice.

  Cædmon went down on bent knee beside the sofa and gently touched her shoulder. ‘It’s me, Kate. I’ve come to rescue you.’

  ‘You can’t rescue me,’ she said between doleful sobs. ‘You’re dead. Both of you.’

  ‘I fear those rumours have been greatly exaggerated. While I might be mistaken for a corpse, I’m still among the living. As is McGuire.’

  Kate rolled over. ‘I don’t believe it! Cædmon!’ Clearly stunned to see him, she grabbed his face between her two hands. ‘You’re alive!’ Then, a sense of urgency about her, she said, ‘You have to leave! Now! Before –’

  The look of dread fear that immediately marred Kate’s face was the only warning that Cædmon had before a dark shadow fell over the two of them.

  There was someone behind him!

  Still on bent knee, he straight away reached for the Ruger. Just as his hand grazed the stippled grip, the unseen intruder grabbed his right wrist, snatching his hand away from the gun. Imprisoning his wrist in a bone-crunching grasp, the assailant pulled tight, cinching Cædmon’s arm around his own neck. Jamming his chin into the crook of his elbow.

  Cædmon bellowed in agony as several sutures instantly popped open.

  The brute forcefully jerked on his wrist, spinning him in a semi-circle. Cædmon reflexively swung his left arm; a wild scything slash that connected with a leg muscle. Before he could retract his arm to take another swing, a giant fist smashed into his left temple. Hammer on anvil.

  The ferocity of the blow hurled Cædmon to one side. The brute hauled him up by his manacled wrist. With his free hand, the attacker yanked the Ruger out of the holster before shoving Cædmon to the floor.

  ‘That vas too easy,’ the brute snarled in a thick accent.

  Immobilized with molten pain, Cædmon spat out a mouthful of yellow bile. Dazed, his vision suddenly gone blurry, he struggled to bring the attacker into focus. It took several seconds before the scene crystallized. It took several additional seconds before he realized that he was one bullet from death, the bald-headed Myrmidon pressing the gun muzzle against the same temple he’d just tenderized with his fist.

  Enraged that his life was about to end in such humiliating fashion, Cædmon impotently glared at the bald-headed gunman. He didn’t have the strength to stagger to his feet, much less rebuff another blow. Callously smiling, the brute’s right thumb flicked the safety into the ‘off’ position. Any second now.

  ‘You can’t shoot him!’ Kate exclaimed frantically, scrambling off the sofa. ‘Cædmon Aisquith has valuable information pertaining to the Lapis Exillis that Doctor Uhlemann will be very interested to hear.’

  Frowning, the Myrmidon retracted the muzzle several inches, his confusion plainly evident. In that instant, Cædmon intuited that the big German could not juggle more than one ball.

  ‘It’s imperative that Doctor Uhlemann be briefed about the second stone before the heliacal rising occurs,’ Kate continued, pressing the brute.

  Cædmon tossed another ball into the ring. ‘You heard the lady. I have important information to convey to your employer. Pull the trigger at your own peril.’

  Relenting, the browbeaten Myrmidon jabbed the gun in Cædmon’s direction. ‘Get up, wichser ! I will take you to see Herr Doktor Uhlemann.’

  Realizing that he’d just been granted a temporary reprieve, Cædmon heaved with his left arm, clumsily shoving himself off the floor. Kate rushed to his side. Wrapping both arms around his chest, she assisted him to his feet.

  ‘When you meet Doctor Uhlemann, be sure to emphasize the catastrophe that will ensue without the second stone,’ Kate told him. ‘Earlier, he showed me the Vril Generator and I could see that –’

  ‘Shut up! Both of you!’ the brute roughly ordered. ‘Now get moving!’

  Unable to stand up straight, Cædmon took a wobbly step, further disgracing himself. Leaning close, Kate placed a stabilizing arm around his waist. Then, risking the brute’s ire, she whispered under her breath, ‘Scientia potentia est.’

  Cædmon stared beseechingly at her.

  Knowledge might be power, but he didn’t know a damned thing about a second stone.

  82

  0548 hours

  Realizing that Finn was unarmed, the gunman stared quizzically. Sig Sauer clenched in his right hand, he then grinned. A big jolly smile that conveyed a simple, straightforward message. Ho, ho, ho! I’m about to blow your head clean off your shoulders. But first I’m going to toy with you.

  ‘I understand that Hell is a nice place to visit this time of year,’ Mr Smiley Face goaded in a jovial biergarten accent, dispensing the first toy from his goody bag.

  The gig up, Finn shrugged resignedly. ‘Heaven or Hell, dead is dead.’ And damn Cædmon Aisquith for mentioning it.

  Just then, one of the overhead fluorescent bulbs crackled loudly, the sound accompanied by an erratic flicker. The gunman reflexively glanced up. Finn seized his chance and dodged behind the boiler, swerving out of the line of fire just as the big bruiser pulled the trigger.

  The bullet slammed into the stainless-steel boiler, instantly creating a spigot of scalding hot water.

  ‘Gottverdammt!’

  Finn quickly unbuckled his belt. ‘Take another
step, Herr Fucker, and I’ll pull the trigger,’ he blustered, hoping to buy a few extra seconds.

  A cocky bastard, the bruiser didn’t dive for cover. He knew damn well that phantom guns fire make-believe bullets. Still wearing his doofy-ass grin, the German sauntered towards the boiler.

  ‘If you had a gun, we would not be having this conversation. You would have shot me dead the moment I walked through the door.’ The German was now directly opposite Finn on the other side of the rotund tank.

  With a quick tug, Finn yanked his belt through the loops. He then wrapped the leather strap around his right hand, buckle dangling. Flail at the ready, he waited until the German was a few inches from the torrent of hot water that spewed from the tank.

  You’re gonna wish to God I had shot you, Finn thought maliciously … just before he whipped the belt around the corner with two hundred and twenty pounds of torque, smashing the metal buckle into the German’s face. The force of the assault knocked the gunman’s head into the metal tank. Scalding his left cheek with 170°F water. Forty-two degrees shy of a fast boil. Shock and awe, baby. Shock and awe.

  The German howled in pain. Dazed, he staggered and fired two wild shots.

  Finn immediately reeled in his belt. Surging forward, he crisply whipped it again, this time parallel to the ground. Hard and fast. The heavy buckle hammered into the German’s hand, knocking the Sig Sauer loose.

  The gun clattered to the concrete floor, discharging a bullet. The German immediately came at him with a roundhouse high kick. Finn swivelled nimbly. Dropping the belt, he snatched hold of the bruiser’s raised boot with both hands and jerked upward as hard as he could, pulling the big German completely off balance. Literally sweeping him off his feet.

  Upended, the bruiser’s head hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, his skull cracking on impact. Like a watermelon hitting the pavement.

  Finn stared dispassionately at the dead German. Well, that sure as hell wiped the grin off Herr Fucker’s face.

  ‘Well done, Finnegan. You have, once again, proved yourself the better man.’

  Hearing that sultry French accent, Finn’s jaw tightened. Although he figured it was a futile gesture, he raised both hands in the air and slowly turned around.

  The Dark Angel – decked out in curve-hugging black leather pants, skintight black tank top and fingerless black leather gloves – leaned casually against a circuit box. She held a Heckler & Koch semi-automatic in her right hand. No surprise that it was pointed directly at Finn. Game over. Fade to black.

  Not about to antagonize her, Finn kept silent. There was no doubt in his mind that the bitch would shoot to kill. And given that she was one sick bitch, she’d probably keep on firing long after he was dead.

  Hips swaying provocatively, she strolled towards him. Smiling, she nudged the muzzle of the semi-automatic against his lower lip.

  ‘Suck very hard on that and maybe I won’t pull the trigger.’

  Finn glared. The bitch wanted to emasculate him before she turned his grey matter into slurry.

  Summoning all the false bravado he could muster, Finn looked her right in the eye and said, ‘You’ve got two choices, Angelika … kill me or take me to your leader.’

  83

  0610 hours

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Kate gasped. ‘He’s dead!’

  Cædmon glanced at the corpse sprawled on the floor of the maintenance engineering room, a lake of blood pooled at his head.

  ‘I daresay the bloke had it coming,’ he remarked, unmoved at seeing the slain foot soldier.

  The bald-headed Myrmidon prodded him in the back with the gun muzzle. ‘Shut up, wichser, and keep moving. Herr Doktor Uhlemann is expecting us in the viewing chamber.’

  Trooping past a trio of aluminium condensers, Cædmon saw a knife hilt protruding from one of them. A battle had clearly taken place between Finn McGuire and the dead man. He hoped to God that the commando had escaped with his life. And would very soon come to their rescue.

  To his astonishment, a steel door was hidden behind the condensers. Since the entryway had not been included on the architectural blueprints that he’d obtained for the facility, he assumed that it led to a secret ‘viewing chamber’. A security keypad was attached to the doorframe.

  The Myrmidon hesitated, then stepped over and keyed in a numeric code. ‘Scheisse,’ he muttered under his breath when the door remained locked. He tried again, actually sighing with relief when the lock popped open. Holding the door ajar, he motioned impatiently for Cædmon and Kate to enter.

  As he stepped across the threshold, Cædmon immediately saw that there would be no rescue. The vanquished Finnegan McGuire was seated against the far wall. Standing beside him, a leather-clad Valkyrie had a semi-automatic pressed to his left temple. Wearing a white lab coat, Dr Ivo Uhlemann stood a few feet from the pair.

  A small room, the viewing chamber was no bigger than a home theatre with a glass partition in lieu of a movie screen. On the other side of the glass was the Vril Generator, housed in a pyramid-shaped bunker. The centrepiece of the device was the Grail, configured in some sort of crystal array. A second door led to the bunker. Like the steel door they’d just come through, it had a security keypad on the doorframe.

  Still clutching the Ruger, the faithful Myrmidon slunk over to his master, insinuating himself between Dr Uhlemann and the blonde Valkyrie.

  ‘Oh, Finn … I’m so happy to see you!’ Kate rushed towards McGuire, only to draw up short when the Valkyrie took aim at her with the semi-automatic.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t come through for you, Katie.’ The commando’s apology was punctuated with a rueful half-smile. Turning slightly, he jutted his head in Cædmon’s direction. ‘Hey, buddy. Glad to see that you’re still alive. The Death Star is due to appear in eighteen minutes. So you better grab yourself a front-row seat.’

  Cædmon sensed that embedded within McGuire’s swagger was a covert message. But what?

  He surreptitiously glanced around the viewing chamber. There was a clock above the glass partition, a chalkboard affixed to one wall, a video camera set on a tripod and three empty viewing chairs lined up in front of the glass partition. ‘Grab yourself a front row seat.’ Perhaps McGuire thought Cædmon could use one of the wood-backed chairs as a weapon.

  Right.

  He deliberately touched the blood-soaked bandage on his head as he turned to Dr Uhlemann and said, ‘May I have leave to sit down? Before I fall down,’ he added, hoping he appeared sufficiently pathetic.

  ‘By all means.’ The request was granted with a regal wave of the hand.

  Playing the nursemaid, Kate solicitously helped Cædmon to his seat. In truth, he was a bloodied weakling, having yet to recover from the earlier thrashing. The painful crown that insistently pressed against his bashed head had become damned near excruciating.

  Although not as excruciating as a bullet to the brain.

  No time to waste, Cædmon quickly sized up the enemy. Crisply knotted silk tie. Perfectly tailored trousers. Tasselled leather loathers. All-in-all, a revealing book cover. Conservative, yet eloquent, the wardrobe indicated that Ivo Uhlemann was a man with a taste for the finer things. Cædmon suspected that the German was also something of an aesthete, a lover of all that was beautiful and perfect. As ‘Herr Doktor’ defined those two terms, of course, his arrogance plain to see. Paired with that conceit was a keen intelligence. Unlike the gauche Myrmidon who couldn’t juggle two balls at once, the elder German was a spatial thinker. A theoretical physicist who could problem solve in multiple dimensions.

  He’ll prove a damned difficult nut to crack, Cædmon acknowledged dispiritedly.

  As for the blonde Valkyrie, he didn’t intend to turn his back on her any time soon.

  ‘I am delighted that the three of you will witness das Groß Versuch,’ Dr Uhlemann announced with an air of mocking conviviality.

  Since cadavers can’t speak, Cædmon assumed that the witnesses would be summarily shot at the conclusion of the ‘Great Exp
eriment’. The gloating victor, Dr Uhlemann wanted first to lord his hard-earned triumph over them. And it had been hard-earned, years in the making as he understood it.

  Acutely aware of the ticking clock, Cædmon examined the Vril Generator.

  Noticing the direction of his gaze, Dr Uhlemann said, ‘The design for the generator was extrapolated from a careful reading of the Ghayat al-Hakim. Crystal matrixes are part of the Lost Science.’ He removed a laser pen from his pocket and aimed the red beam at the Vril Generator. ‘As you can see, the nucleus of the design is the Lapis Exillis, which is bracketed, top and bottom, by a tubular quartz crystal. The ancients were well aware that these crystals can hold a high-frequency electric charge.’

  ‘That’s what modern-day scientists refer to as piezoelectricity,’ Kate remarked as she sat down beside Cædmon. Turning her head ever so slightly, she shot him a pointed glance.

  Earlier, when they were in the library, she had tried to tell him something about ‘two stones’.

  But there was only the one Grail.

  Christ! What in bloody hell is she trying to communicate to me?

  He needed more intelligence. And he needed to be damned quick about gathering it.

  ‘Doctor Uhlemann, how exactly does the crystal matrix work?’ he enquired, hoping to pry loose a useful nugget.

  ‘Astral energy is directed into the quartz crystal suspended from the pyramid’s apex. Conversely, the crystal on the floor acts as a magnet to attract telluric energy from deep within the earth,’ the German informed him in a professorial tone. ‘The two quartz crystals simultaneously funnel their respective energies into the Lapis Exillis which then generates the Vril force. All in all, a simple but efficient means of energy production.’

  ‘Fascinating.’ Cædmon then asked the question that had been plaguing him since he’d first found the Grail stone hidden inside the Isis Sanctuary. ‘Do you have any idea what’s beneath the gold plating?’