‘Does it ever hurt?’ she asked.
Usually those kind of questions pissed the shit out of him, but for some reason he found Kate’s earnest expression oddly endearing.
‘Nah, it doesn’t hurt,’ he lied. ‘Although I can forecast when it’s going to rain.’ Because that’s when it hurt like a mother.
From time to time, Finn still caught himself about to scratch his nose, rub an eye or press a keypad with his absentee index finger. As much as he wished the amputation hadn’t happened, he tried to look on the bright side – he could still flip someone the bird. And, hell, it wasn’t like he’d had his Johnson blown off. Luckily for him, that appendage worked just fine. Sometimes a little too fine.
He shot Kate an appraising glance.
High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, silky black hair and a wide nose gave her a slightly Asian look. Kinda exotic, actually. Which made the freckles that dotted those high cheekbones totally unexpected. Same with the eye colour; not quite grey, not quite blue. More like a muddy mix of the two.
As he continued to stare at the woman seated next to him, Finn wondered what would have happened if they’d gone on a ‘regular date’. To the movies. Followed by a bite to eat. At that new Thai restaurant over in Rosslyn. Afterwards, they would have strolled along the canal before he took her home. It would have been a given that he’d kiss her goodnight at the front door. And, if the vibe was right, she might have invited him inside for a cup of coffee. If the vibe was really right, the coffee would’ve been served the next morning. As perfect as a date can get.
Nice daydream. Except they’d had a different kind of date. Not to mention that it was hard to kiss a lady at the front door when she no longer had a front door. Or even a house, for that matter.
Jesus! She must think I’m a real bastard.
For some reason, that thought bothered him.
‘Don’t call retreat just yet,’ Kate suddenly announced, tapping a fingertip against the laptop screen. ‘Here’s Jutier’s Day Planner. Hopefully, we won’t need a password to open it.’
‘I can’t imagine the French dude would have been stupid enough to schedule Dixie and Johnny K’s murder, but yeah, go ahead, let’s have a look-see.’
Kate’s fingers deftly moved across the keyboard.
‘I’m in.’ She opened the calendar for the month of August. ‘There’s tonight’s reception. Tomorrow morning, August third, he has a ten o’clock manicure scheduled. Later in the day, he’s playing a round of golf at the Congressional Country Club.’
‘I didn’t know Frenchmen could play golf,’ Finn snickered. ‘And the thought that he was going to have his nails done ahead of time is more than this beer-swigging soldier can handle. Pass me the Freedom Fries on the double-quick.’
Ignoring him, Kate continued to read aloud from the calendar. ‘The day after that, he’s booked on Air France Flight 039. And, the following day, August fifth at eleven o’clock, he’s scheduled to attend –’ Kate grinned excitedly – ‘ “une réunion du sept ”.’
‘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.