Finn shot her a warning glance in the side mirror. Kate didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’d just been telepathically ordered to ‘Shut up and stop back-seat driving! ’
Moments later, as they passed the Gothic St Séverin, she caught sight of the grotesque stone gargoyles that extended from the gables. For centuries they’d stood sentry high atop St Séverin, keeping evil at bay. She offered up a quick prayer, the silver motorcycle still ‘on their six’.
As they approached the congested Quai St Michel, Kate knew Finn had only one option – turn left or end up in the River Seine. Leaning close as he made the approach, she braced herself for the sharp turn, the Vespa precariously lurching off balance.
Which is when it occurred to her that neither of them wore a helmet. Or any other form of protective clothing.
That realization made her pray all the harder.
No sooner did they make the turn on to Quai St Michel than Finn proceeded to weave in and out of traffic. The silver sports bike zigzagged right along with them, easily keeping pace with their every manoeuvre, the helmeted driver waving at her as she glanced at him over her shoulder.
‘Hasn’t your buddy Aisquith ever heard of a tune-up?’ Finn complained. ‘We’d have more power on a tricycle.’
Evidently their pursuer thought the same thing because suddenly he revved his engine. Where before there had been five feet between them, the distance was now reduced to five inches.
Like a high-speed battering ram, the motorcycle butted the back of the scooter.
‘Finn!’
‘I know! I can’t go any faster!’ he hollered, veering in front of a taxi.
The motorcycle pulled abreast of them.
Which is when Kate saw the driver remove a weapon from his jacket.
‘He has a gun!’ she screamed, every muscle in her body tensed, already anticipating rigor mortis.
What happened next was a visual blur as Finn abruptly swerved to the right on to an exit ramp – an exit ramp that descended to the paved wharf that fronted the Seine. On one side of the pavement there was a two-storey retaining wall that abutted the multi-lane speedway; on the other side was the river.
Finn cut the engine on the Vespa and slammed his booted foot against the kickstand.
‘Get off! Quick! He’ll be here any second!’
Kate did as instructed, offering no resistance when Finn grabbed her by the hand and ran over to the water’s edge. About a hundred yards away a grey-haired man seated in an aluminium deck chair was fishing, a dog asleep at his side. Fifty yards in the other direction were two parked cars, their owners nowhere in sight. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.
‘Okay, it’s show time,’ Finn hissed, jutting his chin towards the silver motorcycle zooming down the concrete ramp. ‘You let me handle this. No interfering. Understood?’ As he spoke, he shoved her behind him, shielding her with his much larger body.
‘What are you going to do?’ Kate asked fearfully, wondering if there was anything he could do.
‘I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do … I am not going to retreat.’ Unzipping the canvas satchel slung across his chest, Finn removed the Montségur Medallion from his bag, the gold disc brightly gleaming in the midday sun.
‘Drop your weapon!’ Finn shouted at the helmeted man on the motorcycle. ‘Or the medallion gets hurled in the river!’
26
‘And just so we’re clear –’ smiling mirthlessly, Finn tossed the Montségur Medallion into the air, catching it in his left hand – ‘this has no value to me whatsoever. One wrong move from you and I will not hesitate to fling it like a damned frisbee into the Seine.’
He hoped to God the bravado worked. If not, they were screwed. Other than the somnolent old man with the hook’n’line dangling in the water, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He and Kate were in the open. Completely exposed. Even the old man wouldn’t know what had happened until all was said and done; the bad guy’s HK semi-automatic had a silencer on the end of it.
Which probably explained why Kate was quaking against his backside.
Or maybe she knew there was one really big chink in his armour – he had no weapon.
In those few seconds before the motorcycle roared on to the wharf, he thought about grabbing the KA-BAR knife. He had a deadly aim and to hell with the legal consequences. He always said he’d rather be tried by twelve than carried by six. But at the last moment something made him reach for the medallion instead. He wasn’t altogether certain why he did it, other than he had a gut feeling it was the better weapon to draw from his holster.
The helmeted rider, his features obscured by the black-tinted face guard, lowered his weapon, setting it on the ground. The bastard then did the unexpected and kicked the damned thing into the Seine, the gun hitting the water with a loud splash.
Cocky motherfucker.
Finn raised a quizzical brow. ‘You know, I was fully expecting you to play a few more hands before folding. You must want this medallion real bad.’ When his adversary made no reply, he said, ‘I’ll take that as a “Yes”. Now that we’ve got that settled, lose the helmet, asshole. I want to see your face. Slowly. No sudden moves or the medallion will end up next to the HK at the bottom of the river.’
Clasping either side of the metallic grey helmet, the other man complied with the request.
The moment the helmet was removed, Finn sucked in a deep breath, completely blown away.
Holy shit!
Unhurriedly, well of aware of the effect, his adversary shook out a mane of long, silver-blonde hair. Hearing Kate’s indrawn breath, Finn could only assume that she was equally stunned to discover that the person standing opposite them was a woman.
Quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded to know, still getting over the shock.
‘Some call me Angelika; others, the Dark Angel,’ the woman calmly replied in a husky French accent.
The Dark Angel!
Fuck!
Finn glared at the leather-clad assassin. Although sorely tempted to kill the bitch with his bare hands, he’d vowed that Dixie and Johnny K’s murderer would stand trial. That meant he had to have her alive and kicking. She wasn’t worth a damn to him dead.
‘So, which do you prefer … the Dark Angel or Angelika?’
‘I prefer the Dark Angel.’
‘What is that, your alter ego?’
‘Mais, oui. In the war between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness, the Dark Angel will be triumphant.’
Finn snorted derisively. ‘Thanks, Yoda. So, how about telling me how you tracked us. Hell, we haven’t been in Paris but a few hours.’
‘While you have many skills, you committed a glaring blunder.’
‘Yeah? What was that?’
‘You took Fabius Jutier’s laptop from his embassy office.’ Her lips curled in a gloating smirk. ‘We surmised that you did so in order to mine the computer for information regarding our organization. Information which would have led you directly to our headquarters here in Paris.’
‘I didn’t steal a damned thing,’ Finn said with a shake of the head.
‘There’s no sense lying. The misdeed is done. Since you are a decisive man, we knew that you would go on the offensive. Which is why we’ve been watching the airports and train stations around Paris.’ The smirk morphed into a come-hither smile. ‘If you must know, I had you in my gun sights earlier this morning at Gare du Nord.’