‘Why didn’t you pull the trigger?’
‘Regardless of what you think, the Seven has no desire to see you dead.’ As she spoke, the Dark Angel unzipped the pocket on the left arm of her jacket and removed a box of Lucky Strike cigarettes. ‘If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you at any time.’ She nodded at the Ducati 999R parked a few feet from where she stood. ‘Mine is the more powerful vehicle. It would have been child’s play to have caused a fatal accident.’
‘And the only reason you didn’t mow us over with your Italian crotch rocket is because you had no way of knowing whether or not I had the medallion on me.’ For damn sure, she didn’t spare their lives out of the goodness of her heart.
Opening the box of Lucky Strikes, the Dark Angel removed a gold lighter. She then shook a cigarette loose and extended her arm towards Finn. ‘Fumez-vous? ’ When he shook his head, she lit a cigarette, throwing her head back as she languidly blew out a perfectly shaped smoke ring.
‘I’m curious: are you just a hired gun or are you a card-carrying member of the Seven?’ he asked, admittedly having a hard time getting a handle on her.
Her brow wrinkled. Either she didn’t understand the question or she was playing dumb.
‘Okay, I’ll put it another way … are you the proud owner of a Black Sun tattoo?’
‘Would you like to see my tattoo?’ Looking like a poster girl for sin city, the blonde started to unzip her Joe Rocket motorcycle jacket.
‘Not especially.’
Affecting a pout, she released the zipper. ‘Perhaps later I could tempt you into taking a peek.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ he snarled, refusing to let himself be affected by his adversary’s beautiful packaging.
Just then, Kate stepped out from behind him, taking up a new position on his left flank. ‘What do you know about the connection between the Black Sun and the Vril force?’ she asked in a quavering voice. Although scared, she didn’t lack for gumption.
‘Ah, le petit souris avec les yeux bleus. Ou peut-être gris.’ Tilting her head to one side, the Dark Angel contemplatively assessed Kate. ‘Blue. Grey. It matters not. To answer your question, little mouse, Vril is the force that allows us to escape the prison of the here and now.’
What the fuck did that mean?
‘Okay, next question: who hired you to kill Dixie and Johnny K?’ Finn asked, steering away from the mumbo-jumbo.
‘I was sent by the Seven Research Foundation.’ She lifted a shoulder in an elegant Gallic shrug. ‘But then you already knew that.’ With an impatient flick of the wrist, the Dark Angel flung her cigarette aside. ‘You do realize, don’t you, that we have a great deal in common?’
‘News flash: We don’t have a damned thing in common.’
‘Don’t fool yourself, Finnegan … We are both killers, n’est-ce pas?’
‘I’ve only killed out of necessity.’
‘And I kill for the sheer pleasure of it, but that doesn’t change the end result.’
‘What about Dixie and Johnny K? Did you enjoy killing them?’
She wistfully sighed as though recalling a fond memory. ‘Oui. Very much so. They were both strong, their will to live immense. Their deaths brought me much pleasure.’
Jesus H! What a fucking psychopath.
A male assassin wouldn’t have stood a chance getting through a Delta trooper’s front door. But Angelika was the enemy a man didn’t expect – a drop-dead gorgeous woman.
‘I want names and I want them right now. Who hired you?’ All he needed to squeeze out of her was one goddamn name.
The Dark Angel answered the demand with stony-faced silence.
Fine. Finn unclipped the phone from his waistband and handed it to Kate. Although he wanted to personally avenge the deaths of his two comrades, he knew that he had to turn the Dark Angel over to the authorities. Since they were in Paris, that would be the French authorities. They, in turn, could contact CID and arrange to have the bitch extradited to the US.
‘Call the police for me, will ya?’ he said to Kate.
‘Non! ’
Surprised by the blonde’s frantic tone, Finn raised his hand, signalling Kate to hold off on making the call. ‘Okay, you’ve got a temporary reprieve. Give me a name.’
Staring at the medallion, the Dark Angel extended an arm in his direction, a beseeching look in her eyes. ‘The Montségur Medallion is the key to unlock the door to other worlds. We must have it returned to us. Soon the great star will rise with the sun. You have but to name your price.’
Not missing a beat, Finn said, ‘You. That’s my price. And I also want a signed confession. When I get that, I’ll gladly turn over the Montségur Medallion to whichever tattooed bastard wants it. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.’
‘Ne soyez pas un idiot! ’
‘Hey, I’ve been accused of worse things than being an idiot.’ He took several steps in her direction.
‘Don’t come any closer!’
‘Or what? You gonna chomp down on a cyanide –’ Finn stopped midstream, suddenly catching sight of a black Citroën C4 barrelling down the quayside ramp, its tyres loudly squealing as the driver took a sharp left at the bottom of the incline – the speeding vehicle heading right towards them.
‘What the … ?’
Seizing her chance, the Dark Angel charged forward, taking a nosedive into the River Seine.
‘Oh, my God!’ Kate screamed.
An instant later, the bitch had vanished from sight, cloudy water rippling in her wake.
Fuck!
The Citroën skidded to a stop a few feet from where they stood, the four-door hatch shaking on its frame from the sudden manoeuvre. Almost immediately, the dark-tinted front passenger window came down.
Finn caught a glimpse of dark-red hair.
‘What the … ?’
‘Get in!’ Aisquith hissed.
‘Fuck you!’ Finn hissed right back at him.
‘I think not.’
To Finn’s surprise, the Brit, in a lightning-fast move, whipped out a Ruger P89 semi-automatic pistol. Even more surprising, there was deadly intent in the other man’s eyes. Like it wouldn’t take much for him to pull the trigger. In that instant, Finn knew that Cædmon Aisquith did not play the lute at the Renaissance Festival.
But he’d bank that the other man was a player. SAS? Counter Terrorism Command? The Royal Marines?
Fuck.
Muttering under his breath, Finn opened the back passenger door and, ducking his head and crouching low, clambered into the not-so-roomy vehicle. He immediately slid across the leather bench seat, making room for Kate, who was right behind him.
Still training the gun on him, the Brit smiled nastily. ‘You made a wise decision, Sergeant McGuire.’
27
‘Cædmon! My God! Have you lost your mind?’
Indeed, there were days when he wasn’t altogether sane. But this wasn’t one of them.
‘I can assure you that I’m not bonkers,’ Cædmon quietly informed Kate. As he spoke, he debated whether or not to slide the Ruger back into the leather shoulder holster. If McGuire was armed, surely he would have already drawn his weapon. Although he could be carrying a knife and is simply biding his time, waiting for an opportune moment to slit my throat.
He placed the gun on his lap with the safety off.
Driving at a more sedate speed than when he arrived, Cædmon headed up the concrete ramp. He flipped on the indicator light, manoeuvring the Citroën into the fast-moving traffic on Quai D’Orsay.
‘Does she know?’ Cædmon directed the question to Sergeant McGuire.
Eyes narrowed, the commando glared at him; an infuriated bull ready to charge. ‘About the two murders at Fort Bragg? Yeah. She also knows about the suicide at the French Embassy.’