Scanning the crowd, Dolf finally caught sight of the American commando, recognizing him from the photo that he’d earlier been given. A muscular hulk, Finnegan McGuire looked like he could hold his own in any ring. The Bauer woman was approximately thirty feet from him, seated on a low retaining wall. A second man, with red hair, stood beside her.
Dolf did a double-take.
Who the fuck was that?
There were only supposed to be two targets. Not three.
Bewildered, Dolf wondered if he should apprise Herr Doktor Uhlemann of the situation and ask for revised instructions.
No sooner did the idea pop into his head than he nixed it, worried that he’d come off looking incompetent. The last thing he wanted was for Herr Doktor to think that he was a plodder who couldn’t move his feet and fists fast enough.
He had enough bullets to deal with the problem.
What was one more dead body?
36
In dire need of a drink, Cædmon glanced at his watch.
Mmmm … wonder if it’s too early to suggest an aperitif at a nearby café?
‘We’re not keeping you from anything, are we?’ Kate enquired pleasantly.
‘No, no,’ he assured her. ‘Although I was wondering if –’ Hit with a sudden change of heart, he waved the errant thought away. ‘Never mind.’
On edge, Cædmon paced in front of the granite retaining wall where Kate had set up a makeshift office beneath a towering maple tree. Uncertain as to the cause of his unease, he glanced to and fro. In the near distance, the Louvre’s two Neoclassical wings flamboyantly defined the open-ended courtyard. A typical August afternoon, the Cour Napoléon was a veritable hive, hundreds of people swarming about in the sweltering heat. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then why the bloody hell am I so apprehensive?
‘Cædmon, sit down.’ Kate smiled winsomely. ‘You’re making me nervous.’ Prising the laptop open, she pressed the ‘on’ switch.
‘My apologies.’ Hoping he didn’t appear as anxious as he felt, he obediently sat beside her.
Kate playfully nudged him with her elbow. ‘Much better.’
‘Is it?’ He held her gaze. Only to sheepishly glance away an instant later, afraid that Kate would suddenly see him for what he was – a wreck of a man who lacked the wherewithal to put his life in order.
Standing sentry some thirty feet away, Kate’s brooding mastodon openly glared at him.
Soldier and spy … never the twain shall meet.
‘Pardon me if I’m out of line –’ Cædmon lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone – ‘but he doesn’t seem your type.’
‘Wh-why would you say that?’ Kate stammered, clearly taken aback. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘Still intact last time I checked.’
‘Then why would you ever think that Finn and I –’
‘What else was I to think? The two of you seem rather chummy.’
‘Like you said, he’s not my type.’ The telltale blush belied the denial.
‘I see,’ Cædmon replied, thinking ‘the lady doth protest too much’. Particularly since he’d caught Kate and McGuire sharing more than a few sly glances. Although he was rusty when it came to affairs of the heart, those telltale exchanges implied a mutual attraction. One which Kate was taking great pains to refute.
‘So, I would greatly appreciate it if you, um, not mention anything to Finn about this conversation. He doesn’t need the distraction. As for me, without going into the details, what happened in Washington was –’ Kate paused, a shadowed expression on her face – ‘ harrowing. So I thought it might be a good idea to have my own personal bodyguard. In case you haven’t noticed, Finn McGuire is a human predator drone.’
‘Yes, well, he’s a trained commando. Quick to grab the battering ram. Sleeping with one eye open. All that.’ Concerned that she captained a listing ship, he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I imagine that McGuire has a full plate, what with being a fugitive-at-large. If the authorities try to apprehend him, you could find yourself in a very dangerous predicament. I can have you placed in an MI5 safe house,’ he offered, hoping to lure her away from the shoals.
‘But you can’t give me a trained commando who will lay down his life to protect me.’ Kate set the notebook computer on his lap. ‘All booted up and ready to go,’ she said, effectively changing the subject.
As he accessed his email account, Cædmon noticed that McGuire, a belligerent swagger to his step, was headed in their direction. He gave the man full marks for ably toting his gargantuan chip.
‘All right, so what’s in your little spy report?’
Determined to prove himself the better man, Cædmon strove for a civil tone. ‘I’ve been sent two dossiers: one for Fabius Jutier, the other for the Seven Research Foundation.’
‘Since the French dude’s dead, let’s first check out the foundation.’
‘Right.’ Opening the attachment, he obligingly read the summary bullets aloud. ‘Founded in 1981 by Dr Ivo Uhlemann, a German national, the Seven Research Foundation is headquartered in Paris. My, my, I’m impressed. Uhlemann has a doctorate degree from Göttingen University in theoretical physics.’
‘The group of physicists that my father always refers to as the mathematical daydreamers.’ Turning to McGuire, Kate said in a quick aside, ‘It’s a branch of physics that relies heavily on mathematical equations rather than physical experimentation.’
‘Albert Einstein, also a theoretical physicist, might take exception to that characterization,’ Cædmon remarked before continuing with the particulars. ‘A nonprofit foundation, the Seven awards academic grants across a diverse research spectrum. Everything from physics to electrical engineering to archaeology.’
‘No smoking gun there.’ Leaning close, Kate propped her cheek against his jacket-clad arm as she peered at the dossier. ‘Downright respectable, actually.’
‘Yeah, that was real respectable what they did to my two buddies.’ Punch-line delivered, McGuire yanked a leafy sprig from the imposing hedgerow that grew just behind the retaining wall.
Ignoring the other man, Cædmon skimmed through the next few paragraphs. ‘Now this is interesting. Not only do they maintain office space in the Grande Arche building, but the Seven Research Foundation was instrumental in getting the building project off the ground.’
Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘Then all of this murder and mayhem does have something to do with the Axe Historique.’
‘Moreover, a cloud of suspicion still hovers over the Grande Arche and its design,’ he told her, assuming she’d be more interested in the information than her surly companion. ‘Although no proof has ever been tendered, that hasn’t stopped the chattering café classes from claiming that a secret esoteric group was involved in the construction project.’
‘That’s scary.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ the commando muttered.
‘That’s the least of your worries.’ Cædmon glanced up, stunned by what he’d just read. ‘According to the dossier, each and every member of the Seven’s Board of Trustees is a direct descendant of an SS Ahnenerbe officer.’ He paused, assailed with a dark foreboding, his earlier anxiety having come full circle. ‘I fear that you’re dealing with a very dangerous enemy.’
McGuire shrugged and said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
Troubled by a niggling thought, Cædmon ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. ‘There’s a piece of the puzzle that we’ve not yet considered. The Seven Research Foundation is desperately trying to recover the Montségur Medallion on which, reputedly, there’s an encrypted map that leads to a long-lost Cathar treasure. How does that come into play? And, more importantly, is there a connection between the Axe Historique and the Cathar treasure?’