Faking a brave front, she mustered a smile. ‘Roger Wilco, Sergeant McGuire.’
‘Um, you’re not supposed to say “Roger” and “Wilco” at the same time,’ Finn corrected, a teasing glint in his brown eyes.
‘Are you sure about that? I’m certain that I’ve heard people in the movies say “Roger Wilco”.’
‘ “Roger” and “Wilco” mean the same thing. It’s one or the other.’
Conceding the point, Kate rolled her eyes. ‘I make a lousy commando, don’t I?’
‘Yeah, ’fraid so,’ Finn agreed. Then, one side of his mouth quirking upward, ‘But damned cute.’
Kate glanced at their two wedded hands, having long since got over the shock of Finn’s missing finger. The first time she’d set eyes on Master Sergeant Finnegan McGuire at the Pentagon, she’d dismissed him as a stereotypical warrior. A Rambo. Only recently had she begun to realize that the fierce façade masked a deeper complexity. Not only was Finn brave, considerate and loyal to a fault, he was sweetly demonstrative.
She kept envisioning a younger version of Finn, tears rolling down his face, holding a newborn infant in his hands. He probably didn’t realize it, but she’d found the story deeply moving. Four days ago, she didn’t want to know anything about this rough, tough Alpha male. But something had changed. The situation was different now. For some unfathomable reason, she felt emotionally attached. And not just because she was dependent on him to keep her alive.
Given that Finn wasn’t her type, she wondered if the heart didn’t contrarily follow its own rules.
Finn waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Earth to Kate. Let’s get this bad boy installed, okay?’ Stepping over to the door, he shoved the lock bar, swinging the door wide open. ‘Ready?’
‘Set, go,’ she said in a chipper tone as she stepped through the doorway. Hit with a blast of musty air laced with car oil, she wrinkled her nose.
Hoping she didn’t appear as nervous as she felt, Kate headed for the reserved section of the car park. Each car was in a designated spot with the name of a person or corporate entity printed on a placard attached to the concrete wall in front of the vehicle. From the dossier that Cædmon had given to them yesterday, Kate knew that Dr Uhlemann owned a Mercedes Benz S-class sedan with licence plate 610-NGH-75.
Reaching the section reserved for the Seven Research Foundation, Kate spared a quick glance around the deserted parking garage. Not only was the stairwell nearly a hundred feet away, she couldn’t even see it from her current position, elevating the fear factor several notches.
A few moments later, catching sight of a graphite-grey Mercedes parked next to the elevator door, Kate ducked behind a large concrete pier. Fingers trembling, she opened her new tote bag. Very carefully, she removed the magnetic-mount vehicle tracking device. Although heavy, it easily fitted into the palm of her very sweaty hand.
Stomach churning, she approached the big four-door Mercedes Benz.
Just then, the elevator bell pinged. One time. The signal that the doors would momentarily open. Kate gasped, her hand tightening around the tracking device.
Hurriedly going down on bended knee, she crouched next to the Mercedes’ rear tyre well. Placing her left hand on the concrete floor to keep from tipping over, she reached under the tyre well and –
– stuck the tracking device on to the metal underbelly of the vehicle, the powerful magnet holding it in place.
She lurched to her feet just as the elevator doors slid apart.
At least half a dozen people rushed forth. Frozen in place, Kate stood by the Mercedes and watched the mass exodus, the last person to exit the elevator a tall, bald-headed man in a dark suit. A Goliath with a hideously swollen nose.
The gunman from the Jardin du Carrousel!
Head cocked to one side, the brute glared at her as he approached the Mercedes.
Kate stood motionless. Uncertain what to do. She wasn’t a courageous Joan of Arc type or a glib-tongued Mata Hari. She was a scared ninny who –
‘Fifi! Yoo-hoo!’ Bending at the waist, she peered under the grey Mercedes sedan. Never a good actress, she hoped that she resembled a woman who’d just lost her dog. ‘Where are you, sweetie?’
A shadow fell over her, the brute standing directly behind her.
‘Qu’est-ce que vous faites?’ the monster rasped, demanding to know what she was doing.
Barely able to draw breath, Kate straightened her spine and slowly turned to face the man who, only the day before, had tried very hard to kill her. Up close, he was truly menacing, with a blotchy face disfigured by an engorged, off-kilter nose, thin lips and a deeply cleft square jaw.
For one horror-filled instant, Kate imagined him wearing a Nazi uniform.
‘I’m s-searching for my l-lost d-dog.’
‘Vat does it look like?’ he asked in a thick German accent.
‘It’s a little, um –’ Her mind went totally blank. ‘Oh, yes! A Yorkshire terrier! With long brown hair and a black –’ she inanely swished her hand in front of her mouth to indicate a muzzle, the word eluding her.
Eyes narrowing, the monster scrutinized her intently. ‘You are an American, aren’t you?’
Too late, Kate realized she’d spoken in English rather than French. Stupid, stupid mistake.
‘Actually, I’m a, um … Canadian,’ she stammered. ‘You know what? I’d better call my husband.’ Opening her tote bag, she grabbed the disposable cell phone that Finn had purchased for her.
Without warning, the monster snatched hold of her wrist, preventing her from opening the cell phone. ‘You can’t make that call.’
Terror-stricken, she glanced at his hand. It was huge. If he grabbed her by the neck, he could easily crush her windpipe with one mighty squeeze. Barely able to swallow, let alone scream, she frantically glanced from side-to-side; everyone who’d been in the elevator had dispersed, no one in sight. In the near distance, she heard the roar of several car engines.
‘W-why not?’ Kate warbled, certain that he intended to kill her on the spot.
‘Because of the concrete walls, there’s no reception in the garage.’
Relieved, she visibly sagged. ‘Right. Silly me.’
‘Hey, Bridget! Where are you?’
At hearing Finn’s loud holler, both she and the bald-headed monster turned their heads in the direction of the stairwell.
‘Are you Bridget?’ the monster enquired gruffly.
‘Oh, yes … yes, I am Bridget and that’s my husband calling me.’ Kate gestured towards the stairwell. ‘He’s on the, um, other side of the parking lot searching for Fifi.’
The monster let go of her wrist. ‘Go. Your husband has summoned you. A woman must always obey her man.’
54
Mont de la Lune, The Languedoc
1415 hours
Down the rabbit hole Sir Prancelot merrily traipsed.
‘Although the bastard should have been more wary than merry,’ Cædmon grumbled, accidentally bashing the crown of his head against the low-slung stone ceiling. Holding his rucksack in one hand and the torch in the other, he compressed his tall frame in an uncomfortable stoop-shouldered twist, the constrictive corridor designed for a knight of shorter stature.
He’d trekked approximately one hundred and fifty feet when the corridor abruptly switched directions, veering ninety degrees to the left. At which point the passageway gradually sloped downward. When he was a doctoral candidate at Oxford, he’d tramped through catacombs and medieval crypts, but he’d never navigated anything as strangely surreal as this. Whether by design or accident, the passageway put him in mind of a hewn birth canal.
Which, in turn, incited an existential unease, Cædmon’s heart beating noticeably faster.