‘Just in time for tomorrow’s heliacal rising.’ Dr Uhlemann turned towards Kate. ‘Our mission in the Languedoc was successful. I’ve just learned that we retrieved the Lapis Exillis from your cohort, Cædmon Aisquith. Twenty-six hours from now we will be able to perform das Groß Versuch and generate the Vril force. “O brave new world!” ’
Hearing that jubilant exclamation, Kate’s heart painfully constricted. ‘Is Cædmon still alive?’ she asked, barely able to get the words out of her mouth.
‘I would certainly hope not,’ Dr Uhlemann snapped testily.
Oh, God … Finn and Cædmon, both dead.
Afraid that she might collapse, Kate grabbed hold of the wrought-iron fence. Unbidden, one of the Four Reminders that Buddhists chant daily popped into her head. Death comes without warning, this body will be a corpse.
‘What about me? Are you planning to kill me, as well?’
His blue eyes glazed from the narcotics in his bloodstream, Ivo Uhlemann tipped his head to one side, scrutinizing Kate as if she was some rare specimen.
A long silence ensued.
Then, shrugging carelessly, he said, ‘I’m still undecided.’
69
Saint Clotilde Basilica, Paris
0638 hours
Bending over the elaborately carved font, Finn scooped holy water into his cupped hands rather than politely dipping his fingers. Eyes closed, he splashed the cool water on to his face. A bracing wake-up tonic.
Out of habit, one engrained at Catholic school, he silently blessed himself. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Then, for good measure, he murmured, ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’
Water dripping off his chin, Finn snorted to himself. Like I’m telling the Big Kahuna something he doesn’t already know.
Not only had he earlier committed four mortal sins, but he’d committed a major screw-up. He should never have left Kate alone in the cemetery. Christ! What had he been thinking? He was supposed to have kept Kate safe from harm. To protect her from the big bad wolf. But, instead, he left her alone. Sweet, gentle little Katie. Who was too inexperienced to escape from danger. And too scared to hit the target. Hell, she probably didn’t see the Dark Angel approach until it was too late.
Yanking his T-shirt hem up to his face, Finn dried his wet cheeks before he stepped through the double doors that led inside the nave.
Again out of habit, this one engrained by the US military, he scanned the cavernous interior, checking for unfriendlies, and points of egress should he run into any. He could not, under any circumstances, fall into a police dragnet, for the simple reason that he couldn’t rescue Kate from a Paris jail cell.
Although the basilica was constructed in the nineteenth century, it had a distinctly Gothic feel to it. Intimidating in the way that only a Catholic church could be. On each flank, dour-faced martyrs were eternally trapped in the long line of stained-glass windows. Sunken-cheeked and hollow-eyed, they were the guardians of the Faith. Ahead of him, prominently displayed above the altar, was a big golden cross with a dying Jesus nailed to it.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Verifying that the only person inside the church was a humpbacked crone plying her fingers to a set of rosary beads, Finn walked towards the apse. He didn’t bother bending his head or displaying false piety. He wasn’t there to repent, ask for pastoral guidance, or seek absolution. He was there to reconnoitre. To take a much-needed rest and figure out his next move.
Because, so far, the situation had gone belly up and totally fubar. As in ‘fucked up beyond all repair’.
And had become more fucked up with each passing hour as he’d hit one dead-end after another. If he’d had a knotted cat-tail whip, he would have flogged the shit out of himself. Mortification of the flesh. A time-honoured Catholic tradition practised by those wracked with guilt.
Now, because of his mistake, Kate was at the mercy of –
Don’t go there, soldier! a voice inside his head boomed. In order to find and rescue Kate, he had to stay calm. That meant suppressing his emotions. Turning ’em off and shutting ’em down.
Determined to do just that, Finn ducked to the left, parking his ass on a rush-bottomed chair. Unlike the Catholic churches in Boston, there wasn’t a pew in sight. Exhausted, he stared at the suspended dust particles, tinted red and blue from the early-morning light that shone through the stained-glass windows. Refusing to give in to the urge to close his eyes and catch a quick catnap, he unclipped his cell phone from his waistband. He’d already called Ivo Uhlemann. Repeatedly. Twice at his apartment and three times at the Seven Research Foundation headquarters. Each time, he’d left the same message. ‘The Montségur Medallion is yours in return for Kate Bauer.’
None of his calls had been returned.
Why the hell wasn’t the evil bastard answering the phone?
Surely Uhlemann knew that he had him by the short and curlies. That’s why they’d abducted Kate rather than execute her, to force his hand.
Hand broken, Finn was willing to give them what they’d wanted all along, the damned medallion.
So, just answer the fucking phone! Or at least let me find your sorry ass so we can make the trade.
Since the subway had been closed, he’d earlier retrieved Cædmon Aisquith’s Vespa, using it to go to the Grande Arche. A wasted effort. The Seven Research Foundation office suite had been locked, all of the lights turned off. Not about to call retreat, he then headed to Rue des Saints-Pères, hoping to catch Uhlemann at home. Although he’d scared the hell out of the live-in maid, she claimed that she hadn’t seen or spoken to Herr Doktor Uhlemann in the last twenty-four hours.
Belly up and totally fubar.
For several long moments Finn stared at the cell phone; he had one option left.
Shoving his pride to the wayside, he dialled the number. The call immediately went to Aisquith’s voice mail.
‘Call me the instant you get this. It’s urgent!’
He hit the ‘disconnect’ button.
‘Shit! Why isn’t anyone answering their damned phone?’
On hearing the muttered expletive, the old bag on the other side of the aisle momentarily stopped reciting the rosary and glared at him. Finn mumbled an apology.
Where did they take Kate? I have to find her!
Gut churning, he took a deep breath, able to smell incense and candle wax. Along with the unmistakeable stench of his own fear. Out of options, Finn grabbed the chair in front of him and dropped to the stone floor.
On his knees, he clasped his hands to his chest … and prayed his ass off.
PART IV
‘There was a thing called the Grail, which surpasses all earthly perfection’ – Wolfram von Eschenbach, Parzival
70
Paris
1932 hours
Cædmon Aisquith slowly made his way down Rue de la Bûcherie. Jaw clamped. Teeth clenched. By dint of sheer will.
A battered warrior come home from the wars, he owed his life to a wizened old shepherd. Barely conscious, trapped in a hawthorn bush, Cædmon had used the torch in his pocket to flash a distress signal on to the granite cliffs of Mont de la Lune. Three short light beams. Three long. Three short. Over and over. My soul is beyond salvation, but for God’s sake, save our ship. Before it sinks into the oblivion of chill death. Tending to his flock in the nearby mountain meadow, Pascal Broussard had seen the SOS.