‘It’s not your fault.’ He hesitated, worried that if he shouted for help, an armed interloper might answer the summons.
Bugger it.
Cupping his hands to his mouth, Cædmon stepped away from the door and bellowed, ‘McGuire! Where are you? We need your assistance!’
Ears still ringing from the first three bomb blasts, he cocked his head to one side and listened attentively.
Not so much as a pin. Damn.
He walked back to the exit door. ‘Doctor Uhlemann’s postmortem revenge, I daresay. Not only are we in the stocks, but we’re unable to communicate with the outside world. Only one thing left to do.’ Although his right arm ached and his head throbbed ferociously, Cædmon forcefully beat on the steel door with his balled fist in the hope that someone might be on the other side.
The painful shock waves that pounded his body in the aftermath were for naught. No one replied.
‘Wait!’ Wide-eyed, Kate clutched his forearm. ‘Didn’t Dolf key in a security code to gain entry to the viewing chamber?’
Cædmon replayed the scene in his mind’s eye. ‘He did, but I didn’t take note of the code.’
‘Um … let me think a minute …’ Closing her eyes, Kate raised her right hand. She then took several deep breaths before her fingers moved across an imaginary keypad. An instant later, her eyes popped open. ‘Three, eight, two, five, six, three. Try it.’
He hurriedly keyed in the code.
Hearing the lock click open, Cædmon sagged against the door jamb. Although he wasn’t a church-going man, he offered up a grateful prayer.
‘What a relief,’ Kate murmured. ‘We need to wait here until –’
Just then, a blast detonated on the upper level of the atrium. The force of the explosion blew out an entire bank of frosted glass, strafing the mezzanine with thousands of white shards. A deadly snowfall. A second later, the next blast detonated, hurling a section of railing through the air.
‘Finn! Where are you?!’ Kate screamed over the third and final bomb blast.
90
Washington, DC
Two weeks later
The waiter placed an iced coffee in front of Kate. She promptly reached for the ceramic sugar bowl. He then set a glass of tonic water, sans the gin, in front of Cædmon, prompting him to grit his teeth. Mindful that gin had rendered him an unfeeling brute, he was now determined to retain what few shreds of humanity he still had left. The going wasn’t easy. Case in point.
Res ipsa loquitur. The damned thing speaks for itself, in a blaringly loud voice.
‘I’m glad that, in the end, you and Finn managed to overcome your differences,’ Kate remarked as she stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her glass, ice cubes tinkling merrily.
Assuming a solemn air, Cædmon placed his right hand over his heart. ‘As the Buddha so wisely extolled: “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.” ’
Her brow puckered. ‘Did you have to mention the Buddha?’
Reaching across the table, Cædmon gently patted her hand. ‘Give it time, Kate. Yours is a forgiving religion.’
‘Other than the fact that everyone is speaking English, it almost feels like we’re sitting at an outdoor Paris café,’ she effused, effectively changing the subject.
Cædmon glanced at the Georgetown cityscape, the quaint eighteenth-century brick architecture more reminiscent of London than Beaux Arts Paris. Kate, no doubt, referred to the weather; a typical August evening, it was hot, humid and oppressively muggy, the air so thick it was palpable. A week ago when they had left Paris, the city had been in the midst of a fiendish heat wave.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Cædmon, for helping me get everything settled. I had no idea that there would be so much paperwork to fill out, what with the insurance forms for what used to be my house, police reports and a slew of security statements.’ Shaking her head, Kate amiably chuckled. ‘I’m thinking of changing my middle name to “Affidavit”.’
‘I was happy to assist.’
‘All the same, treating you to a glass of tonic water seems small recompense.’
‘More than I deserve.’
Particularly since he’d damned near got her killed at the Seven Research Facility. No surprise that after the bomb blasts they’d immediately been apprehended, the explosions bringing the official sector out in force. Debriefed ad nauseam, they’d finally been exonerated of any wrongdoing, with security agencies on both sides of the Channel relieved that Dr Uhlemann’s ‘Great Experiment’ had been disrupted. Although those same security agencies were none too pleased that the CTC device had been destroyed, quick to recognize that it was the sort of game-changing technology that could easily alter the balance of power.
Thank God it had been destroyed. Cædmon didn’t trust his own government with that kind of technology, let alone a foreign rival.
In exchange for the blanket annulment, they were forced to sign a confidentiality agreement, a draconian contract which secured their vow to never mention, write about, whisper, or mutter in their sleep anything to do with the Seven Research Foundation, the Vril force, or what took place in that underground bunker beneath the Grande Arche.
As fate would cruelly have it, the Grail had been obliterated in the pipe bomb explosion. For the best, Cædmon grudgingly conceded, the reality far more dangerous and deadly than the innocent prize that Parzival sought. The mass of men could not comprehend the breadth of the Grail’s power, while the few who did were hell-bent on using it to advance their own twisted ambitions.
Because of that, the Grail would forever remain that most elusive of relics.
‘So, what’s next on your agenda?’
‘Er, if you must know, I intend to further investigate the Cathar sanctuary at Mont de la Lune,’ he confessed diffidently, worried that Kate might think him bonkers. Or that he was biting off more than he could reasonably chew. ‘There’s a mystery there that I’m keen to solve. Perhaps I can shed some light on what has always been a dark page in medieval history.’ The confidentiality agreement didn’t cover the time that he spent in the Languedoc. Since the ‘powers that be’ had failed to enquire, he had accordingly failed to volunteer the details of his trip. How fortuitous.
‘I can’t wait to read the book.’ Kate moved her right hand theatrically through the air, disclosing an imaginary book title. ‘You can call it Isis Revealed.’
‘Such high expectations. I might crumble under the strain.’
‘You’re a stronger man than that.’
‘We shall see,’ he quietly replied, still navigating the shoals.
Just then a bloke blithely strolled past their table in a pair of rudely tight trousers. Emblazoned on the front of his T-shirt was a single word, boldly printed all in capital letters: HUNG.
‘Talk about being boastful.’
Raising his glass of tonic water, Cædmon chortled good-naturedly. ‘At least give the fellow credit for using the correct verb tense.’
‘While I love Washington, there are some things that I’m not going to miss.’ Kate rolled her eyes at the retreating braggart. ‘That was one of them.’
‘Just letting his freak flag fly, as your commando is wont to say. Ah! Unless I’m mistaken, this is him now come late to the party.’ Cædmon nodded at the yellow cab that had pulled up to the nearby kerb.
The back door opened and Finnegan McGuire got out of the taxi. Mercifully, he’d survived the explosion at the research facility, managing to take cover behind a brawny 3000-pound mainframe computer before the pipe bombs detonated. While he’d been bashed up quite a bit, suffering several cracked ribs, deep lacerations and a nasty concussion, he’d lived to tell the tale. He’d also had the foresight to record enough of the tale on to a digital voice recorder. Though it’d taken nearly a week for CID, the French National Police and INTERPOL agents to verify the evidence, he was eventually cleared of the murder charges.