Although that didn't stop them from spending the next sixty years searching for the Lapis Exillis. In 1307, their search came to an abrupt end when the French king, Philippe le Bel, issued a general arrest warrant for the Knights Templar, the entire order accused of committing religious heresy. To ensure that the covetous king didn't acquire the Montsegur Medallion, the Templars hid it in the catacombs beneath their Paris preceptory.

Which is where the Seven discovered the medallion in the summer of 1940. Five years later, in the wake of the Reich's defeat, Friedrich Uhlemann managed to safely smuggle it out of Germany. Like the Templars before him, he spent years searching, in vain, for the Lapis Exillis.

In the hours before his death, Friedrich composed one last letter, imploring Ivo to continue the search for the Lapis Exillis. Considering it an honour, Ivo gladly accepted the pa.s.sed torch.

In the hopes that, one day, he could s.h.i.+ne a bright light upon a new Reich.

'Gott in Himmel,' his chauffeur angrily muttered. 'Do these people never sleep?'

Ivo wondered the same thing as he caught sight of a gypsy woman standing on the street corner, a pa.s.sel of grubby-faced children huddled at her feet. A repulsive display, he thought, annoyed when the sloe-eyed slattern dared to raise her right hand, palm up, in his direction. The beggar's age-old appeal for alms.

'Give me some of your hard-earned money because I am too stupid and lazy to earn my own keep.'

An inbred race of conniving ingrates, the gypsies, or the Romani as they indignantly preferred; they were only skilled at one thing, sucking on society's teat. And they'd done so since their ragtag horde first emigrated to Europe from the Indian subcontinent during the Middle Ages. In all that time, they'd produced nothing of lasting value. No art. No science. No literature. No music worthy of the name. They merely reproduced. Fathers sleeping with daughters. Brothers sleeping with sisters. Uncles sleeping with anyone they could find. Utterly disgusting. Indeed, the marvel of the human brain was completely wasted on them. A spinal column alone would have sufficed.

Too busy rounding up Jews, the Reich's high command greatly erred when they didn't eradicate the Romani. Yes, many gypsies were killed, but like rodents, they spent the post-war years reproducing at a frantic pace. Six decades later, they littered the streets of every major city in Europe. Like so much trash.

Trash that would be picked up and put into a garbage bin once they located the Lapis Exillis.

But first they had to find the medallion. And we only have five days to do so.

Since his father had been afraid to s.h.i.+p the Montsegur Medallion to Germany, lest it be confiscated by an inquisitive customs inspector, his last letter contained a drawing, front and back, of the pendant. Disastrously, by the time the missive arrived in Gottingen, the ink had smudged, the symbols and inscription illegible.

Although stymied by the setback, the seed of an idea began to germinate: what if the other members of the Seven had sent their children letters? Perhaps there were others, like Ivo, who wanted to continue their fathers' research, but didn't know how to find the Lapis Exillis. Or, more importantly, what to do with the ancient relic should they manage to locate it.

Inspired, Ivo spent several months tracking down the second generation.

As fate would have it, those children, now grown adults, had also received letters from fathers who'd eluded arrest by stealing away to Buenos Aires, Cairo, New York. Contained within those dispatches was the c.u.mulative research of the original Seven. Thrilled at the prospect of continuing the great work begun by their fathers, the second generation vowed to find the Lapis Exillis. To honour their fathers, they unanimously decided to call themselves 'The Seven Research Foundation'.

Naturally, the first order of business was to find the Montsegur Medallion, Ivo's father making no mention in his last missive of its whereabouts. Since that letter had a Damascus postmark, they surmised that the medallion was in Syria. It took them more than twenty-five years to locate it, finally tracking the medallion to the remote village of Al-Qanawat. Not wis.h.i.+ng to garner unwanted attention, they contracted a third party to retrieve the medallion.

A costly blunder. One that must be rectified as soon as possible.

Without the Montsegur Medallion, they could not find the Lapis Exillis, the requisite component to perform das Gro Versuch. Once the Great Experiment was successfully executed, they would be able to awaken the sleeping soul of the Aryan people.

Then they could begin again. Bolder. Stronger. More resolute.

Just as their fathers had envisioned.

18.

'Sorry, Kate. You can't come with me to Paris.'

'Since it's not safe for me to stay in Was.h.i.+ngton, what am I supposed to do?' Kate retorted, quick to bat the objection right back at Finn. 'I need you to protect me. There's no place in the city where I can hide. They know my name and address. No doubt, they've mined all my personal data off of a computer database. My place of employment and my '

'This is strictly a one-man operation,' Finn said over the top of her. 'And just so you know, the matter is not open for debate.' Ultimatum issued, he walked over to the coffee table to retrieve his belongings.

Kate trailed after him. 'But I have an expertise that you'll need once you get to Paris.'

'Oh, really?' It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. 'Is this where you tell me that you took karate lessons at the local Y?'

'No. This is where I tell you that I speak pa.s.sably good French. When I was an undergraduate in college, I had a three-month summer interns.h.i.+p at the Musee de l'Homme.'

'Good for you.' Finn stuffed his cell phone into his pocket. 'But I was planning to buy one of those electronic translators.' He didn't enjoy being a hard a.s.s, but he needed to end this discussion here and now. If he was going to get out of Was.h.i.+ngton without putting CID on the scent, he'd have to call in some old debts. Get the ball rolling. He already knew that if he went to an ATM or used a credit card, he'd be signing his death warrant.

Apocalypse now.

However, like any trained commando, he had a contingency plan. His involved a well-stocked storage locker in Arlington, Virginia. Cash. Guns. KA-BAR knife. Night-vision goggles. Everything he needed to take out the enemy.

'Okay, here's my second offer,' Kate said with a surprising measure of boldness. 'Not only does my friend Caedmon Aisquith live in Paris, but he's a walking encyclopedia when it comes to symbols and their meanings. If you want to decipher the tattoo and medallion, Caedmon is your man.'

Hearing that, his gaze narrowed suspiciously. 'I thought you were the symbol expert.'

'My field of expertise is the peoples and culture of Central Asia. Caedmon is a medieval scholar with a graduate degree from Oxford.'

'Loosely translated? He's one of those nut jobs who plays the lute at the Renaissance Festival.' This time, Finn did roll his eyes.

'I'll have you know that Caedmon is a serious scholar.'

'I don't need a scholar. All I need is a loaded weapon and a clear shot.'

'Did I mention that he owns a bookstore on the Left Bank?' Knowing full well that she hadn't, Kate kept pounding at a very dead horse. 'He has a zillion reference books at his fingertips.'

'And I've got Google at mine.'

'You said it yourself ' s.n.a.t.c.hing the medallion off the coffee table, Kate hefted it in the air 'this is your leverage with the Seven. So it might be a good idea to know what this means. As Caedmon is fond of saying, "Knowledge is power".'

'This is my fight, not yours. And it sure as h.e.l.l ain't Lute Boy's battle.'

'Where do you get off claiming this isn't my fight? A few hours ago the Seven arranged to have me killed. Why? Because I chauffeured you to the emba.s.sy. And I only did that because you conned me into giving you a lift. You knew full well how dangerous these people are, yet that didn't stop you from dragging me into the viper's nest.' Having just laid the mother of all guilt trips on him, Kate, arms belligerently crossed over her chest, stared him down.

'Do I feel bad about what happened? h.e.l.l, yeah. But it doesn't change my mind.'

'Let me be blunt, Sergeant. Because you did drag me into this mess, I now require your protection. I'm scared to death. And, trust me, I didn't like saying that any more than you liked hearing it.'

Finn opened his mouth to lob the next salvo. Only to clamp it shut an instant later. Arguing with Kate Bauer was a lot like arguing with a computerized voicemail system. You could talk yourself blue in the face, but it wouldn't make a d.a.m.ned bit of difference.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Taking her to Paris would be a major pain in the a.s.s. h.e.l.l, they'd be flying directly into the eye of the s.h.i.+t storm. But what choice did he have? She'd been targeted for execution. And he'd always been good at juggling more than one ball. So, yeah, he figured that he could protect her and hunt down the Dark Angel.

'You've got me pinned in a corner. You know that, don't you?'

'Does that mean you've changed your mind?' There was no mistaking the flicker of hope in those grey-blue eyes.

Finn nodded tersely, already regretting his decision. 'You might know a lot about symbols, Doctor Bauer, but when it comes to dealing with unfriendlies, you don't know your left from your right. My mission is to apprehend the Dark Angel and get my buddies the justice they deserve. And I don't want anything to distract me from that. Which is why you will obey all of my orders. Without question. Understood?'

She nodded eagerly. 'Understood. When do we leave?'

'As soon as we can pack it up. And, Kate ' he paused, making sure he had her full, undivided attention 'once we leave this houseboat, the only safe day will be the day just pa.s.sed.'

PART II.

'I am convinced that there are universal currents of Divine Thought vibrating the ether everywhere and that any who can feel these vibrations is inspired' Richard Wagner.

19.

Paris, France.

4 August, 0848 hours.

'Before we blow this joint, I need to lay down some ground rules. First of all, we're not on a French wine-tasting tour. This is a search and destroy mission. Period. The end. That said, you will stay close to me at all times; you will obey every order given to you; and you will not question my authority. Am I making myself clear?'

Topsails slack, Kate nodded silently. In that instant, it occurred to her, yet again, that Fate was not merely capricious, but threw a mean sucker punch.

She hitched the knapsack strap a bit higher on her shoulder and lengthened her stride. Several minutes ago they had disembarked from the high-speed Eurostar, Finn now in a 'big-a.s.s hurry to put the mission op into play'. A one-man a.s.sault on the City of Love.

At this hour of the morning, the cavernous Gare du Nord train station brimmed with hundreds of travellers rus.h.i.+ng pell-mell in every direction. Overhead, the departure board loudly click-clacked, yellow letters and numbers flipping past at a dizzying speed, like a slot machine run amuck. Kate averted her gaze, the rolling tabs inciting a nauseous churn. To add to the chaos, a strident female voice incessantly announced the arrivals and departures on the PA system.

Finn inclined his head in her direction. Although his lips moved, the ensuing remark was completely drowned out.

'You'll have to repeat that,' she told him, cupping a hand to her ear.

Coming to a halt, Finn leaned towards her, his cheek brus.h.i.+ng against hers. 'Just outside the station, I see a line of cabs.'

Taken aback by the combination of warm breath, warm body and p.r.i.c.kly stubble, Kate recoiled, hit with an unexpected jolt of s.e.xual awareness. Something that had been happening with an unnerving frequency over the last few days. When they'd shared an office suite at the Pentagon, she'd been intimidated by Finn's sheer physicality, the man taller, broader, more muscular than most. Now, for some inexplicable reason, she found herself strangely attracted to those very qualities.

Baffled by her reaction, particularly since Finn McGuire wasn't her type, Kate wondered if she might be suffering from a variant form of Stockholm Syndrome. Like a hostage with her captor, was she attracted to Finn because she was so completely dependent on him to keep her safe?

'Hey, soldier, you okay?' A concerned look on his face, Finn gently squeezed her hand.

Even though Kate knew it was his way of bolstering the troops, it caused another spasm in the base of her spine. Wordlessly, she stared at him. At that close range, she could see each individual whisker that covered his lower face, the five o'clock shadow making him appear dangerously s.e.xy.

'I'm fine,' she lied, fearing the frantic, non-stop pace was finally starting to catch up with her. 'Would it be possible to grab a cup of coffee? There's a cafe over by the '

'Later,' Finn interjected, letting go of her hand. 'We need to hit the road.'

She suppressed a groan. For the last two days, they'd been pounding the pavement. Hard.

Travelling under the radar, they'd left the houseboat in Was.h.i.+ngton and headed straight to a storage facility in Arlington, Virginia. Much to her surprise, Finn maintained a rental unit well-stocked with guns, ammo, a metal box full of cash and a Harley Davidson 'Fat Boy'. Offering no explanation as to why a sane person would go to such extreme lengths, he'd packed what he called a 'Go Bag' a heavy-duty canvas satchel with a leather strap reinforced with a stainless steel cable. He wore the Go Bag bandolier-style across his chest, having yet to take it off.

Leaving the storage unit, they'd travelled to Annapolis, Maryland, Kate clinging to Finn's waist, terrified she might jettison off the back-end of the twin-cam motorcycle. Again, giving no explanation for his actions, Finn stopped at a public photo booth where they each had their picture taken. From there, they went to a 24-hour FedEx office, the photos placed in an overnight envelope. The next stop was the Wal-Mart superstore. New clothing and a few basic toiletries were purchased, Finn insisting that she stick with neutral colours. 'The object is to blend into the scenery.' Hoping a roadside hotel would be the final port-of-call, she was bewildered when they instead headed to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware.

Which is when the trip took a very strange and surreal turn.

Met at one of the gates by a uniformed airman named Barry DeSoto, an 'old buddy' who owed Finn an outstanding gambling debt, they were surrept.i.tiously ushered on to a C-5 plane that was in the process of being loaded. Destination: Mildenhall Royal Air Force Base in England. Happy to discharge the three-thousand-dollar debt, Airman DeSoto arranged for her and Finn to stow away in the hull of the plane, wedged between stacked wooden crates and oversized metal containers.

No sooner did they touch down on English soil than another 'old buddy' met them on the tarmac. Finn gave the man a wad of cash and, in return, was handed two forged Dutch pa.s.sports, a his and a hers, emblazoned with the photos that had been taken on the other side of the Atlantic. Newly dubbed 'Fons' and 'Katja', they'd crossed the Channel on the Eurostar.

Still mentally adjusting to the fact that she was actually in Paris, Kate followed Finn through the sliding gla.s.s doors as they exited the train station. Per his earlier instructions, she stayed directly on 'his six' as he headed towards the cab stand.

A few moments later, seated in the back of an idling taxi, Kate told the hirsute driver, 'Amenez-nous a rue de la Bucherie, s'il vous plait.'

'D'accord,' the cabbie replied with a nod as he manoeuvred the Mercedes Benz cab out of the queue.

It had been decided ahead of time that their first stop would be L'Equinoxe, the bookstore owned and operated by her friend Caedmon Aisquith.

'Any idea what time the bookstore opens?' Finn slid his dark sungla.s.ses to the top of his head. Given their proximity, Kate could see the crow's feet radiating from the corners of his brown eyes. Obviously, the man had never heard of sun block. Although she had to admit that he wore his wrinkles well.

'I'm not certain. Most shops in Paris open for business at ten o'clock. Although it's my understanding that Caedmon maintains a flat in the back of the bookstore.'

'Wanna call what's-his-name and give him a head's up?'

'Um, I don't think that's necessary.' It'd been sixteen years since she'd last spoken to Caedmon. A fact that she'd purposefully refrained from mentioning to Finn. Several months ago, she'd b.u.mped into an old Oxford chum who'd informed her that Caedmon currently owned the bookshop in Paris. Until that accidental meeting, she'd had no idea what had happened to 'what's-his-name' after he left Oxford.

Finn glanced at his commando watch. Altimeter. Barometer. Thermometer. Digital compa.s.s. The timepiece had more features than some cars.

'It's a few minutes shy of oh-nine-hundred,' he informed her. 'Your buddy Engelbert Humperdinck ought to be up and at 'em by now.'

'How many times do I have to tell you? His name is Caedmon Aisquith.'

'Whatever.'

On the verge of informing her travelling companion that she despised that dismissive expression, she instead gazed out of the window. It'd been nearly two decades since she'd last been in Paris, fabled city of wine, art, gargoyles and some of the best darned ice cream she'd ever eaten. Although she seriously doubted that a trip to the Berthillon ice-cream shop was on Finn McGuire's itinerary.

As their taxi made its way along the heavily trafficked Quai de la Tournelle, Finn craned his neck to peer out of the side window. His first sign of interest in the pa.s.sing scenery.

'Is it just me? Or do those flying b.u.t.tresses make the old dame look like a carca.s.s that's been picked clean by the buzzards?'

'Are you always so irreverent?' Kate retorted, wondering if there was anything that Finn McGuire deemed sacred.

'I don't laugh at funerals, if that's what you're asking.'

It wasn't.

'I asked the question because you seem immune to the beauty of Paris,' she clarified. 'Most people are rendered awestruck at seeing Notre-Dame for the very first time.'