Seichan dropped her pistol and lunged forward, grabbing for the transmitter with both hands. She got her finger over the trigger before Vennard could let go. Nose to nose, he stared back at her, his eyes shining with disbelief and shock-but also with understanding.
In the end, he had reaped what he had sown.
Gabriel yanked back on the hilt and kicked away Vennard’s body to free the blade. Seichan fell to her backside, getting tangled as the cult leader fell on top of her. Gabriel raised his sword high with both hands, ready to plunge it into Seichan.
But Renny stepped behind him and cracked him in the back of the skull with the butt of his rifle. Gabriel’s eyes rolled back, and his body crumpled to the floor.
"What a loony bampot," Renny said.
He came forward to help Seichan up, but she waved to the altar. "Go free Jolienne." He stared down at the transmitter clutched in her hands. "Is it over?" Seichan caught the glint of steel shining above his scarf.
"Not yet." With the midday sun cresting high overhead, Seichan waited beside the parked Peugeot 508 sedan in front of the Ritz Paris. The rental had been arranged by Dr. Claude Beaupre to transport them from the Latin Quarter to the rendezvous back at the hotel.
As a precaution, she kept the sedan between her and the doors to the hotel. Additionally, she had Renny retreat to the square of the Place Vendome.
Jolienne was safe at a local hospital, having the cut on her neck treated. He had wanted to stay with her, but Seichan still needed him.
The doors to the Ritz Paris finally opened and discharged a trio of figures. In the center strode Claude, dressed again in tweeds, but he’d donned a rakish hat to shadow his features, clearly as cautious as Seichan about this very public meeting. It would not be good for him to be found associated with a Guild assassin-turned-traitor. He was flanked by two massive men in black suits and long overcoats, surely hiding an arsenal of weapons within those folds.
Claude offered her the barest nod of greeting.
She stepped around to the rear of the sedan to meet him. She kept her hands in the open, offering no threat. Claude motioned for the two men to stay on the curb as he joined her at the back of the car. He carried a black leather Louis Vuitton briefcase.
The historian squinted up into the bright sky, shading his eyes with his free hand. "It is noon, and Paris still stands. I assume that means Luc Vennard’s plan failed, his great purge quashed." Seichan shrugged. By now, Renny’s cataflics, the elite police of that subterranean world, were likely scouring the catacombs, accompanied by the city’s demineurs, their bomb squads.
"And what of Monsieur Vennard?" Claude asked.
"Dead." A small smile of satisfaction graced his features.
He glanced to the darkened windows of the sedan.
"And according to your brief phone call, you rescued my son." Seichan stepped to the rear of the Peugeot sedan and pressed the zero in the silver 508 emblem beside the taillight. The hidden button popped open the trunk.
Within its roomy interior lay Gabriel Beaupre, his limbs bound with duct tape and a ball gag secured in place with her own cashmere scarf. Gabriel winced at the sudden brightness, then struggled when he spotted his father.
Interrupting the family reunion, Seichan slammed the trunk closed. She didn’t want anyone passing by to note what was happening. Neither did Claude, who raised no objections to her abrupt gesture. He dared not attempt to free his bound son from the trunk in such a public space.
"As you can see, Gabriel is fine," she said, and held up the sedan’s electronic fob. "And here is the key to his freedom." Claude reached for it-but she pulled her hand away.
Not so fast.
She tugged down her jacket’s collar and exposed the steel one beneath it.
"What about this?" She also nodded over to Renny, who still had his scarf in place. "An exchange of keys.
Your son’s freedom for ours." "Oui. That was the deal. I am a man of my word." He reached into a pocket and removed a hotel key card. He placed it on the top of the trunk. "Inside your hotel room, you will find what you need to free yourselves." He must have read the suspicion on her face and smiled sadly.
"Fear not. Your deaths will not serve me. In fact, I plan to pin Vennard’s loss upon your traitorous shoulders. With the Guild hunting you, no suspicions will be cast my way. And the faster you run, ma chere amie, the better it is for all of us. But, as an additional sign of good faith, I believe I promised you a reward." He swung the briefcase onto the trunk and ran a hand over the rich leather surface. "Vuitton’s finest.
The President Classeur case. It is yours to keep." He smiled over at her with amusement and French pride.
"But I suspect what is inside is the true price for my son’s freedom. A clue to the shadowy leaders of the Guild." He snapped open the case to reveal a stack of files. On the top folder, imprinted onto the cover, was the image of an eagle with outstretched wings, holding an olive branch in one talon and a bundle of arrows in the other. It was the Great Seal of the United States.
But what does this have to do with the Guild?
He snapped the briefcase closed and slid it toward her.
"What you do with this information-where it will lead-will be very dangerous territory to tread," he warned. "It might serve you better to simply walk away." Not a chance.
She took the case and the hotel key card. With the prizes in hand, she placed the sedan’s fob on the trunk and backed to the curb, well out of the reach of Claude’s guards.
The historian didn’t make a move to take the sedan’s key. Instead, he placed a palm tenderly on the trunk’s lid. His eyes closed in relief as the tension drained from his shoulders. He was no longer a Guild associate, merely a father relieved at the safe return of his prodigal son. Claude took a long breath, then motioned for one of his men to retrieve the key and take the wheel. As his guards climbed into the front seats, Claude ducked into the back, perhaps to be that much closer to his son.
Seichan waited for the sedan to pull away from the curb and head down the street.
As the car vanished out of the square, Renny crossed over to join her. "Did ye get what ye wanted?" She nodded, picturing the relief Claude must be feeling. For the sake of his son, the historian couldn’t risk that she might have searched the papers first.
They had to be authentic.
"Do ye think he can be trusted?" Renny asked, reaching to his scarf.
"That remains to be seen." As they both stared across the plaza, Renny took off his cashmere neckpiece and revealed a closeguarded secret, a secret that Seichan had kept from Claude.
Renny’s throat was bare.
He rubbed at the red burn from his earlier shock. "It was good to get that bloody thing off." Seichan agreed. She reached to her throat and unsnapped her own collar. She stared down at the green LED light. After Vennard’s death, she’d found herself with an extra hour before the noon deadline.
Taking advantage of the additional time in the catacombs, Seichan had reached out to Renny’s network of resources. He’d claimed that his fellow cataphiles came from all around the world and from every walk of life.
Upon her instructions, Renny had sent out a clarion call for help. One of the cataphile brothers responded, an expert in electrical engineering and microdesign.
He was able to get the collars off and removed the shocking mechanism from Seichan’s. This was all done underground, where Claude was unlikely to be able to receive any warning signals from the collars.
Once free, Seichan risked making a play for the briefcase.
As she stared at her collar now, Renny’s early question played in her head: Could Claude still be trusted?