Already a disgruntled customer, Finn walked over and seated himself in the rickety cane chair next to Kate. The Brit took the vacant chair across from them.
A waiter approached. Not bothering to ask Finn what he wanted to drink, Aisquith rattled off an order.
No sooner had the waiter left than he jutted his chin at Finn. ‘It’s your turn at bat, I believe.’
Ready to hit one out of the park, Finn got right to it. ‘There’s a group headquartered here in Paris called the Seven Research Foundation that’s convinced I found a gold medallion during a black-ops mission in Syria. They’re so convinced that I have this damned medallion that they sent an assassin called the Dark Angel –’
‘That’s the blonde-haired woman at the quay,’ Kate said in a quick aside.
‘– to take out two Delta Force troopers. Which she obligingly did. She was even kind enough to leave evidence making it look like I wielded the knife.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To force my hand. Fabius Jutier, a bigwig at the French Embassy, offered me a very sweet deaclass="underline" I give him the medallion and the Seven gives me one million dollars and a “Get Out of Jail” – Shit! ’ Finn muttered under his breath as two uniformed police officers entered the café.
‘Oh, God … they’re looking for someone,’ Kate anxiously hissed.
Reaching under the table, Finn squeezed her leg, wordlessly ordering her to remain calm. No easy feat given that both cops were scoping out the joint. Kate was right; they were obviously searching for someone.
‘Did you use your own passports to enter France?’ A cool customer, Aisquith didn’t even glance at the uniformed pair.
No point in lying, Finn said, ‘We came in through the back door with forged papers.’
‘Who knows that you’re in Paris?’
‘No one.’
‘Insurance of a sort. However, because you’re a member of the US military, your photo is on a computer database. For Kate’s sake, let us hope that the authorities don’t employ photo recognition software to track you.’
‘Yeah, let’s hope they don’t do that.’ Bastard.
Just then, the owner of the café rushed out of the kitchen, greeting the two cops effusively. It was obvious from the exchange that they were regulars. Finn marginally relaxed. Kate one-upped him, visibly slumping in her chair.
‘To get back on point, where is the medallion now?’
Trained to lie under pressure, Finn stared the Brit right in the eye and said, ‘How the hell should I know? Still in Syria, I figure. I’m a soldier, not a treasure hunter.’
On hearing that whopper, Kate immediately straightened in her chair. If she had laser vision, she would have bored a hole right through his cheek.
‘And the tattoo?’
Gathering that his lie passed muster, Finn folded his arms over his chest and said, ‘That beaut was emblazoned right over Fabius Jutier’s heart. Sweet, huh?’
‘Mmmm … I take it the man is no longer among the living?’
‘See, it’s like this –’ Finn lowered his voice, forcing Aisquith to lean towards him. ‘I was in the middle of questioning Jutier – and, yeah, I admit, I was using an enhanced interrogation technique – when the weasel chomps down on a cyanide capsule.’
‘How interesting. Cyanide was the preferred suicide method for many of the Nazis.’
‘Except Jutier was French, not German,’ Kate pointed out.
‘We need to get to the bottom of this.’ Reaching into his breast pocket, Aisquith removed a BlackBerry phone.
‘What are you doing?’ Finn hissed, suddenly worried that Aisquith had duped him.
The other man glanced up from the device. ‘Requesting dossiers on Jutier and the Seven Research Foundation.’
‘But, Cædmon, you said that you wouldn’t contact the authorities.’ Reaching across the table, Kate tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch the BlackBerry out of his hand.
‘I would think that you and Sergeant McGuire would want this information.’
Hearing that, Finn was taken aback. ‘Are you saying that you’ll actually share the dossiers with me?’
‘Yes, of course. Why else would I request them?’ Aisquith snapped irritably. ‘Ah! Our order has arrived.’
Their unsmiling waiter plunked three cups of cappuccino and a wire basket of croissants on the table.
‘At this point we should mention that Finn and I don’t know if there’s a connection between the Black Sun tattoo and the Montségur Medallion,’ Kate remarked as she unwrapped a sugar cube.
In the process of stirring his cappuccino, Aisquith let go of the spoon. ‘Good God! That’s what all this murder and mayhem is about, the Montségur Medallion?’
Kate’s eyes opened wide. ‘You’ve actually heard of it?’
‘There are few medievalists who’ve not heard the rumours about the doomed Cathars and their fabled gold medallion. Their days numbered, the Pope’s army having laid siege to their last bastion at Montségur, the Cathars supposedly smuggled a treasure out of their mountaintop stronghold.’
Having just snatched a croissant from the basket, Finn glanced up. ‘You’re talking about the medallion, right?’
‘No. The medallion is simply an encrypted map that reveals the location of the treasure. And before you enquire, no one knows what comprised the fabled treasure. Some claim it’s a sacred text, others a biblical relic.’ Aisquith dunked a croissant into his cappuccino. ‘Truly one of the great mysteries of the Middle Ages.’
‘Then we have to assume that the Seven Research Foundation wants the medallion so they can find the Cathar treasure trove.’
Still in the process of dunking, Aisquith nodded. ‘Jutier’s tattoo suggests that the Seven Research Foundation is somehow connected to the Ahnenerbe. Who, I might add, were obsessed with the Cathars. No doubt the Ahnenerbe also searched for the Montségur Medallion. The Nazis were quite intent on finding ancient relics.’
‘Speaking of Jutier’s tattoo, I asked the Dark Angel about the Black Sun and the Vril force.’ Kate raised her cup. Before taking a sip, she said, ‘Although Angelika gave a vague reply, she clearly knew what I was talking about.’
‘Mmmm … interesting. More than a few historians have speculated that Adolf Hitler decided not to destroy Paris because there was something in the city that he very much wanted.’
‘I take it it wasn’t the Eiffel Tower.’ Holding a half-eaten croissant in his hand, Finn glanced at his crumb-littered chest. Not exactly the breakfast of champions.
‘While I have no proof, I suspect the Führer was very keen to generate the elusive Vril force.’
‘To power his flying saucers?’ Finn couldn’t help but snicker.
‘Fighter planes and Panzer divisions more than likely,’ Aisquith replied, refusing to pick up the gauntlet.
‘I’m confused, Cædmon. What does the city of Paris have to do with the Vril force?’
The Brit smiled fondly at Kate. ‘More than meets the eye. In that it’s invisible to the naked eye. But the best way to explain the connection is to show rather than tell. Assuming, of course, that I’m not keeping you from a prior engagement.’
‘Do we have time, Finn?’ Kate peered anxiously at him.
Figuring he needed to play along in order to get Aisquith to share the dossiers with him, Finn shrugged and said, ‘Yeah, why not? I’ve never seen a flying saucer.’
29
Tipping her head, Angelika Schwärz slowly blew a smoke ring, the diaphanous spiral floating towards the coffered ceiling. Somewhat moodily she stood at the open French doors that led to a small Juliet balcony. Below her the Seine flowed past the Île St Louis, the posh island enclave where she maintained an apartment.