‘Since I’ve always been something of an adrenaline junkie, the military was a natural choice,’ he told Kate, that as good an answer as any. ‘In addition to all of the action, along the way I’ve picked up an interesting skills set.’
Kate folded her arms over her chest. A challenging tilt to her chin, she said, ‘Let me guess? All of these skills have to do with guns, ammo and chasing enemy combatants.’
‘Not true. Back in ’92 when I first got out of basic training, I was stationed at a refugee camp along the Iraq–Turkey border. That’s where I learned how to deliver a baby.’
Almost comically, Kate’s mouth fell open. ‘Are you kidding me? You, the rough, tough, macho commando, delivered a baby?’
‘No easy feat given that those camps were like the wild, wild west. Except instead of six-shooters, they carried Kalashnikovs. I was with the army battalion responsible for maintaining order in the camps. Because of the Islamic prohibitions, I wasn’t supposed to look this pregnant woman in the eye, let alone peer at her, um –’ Finn cleared his throat, no further explanation needed. ‘I’d already radioed HQ that I needed a female nurse, doctor, soldier, anyone female to come to my assistance.’
‘Did anyone arrive?’
‘Just as I’m standing there holding this itty-bitty bloody baby in my hands, tears of joy streaming down my face that the kid was even breathing, the nurse finally showed up.’ He chortled, able now, years later, to see the humour in it. ‘From South Boston to Kurdistan. Of course, I’ve been all over the world since then.’
‘Which no doubt explains why you’re so jaded about Paris,’ Kate retorted, good-naturedly elbowing him in the ribs.
‘If you think I’m unaffected by all this –’ he gestured to the Arc de Triomphe L’Étoile, visible in the hazy distance – ‘think again. The difference between us is that I refuse to let the romance of the place go to my head. The Seven know that we’re in Paris. Trust me, they’re just waiting for that split-second when I go all ga-ga because I’m standing in front of some famous Parisian landmark and I drop my guard.’
A dubious expression on her face, Kate shook her head. ‘I cannot imagine you going “ga-ga” over anything.’
Oh, you’d be surprised.
Last night, sacked out on a hard floor, he kept dreaming about Kate. Talk about going ga-ga. Hot dreams full of wild, writhing sex, he was finally forced to sneak off to the bathroom to get some relief.
Removing his arm from her shoulders, Finn unzipped his Go Bag and retrieved a bottle of water. ‘Here you go.’ Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to Kate.
‘Thanks.’
He watched as she took several sips, the muscles in her throat rhythmically working with each swallow. Thinking it was a sexy sight, Finn snorted caustically. Great. Another night of getting in touch with myself.
‘Do you think the Seven Research Foundation is actually going to give you the Dark Angel in exchange for the Montségur Medallion?’ Kate asked, returning the bottle to him.
‘I won’t know until I make the offer. If they accept, the exchange will occur at the place and time of my choosing. Probably as close to the American Embassy as can be arranged. Then, when I have the Dark Angel in my custody, I’ll alert Marine Security at the embassy that we’re on our way.’ And if they didn’t accept, he had a back-up plan.
‘You do know that if the Seven Research Foundation has the Montségur Medallion, they can use it to find the Grail?’
‘Like I care.’ He glanced at his watch. 1110. Time for Phase One of the mission op to kick off. ‘The scheduled meeting started ten minutes ago.’ He unclipped his cell phone from his waist. He then removed a small digital voice recorder and earbud microphone from his Go Bag. ‘We’re wheels up in fifteen seconds. You ready?’
Kate nodded weakly. While not as gung-ho as he would have liked, the tepid response was to be expected. Scrolling through his phonebook, he selected the number he’d earlier programmed for the Seven Research Foundation.
The call was answered on the first ring by a French-speaking female.
‘Hey, how ya doin’? This is Finn McGuire calling. I’m trying to get a-hold of the Seven Dwarfs. It’s real important that I speak with Dopey. Although if he’s not available, you can patch me through to the head dwarf, Ivo Uhlemann.’
‘Un moment, Monsieur McGuire.’
‘So far, so good,’ Finn said to Kate in a lowered voice as he inserted the small earbud into his left ear and connected the cable into the jack on the digital recorder. One of his newly purchased toys, the earbud mike would enable him to record both sides of the cell-phone conversation on the digital recorder. The digital recorder would, in turn, date and time stamp the conversation. Absolutely necessary for an evidentiary recording. He knew it wasn’t enough to capture the Dark Angel and turn her over to the authorities. He needed proof that the Seven Research Foundation had ordered the hits on Dixie and Johnny K.
As they’d earlier rehearsed, Kate took charge of the digital recorder. She rolled her free hand several times to let him know that she’d started the recording.
‘Ah, Sergeant McGuire. Guten tag. We were hoping that you would call,’ a male voice said in heavily accented English.
‘Are you Ivo Uhlemann?’
‘I am Doctor Ivo Uhlemann. And may I offer my condolences for the loss of your two comrades?’
‘No, you may not,’ Finn tersely informed the polite bastard. ‘In case you haven’t heard, you can’t take the pee out of the pool. That said, a few days ago I spoke to one of your compradres, a dude by the name of Fabius Jutier. Unfortunately, the conversation dead-ended on me.’
‘I trust this conversation will have a more satisfactory ending,’ Uhlemann replied, refusing to comment on Jutier’s suicide. ‘In exchange for the Montségur Medallion, we’ve put together an offer that I think you will find most interesting.’
Finn decided to play along. ‘Okay. What are you putting on the table?’
‘We are offering you a place at the table. Yesterday, we were greatly impressed with your skills … We believe that you would make an excellent addition to our organization.’
49
Seven Research Foundation Headquarters, Paris
1113 hours
‘And will you issue me a Nazi uniform?’ Finnegan McGuire taunted. ‘Or better yet, can I get one of those cool Black Sun tattoos on my left pec?’
Deeply offended, Ivo Uhlemann glared at the telephone console. Sitting at the head of the brushed-metal conference table, he involuntarily placed his right hand over his heart. In 1940, the head of the SS, Heinrich Himmler, had decreed that each member of the Seven must be tattooed with the Black Sun emblem. At first, all seven men were horrified. However, as the years passed, the tattoo came to symbolize their undying dedication to finding the Lapis Exillis. To honour that commitment, their progeny bore the same tattoo.
‘The Seven Research Foundation is a consortium of enlightened scholars and scientists,’ Ivo replied, curbing his annoyance. ‘Given your background, we would like to make you our Chief Security Officer. In addition to the yearly five-million-dollar salary, you will be provided with a furnished two-bedroom flat in the sixth arrondisement and a BMW E60.’
‘A Beemer. Nice.’
Taking the truncated reply as a positive sign, Ivo continued. ‘If you join our ranks, we will ensure that all murder charges against you are dropped. Your good name and reputation will be restored. Honour will be satisfied.’