The last time they’d been in Paris, they’d had the displeasure of having to explore the catacombs and come face to face with the Wall of Bones. Last time, there had been a known goal and a race against time, whereas today Mason felt the threat was more nebulous, and it put him on tenterhooks.
Marduk was planning something, he was sure. Something beyond pure revenge, which was the category that the murder of Cardinal Vallini fell into. Marduk wouldn’t let it rest there, especially if he was trying to bring back the Amori.
Or these Faithful, whoever they were.
Mason couldn’t pretend to follow the madman’s inner schemings. The real truth was – he just had no clue what would happen next. Which made tracking him down vitally important not only for the sake of avenging Vallini’s death, but for the ongoing survival of the Church.
They landed in Paris in the early evening, ninety minutes after leaving Milan, and cleared the airport arrivals quickly. They caught a taxi to the Clichy district, which took longer than expected, first cutting their way through the snarled-up traffic on the outer ring road, the Boulevard Périphérique, and then in the traffic jam that Paris called an inner road network, they finally decided it would be a prudent idea to get themselves a hotel for the night. The jewellery shop would have closed by the time they arrived at its door. It was a setback, reminding them that their lives didn’t run as smoothly as they’d like, but it was only for an evening.
Sally found them a nearby hotel using Google Maps and paid for their rooms, though she’d be expensing everything via Premo Conte. This was a job. They were working for the Vatican. Soon, Mason sat alone in his room, planning to head down to the bar. He took a quick shower, changed, and then left his room. He immediately spied a figure already seated at one table, which didn’t surprise him at all.
‘Showered?’ he asked, taking a seat opposite her.
Roxy held up her glass. ‘In this,’ she said. ‘Every damn day.’
‘You didn’t order me one?’
‘Rum’s too strong for you. You’re weak when it comes to the evil spirit, Joe.’
He took that one on the chin, deciding he probably agreed with her. Roxy held up her hands, caught the attention of a server, and ordered him a beer. Mason nodded his appreciation.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Still battling. Something I said earlier resonated with me. You can’t slay demons on your own, I said. Well, our team proves it. I’m better at working with you guys, working together towards my goal. I feel better today than I have in years.’
‘Are you where you want to be?’
‘The woman I could have been? No, not yet. But she’s there. I can feel her inside, struggling to show herself. It’s all the baggage, you see. It keeps her pinned down.’
Mason nodded. ‘What turned the tide for the better?’
‘Nothing specific. Nothing I can tie down. Working with you, I know we’re doing the right thing. Working towards a moral goal. I didn’t have that before. I feel honest and decent these days, instead of dirty.’
Mason took a long swallow of his beer after the server plonked it down on their table and then sat back. ‘Which brings us back to the shower question.’
Roxy grinned, finished her rum and signalled for another. ‘And what about you?’
‘Me? I’m working with a great team. But Zach and Harry still died in Mosul. I can shoulder some responsibility for their deaths, but not all. I’ve taken on this new responsibility now, this team. We’re in danger all the time, it seems.’
Roxy smiled and looked away. ‘Do you enjoy the action?’
‘I know you do,’ he answered.
‘Sure. It keeps me on the edge of my game, where I need to be. If you’re not on the edge, you’re taking up too much space, right?’
Mason laughed. It was a typical Roxy comment. He drank some more of the pint and settled further into his seat. ‘In the end,’ he said, ‘I accepted some of the blame for Zach and Harry. That’s what helps me move forward.’
‘And what next?’ Roxy asked.
‘You mean the team? Well, we keep on getting ourselves into trouble, don’t we? I don’t think any of us will rest easy until Marduk, Daga and Ivana are …’ He paused, realising what he was about to say.
‘In the ground?’ Roxy finished for him.
‘Something like that. Marduk’s proven that a prison can’t hold him.’
‘There are better prisons,’ Roxy said. ‘And black sites.’
‘Sounds like you know a few.’
‘More than I’m comfortable with. You know what I was. I worked for an unknown three-letter agency for twelve years. They stripped me of my youth. I’ll never forgive that. And all the other shit I went through … well that’s in the past.’ She sounded like she was trying hard to convince herself.
Mason didn’t want to push her on it. ‘Hey.’ He turned around. ‘Here come the others.’
Coincidentally, Sally, Quaid and Hassell all appeared, two from the lift and one from the stairs. Mason called them over.
The team seated themselves around the table. The bar area was fairly quiet. Just two men and one woman occupied the bar stools. There were two women talking a few tables away and a young couple seated by the window. The hum of conversation was low, and the tinny music was at a volume where most people couldn’t hear it, which suited Mason just fine. The sound of a cocktail shaker was the loudest sound coming from the bar.
When they’d ordered drinks, Sally spoke up. ‘An early morning visit to Bellaire sound good?’
‘It does,’ Mason said. ‘But I think we should be extra careful. Even Madstone, from prison, warned us about this old guy. I’m thinking just two of us should go to see him.’
‘Not me then,’ Sally said a little moodily.
‘Hey, your training is progressing just right,’ Mason assured her. ‘I’d trust you to watch my back already. But I think this guy Bellaire is something different, something you need a good deal of life experience with bad guys to handle. Does that make sense?’
Sally nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘Me and you?’ Roxy looked at him, a shot glass poised at her lips.
Mason looked at Quaid and Hassell. ‘Unless you two want to try it?’
Both men looked pleased at the offer. Mason was happy to do it. They were a team, each person equal to the other, and they should be prepared to trust and rely on everyone evenly.
‘I think we should all go,’ Quaid said. ‘Why not? It’s a democracy. This Bellaire guy won’t be any the wiser if two or five of us turn up.’
Mason inclined his head, not tending to agree with the statement but taking in the team’s mood. It was an important moment, he thought. Learning what the majority wanted and rolling with it.
‘If that’s what you all want,’ though he didn’t agree in principle, he couldn’t see it causing them any problems.
They whiled the night away, sitting there and talking, going over the subject of Marduk and the Amori numerous times. What was he up to? Who were the Faithful? What would Daga and Ivana do next? Of course, they couldn’t predict what a warped mind would do. Marduk would carry out whatever nefarious plan was in his head. There was no telling what that might be. Around them, the bar buzzed with activity; the tables becoming quite crowded; the conversations getting louder. A group of suit-wearing businessmen propped up the bar at one end, becoming noisier as the night went on, their sudden bursts of raucous laughter intruding on everyone else. Several couples leaned forward across tables in intimate conversation. Mason saw an old man and woman just sitting back in a corner, people-watching, enjoying it by the looks on their faces, and making the occasional passing comment. The bartenders flew from one highly polished side to the other, taking orders and serving drinks. When Mason checked his watch, it was a little after eleven-thirty.
‘My bed is calling,’ he said.
‘Mine too.’ Roxy was looking down at the table. Mason followed her gaze and saw five shots that she’d lined up before the bar officially closed.
‘You gonna take them with you?’
‘It’s medicine to help me sleep.’
‘I thought you said you were doing better.’
‘The days are better. The nights not so much.’
Mason had never turned to alcohol to help him through the bad times. He’d turned introspective, practically unapproachable and uncommunicative. It had ruined his marriage.
Maybe drinking would have been better, he mused, and then wondered what Hannah, his ex-wife, was doing now. They had split on good terms and still kept in touch. One of the best – and worst and funniest – memories of his army days was getting ribbed by the boys because he and his wife looked very much alike, at least to an outsider. Blond hair, blue eyes, young-looking faces. Similar builds if you didn’t look too closely. With Mason, all the muscle was hidden beneath the surface, making him often underestimated.
As he would be tomorrow, by Bellaire, no doubt.
The downside, of course, was that he usually had to prove himself. But Mason had become used to it through the years.
He left the table at the same time as Quaid and Hassell, leaving Roxy and Sally to chat a while longer. He made his way to his room, locked the door, and stripped down to his boxers. The room, minus air conditioning, was mafting.
Ten minutes later, he was asleep.
The next morning found them enjoying a full English at the hotel before the jewellery shop opened. Mason polished off bacon, eggs, beans, mushrooms, fried bread and hash browns, along with a pot of coffee. Admittedly, when he’d finished, he found it hard to move, but assured himself the energy would soon kick in. The team was ready to leave the breakfast room by nine o’clock.
Mason led the way out into the day. It was cool for mid-May in France; it might as well have been mid-winter. A frigid wind blew in from the east, scouring the street as if trying to scrape the top layer off. They jumped into their car. Sally pulled out her phone, just to be safe, and followed Google Maps all the way to their destination.
‘Vintage Honoré,’ she said.
There was an ‘open’ sign in the window.