Rafe stood before the desk that held his laptop. He folded his fingers atop his head, staring at the ruins of a hallway as his team retreated. He finally let out the long breath he'd been holding.
He lowered his arms, balling both hands into fists.
He glanced to Ashanda, as if silently asking her if she'd witnessed what had happened on the screen. She still sat with the small boy, who looked half comatose from shock.
Rafe could relate.
His heart pounded, firing his blood. While he was certainly angry, a part of him could not help but be impressed.
So our quarry found some help... a bodyguard with some skill.
If nothing else, Bern had gotten a good picture of the wily culprit from his helmet-mounted camera, just before the explosion dropped the roof. While the photo was grainy, the camera managed to capture a full view of his face. The new enhancing software and facial-recognition program developed by a Saint Germaine family subsidiary for Europol should make short shrift of identifying the man.
Over the radio, Bern's voice came garbled with digital dropouts. "... escaped on foot. Local law enforcement and emergency response teams are already arriving on-site. What... orders?"
Rafe sighed, damping down the fire in his blood. It was a shame. With the limits of his body, it wasn't often he got to enjoy such a heady rush of adrenaline. He spoke into his throat mike. "Clear out. The targets won't remain in the area. We'll pick up their trail again."
It sounded like Bern wanted to argue, furious at the loss of his teammates. It must be his Aryan blood, fueling that Germanic desire for immediate revenge. But Bern would have to learn patience. If there was one true source behind the wealth and power of the Saint Germaine family, it came from their knowledge of, appreciation for, and skill in le long jeu .
The long game.
And with his unique mind, there was no better player than Rafael Saint Germaine. For others this might be a mere boast, but he'd proven himself time and again. It was why he stood here now, assigned by the family to chase after a treasure going back millennia.
Was there any longer game?
After Bern signed off, Rafe crossed back to his laptop and brought up the image of the shadowy intruder into their affairs. Many primitive cultures put great stock in names, believing that to obtain such details granted special powers over others. Rafe believed this down to his crumbling bones.
He leaned on his fists atop the desk and stared at his adversary.
"Vous tes qui?" he asked the man.
It was a question he desperately wanted to answer.
Who are you?