Chapter 4 - The Catacombs Gate
Vincent didn't hesitate. He knew Henri was beyond immediate help, and staying inside the mangled town car meant certain death. Reaching into the glove compartment past Henri’s limp body, Vincent retrieved Henri’s backup piece—a compact 9mm pistol—and stuffed three spare magazines into his coat pocket.
""Leo, look at me,"" Vincent whispered urgently, grabbing the boy's shoulders. Leo's hazel eyes were wide with terror, but he nodded bravely through his tears. ""We go into the tunnel. Stay directly behind me. Do not make a sound, no matter what you hear.""
Vincent kicked open the dented rear door with a heavy grunt. He caught the first armed operative off guard as the man moved around the wreckage. Vincent fired twice through the rising steam of the radiator; both rounds struck the operative's center chest plate, knocking him sprawling onto his back. Without pausing to assess the damage, Vincent seized Leo’s collar, yanked him through the warped frame, and bolted into the yawning darkness of the subterranean tunnel.
Behind them, automatic gunfire echoed violently through the cavernous space, chipping large chunks of ancient stone from the dripping walls above their heads. Vincent returned three suppressing shots before ducking behind a heavy, rusted iron hatchway marked with faded municipal warnings.
""Down here,"" Vincent hissed, throwing his entire weight against the rusted wheel of the hatch. The ancient gears groaned, rusted iron protesting violently before the latch finally gave way with a deafening screech.
He shoved Leo through the narrow opening into a descending spiral staircase carved directly into Parisian limestone. Vincent followed, slamming the heavy iron hatch shut and driving the manual deadbolts home just as a hail of bullets peppered the outer surface.
They were plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness, save for the weak, bluish beam of the small tactical flashlight attached to Vincent’s handgun. The air was cold, thick with the scent of damp earth, centuries-old dust, and decay.
""Where are we?"" Leo whispered, his voice trembling as he held onto Vincent’s trousers.
""The old ossuary tunnels,"" Vincent replied softly, leading the boy down the slick, spiral steps. ""Beneath the official Catacombs. During the war, my father used these passages to move resistance fighters out of the city when the German patrols controlled every street above.""
They reached the foot of the stairs. Ahead lay an endless labyrinth of low stone corridors lined with stacked human skulls and femurs, relics of eighteenth-century Paris. The silence down here was profound, unnatural, and suffocating.
Vincent paused to catch his breath, feeling the sharp sting of the cut on his temple. He knelt down, shining the light on the silver crest pendant he had taken from the café. He turned it over. On the back was an etched series of alphanumeric coordinates, along with a tiny biometric sensor built into the rim.
""Clara gave you this,"" Vincent murmured. ""Did she tell you what it unlocks down here?""
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Leo nodded slowly. ""She said grandfather built a sanctuary beneath the church of Saint-Sulpice. She said if the house fell, the real family secrets were hidden in the tomb of the seventh knight.""
Before Vincent could reply, the distant, metallic groan of the iron hatch above them echoed down the spiral shaft. The hinges were being torched open with an acetylene cutter. Blue sparks were already flickering down the curved stone walls.
