"That does seem to be our only course of action," Lucas said.
"Maybe not," said Finn. "We could always push the panic button and see what happens."
The men exchanged glances. Pushing the panic button was always a last resort. It meant activating the implant that would send out a signal to be picked up by any members of the Observer Corps who might be in the area. It was standard operating procedure for the referees to send teams of observers out into any time period being used as a battle scenario. These observers, acting as undercover overseers, seldom got involved in direct action themselves. Their duties were primarily operational. They were equipped with chronoplates to enable them to quickly move about in time if need be and they generally functioned as supervisors over the Search and Retrieve teams and as the eyes of the Referee Corps in the field. The only thing was, this wasn't a typical scenario. Officially, it wasn't an adjustment, at least not yet. It was still a TIA mission.
"You're thinking that we'd be in a hell of a mess if we pushed the button and nobody answered," Finn said.
"Actually, that hadn't occurred to me, although now that you mention it, I see where that could be a problem. No, I was thinking that, officially, we still don't have any standing on this mission. If we pushed the panic button, we'd have to come up with some pretty convincing answers and we haven't got any. Not to mention the fact that activating the implant signals would enable the Timekeepers to trace us through their chronoplate."
Both men recalled only too well their last mission, when a similar situation, a stolen chronoplate in the hands of the opposition, had resulted in the enemy's being able to trace their movements through their implants. The technology was necessary to be able to trace the movements of Temporal Corps soldiers in battle scenarios. However, since their last mission, there had been a change in procedure. The implants of soldiers in commando adjustment squads had been modified so that they could not be traced through chronoplates. Commandos on an adjustment mission were completely on their own unless one of two things happened. If a commando was killed, then his implant would automatically be activated, sending out a termination signal that would enable the S amp;R teams to locate the body, unless it were destroyed and the implant along with it. Otherwise, a commando could "push the panic button," activating the implant to signal the Observers, in which case, as Lucas had pointed out, any chronoplate would be able to pick up the transmission.
"Looks like we're caught between a rock and a hard place," said Finn. "We've had the deck stacked on us again. These people have lasers and a chronoplate and God only knows what else, while we're equipped with nothing but swords and daggers and a couple of horses. Anything else we'd have to draw from Mongoose, only we don't know where he is or if he's still alive. If he is and we act on our own, he blows our cover. If he's bought the farm and we call for help, we blow our cover. You know, that still leaves us one other option."
"What's that?"
"Chucking it all and heading for the hills. I hear the Mediterranean is real nice this time of year. Now that we've got these fancy new implants that can't be traced unless we activate them, we could just disappear and take early retirement."
Lucas chuckled. "It's a tempting thought," he said. "There's only one thing wrong with it. Neither you nor I would last a month without going crazy. Besides, suppose the terrorists achieve a split and it turns up a future in which we were never born?"
"Can't happen," Finn said. "We've already been born. Our past is absolute. Mensinger proved-"
"Mensinger didn't prove anything when it came to temporal splits," said Lucas. "All he could do was theorize. No one's ever been affected by a split before. If it's all the same with you, I'd just as soon not be the first."
"Yeah, well, I'm too young to retire anyway," said Finn. "It was just a thought."
"I think our best bet is to head back to the Luxembourg and wait to be contacted," Lucas said. "There's not much else we can do now, except find out who lives in that house across the street. You never know, we just might learn something."
They learned that the house on the Rue St. Honore was occupied by Doctor Jacques Benoit and his two servants, Marie and "Old Pierre," an elderly married couple. No one seemed to know anything about "the mademoiselle." In fact, the question raised more than a few eyebrows in the neighborhood. Doctor Jacques, it seemed, was a paragon of virtue, the soul of kindness, a giant among physicians. No one had a bad word to say about Doctor Jacques, but their inquiries did yield one or two interesting points.
Unless Doctor Jacques had some secret source of income that no one knew about, he could not possibly be supporting himself as a physician. So far as anyone knew, he did not number anyone of the upper classes among his clientele, serving the common, working citizens of Paris exclusively. His me
thods of charging for his services were erratic, to say the least. From one man, he took whatever he felt he could afford to pay. From another family who were down on their luck, he took nothing whatsoever. The owner of a local business, whose mother he had treated, was allowed to pay "in trade" and another man's fee was the princely sum of three chickens. It was widely assumed that Doctor Jacques was independently wealthy as the result of a large inheritance.
From time to time, Doctor Jacques left Paris for parts unknown. Sometimes, he simply left word that he was "going to the country" for a few days. At other times, he left no word at all. During such times, Marie and Pierre filled in for him to the extent that they were able.
Doctor Jacques made house calls. So far as Finn and Lucas were able to ascertain, no one had ever been inside the house on the Rue St. Honore except for the good doctor himself and his two servants. Except, occasionally, Doctor Jacques received visitors. These visitors seldom stayed for very long. No one had ever seen them before and only rarely were they ever seen again.
Doctor Jacques had been in residence in the house on the Rue St. Honore for at least ten years, possibly more.
"That blows the terrorist angle," Finn said, as they walked back toward the hotel. "So our friend is underground."
"Either that, or he's a phony, having killed the real doctor and taken his place."
"I don't think so," Lucas said. "This Doctor Jacques obviously has medical knowledge."
"Easily acquired by implant education," Finn said. "The terrorists are not without the means to-"
"Yes, that's true," said Lucas. "You can teach the mind, but the hands are another thing entirely. Have you heard anyone say that he had ever failed to treat a patient? That, in itself, makes him stick out like a sore thumb. A doctor in this time period could be expected to have some patients die on him, if for no other reason than that he wouldn't possess the knowledge to treat diseases for which there would be no cure for years. If he's a terrorist, then he's very sloppy. No, Finn, he's underground. He just never expected anyone to be looking for him."
"Until now."
"Yes, until now. I think we've found our underground connection with the Timekeepers. That chronoplate might very well be in that house on the Rue St. Honore."
"If it is, then we're making a mistake by not moving in," said Finn.
"And if it isn't?" Lucas said. "Either way, we're poorly equipped to handle the situation. Mongoose wants to call the shots, I say we let him. Or whoever takes over for him if he's been hit. Working at cross purposes with the TIA is going to buy us nothing but trouble."
"And if they blow the mission, it's going to buy us even more trouble."