“Unless he has already given Jean his instructions,” Andre said.
“That’s one thing he wouldn’t have done,” said Lucas. “He’d wait to make certain we didn’t demand any changes in his plan before he told Jean what to do. That’s why he allowed us enough time to get back to Cap Gris Nez and get in touch with Ffoulkes. Only we’re not going to do that. We’re going straight to Valmy. We’re also going to Cap Gris Nez by a different route than the one we agreed upon.”
“The important thing for you to do is to wait here,” said Finn, “and watch that house. Use your own judgment. If he hasn’t done anything after several hours or if Jean hasn’t come to see him, get over there and see if he’s still inside.”
“And if he’s not, I will break in,” said Andre.
Lucas nodded. “But be very careful. If he’s clocked out from inside that apartment, it’ll mean one of two things. He’s either clocked out with the plate, or else he’s programmed it to remain behind and clock him back the moment he activates the remote control unit. If that’s the case, you can be sure he’ll have taken steps to protect that room.”
“There are several systems he might have used,” said Finn.
“I’m familiar with them,” Andre said.
“I didn’t finish. You’re familiar with standard equipment. The TIA uses a different system,” Finn said. “Cobra gave us a brief description of it. It’s a more extreme defensive system than those used by the Corps and the Observers. Now pay attention…”
A little over half an hour had passed since Finn and Lucas had departed for Valmy, leaving Andre to watch the safehouse, when she saw Fitzroy leave by the front door. Despite the fact that there was no reason for him to suspect that he might be followed, Andre still took great precautions to trail him discreetly. She gave him lots of room, keeping back as far as she could, only closing the distance quickly when he turned a corner or was momentarily lost to her sight. Mongoose, if he was really Mongoose, seemed oblivious to her presence as he walked purposefully through the city street, heading toward the center of the city.
Abruptly, he turned into a side street that led into a small cul-de-sac, through an alley strewn with garbage. She quickly moved in when she saw him pass through a doorway into what turned out to be a small tobacco shop marked only with a crude wooden sign. A name had been carved into the sign and then the grooved carvings had been filled in with black paint. The sign had grown so dark that it was difficult to read the name painted there, but once she came close, she could see that it said, simply, “Lafitte’s.”
Cautiously, Andre peered through the grimy window. She saw a small room, crudely furnished with several tables and benches, where customers could sit and drink wine while they sampled tobacco from the jars upon the shelves on the left side of the room. On the other side of the room was a large workbench upon which some carving tools were scattered around. She could see some clay pipes stacked and ready for the kiln at the back of the shop, as well as several meerschaums in various stages of completion. Some wooden pipes, a novelty in Paris, had been carved from apple and cherry wood and hung by the bowls on nails driven at angles into the wall. The door was wedged open and Andre could smell the pleasant aroma of strong tobacco wafting out from the interior of the shop.
Fitzroy stood at a shelf like partition at the back of the shop behind which was a heavy curtain that separated the shop from some back room.
“Lafitte!” he called out.
An old man with a leathery face and shaggy, unkempt gray hair pulled back the curtain and came into the shop, wiping his hands upon his dirty leather apron. A large, egg-shaped meerschaum, colored so deeply that it was almost black, was clamped between his teeth. He seemed to recognize Fitzroy.
“Where is that worthless nephew of yours?” Fitzroy said.
The old man shrugged, turned around and pulled back the curtain. “Jean!” he yelled, his voice sounding like a death rattle.
The boy came out after several minutes, holding a broom. Upon seeing Fitzroy, he propped the broom up against the wall and joined him at one of the tables. The old man went back behind the curtain, but Mongoose, for it was obviously he, spoke with the boy in low tones and Andre could not make out what they were saying. After a short while, Mongoose rose from the table and Andre quickly got out of sight before he came back out of the shop. She followed him back to the apartment.
She waited another half an hour to forty-five minutes, watching the house from across the street, then she went up to the door and went inside. Moving slowly and quietly, she made her way up the stairs. She paused just outside the door, her back pressed against the wall, her head cocked as she listened intently for any sound coming from within. There was none. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a length of wire. Pulling on a pair of leather gloves, she shaped it carefully, then slipped it through the crack in the door, maneuvering it so that it bent itself around the wooden bar on the other side and then poked out through on her side again. Very carefully, she grabbed both ends and slowly, using gentle, steady pressure, worked the bar back bit by bit. When she was done, she replaced the wire back into her pocket and took a deep breath. Crouching on her knees, away from the front of the door, she reached out and quickly pulled it open, then jerked back.
A beam shot out the door at about the level her chest would have been had she been standing. It began to burn its way through the thick wall opposite the door. She had perhaps a few seconds in which to act. Staying very low, she dove through the door beneath the beam, spotted the assembled chronoplate in the center of the room and quickly moved toward it. She didn’t know the failsafe code for this particular unit, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need it. She kicked at the control panel, then ran out the door as the defense system shut itself off. She knew she had only seconds left before the failsafe was triggered. She was at the top of the stairs when the force of the explosion picked her up and threw her into the wall just above the landing. Stunned, she managed to pick herself up and get down to the first floor, then out the door.
A crowd was beginning to gather, attracted by the noise of the explosion and the smoke pouring through the hole in the wall on the second floor. Andre pushed her way through, grateful for the fact that none of her bones seemed to have broken. Her face was bleeding from her having struck the wall and her chest and head hurt. Perhaps she had sustained a slight concussion. Mongoose, however, had more serious problems.
If he was lucky, he had not been able to react to his alarm quickly enough to activate his remote clockback unit. Otherwise, he had either been caught in the explosion when he materialized or else he would never materialize anywhere, being trapped forever in the limbo soldiers called “the dead zone.” For the sake of agent Cobra, Andre hoped that Mongoose was still alive. Personally, she did not much care one way or the other.
The Comtesse de Tournay was an elegant old woman who conveyed no impression that she had narrowly escaped France with her life. To look at her, one would not think that her husband still remained behind in Paris, a hunted enemy of the state. She arrived in Dover attired in the height of fashion, carrying her elaborately coiffed white head high and sniffing with disdain at the fishy smell of the seacoast town. Her son, the young vicomte, was barely eighteen years old and, like his mother, he carried himself in a grand manner, back ramrod-straight and shoulders thrown back. He walked with a cocky swagger and kept his left hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword. Suzanne de Tournay, on the other hand, seemed markedly unaffected, by comparison. She spoke English better than either her mother or her brother. While they had been content to remain in their cabins on the Day Dream during the crossing, she had kept company on deck with Andrew Ffoulkes. With her hat held in her hand, she had allowed the wind to play havoc with her hair as she breathed in the salty air and gloried in their newfound freedom while, at the same time, she shared her concern for her father with Ffoulkes, her rescuer, who had become totally captivated by her.
As they entered the Fisherman’s Rest together with Ffoulkes and Dewhurst, Jellyband seemed to be everywhere at once bowing, wringing his hands anxiously, looking to their comfort and barking orders at his serving staff.
“Well,” said the comtesse, speaking English with a thick French accent, “I must admit, this is not quite the hovel I imagined it to be when I saw it from the outside. Still, I trust that we will not be remaining long?”
“Only long enough to have a bite to eat and arrange for
a coach to London, Madame la Comtesse,” said Dewhurst.
“In that case, the sooner we can dine and be on our way, the better,” she said, haughtily. “We have been subjected to quite enough indignities. Please do not misunderstand, Lord Dewhurst; I am most grateful to you and this gallant Scarlet Pimpernel for delivering us from persecution. However, if I had to spend one more night in that frightful, smelly little shack, I think I would have gone quite mad.”
“It was not so bad, Mama,” Suzanne said, a bit embarrassed by her mother’s remark. “Anyway, all that is behind us now. We are in England! Soon we shall be meeting many others like ourselves, who have found new homes here.”
“Indeed,” the old woman said, adding another contemptuous sniff. “I am quite sure that it will not all be entirely uncivilized. Still, there is one recent emigre I hope that I shall never meet. Have you gentlemen ever heard of a woman named Marguerite St. Just?”
Dewhurst and Ffoulkes glanced at each other uneasily.