TW03 The Pimpernel Plot NEW (22 page)

“It seems to have backfired on Carnehan,” said Andre.

Finn shook his head. “No, it didn’t. How do we know about Carnehan? That was the name he gave Fitzroy, assuming that Fitzroy is genuine. Otherwise, it was the name Fitzroy gave us when he made up this fictitious pseudo-Observer. Either way, Mongoose or Carnehan was virtually certain that Cobra would be the one sent to bring him in. By using his real name, which he knew would be passed on to Cobra, he was doing two things. He was issuing an open challenge to Cobra, his old partner, and at the same time, he was warning him to watch out for Darrow.”

“But by doing that, he also gave himself away,” said Andre.

“If he’s Fitzroy, he’d have to know that Fitzroy would be the first person Cobra would suspect.”

“That’s assuming he’s Fitzroy,” said Finn. “Even if he is, making himself the logical suspect is something that would amuse him. We’re really in no position to do anything without proof and he knows that.”

“If Mongoose really is Fitzroy,” said Andre, “what happened to the real one?”

“Maybe Carnehan has him stashed away somewhere,” said Finn. “Or maybe he’s killed him. Or maybe there never was a real Fitzroy. The problem is that he’s got that chronoplate. With all his years in the agency, he has to have his own contacts. Cobra might know some of them, but he wouldn’t know them all. If we start to get too close and Mongoose gets wind of it, all he needs to do is to clock out, visit some cosmetic surgeon he’s had an old arrangement with, get a new face, come back, and start again. You were complaining that you didn’t have enough responsibility on this mission. Well, you now have the most responsible job of all. You’re going to have to be the one to tell us the truth about Fitzroy.”

“That boy will be the key,” she said. “If he contacts Fitzroy, we’ll know. What do you want me to do about the boy?”

“Don’t do anything. Follow him, if you have a chance. He has a brother somewhere that he’s very protective of. You find me that brother.”

“St. Just can’t help us much this time,” said Fitzroy.

Finn and Lucas sat at the small table in his tiny apartment making a short meal of wine, bread, and cheese. Somewhere in that very apartment, most likely, Fitzroy kept his chronoplate. It was a tremendous temptation to overpower him then and there, ransack the apartment, find the plate, and take him prisoner. The only thing that prevented them from doing just that was the fact that Fitzroy could well be exactly what he represented himself to be. If that was the case, given the way he already felt about them, their court-martial would be a foregone conclusion. The chronoplate could also be hidden elsewhere.

“Le Comte de Tournay de Basserive has been condemned to death, along with his entire family,” said Fitzroy. “The comtesse and her two children are still relatively safe. They’re in Valmy, where they’re being hidden by trusted friends. De Tournay, however, is still somewhere in Paris. St. Just has no idea where he is. He was sentenced in absentia and St. Just did what he could to defend him, but he’s already in disfavor with the rest of the tribunal.”

“How did he know where the family was?” said Lucas.

“The Tournays and the St. Justs knew each other before the Revolution,” said Fitzroy. “They were hardly in the same social class, but the St. Justs were not exactly paupers. Armand St. Just sent word that the Tournays had close friends in Valmy, a merchant and his wife whose children used to go to school together with Suzanne de Tournay and the young vicomte.” Fitzroy smiled. “Citizen St. Just has been a great help to us, keeping me informed as a member of the league. However, now that de Tournay has been sentenced, it’s only a matter of time before the soldiers of the Republic trace his family. You must get them out first. We’ll get the old man out as soon as we locate him.”

“Well, at least getting them out of Valmy should be easier than getting someone out of Paris,” Lucas said. “They’ll still have checkpoints manned by soldiers of the Republic, but their security won’t be as tight, especially since the Pimpernel hasn’t been active in that area.”

“That’s true,” Fitzroy said, “but don’t allow that to make you overconfident. I don’t want any mistakes this time. I’ve devised a plan for you to follow. I want you to pass it on to the members of the league exactly as I give it to you. If Mongoose attempts to interfere again, I’ll make certain that agent Cobra will be ready for him.”

“That would make a nice change of pace,” said Finn.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Delaney,” said Fitzroy. “I’ll remind you that it wasn’t agent Cobra who allowed Mongoose to outfox you every time. I’ve made matters nice and simple for you. All you have to do is follow instructions. Leave Mongoose to those more qualified to deal with him.”

“What do you think?” said Andre.

“I think it’s very possible,” Lucas said. “Mongoose always was a slippery customer and Fitzroy has been in the ideal position to know everything that’s going on. His voice didn’t tell me anything, even though I was paying very close attention to its sound, but then if Mongoose couldn’t learn to disguise his voice, he never would’ve made head of field operations.”

“It felt a little tense in there,” said Finn. “I hope we didn’t give anything away.”

Lucas shook his head. “I think it’s all right, for now. If Fitzroy and Mongoose are the same, we should have proof of that very soon.”

“I was thinking that he might give me the slip by using the chronoplate to clock directly out of that apartment,” Andre said.

“It’s possible, but unlikely,”- Lucas said. “If he really was an Observer, he’d do that to go from here to, say, Calais. On the other hand, we know that Mongoose isn’t working alone. He’s found himself a very unusual field man and he’s going to have to get in touch with him.”

“Suppose he doesn’t?” Andre said. “What if he decides to act alone this time?”

“He very well might,” said Finn, “but that kid gives Mongoose an advantage and I think he’ll use it. His plan gives him plenty of time to allow us to get in touch with Ffoulkes and then set out for Valmy. Once we’ve done that, he’ll probably start putting his own little plan into motion. He can use the kid to get to the comtesse and her children ahead of us while he sets things up in Cap Gris Nez. In order to do that, he’ll have to give instructions to the kid. I don’t think he’ll risk clocking around inside Paris. It’s too congested. Besides, there’s no need for him to do that. He has plenty of time. He’ll either go to the kid or the kid will come to him.”

“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 shelflike 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.