'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 methods 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.'
'Yes, well, that's what we're here for, isn't it?'
'I was beginning to wonder.'
There was the sound of running footsteps up ahead and shouting. Then the unmistakable clangor of steel upon steel filled the quiet night air. As they turned onto the Rue Dau-phine, Finn and Lucas were greeted by the sight of a melee in progress. A young woman was pressed flat against a wall, her fists clenched at her mouth to stifle a scream. Two men were being hard pressed by seven of the cardinal's guard.
'Isn't that-'
'It's D'Artagnan,' Lucas said, 'and it looks like he's in trouble.'
'Seven against two,' said Finn. 'Shall we make it seven against four?'
They drew their swords and waded in. No sooner had they joined the fight than the other man with D'Artagnan took advantage of their intervention by grabbing the woman and taking off at a dead run down the Rue Dauphine, disappearing into an alley.
'Who's your loyal friend?' Finn shouted, while doing his best to keep two of the cardinal's swordsmen at bay. Lucas engaged another two.
'Dumas!' D'Artagnan shouted. 'And his Irish friend! I thought I'd seen the last of you!'
'You may yet,' said Lucas, giving ground before his two opponents. 'I see you're finally following your father's advice.'
'I am not certain this is… quite what he… had in mind,' D'Artagnan replied, engaging his opponent's blade and hooking it out of his hand. However, that left two more men to press in upon him and he was unable to follow it up with a killing thrust, so that the guard was able to retrieve his sword and rush to the attack once more. But just as he was about to come up on the Gascon from behind, a concentrated beam of light shot out from an alley and dropped him in his tracks. None of the combatants noticed it. Finn, using his superior strength, pulled one of his opponents away from him, then slashed his sword viciously across the face of the other. The man dropped his rapier and screamed, bringing both hands up to cover his face. Blood seeped between his fingers. Finn ran him through.
Lucas was backed against a wall, fighting a frantic defensive action against his two opponents. Confident in the odds of two against one, the guards grinned, spreading out to either side and moving in on him. Their maneuver gave Lucas the time to reverse the dagger in his hand and, holding it by the point, he hurled it at one of the guards, even as the other lunged. The dagger buried itself to the hilt in one guard's chest while Lucas parried the lunge of the other, then delivered a spinning back kick to his temple. The guard fell to the street, unconscious.
D'Artagnan, meanwhile, killed one of his men with a quick thrust while directing the lunge of the other past his side with his dagger. From the alley, Bruno Freytag kept a close watch on the combat. He was intrigued by the two strangers who had arrived to help the Gascon and he had not failed to notice that one of them had dropped an opponent with a move that marked him as an expert in Okinawan karate. His orders were to make certain that Buckingham got away and that nothing happened to D'Artagnan. His finger tensed on the firing stud of the laser, then relaxed as D'Artagnan delivered a brutal kick to the groin of his one remaining attacker, following it up with a sword thrust through the abdomen. As Finn easily disarmed the final remaining swordsman, the guard gave up and ran, leaving his rapier lying in the street behind him. Finn let him go. Seeing that D'Artagnan was safe, Freytag slipped away through the alley, heading toward the home of Camille de Bois-Tracy. He would keep a discreet watch over Buckingham until the prime minister was safely on his way across the channel.
'Well, I am fortunate, indeed, that you gentlemen happened by,' D'Artagnan said, bending down to wipe the blade of his rapier upon one of the bodies. 'And to think that I thought you had deserted me back in that tavern. I see now I was wrong.' He indicated the wound on Delaney's cheek. 'Was that received in Meung?'
'It was received on your account,' said Finn, dryly.
'Well, then I am doubly indebted to you, Monsieur Finn.'
'It's Francois now,' Finn replied. 'Francois D'Laine. Since we are in Paris, I-'
'Say no more,' D'Artagnan said. 'You are free to choose whatever nom de guerre you wish and I owe you a debt of gratitude, Monsieur, that I may never be able to repay. If not for you, that one there would have surely done for me.'
He indicated one of the corpses with his sword.
'I didn't kill him,' Finn said.
'Ah, then Monsieur Dumas-'
'I didn't kill him, either,' Lucas said, frowning.
'Well, one of us must have killed him,' said D'Artagnan. He turned the body over with his foot. 'See? Run clean through the heart!'
Finn and Lucas exchanged glances. They knew that neither of them had killed the guard. What was more,
