The Pimpernel Plot tw-3

by Simon Hawke

  “All right, Lady Blakeney, let’s see if we can’t sit you up and try to make you a bit more comfortable. At least, as comfortable as possible, under the circumstances.”

  As she felt his hands on her, she gave a convulsive jerk and thrashed toward him, trying to swipe at him with her hands tied behind her back.

  “What the… ow! Damn bitch scratched me. She…” The voice trailed off. Then her hands were seized and she felt the ring being wrenched off her finger.

  For several moments, nothing happened. Then she heard a clearly audible sigh of relief.

  “Christ, for a moment there, I thought I’d had it.”

  She felt herself being turned over and she looked up at the face of her assailant. He was of medium height, not as tall as Percy, and he was dark-haired. He had the build of an athlete, he was clean-shaven, and he was good-looking in a menacing sort of way. He smiled and it was an amazingly charming smile. He held up the ring.

  “You gave me quite a turn there,” Mongoose said. “It certainly would have been ironic if I’d had this thing turned against me. However, if he gave it to you, which I doubt, he did not show you how to load it. Fortunately for me, the cartridge has been spent.” He put the ring in his pocket. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? I suppose it’s just as well. Jean, get over by the window there and let me know if you see anybody coming.”

  The boy complied.

  “You needn’t stare at me so malevolently,” he told her. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to save his life.”

  “Three men approaching,” Jean said from the other side of the room.

  “It’s getting awful crowded down there, isn’t it?” said Mongoose.

  “They are coming inside.”

  “I rather thought they would. This is beginning to get interesting.” He went over to the window. “I estimate that it should take the soldiers at least another half an hour, maybe a little less, to work their way through town. That’s if they’re efficient.”

  Marguerite was looking around to see if there was anything that she could knock over or use to free herself when her gaze fell upon the door. The boy had shut and bolted it before and now something was burning its way through the wooden bolt from the other side! Her eyes widened as she saw the tiny wisps of smoke curling up from the bolt. It was as though someone was using a very fine saw on it, but she could see no blade and there was no sound whatsoever.

  “More people coming,” Mongoose said. “It’s getting to be quite a-”

  The door swung open silently, revealing a tall man holding a small metal tube in his right hand.

  “Watch out! “ the boy said and, in the same instant, drew a slim knife from behind his neck and hurled it at the tall man holding the tube. It struck him in the chest and he fell, but whatever sound he made in striking the floor was drowned out by the noise of all the customers downstairs. There were two other men behind him, but all Marguerite saw was a thin, brilliant shaft of light that seemed to appear and disappear all in one second. She did not know how it happened, but suddenly the two other men were on the floor as well, having fallen out of her line of sight.

  Mongoose closed the door quickly. He looked at Jean and grinned. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said. “I didn’t even know you carried a knife.”

  Jean bent down over the first man, the one he had killed. “I thought it was a pistol,” he said. “What is-”

  “Don’t touch it!”

  The boy froze.

  “It’s all right, “ said Mongoose

  Marguerite saw that the man held an identical tube in his right hand. He bent down and took the other tube from the dead man, then removed two others from the other men.

  “What is it?” Jean said. “I have never seen a weapon like that before.” He stared at the tubes Mongoose held. “How can they kill so… so…”

  “Never mind,” said Mongoose. “Here, take your blade back. And thanks. You saved my life.”

  “You would have done the same for me,” Jean said, gallantly. He was obviously proud.

  “Yes, but what you just did is a great deal more important. Much more important than you could possibly believe or understand. Here, help me drag these bodies out of the way. Over in the corner, there.”

  “Who were these men?” said Jean, dragging one of them by the legs across the room.

  “You might say that they were colleagues of mine, in a way,” Mongoose said, with a chuckle. “A very unusual way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “They were not the same three men I saw enter the inn just now,” said Jean. “They are dressed differently. Besides, they would not have had the time to get upstairs so quickly.”

  “You’re right,” said Mongoose. “You don’t miss a thing. These characters were already here. My guess is that they were coming upstairs to take up their positions and they overheard us in here. All this means that we have very little time. No time for any more questions. From now on, you just listen well and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Whatever happens next is going to happen very fast.”

  He looked at Marguerite. “Lady Blakeney, you’ll excuse us, won’t you? Don’t try to get free; you won’t be able to. If you roll off the bed and onto the floor, you’ll only succeed in making yourself more uncomfortable and you might hurt yourself.”

  He opened the door and stepped outside, with Jean following him. The door swung shut and Marguerite, finally succumbing to the shock of what she had just experienced and the effect of all the wine she had drunk, passed out.

  They ran into Andrew Ffoulkes as they were approaching the inn. Ffoulkes had been out to Pere Blanchard’s cottage and, not having found them there, had hurried back to town as quickly as he could. He caught up to them when they were within a block of Brogard’s inn.

  “Ffoulkes!” said Lucas. “Where are you coming from? What’s happened?”

  “Thank God I’ve found you,” Ffoulkes said, dismounting from his horse. “I’ve just been out to the cottage and, not finding you there, I thought that all was lost! I came with Marguerite-”

  “Marguerite!” said Finn. “Here? What the hell is she-”

  “She’s waiting upstairs in the Chat Gris,” said Ffoulkes. “I told her not to venture forth from her room under any circumstances. We are all in great danger. We came to warn you.” He saw Cobra, registering his presence for the first time. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s all right,” said Finn. “This is Collins. He’s one of us, one of our agents in France. Speak quickly, man, what danger? Warn us about what?”

  “It’s Chauvelin,” said Ffoulkes.

  “The French representative?” said Finn.

  “The French spy. He knows everything. He knows you are the Scarlet Pimpernel. He has come to France to set a trap for you. He cannot be far behind.”

  “Then we’ll have to move quickly,” Cobra said, taking over. “The Comte de Tournay and St. Just will be arriving any moment. Ffoulkes, you’d best get back to the cottage and wait for them. We’ll send them on to you. Meanwhile, we must go and take Lady Blakeney from the inn. It is a dangerous place for her to be.”

  Ffoulkes glanced at Finn for confirmation. “Do as he says,” said Finn. “Quickly!”

  Ffoulkes swung up into the saddle. “Good luck, Percy. God speed!”

  As he galloped off, Finn turned to Cobra and said, “That was quick thinking.”

  “We’ll have to move even quicker,” Cobra said. “Lucas you and Andre take up positions at opposite ends of the street. I’ll cover the inn from the outside while Finn goes in and gets Marguerite. If you see any soldiers coming, fire your pistols. That’ll warn us and it may give the soldiers pause, since they won’t know what they’ll be riding into. The moment Finn’s got Marguerite safely out of the inn, you all get to Pere Blanchard’s hut as quickly as you can. I’ll stay behind to redirect the Comte de Tournay and St. Just.”

  “A
lone?” said Lucas.

  “Chauvelin doesn’t know me,” Cobra said. “I’ll be safe enough. Besides, without someone to guide them, they’ll miss that footpath down to the cottage in the dark. Now get going.”

  Lucas and Andre split up, each of them running to take up their positions at opposite ends of the street, where they would have a good view of any soldiers approaching. Even if they didn’t see them in the darkness, they would hear the approach of mounted men and have enough time to fire their warning shots and run for it.

  “How the hell did Marguerite find out-” Finn began, but Cobra interrupted him.

  “You can ask her later. Right now, let’s get her out of there before Chauvelin shows up. We can worry about the fine points once we’re all safely out of France.”

  They ran to the inn.

  “Don’t waste any time,” said Cobra.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Finn. He opened the door and entered the Chat Gris. He noticed that Brogard wasn’t doing as badly as he usually did. At first glance, he estimated that there were perhaps fifteen or twenty customers seated at the tables. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the moment that he entered the inn, it seemed to him that there was a brief lull in the undertone of conversation. Standing there, he felt suddenly very vulnerable.

  Pull yourself together, Delaney, he thought. This is no time to have an attack of paranoia.

  He put an expression of vague boredom on his face and started walking casually across the room, heading for the stairs leading up to the second floor. He was about halfway across the room when he heard someone call out Blakeney’s name. For a moment, he froze, then turned around to see Chauvelin rising from a table about twenty feet away.

  “It is you,” said Chauvelin, beaming. “What a pleasant surprise! Whatever are you doing in France, Sir Percy?”

  It was with an effort that Finn kept himself from glancing toward the door. He would simply have to brazen it out. He hoped that Cobra was on the ball. With difficulty, he put a smile on his face and started walking toward Chauvelin’s table.

  “Odd’s life!” he said. “Chauvelin, isn’t it?”

  “I am so pleased that you remembered,” said Chauvelin.

  “Imagine running into you again in a place like this,” Finn said. “I thought I’d just pop over and pick up some of your excellent French wine.” He extended his hand.

  Chauvelin also extended his hand. There was a pistol in it.

  “I think not,” said Chauvelin. His smile disappeared. “I am afraid that your diet will consist of bread and water from now on. However, you shall not have to put up with such an inconvenience for long. The guillotine has long been waiting for the Scarlet Pimpernel!”

  There was total silence in the inn.

  “I am sure you’ve got a pistol,” Chauvelin said. “Throw it down onto the floor. Carefully.”

  Moving slowly, Finn pulled out his pistol, holding it gingerly with two fingers, and dropped it onto the floor.

  “Now kick it away,” said Chauvelin.

  Finn complied. Where the hell are you, Cobra? he thought, furiously. If Chauvelin had only allowed him to get a little closer…

  “Drop your pistol, Chauvelin!”

  The Frenchman’s eyes grew wide as he saw the man two tables away stand up and level a pistol at his head. Finn stared with amazement at Fitzroy. Looking suddenly frightened, Chauvelin dropped his pistol down onto the table. Before Finn had a chance to say anything to his rescuer, another voice said “Now you drop yours, Mongoose.”

  Cobra was standing in the doorway, holding a laser.

  “You haven’t got a chance, Cobra,” said Fitzroy. “Take a good look around you. I’ve got men all around…” His voice trailed off. Every single customer in the inn held a laser and they were all suddenly pointing them at each other.

  Cobra fired, his shot catching Fitzroy squarely in the chest. As Fitzroy fell, Finn dropped to the floor and rolled as the inn became a violent crisscross of laser fire. He retrieved his totally inadequate pistol and hid under a table, trying to become part of the floor. It lasted perhaps a second or two; then Finn heard somebody moan. Finn looked up to see that Chauvelin, miraculously, stood unscathed, his jaw hanging open. Finn started to get up, cautiously. There were dead bodies all around the room.

  “Shoot him, damn you!”

  Cobra was on his knees. One arm was gone from the shoulder down and there was a hole in the side of his face.

  Bewildered, Finn stared from him to Chauvelin. The Frenchman stared in horror as Cobra lurched to his feet

  “Shoot him! Shoot him or you’re a dead man, Chauvelin! Shoot! Shoot!”

  Even as it dawned on Finn that Cobra was shouting at the Frenchman, Chauvelin moved as if in a trance. His eyes were unfocused as he reached for the pistol he had dropped upon the table. As he picked it up, a thin shaft of light lanced out across the room and neatly sliced his head off. Chauvelin’s headless corpse remained standing for an instant, then it toppled to the floor, upsetting the table.

  “NO!”

  Cobra lunged forward, bending down to pick up a fallen laser. As his fingers closed around it, a knife struck him in the chest. At the same instant, Cobra screamed and vanished. The knife which had been sticking in his chest clattered to the floor. There wasn’t even any blood on it.

  Finn heard a soft gasp and turned to see Jean Lafitte, staring slackjawed at the spot where Cobra had been an instant ago. His own eyes bulged when he saw Mongoose standing on the stairs, holding a laser in his hand as he casually leaned on the railing. Finn quickly looked to his left, seeing Fitzroy’s body sprawled over a table. Then he looked back in disbelief at Fitzroy’s double, who was standing on the stairs. The double grinned.

  “Hello, Finn,” he said. “Long time, no see. By the way, we’re even.”

  Epilogue

  The five of them sat in the living room of Forrester’s suite in the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters section of the TAC-HQ building. Forrester had broken out several bottles of a fine Napoleon brandy and Mongoose was swirling his around absently in his snifter as he spoke.

  “Darrow wanted to prove to the Referee Corps that the agency should remain independent of the Observers,” he was saying. “We had accumulated so much power over the years that neither the Observers nor the Referee Corps suspected just how far out of line we were. A good number of us, myself included and Darrow in particular, were using agency resources to enrich ourselves. It’s not all that uncommon a practice, really. The temptation to clock back a short way and take advantage of market trends, for example, is particularly hard to resist. Right, Forrester?”

  Forrester gave him a surly look.

  “It’s all highly illegal, of course, but it’s one of those things that don’t present much of a threat of instability so long as you’re very careful and act conservatively. It also helps not to get caught. Obviously, the temptation is especially hard to resist for highly placed officials and Darrow was no exception. I knew Darrow very well and I knew that he was incredibly wealthy, but I had no idea just how heavily involved he was in temporal speculation until it all came out into the open during the past few days. Art treasures stolen by the Nazis that were thought to have been destroyed, gold liberated from pirates who had liberated it from the Spaniards, 20th-century stock portfolios-”

  “They really found the Maltese Falcon in his library?” Lucas said.

  Mongoose nodded. “Not only that,” he said. “What wasn’t released as part of the official inquiry was the fact that he had three adolescent girls in his house whom he had purchased in various time periods on the white slave market.” He shook his head. “And I always thought they were his daughters.”

  “Nice people you work for,” Finn said.

  “Look, whatever you might think,” said Mongoose, “if I had suspected any of this, I would have turned him in myself. A little short-range temporal speculation is one thing, but he went way too far. Beyond the point of no return. He had to prote
ct himself and his interests, which was part of the reason why he wanted to take control of temporal adjustments away from the First Division. What seemed like an ideal opportunity presented itself when an unstable Temporal Corps recruit named Alex Corderro caused a disruption that resulted in the death of Sir Percy Blakeney.

  “You’ll never see it in any official report because no one has the guts to admit to what really happened. Your mission was an adjustment of an adjustment. The first attempt, with a different cast of characters, came about as a result of what you would call TIA interference,” he said, looking at Forrester and smiling mirthlessly. “Purely by accident, there were a couple of agents on the scene when Blakeney was killed. Being good company men, they quickly took control of the situation, but instead of reporting a disruption to the Observer Corps, they reported it to Darrow. Darrow had a brainstorm. Why not let the agency handle the adjustment? Leave the Observer Corps, the Referee Corps and the First Division out of it entirely. Let the TIA take care of it and when it was done, he could come up with some sort of an excuse as to why the agency had to move in quickly, without being able to contact the proper authorities. Then, with the adjustment completed, he could present the case to the Referee Corps as proof that we were more than qualified to handle such tasks. The whole thing would have been facilitated by the fact that we

  …shall we say, had some not inconsiderable influence with several members of the Referee Corps. The plan was made possible by the fact that our people were on the scene first and by the fact that Corderro had been shot a number of times. One of the musket balls took out his implant and there was no termination signal. It would be interesting to speculate what would have happened if no one had been on the scene when Blakeney was killed. With no termination signal to alert the Observers, would Corderro’s death ever have been discovered? Would Blakeney’s death have been discovered in time to effect an adjustment? Would Marguerite Blakeney have died of her wound?”

  “What did happen?” Forrester said.

  “Darrow put a team together and clocked them out,” said Mongoose. “One of them, like Finn, was given the full treatment so that he could become Sir Percy Blakeney. The substitution was made, as we now know, and the adjustment proceeded. However, none of those people ever made it back. They simply vanished. When they did not clock back in on schedule, Darrow started getting nervous and he dispatched several agents back to see what went wrong. They didn’t come back, either. At that point, Darrow panicked. It was possible that the first team completed their adjustment and got lost in transit while clocking back to Plus time. Possible, but highly unlikely. They were using the personal chronoplates, which meant that they would be in transit one at a time. One or two of them lost in the dead zone, maybe. But the entire team? For the whole team to disappear, as well as those sent after them, the unthinkable had to have happened.