King Roger's eyes flew open, scanned the room, and settled on Luc after a mere second. Luc pressed the cold metal hard again'st the man's throat and lifted a finger to his lips. "Make a noise, and you're done. Say a word, and I won't make it quick. Might draw it out long enough for your son to watch. You're going to listen to me, and then I'm going to leave this room. You can blink to show your understanding."
Hatred flared in King's eyes, but the man blinked. Whether intentional or because of biology, it didn't matter. The man did it.
"I don't know what I did to make you hate me, Your Grace, but this petty attacking ends now. It has clearly taken over your better judgment and made you target a student. A student. I know you gave Quentin the poison. You could have killed that boy, all because of some petty dislike for me. Attacks on myself I can handle, but the moment you dragged a student into it, you declared war. I will warn you, I am a general you do not want to cross.
"Your influence on your son's behavior ends now. Your influence on my other students ends now. You will have nothing to do with the ECAA at all. If I catch you speaking to my students, I will end you. Is that clear? You may speak your understanding."
Luc more than half expected King to spit in his face. Instead, the man growled, "You won't stop me form speaking to my own son."
"He is my son, dear brother. I am the father assigned to his education."
"This is my guildhall. I speak to whomever I please. And I am not going anywhere."
"That may be, but the ECAA is not part of your guildhall. You stay away from my people, and I'll stay away from yours. And just to be clear," he flipped the blade over so King could feel the edge's pressure. "King Roger, Junior is one of my people."
Luc was out of the room before King could respond. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, but Roger had made a point that sparked thoughts in Luc's head. Thoughts he could act on immediately. A solution.
Figuring time zone differences, Luc decided it wasn't too early to make a call to Europe. It was well into the morning there. He picked up the phone, dialed a string of numbers, and asked to speak with an old friend.
"Vater Reuben, this is Luc Bertrand. I need to speak with you regarding the East Coast American Academy."
8
The information, perspective, and permissions Luc received from Gleissner gave him hope that things might eventually start looking up. It felt strange speaking candidly to Gleissner, the official head of the whole Assassin's Guild. Luc had first met him while he was a student, and even through his time at the guildhall in Vienna, the man had been commanding and somewhat distant. Gleissner had a plan, and it had made Luc nervous to contact him to discuss a plan of his own. But Gleissner had been beyond understanding and even, dare he think, friendly. He'd listened and supported Luc's idea. That gave Luc the patience and strength to go on, even as the ECAA still seemed to be falling down around him.
And he had only been there a few days.
A week went by, during which things at least marginally improved. Quirky didn't keep the events of their side-along to himself, and it didn't take long for the faculty, guild assassins, and the other students to find out what had happened. The lecture Luc had given apparently continued to stick with Quirky, and the boy managed to impress the gravity of their position on his classmates. Suddenly, all four initiates--Dione, Nina, Mandi, and Quirky--took Luc more seriously, actually showing up on time in the morning. When they realized that Luc intended to give them practical lessons in a safe environment, they dove into their new lessons. None of them had even had rudimentary weapons or poisons lessons. All their concealment training had been on the job. How they'd fumbled through until now baffled Luc, but it wasn't too late to remedy their deficiencies.
Naturally, King Roger and his son remained the largest problem. Despite his instructions, Roger Senior was calling his bluff. Junior was still going on his accompaniments with his father. Luc was going to have to follow up on his threat to expel the boy. As much as he wished he could take that easy way out, he hated the thought of the guild losing one of its number. There had to be a way to get the boy separated from the father. Luc had seen that fear when he'd threatened to have Junior expelled. The young man wanted to be here. He just had to get the boy's influences coming from the right place.
That took another trip to Scout. A short conversation later left the administrator nervous but eager to help. They agreed to Luc's plan with relief, since the plan included reinstating the side-along rotation. "I don't want to tell you how to run the guildhall," Luc said. "But I was under the impression the head of the hall was supposed to also serve as head in administration. The way I see it, Roger isn't the head here. It's you. You're the one who keeps this place afloat. If you need support, I'm sure Father Reuben will give it. And I'll back you. You know this."
Scout nodded. "I'll give it a try, but your support won't do me any good. I've got another contract for you. And this one...well, you won't be here to help me."
Luc took the folder and gave its contents a quick glance. "Virginia Beach? Where is that?"
"A couple hundred miles away. I don't know if you have your U.S. driver's license yet, but--"
"I don't."
"I'll get you a flight then. It's not a long trip. Shouldn't take you more than a day if it goes well."
The tone in Scout's voice when they said "if" left Luc feeling hollow. "Please tell me you're not planning on sending an initiate with me."
"No, I wouldn't do that to you. We don't let them leave the city."
Luc sighed, more relieved than he expected. "Good. I'll be as quick as I can. You'll deal with King for me?"
Scout gave him a skeptical look. "I'll try, but he's going to know something's up when he goes a day without a contract."
"If he complains, have him take it up with Gleissner."
"If you say so, Luc."
"Good luck, Scout."
"You too."
Luc's flight wasn't for a couple hours, which gave him the chance to watch as one of the field assassins--Sandy Alderson--received an assignment. "And I'm giving you a side-along," Scout said.
"Sure," Sandy said, idly flipping through her folder.
"Junior."
The Dread assassin's head snapped up, shocked. "Um, okay. If he's really coming."
From the kitchen, King Roger the Second appeared. "I heard my name."
"You're coming on a contract with me," Sister Sandy informed, her voice level. It almost seemed like she knew what was going on, which made Luc wonder if Scout had actually given her warning. Yet, her surprise had seemed genuine.
"I only go out with my dad," Roger said, clearly more confused than the assassin he was assigned to.
Scout shook their head. "I don't have any more contracts for now, and figured it would be good to have you out again now. If you don't want to go on a side-along, I'll get someone who does want more experience..."
"No, I'll go. Um...let me get changed."
It wasn't until Alderson and Junior were out of the living room that Luc exhaled. That had gone much smoother than he'd expected. He made a note to himself that Junior didn't seem to be that bad of a kid when he was out of his father's presence. It gave him an iota of hope that the boy could be saved.
By evening, Luc's plane touched down in Norfolk, Virginia, the first leg of his trip to Virginia Beach. A taxi took him the rest of the way. It came as a slight shock to have traveled a few hundred miles and not only be in the same country, but only a state away. The United States was far too big. At least he only had to worry about his little academy. He couldn't imagine coordinating the guildhalls and academies for the entire country.
The air felt different in Virginia Beach, somehow more like home despite the occasional rush of salt in the air. It took Luc about a quarter hour to figure out just what "home" it felt like, though. It wasn't like Vienna at all, or even like Reims, where he'd gone to the Order of Release Academy. It was nothing like Paris, either, where he'd spent about a year af
ter his family had been murdered. It was when he detected a deeper smell underneath the salt that tickled his memory so gently he almost missed it.
Virginia Beach smelled...old. Aged. Historic.
It smelled like Tours, the city where he'd grown up, where he'd lost his family.
Once he realized that, he expected the waking nightmares, the horrid memories and muscle-recalled trauma to seize him, but it didn't happen. Oceans, both geographical and temporal, were between the boy who had endured that and the man standing here now.
Luc knew then that he didn't want to leave Virginia Beach. If he was bound to settle in the United States, this would be where he was permanently. It would have solved one of his problems if the ECAA had been here rather than attached to the guildhall in D.C.
He wanted to linger, to explore the area and bask in the ambiance, but he had work to do. Alone, with his folder, Luc easily settled into his stride. He didn't have to be familiar with a place to be deadly in it. Without the worries of being headmaster--or principal--weighing on him, he was able to completely turn off his mind and become himself again.
The contract was nothing, just another mark for Luc to release, and then it was over. His flight had taken longer than his entire involvement in the contract. A new apprentice team could have handled it. Luc didn't begrudge Scout assigning it to him, though. The practice was freeing, and Luc felt a band around his chest loosen. He didn't have to return to Norfolk and the airport until morning for his flight back to D.C. He was free to get a hotel room of his choosing to spend the night.
Instead of doing that right away, Luc went for a walk. The sound of the ocean, the night life, and the air that so reminded him of home encased him. He hadn't expected to find such simple pleasure so soon after his life fell apart, especially in the States. But this...this was something he hadn't realized he'd needed. There were businesses that sent him back to his childhood, even though they were nothing like those in Tours. The signage was all English, and there hadn't been a single surf shop in Tours--he passed several for the many blocks he walked here. But it was still comfortable and familiar.
It was when he happened upon an empty building that Luc jolted to a halt and stared. It wasn't a residentially-zoned building, but it didn't matter. The place caught his eye and refused to let go. His imagination supplied visuals that weren't there. Fresh paint, neon lighting, decor.
Luc memorized the number on the sign that advertised the realtor for the building. He continued his walk, mind racing through possibilities, the solution to his problems, and plans. It would be a long project. The place was going to need a lot of work, but it would be worth it.
When he finally got a hotel room, so late it was nearly the next day, Luc recited the number to himself again before sleeping. When the hour was decent, he had a call to make.
And a building to buy.
9
The succession of phone calls Luc made in the morning left his head spinning. He'd known for some time that he was well off--the Assassin's Guild took care of its members financially--but he'd had no idea just how well off. He'd never worried overmuch about money, living off what the guild provided in stipends and not dipping at all into his cut of the contracts he'd fulfilled over the years.
It turned out he was wealthier than he could have imagined. When he called for his private fund balance, he'd sat stunned for a good forty minutes before finally calling the realtor about the building on Atlantic Avenue. His offer--promised in cash--had almost immediately been accepted. By the time the paperwork was ready, he would be back in D.C., of course, but it would be faxed to Scout. The building wasn't cheap, but at least he hadn't needed to go for a loan. In fact, by his estimation, which was by no means professional, he would still have more than enough in his account to cover the renovations he wanted. It was almost too much to believe, but nearly ten years of assassinating people had left him almost a millionaire. In Euros. Which did make him a millionaire in American dollars. Granted, after the building purchase, property taxes, other fees, and the renovations, he'd be sitting at a fat zero in his personal finances.
That was nothing a few contracts couldn't fix.
The one part of this transaction he couldn't buy was immediacy. The purchase, the forms, the hiring and instruction of contractors, the renovations themselves, would all take time. That was time he would have to spend in D.C., but it was light at the end of the tunnel. By the end of the year at the very latest, he'd have things going his way. It was still not even March, so that was a long estimate. Perhaps if he was lucky, he'd be spending his birthday in Virginia Beach. From now until the end of July was nearly five months. That would be enough time, wouldn't it? If not, he could always throw more money at them. It might not buy time, but it could hire more workers.
It was with a light heart that Luc returned to the International Spy Museum. Even the fist that came flying at his head a mere second after he walked in didn't dampen his spirits. He easily ducked under it and stepped out of King Senior's reach.
"Is that how you welcome your brothers home in the States?" Luc asked softly, staring at King's clenched fist. "I can see why your families aren't close."
"You son of a--"
"Language, Brother. There are initiates about."
King's face turned an amusing shade of red, but the faces behind him were rapidly going pale. They could see the coming storm just as easily as Luc could.
"This is your doing! Forced vacation? What the everloving hell is your game, frog?" Tiny drops of spit managed to reach Luc's face despite the distance between them. "I swear to God I'm going to kick your--"
"Language," Luc said again.
Of course, that only served to make the man's face go even darker. "You'd better watch yourself, frog. I have a bullet with your name on it."
"I certainly hope the engraving job isn't so poor to muck up the workings of the gun you load it into. If you will excuse me, I have students to teach."
"Teach, he says. He couldn't teach his way out of his mama's c--"
Luc's hand was against King's throat before more than the hard "C" sound was out of the man's mouth. "That is the last warning for language I will be giving you. Nevermind the insult to my mother. You are upset, and that emotion is clouding your judgement. I can see why you need a vacation. I would much have preferred to have this conversation in private--say, in your quarters," he said, and the widening of the man's eyes clearly showed he remembered Luc in his room, a knife to his throat, "but you have made that impossible. I had nothing to do with your vacation. My jurisdiction is over my students alone. If you have an issue with your prescribed rest, take it up with administration. As for my qualifications, consider there is a reason I was assigned to this post. I am a capable assassin, and you appear to have forgotten such. Perhaps there is a reason the position was offered to me and not to you."
In the same motion, he pulled his hand from King's throat and stepped away. He was nearly to the other side of the living room before King reacted, and then, it was only to sputter. Luc thought he heard a few curses in the voice, but they were drowned out by the scattered applause from the others in the living room. Luc turned just before leaving the room and saw it was his students and a few of the adults applauding him. "Class. Now."
His students hurried after him into the hallway. King Junior lagged last, but he was among them.
10
The door opened a fraction, silent on its well-oiled hinges. If Luc hadn't been leaning slightly against it, he wouldn't have noticed. He had to give the intruder credit; the man could be a shadow when he wanted to. But he'd tried this repeatedly for the last few days. He wouldn't catch Luc unawares.
"Class is in session, Brother. Can I help you?" Luc whispered over his shoulder, leaning back slightly toward the sliver of an opening.
The door slammed shut so fast it almost made a noise. Had it been opened further, it surely would have crashed against its frame. That was new. Second time in a day King Roger the First had at
tempted to interrupt class. This forced vacation had been both blessing and curse. For four days now--at least, four since Luc had returned from Virginia Beach--the man hadn't gone on a contract. It was six days total, actually. Six days he hadn't had professional influence over his son. It made the younger Roger eager for action. However, the vacation also gave Senior the free time to make a nuisance of himself. That had included trying to infiltrate classes and abscond with his son. It was those attempted son-nappings that had Luc loitering by the classroom door, observing the classes.
His professors had been pleased to settle into this routine. While none of them had the specialties Luc's professors in Reims had had--concealment, poisons, and the like--they did have plenty to offer their students. As a sort of conglomerate, they covered the lacks in one another's knowledge base. The students were finally beginning to gain a rounded education rather than a patchy one from all the side-alongs. They hungered for it, and that included King Junior.
Even so, it didn't stop them from still wanting their side-alongs. And it didn't stop Junior from making a bit of a nuisance of himself.
"It's a chlorotoxin," Junior huffed in response to a question, his voice dripping with boredom. "I learned that years ago. Not deadly, but Dad did use a diluted dose to cause muscle cramps in the mark so the moron ended up ditching work. Thought he was getting the flu or food poisoning. Once he was outside, bam! Dead in an alley. Contract over. The venom itself isn't lethal to humans unless it's in a massive concentration. Why bother with that when there are a billion other poisons that work better, though? Useful as a starter. Not for killing."
Luc Bertrand- American Assassin Page 4