Luc couldn't help but smile, and he was midway through a bite just in time to thwart Gilles's own hug. "Don't be a stranger, okay, Luc? Email me, call me, whatever. It's been really great seeing you. I wondered what happened to you."
Luc raised an eyebrow, silent as he continued chewing his mouthful of chocolate and caramel chunk cookie.
"I mean it. Leaving you was one of the hardest things I ever did. I had to do it, and I don't regret it, but… the past is past. I feel like we can be friends again. Don't you?"
"Oui," he replied, and it was enough for them both.
The plane ride home had Luc thinking about their friendship. It would only be friendship, which suited them both just fine. Email was a powerful tool. And now, he knew that old another friend was easily reachable through email. He'd have to send a personal message to Zaccheo when he returned home. Leaning back despite his seat being in the proper, full-upright position, he began composing a message to Zaccheo.
10
Something was off when Luc entered the club. He couldn't put his finger on what right away, though. It was too early for the place to be open, but there was a presence here. An unfamiliar one. He almost missed the shape sitting at a table. No, in a booth.
His booth.
No one sat there without his permission. Not his students, staff, and not a single club-goer. Even so, a woman was sitting there. She had a no-nonsense matriarchal look and a face he swore he'd seen before, and recently.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Bertrand. Bienvenue à la maison."
Her French was impeccable. Even so, it made his skin crawl. In the moments she'd spoken, he'd pinpointed where he'd seen her before. It was very recently. So recently he couldn't believe he hadn't recognized her immediately.
It was The Woman.
The hair on the back of Luc's neck stood up. Not only had she simply turned and walked away from him at the airport, but she'd now found him.
If she could locate an assassin at his home...
"Who are you?" he asked in English. He didn't like hearing her voice speaking his native tongue. It was almost more unsettling than the fact that she'd found him. Fears that she was with the Knights Templar or worse, the Order of Hell, rushed back into him.
"You've been making trouble for someone very dear to me," The Woman said.
Luc furrowed his eyebrows. "Who are you?" he asked again. He gave no outward sign of it, but he was assessing his every joint, from knuckle to ankle, making sure he was ready to move the moment she did. He would not die in his own dining room.
"Oh, I'm sorry." She looked affronted, though by her own rudeness rather than anything Luc might have done. She raised a hand, waiting for him to take it in a handshake. "Aveline Statford." From her lap, she produced a purse. Luc fought against the tension that rose in him at her movement. But it was no weapon she removed from the bag. It was a small white box, like one would get from a bakery. Lifting the lid and presenting the opening toward Luc, she sweetly offered, "Madeleine?"
A single, golden, shell-shaped cake sat in the box, staring at Luc as if to remind him of everything he'd left behind in France. But it was far from a traditional cake. While almond slivers were traditional, this cake had a single whole, fat almond sitting dead center on the top. The smell of the roasted nut tweaked Luc's nose.
Slightly bitter.
It was the smell of cyanide.
"Go ahead. It's safe." Sweet sincerity colored her voice, a genuine invitation.
Luc stared at the little cake. Cyanide. That cake could kill him. His mouth watered against his will. He missed France, and that was a little taste of home, right there in that box.
But despite her words, it could be poison. His death could be in that box.
His death could have been in that taxi line in Los Angeles. She hadn't killed him then. Why would she now, when she'd had that chance, anonymously, just a few days ago?
"Why didn't you?" he asked, still not touching the madeleine. Neither of them needed him to finish the question. Her expression said she knew exactly what he was asking.
Mrs. Statford got to her feet, holding her purse close to her torso. "Have a good day, Luc."
She swept past him and out of the club as if she owned the place. The cake in its little bakery box remained on the table. Luc stared at it for another few breaths, taking in the silence of the club now that he was alone. Events at LAX replayed in his head, adjusting to accommodate the fact that "The Woman" was Aveline Statford. It was information the Guild could very much use.
However, she was also Thomas Statford's mother. She hadn't said so, but he could see the resemblance between her and the detective. Releasing her identity to the Guild wouldn't make him friends with Thomas. He couldn't help but wonder just what it was that had set the Guild on her trail in the first place.
But she had killed assassins before.
She hadn't killed Gilles. Or him.
There was more here than he was qualified to sort out. He wouldn't give her name, he decided.
He ate the madeleine.
11
Most of his emails had been forwarded to Scout and Betty while he was away, so Luc's inbox was blessedly small when he did settle back in at the guildhall beneath Umbra Motus. Of the few messages that were waiting for him, one was no surprise, one was a bit of a surprise, and one made him groan inwardly.
The first was from Gilles and was an almost word-for-word reiteration of his request to not be a stranger. He added in the post-script that he didn't trust Luc one bit to keep his word to email him, so Gilles decided to open the communication lines himself. Luc sent a quick reply that he had returned safely and that yes, he'd keep the communication lines open.
The one he had partially expected was from Zaccheo. No doubt the administrator had recognized Luc's name in the report and seized the communication opportunity himself.
* * *
Luc,
I cannot believe I never thought to try and reach out to you via guild email. I should have known you were still in the system and out there somewhere, working. Where have you been and what have you been doing since we graduated? How's your family? I assume you have a family by now, anyway. Someone must have snatched you up by now. Are you still playing any video games? They've got some amazing arcade here in Japan. I play World of Warcraft and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you did, too. You ready for Cataclysm to release this year? I wanted to get into the beta, but it's not going to happen. I know so much of it is still rumor, but you know it's coming. I bet it is, anyway. End of the year. They'll probably make an announcement this summer or something about it. I play a troll shaman named ChigauSpaghetti. I'll transfer servers if you play.
Anyway, I've got a wife and two kids now. Can you believe that? Yumiko and I have been married for eight years. Tsukiko is six and Tatsuo will be three this summer. Don't worry, they have Italian middle names. I had to have some influence, right?
Anyway, I don't want this email to get too long, and I can always tell you more whenever you reply. You will reply, right, Luc?
Sorry again that I never thought to look for you. I was pretty messed up for a long time and I blocked out the academy for a few years. I hope you don't think less of me for it.
Ciao,
Zaccheo.
* * *
P.S. It's Zekku here. How weird is that? Bye!
* * *
Zaccheo reaching out first left Luc's planned message in shreds. He didn't want to reply in his instinctual clipped way, so he flagged the message to reply to later. Then, groaning, he opened the third email.
* * *
FROM: [email protected]
RE: That Thing We Talked About
* * *
Bone Jur Luke,
* * *
I really do owe you one for that thing we talked about before. The other day. You know when I mean. When I knocked a little too hard to get you to open your door? Tell Percy I hope his nose is feeling better. I would say I hadn't meant
to knock quite that hard, but we both know that's bullshit.
How are you? I am fine. Just wanted to say again that I owe you one. Not that I'll pay you back. Probably. But you can afford not being paid back, right? In fact, I'll be generous and say that since I normally bill for my time, I'll waive any outstanding charges you may have.
That includes the pony, I guess. Shame. I had a name picked out and everything. I'll have to cancel the stable and those shipments of Belgian hay.
So we're even.
* * *
Adios,
Tom
* * *
P.S. I mean it. We're even.
P.P.S. Just realized I never said what I meant to say. Got him. That thing we talked about. It's good.
* * *
The man was a boar, and it was worse when he was trying to be funny. Luc didn't care how often he said they were even; they weren't. Statford owed Luc a lot more than Luc owed him. The tallies were clear. Surely Statford knew he was the one far in debt here. He never truly expected to get a pony out of this.
You could do with some friends.
Insidia's words again rang in Luc's head. He'd already made a step towards friendship with the man. It must be time for another. Very well.
As he started typing a response, Luc couldn't help but think about Zaccheo and Gilles. His hands froze.
"Oh, merde," he muttered under his breath.
Gilles.
Zaccheo.
Even Damien, a little.
They all had a bit of an underlying smartass streak. Granted, Statford's was the worst, but they all had it. Hell, so did Luc himself. What was the saying? Birds of a feather.
There was probably a reason people like that flocked to Luc. Maybe it was just who he was.
So, if it had been Zaccheo who had sent this message, how would he respond? Or if it were Gilles. He had to remind himself that Statford wasn't serious. He'd never been serious. Luc's fingers flicked over the keys.
* * *
TO: [email protected]
RE: Re: That Thing We Talked About
* * *
We are not even. But if you insist, I'll cancel the pony delivery scheduled for next week. Your loss.
* * *
It was short and simple, but Luc couldn't help but grin as he clicked "Send."
Let Statford enjoy that.
He sat for a few minutes, staring at Statford's original message. It felt oddly good to be a bit playful. Perhaps there could be a friendship there. Maybe even a good one.
Not that he'd play Dungeons and Dragons with the man or anything, but he could be more than civil. He still didn't plan to lift his ban on the man from Umbra Motus any time soon, though.
12
It was simple enough to expend a little of the guildhall's resources to keep an eye on Statford. Not that Luc put a constant tail on the private detective, but more often than not, he had eyes on him. What turned out to be more difficult was avoiding the thing that was almost constantly tailing the man. The hint about the spiritual guardian Statford had was from Insidia, of course. He still didn't totally understand it, but that didn't mean he disbelieved it. Statford had some sort of ghost that played watchdog over him. Even recon, he suspected. After Insidia's hint, it hadn't taken Luc long to figure out how Statford had learned things about him he shouldn't have known.
Statford cheated.
But knowing about an obstacle was the first step to getting around it.
Gilles's information about the "dying breed" of assassins still rang in Luc's mind. What could he do but try to keep as many assassins alive as possible? That meant better training. How better than to train in even more trying—but safe—circumstances? If his assassins could stay under the radar of an ethereal being, surely they could do even better against modern surveillance. And if something went wrong here, well, it was low risk, right? Statford wouldn't do anything to one of Luc's people.
Almost a year of tailing and the occasional amiably poking email went by before Luc's phone went off with a text. Ten minutes later, he was taking one pointedly loud step so Statford was sure to hear him. It felt nice to give that bit of warning. He didn't know exactly how Statford had gotten his number, but he could guess.
Larry turned out to be the spirit guardian's name. It was good to know.
Luc was out playing cat-and-mouse with some of his crew, but things could not have been better if he'd planned it. Statford's situation called for action, and the additional assassins would be helpful. Marisol took the lead as Luc relayed their objectives, and Luc had left her to it to go collect Thomas. By the time Luc and Thomas reached where Marisol's crew was waiting with their captive, they already had the man subdued and tied. It was for Thomas to take care of things from there.
The whole of the situation ended up positive and negative. Marisol's capture of the other target failed, but not due to her own error. Talk of the supernatural cropped up, and Luc hated that this was going to eventually lead to further secrets being aired to his staff. He couldn't protect them forever, though. There was more out there than what had always been reality; they would find out sooner or later, he was sure. His ties to Insidia were still his alone, though. But explaining that otherworldly beings existed was going to be loads of fun, sarcasm definitely intended.
That was the negative outcome. It wasn't all that bad, really. He hadn't lost any people. The Guild had been dealing with some issues over the last month, and their numbers were dwindling even more than expected. That was what led to the positive outcome of this particular event. The one man they had captured for Thomas mentioned the name General Wu Zhe Hou. That name had been popping up for months in his emails from Zaccheo. The Guild called Wu Zhe Hou La Mort Jaunde or "The Yellow Death." The man was a fearsome figure in China and North Korea and had been fiercely training non-Guild killers while also killing Guild assassins. That he would suddenly show up on Thomas's radar was terrifying, but if it ended up leading Luc's people to his destruction, it was all for the better. He would have some communications to send to the higher-ups at the Guild. If the Yellow Death was here, he would need reinforcements. His school was still struggling with numbers, but he was trying to bolster them.
Knowing that, and knowing that his school and guildhall was still the largest in the world, frightened him. But surely other guildhalls could spare a person or two. Even a dozen extras would help with a target like this. A half-dozen. A pair. After all, from what he'd been learning from Zaccheo, La Mort Jaunde was one of the Guild's top two most wanted. He was second only to The Woman.
When, over the course of the next week or so, Thomas actually did away with the threat of the Yellow Death, Luc had to admit that his budding friendship with the man was having more than just personal advantages. One of the largest threats to the Guild's numbers was gone. As a bonus, Thomas invited Luc--as well as a few other friends--to hibachi to celebrate Thomas's engagement to Susana, a local police officer. Luc didn't publicize what he did for a living, but somehow, she'd found out. He blamed Thomas's flippancy and chattery tendencies. At least she had never come for him in the name of the law. As a customer, she once had, though. The strangeness of that whole situation still hadn't reconciled itself in his mind.
He didn't stay for dinner. He was waiting in the parking lot when Thomas and Susana arrived, offered them his congratulations, and excused himself.
"Aww, come on, Frenchie. I'll pay," Statford protested.
"Alas, I cannot stay." It wasn't that Luc didn't like hibachi--quite the opposite, in fact. Having takeout with Gilles back in San Diego had opened Luc to Asian cuisine, and he found it quite to his taste. No, Luc refused to stay because there was always work to be done. Also, he had a feeling Statford's mother would be there, and he had no desire to face off with her again. Not that he would expect trouble between them. But why risk it?
Now, though, Thomas's offer to pay sealed it. Over the last few months, Luc's tally had come to Thomas owing him nearly ten favo
rs. He wasn't going to cash one of them in on something as trivial as dinner. He liked having the private investigator indebted to him. He planned to keep it that way for a long time.
13
Statford's debt continued to mount in small ways over the following year or so. By the end of 2012, Statford's owed favors tallied nearly fifty. And those ranged from life-saving all the way down to owing Luc a cocktail. That wasn't including the few meals Luc had paid for that Statford hadn't even offered to repay.
He would cash in eventually.
It was toward the end of December that Luc received a message from the detective and wound up footing his way through a hell of a snowstorm until he found a snow-covered Toyota parked at the Virginia Beach Hilton. It wasn't Statford's normal vehicle, and therefore might have thrown Luc off, but he'd seen Susana in it before. Statford's wife's car. Luc watched the motionless, silent vehicle for a few minutes until the engine suddenly turned on. The window rolled down a few centimeters, and fingers emerged to push at the snow that had built up, covering the occupant's view. Luc crossed the snow-covered lot. The fingers paused, and the vehicle turned off a half-breath later.
Knowing Statford's all-too-eager trigger finger, Luc gave the man some significant warning that he was approaching. He cleared his throat. In the wintry silence that followed, Luc heard a car door lock release. No matter how quiet one attempted to be, car locks always made some click or thud. Then there was a muffled unlatching sound. The Toyota's occupant was ready to spring out. Likely, with prepared gun in hand.
Luc Bertrand- American Assassin Page 20