"Italy for a year, then Switzerland for a few months, but I've been in Canada for the last five years," Gilles said once they had finally left the airport interior and were in a crowd waiting for taxis. "I wasn't even lucky enough to be in Quebec. I traveled between Edmonton and Vancouver a lot. Not as much French spoken there. Guess it helped keep me from getting too comfortable. Or homesick."
"I would think it would make you more homesick," Luc commented, but as he thought about it, he realized the absence of significant French speaking in his life these last years really hadn't affected him much. And that was when he realized just what it was about Gilles that had changed. The thick accent he'd loved for so long in his late teens and early twenties was gone. Gilles sounded American. If he hadn't known the man, he would have thought he was a native to the country, though he couldn't pin down just what region he might be from. Somehow, though, it sounded right coming from him.
A generic ring tone reached Luc's ears, and Gilles froze for a moment, looking baffled. He fished his phone from his pocket, peered at the screen for a second, and broke out in what Luc could only describe as a disbelieving grin. He answered with an enthusiastic, "Hey! What are you—"
Luc could only hear half the conversation.
"You're what? Seriously? Oh my god! Okay! Well, I'll see you soon, then." There was a longer pause, during which Gilles's face seemed to soften to a feather pillow. "I love you, too. Okay. Bye."
Gilles stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "We have a ride. Over here." He started walking toward short-term parking, leaving behind the mass of people waiting on taxis. Luc held his tongue for the moment, curious to see just what that conversation was all about. It seemed Gilles had a new paramour. For a few moments, Luc considered feeling jealous, but he and Gilles had broken up long ago. He himself hadn't even considered another relationship since then. It was kind of nice to know Gilles had moved on, too, just further along.
The man standing in the parking lot, leaning against a cherry-red convertible, was shorter than Gilles and Luc by nearly half a meter. By any definition, he was short. He almost looked like a child, except that he had a shockingly thick, dark goatee covering his chin and fine lines at the corners of his eyes. His mouth split into a huge smile when he saw Gilles and Luc coming. In a few long strides, Gilles crossed the last bit of distance between them, picked up the petite man, and swung him around as if he were a child.
"Dammit, Gil, put me down!" the shorter man replied in a surprisingly deep voice, pronouncing Gilles's name like "gill" rather than "zheel." Only once Gilles complied and punctuated it with a kiss did either of them seem to remember Luc was there.
"Sorry, Luc," Gilles said. At least, even with his changed speech patterns, he pronounced Luc's name with the proper French lilt. "This is my husband Damian. Damian, this is Luc Bertrand."
Damian held out a hand. Luc shook it, only a little staggered that the Gilles had taken his relationship that far. He shouldn't have been surprised though. Life had gone on that far. Why shouldn't Gilles have fallen in love and gotten married?
"Get in, lady killer," Damian said, hopping over the door of his convertible and into the driver's seat. Gilles followed suit. Luc actually opened the backseat door to climb in himself. "So, you're Gil's ex? Damn, man. I think I picked the wrong Frenchie."
"Shut up, Damian," Gilles replied.
Damian laughed and started the car.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another two days," Gilles said as they slowly crept out of the airport property.
"I left early. I didn't think I could trust you knowing you had some old arm candy coming to visit."
"You're the only man for me," Gilles replied. "Besides, I'm sure Luc is taken by now, too. Aren't you, Luc? Any new guys or girls in your life? You married?"
"No. No, I'm not," he replied, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Gilles seemed quite adjusted here already. Did he really need Luc's help settling in? Maybe coming west had been a bad idea.
3
If there was one thing Luc had learned about cities, it was that any given two cities might be the same size, but they struck the senses in entirely different ways. Nowhere in the world would have Paris's airy charm, Vienna's earthiness, or D.C.'s chaotic self-importance.
San Diego's feel was one of newness. He almost would have pinpointed it as freshness, but a moment's analysis told him the word was completely incorrect. There was plenty in the city that was new, but it was not "fresh." Like most cities, there was a ridiculous amount of construction. Buildings were fenced off from their neighbors and the sidewalks, walled by scaffolds as they were updated, restored, or entirely redone. San Diego seemed to be in a constant state of updating in a way Luc hadn't seen before. He'd heard of bustling New York and Chicago. He mused on what their ambiances would be like as the construction sites passed by.
Damian navigated the streets easily, so that Luc was rapidly lost in the tangle of neighborhoods. The driver kept up a stream of talking, pointing out notable city districts and buildings. Unsure whether it was meant for him or for Gilles—probably for himself—Luc largely let the words wash over him. To a certain degree, he enjoyed exploring cities, but this trip was a short one, and his orientation in San Diego wouldn't be important. This wasn't going to be one of his common haunts.
"Home sweet home," Damian said, pulling the convertible into a parking garage. They drove up a few floors before finally pulling into a space. Luc's attention snapped fully back to the other two men and his immediate surroundings. If there was one thing that truly did intrigue him, it was how and where guildhalls secreted themselves. From the academy he'd studied in as a teenager, to the guildhalls in Vienna, D.C., and his own in Virginia Beach, no two had been alike. He was curious to see just how Gilles got in and out of his own home here.
It came as a shock when the door Gilles and Damian led him to was clearly a flat in a building of flats. Gilles unlocked it with a simple door key and swung the door open for Damian and Luc to enter first. The flat was spacious but simple, still waiting to be fully settled into. It appeared to be nothing more than one of a hundred flats in the building, with nothing special to it. Even so, Luc couldn't shake his conditioned expectation that once the door was closed, some secret entrance or passage would be revealed to him.
Instead, Damian retreated down the short hall into one of what was probably a bedroom, leaving Gilles and Luc alone for the moment.
"The second bedroom isn't much, but it at least has a bed," Gilles said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, we're still getting moved in. The movers claimed they lost the truck with most of our things, so we've been kind of making do."
Luc tried to make sense out of the situation. Gilles still sounded nothing like Luc remembered. If he'd been the sort of man to panic or believe in conspiracy theories, he might have worried about body-snatchers or something akin to that. He didn't doubt this was his ex-boyfriend, but things were very different from what he had expected here. Years of living among assassins had left Luc alert and—some might say—paranoid. He expected the ambush at any moment. His students would have been waiting for the opportune moment to attack, knowing Luc would be off-balance here.
Seconds ticked by, and there was no movement other than Damian emerging from the bedroom. "I'll take your bag to the bedroom," he said, holding a hand out for Luc's carry-on. "Gil, are you giving him the tour or just standing there like the Eiffel Tower?"
Gilles chuckled. "Sorry, yeah. Not that there's much to tour. I'll show you around, Luc."
Gilles hadn't lied; there wasn't much to the flat. Luc could have figured his way around easily, just from his view in the living room. There were no winding hallways. His expectation that Gilles would at any moment touch a secret panel or push aside a false wall to reveal the passage to the guildhall entrance, was shattered when they returned to the living room. A pair of cheap folding chairs were all the furnishings. Gilles gestured for Luc to take one. Baffled, Luc sat and couldn't sto
p himself from staring up at his former lover, confused.
An unusual voice broke the semi-awkward silence. "Mrow?"
Luc and Gilles looked toward the sound. Luc couldn't miss Gilles's smile. A second later, Damien's voice came from the bedroom. "Did Rainey really just go out there?"
"She is," Gilles said, and strode to pick her up. A black-and-white tuxedo cat was only half-contentedly nestled in his arms when he returned to Luc.
"That's not normal," Damien called from the room. "She hides from strangers, especially men. You should be honored she's not clawing you and Gilles, Luc."
"She knows him," Gilles called back. More quietly, to Luc, he said, "You remember her?"
Luc studied the cat. Teal-yellow eyes studied him from a face sporting a funny black mark that looked like a mustache. "Mon dieux, it's..." He looked up at Gilles. "You still have her?"
"Not a kitten anymore," Gilles replied, half-shoving the cat into Luc's arms. She tolerated it for all of three seconds before jumping down and strutting across the living room like she owned the place. Luc watched her for another few moments, remembering the tiny kitten he'd found trapped in a hedge in Vienna right before Christmas so many years ago. He'd gifted the tiny creature to his then-boyfriend. In the years since their separation, he'd all but forgotten she'd ever existed.
"She has grown," he said stupidly.
"She owns me," Gilles said sheepishly. "But she likes Damien. That's part of how I knew he was the one. She didn't immediately claw his face off."
"I'll call for dinner," Damian said, stepping easily over Moiraine as he entered the living room again. "Chinese delivery okay? The usual, Gil? Luc, what do you like?"
Luc maintained his confusion as he was given a folded paper menu and ended up selecting something entirely foreign to him. Damian stepped back into the bedroom to order dinner, leaving him still staring up at Gilles. He couldn't hide his bafflement any longer and let it play on his face.
Gilles's mouth pulled onto one side of his face in an odd sort of smile. "You're wondering when I drop the curtain and show you the guildhall? All our secrets?"
Luc nodded, the tension starting to leak out of him a drop at a time.
"Tomorrow, I'll take you there. It's only a couple blocks away."
"You... don't live at the guildhall?"
Gilles chuckled weakly. "Of course not. Damian's not an assassin."
Luc's brain froze. When it started up again about two breaths later, it rapidly replayed his interactions with Damian so far. Had he given away any Guild secrets? Said anything and missed Gilles trying to shush him? He didn't think so. While he was still trying to figure out if he'd unintentionally given anything away, his mouth opened on its own.
"That's allowed?" he asked, surprising himself with his own question.
Gilles laughed. "What's allowed? Getting married? Of course it is. Not being an assassin? We're a tiny minority of the world, Luc. Not everyone is an assassin."
"No, I meant... marrying an outsider. That's allowed?"
Again, Gilles responded with laughter before words. "The Guild doesn't control everything we do. It's a job, Luc."
"But...how do you balance that relationship, lying to him about your career? What does he think you do for a living?"
It was Gilles's turn to go silent. "He knows what we do. Luc, I have no secrets from him. He knows everything." He paused but went on before Luc could struggle out a protesting syllable. "Not everything. He knows what I do. No details. Target confidentiality. He's never been inside a guildhall. But back in Canada, when I proposed to him, I let him know that marrying me would involve being sworn to secrecy. He gave an oath to the Regional Head of Canada. He knows that if he breaks that, I have to..." Gilles trailed off. There was another pause, and he shook away the emotionally dark end of that sentence. "What's important is that we trust one another."
Luc's mind was reeling. "So, the Guild knows about this?"
"Luc... of course they do. I'm surprised you're not married by now. Lady- and man-killer that you are. I would have thought you'd been snapped up by somebody. Americans are suckers for a French accent." He blinked. "You haven't been single all this time, have you?"
A warmth rose in Luc's cheeks. "I've been busy."
"And likely kept in the dark, as always. Somehow, the humanization of the Guild has always eluded you. You are at least seeing a therapist, right? What we do is...heavy. You know that."
He hadn't been, but that wasn't because he didn't know the Guild encouraged and provided stipends for therapy. There simply wasn't time for it. Not that it was really Gilles's business. "Of course," he lied.
"Good. I worry about you."
Damian rejoined them and only had a moment to produce a third folding chair and a card table from a closet before a knock at the door made Luc jump. If he'd thought dinner conversation would be awkward, with Damian not being an assassin, he was made wrong by Damian's conversation starter.
"So, Luc, have you killed anyone famous? I know, you can't give details. But yes or no. Have you?"
Things were going to be interesting for the next few days.
4
"This is it," Gilles said proudly as he came to a stop on the sidewalk near one of the endless under-construction buildings.
Luc let his eyes drift over the structure and fought the urge to voice his concern. The site was void of workers of any sort, and there wasn't a piece of construction equipment to be seen. The scaffolding that crept up one wall looked neglected at best. Luc wouldn't trust it to support the weight of a newborn kitten, much less a pair of fully-grown men. A large sign hung tiredly a story up the side, its once-white background dingy and brown. In some places, the grime had so caked onto it that the letters beneath were unreadable. It was through context clues only that Luc discerned the building's former use.
"A sushi bar?" he asked as Gilles walked past the place.
"I'm told it used to be quite the busy place," Gilles replied. Just past the construction fence, he slipped behind a public transportation directory and out of sight.
Luc trailed after him and found a gap between the fence's end and the wall of the next business. A few meters past that, the fence sported a gaping hole large enough for three adults to walk side by side. A glance back toward the street told Luc this was not an easily seen hole. A perfectly-placed dirt pile--complete with patches of grass growing atop it--obstructed the view.
This back area of the construction site was strewn with weathered lumber and more piles of dirt and gravel, creating a sort of maze that was none too difficult to navigate. Luc kept his eyes moving between Gilles's shoulders ahead of him and the ground beneath his feet, lest a stray piece of wood or gravel trip him up. By his sense of location, the winding entrance took them very nearly to the front of the building again, the long way around. Yet it wasn't through the front door that Gilles took him. It was a door with no handle--clearly a fire exit. A filthy "Under Construction" sign dangled on a broken chain from a heavy screw set into the brick next to the door. With a grin, Gilles pulled the chain. Nothing happened, but Gilles let go as if satisfied. He turned to Luc and held up five fingers. He folded down one, then two. Once he was down to zero fingers, he leaned toward the unchanged door and whispered, "Lemon drop."
The door cracked open to reveal a young woman in a crop top and torn blue jeans. "Morning, Pops," she said. Her eyes went to Luc and took his measure. He noticed the slight raise to her eyebrows that he'd grown used to seeing, the one that said she liked what she saw. Luc ignored it, as he always did. Instead, he followed Gilles inside.
The fire escape staircase was testament to the care the building sorely needed. The stairs and walls matched the sushi sign outside. The doors to exit the stairs into the main building were boarded up completely, and some sort of oily-looking mess decorated the stairs leading up. Fortunately, Gilles and the young woman didn't go toward either boarded door or oily stairs. A derelict service elevator hid in an alcove under the stairs themse
lves. More than slightly concerned, Luc stepped onto the elevator after his guides. The young woman closed the gate behind them and pressed a button that didn't light up. Silently, the elevator lowered. It wasn't a smooth descent, either, which made Luc wonder if it was a proper elevator at all.
Their elevator came to a jerky stop and revealed a room that finally gave the lie to the guildhall's disguise. The walls were paneled with polished wood. An unoccupied computer desk sat to one wall. As the young woman opened the gate and let Luc and Gilles off first, a plainly-dressed man appeared from a door nearby. Before he closed the door behind him, Luc spied what seemed to be a hand crank. A manual elevator, he supposed? The man appeared slightly exerted. It would make sense.
"Welcome home, Father," the man said formally, taking his place at the desk. "Hang on," he added before Gilles could walk past. "You got an HP from EA. Looks like a transferred contract."
"I'll check it in my office," Gilles said. "Thanks, Ben."
The tour of the guildhall was brief and to the point. Finally, Luc saw what he expected. The West Coast guildhall covered the entire block underground, with living quarters taking up most of the space. There were the standard common areas, kitchens, and other facilities. The entrance they'd taken here was apparently the more obscure one. The majority of their entrances and exits were hidden in the public restrooms or utility closets of nearby businesses, Gilles told him.
Gilles's office, unlike his flat, was fully furnished and contained a huge array of decor. From the tall potted fern in one corner to the autographed photos of Leonard Nimoy, Sean Bean, the main cast of Firefly, and more than a few other celebrities on the opposite wall, Gilles had decked his office with so much personality it was nearly suffocating. Gilles strode to the chair at his desk and let Luc pore over his collection of photographs. There were more than a dozen of them, all signed. Gilles himself was in a few of them along with the celebrity, and one or two even had Damian alongside him.
Luc Bertrand- American Assassin Page 17
