The Timekeeper Conspiracy

by Simon Hawke

  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, they knew that D'Artagnan hadn't done it, either. The Gascon didn't have a laser.

  * * * *

  Old Pierre took charge of the chest, dragging it away and showing a great deal more energy than his appearance would have indicated. Andre glanced at Jack with some concern.

  "Don't worry," Bennett said. "He won't look inside. He won't even inquire as to why it stinks so much of perfume. Pierre's been with me for years and I trust him implicitly."

  "What will he do with it?" Andre said.

  "Incinerate it."

  "Incinerate?"

  "Burn it."

  "But how? Surely it is too ... damp to burn?"

  "I have a fire that is more than sufficient for the task," said Bennett. "It's hardly a proper burial or even a proper crema­tion, but . . . Would you like to say some . . . words for Hunter or..." he trailed off, lamely.

  "Prayer, you mean?" said Andre. She shook her head. "I do not think that Hunter was a man of God. And I do not think that any prayers from me would do much good. I have left behind too many bodies unattended and unprayed for."

  Jack stared at her. "Yes, I believe you have," he said. "And so, for that matter, have I."

  "What will happen now?"

  "I don't really know," said Jack. "They'll be looking for me. They'll probably be looking for you, too. They've had me watched. They'll try to kill us now. We can't stay here for long; this will be the first place that they'll look. I am not without defenses here, but still, the sooner we leave, the better."

  "Why did we come here at all, if they know this place?"

  "Because there are things here I can't leave unattended
," Bennett said. "Things that don't belong to this time. I must see to it that they're all destroyed. That will take some time. Meanwhile, I have to get you out of here to where it's safe. There's a way out of here the Timekeepers don't know about. I've kept it a secret for just such an emergency. It will take you out under the street. You'll go with Marie; Pierre and I will join you as soon as I've taken care of what must be done here."

  "What about your machine for traveling through time?" said Andre.

  "They've taken that, I'm afraid." His eyes suddenly lit up. "Hunter's chronoplate! My God, I'd forgotten all about it! Where . . ." his voice trailed off when he saw the expression on her face.

  "It was gone when I found him dead," she said. "But it will not do your friends much good. Only Hunter knew the proper way to make it work. If they attempt to—"

  "Yes, I know, he'll have failsafed it to self-destruct if it should fall into the wrong hands. Mine works the same way. Unfortunately, I showed Taylor the proper sequence to. . . . God, I was a fool. Taylor will guess that Hunter will have fail­safed his chronoplate and he won't tinker with it. It just gives him that much more of a reason to take you alive."

  "But I do not know how to operate the machine," said Andre.

  "Taylor won't know that. He thinks you're an agent from the future, someone sent to stop him."

  "I still don't understand," said Andre. "Stop him from doing what? To what end is all this intrigue?"

  "It would take far too long to explain it all now. I must get you to safety. Ah, Marie, this is Andre. We must—"

  "Yes, I know, Doctor," said Marie. "Pierre told me that we must flee. What has happened? Who would want to—"

  "There's no time for that, Marie. Take Andre and go through the secret passageway. Immediately. Can the two of you manage her chest?"

  "We shall manage," said Marie, her wrinkled face grave with concern. "Where must we go?"

  "Take her to your sister's. Take care that you're not fol­lowed. Have Marcel send word to Moreau asking him to meet us there. Say that there is trouble; Moreau will come. Tell him to take care that he's not followed."

  Marie looked frightened.

  "It's all right, Marie," said Jack, taking the plump little woman in his arms. "Everything will be all right. Now, go, please."

  The two women picked up the chest containing Andre's belongings and went into Bennett's library. Andre was amazed to see so many books. Hunter had had books in his cottage in the forest, but Bennett had hundreds of them, arrayed upon shelves that covered all four walls. Marie had her put down the chest and then she went to one of the shelves and pulled out several volumes. She stuck her hand into the space where the books had been and fumbled around for a moment; then Andre heard a clicking sound and the entire shelf swung away to reveal a door, which Marie opened with a key.

  "Come, Mademoiselle," the old woman said, "we must hurry."

  "Wait," said Andre. "There is no need for us to be bur­dened with this chest. I do not need all these things."

  "I have a bag," Marie said. "You will need at least a change of clothing. Wait here, I will go and fetch it."

  As Marie ran off, moving like a pigeon trying to get out of the rain, Andre bent down and opened up the chest. She removed her rapier and her dagger, laid them down on Ben­nett's desk, then began to strip. When Marie returned, carry­ing a bulky cloth bag, she found a young cavalier waiting for her in the library. She took one look at the black-clad swords­man and gasped, bringing her hands up to her mouth.

  "It's only me, Marie," said Andre.

  "Mademoiselle Andre? But how—"

  "They'll be looking for a woman," Andre said. "They won't look twice at a gentleman escorting an old woman home. Come, we'll pack just these few things. I will not need the rest."

  Moments later, they were descending the stone steps down into the tunnel.

  "Buckingham's away, then," Taylor said. "Good. We can now put our plan into motion. Did you have any trouble with the cardinal's guards?"

  "No trouble," Freytag said, sipping from a glass of wine. "In fact, I hardly had to do anything at all. When the guards moved in, two men came to D'Artagnan's rescue."

  "Ah, that would be our friends the musketeers," said Taylor.

  "I don't think so," Freytag said. "Not unless one of them knows karate."

  "Karate?"

  Freytag nodded and took a big swallow of wine. He wiped his mouth with the back of his beefy hand. "One of them laid a spinning back kick on one of the guards," he said. "Dropped him with a heel right to the temple. Very pretty. I couldn't have done it better, myself. Their swordsmanship was very interesting. Textbook perfect. Unless I miss my guess, they've both had experience with swords other than rapiers. They showed some interesting variations. I'll lay odds that the big guy would be a mean man with a katana."

  "What's that?"

  "A large Japanese sword. Used by the samurai."

  "Samurai! Are you certain?"

  "Weapons are my specialty, Adrian. You know that."

  "Do you realize what that means? They've sent in com­mandos!"

  "Well, you did say you liked a challenge."

  "Not a word of this to Tonio or Jimmy, you understand? Jimmy already seems a little shaky to me. I think we'd best keep an eye on him."

  "What does it matter?" Freytag said. "We don't need either him or Tonio. They were both expendable, right from the beginning, just like Silvera."

  "They must never suspect that," Taylor said. "It's essential to the plan that they believe. . . ." His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. In a second, they became animated once again and a slow, sultry smile spread across the face of Milady de Winter. "You're quite right, Bruno. It doesn't really mat­ter, does it? The more people they send in, the greater the risk of temporal contamination. That plays right into our hands. Would you know these men if you saw them again?"

  "It was dark. I'm afraid I didn't get a very good look at them. I couldn't say if I'd recognize them again."

  "Well, no matter. I want you to take a letter to my good friend, the cardinal. After all, he has an interest in the Buck­ingham affair and it's time to prod him into the next stage of our operation."

  8

  The carriage pulled up in front of the tavern on the outskirts of Paris. It was accompanied by a small troop of mounted guards. Rochefort dismounted and entered the tavern, followed by several of the guards. Two of them stationed themselves outside the front door. Another two grabbed the bewildered, suddenly frightened innkeeper and frogmarched him into the kitchen, where they stayed with him and the other help. Rochefort glanced around the tavern, seeing that he was quite alone. There was the sound of a door opening above him and he heard a soft footfall. His rapier sang free of its scab­bard. He looked up and saw Milady de Winter standing at the railing above him, looking down.

  "There is no one else here except my man," she said.

  "Milady," Rochefort said. He crossed the room and went to the door, opening it and nodding at someone in the car­riage. A man in a dark, long cloak and buff riding boots stepped out. He wore a large, slightly droopy hat pulled low over his face. He walked quickly to the front door of the tavern and entered. Rochefort stood aside to let him pass, bowing slightly as he did.

  Once inside, the man removed his well-worn gloves and hat, revealing himself as a gray-haired, distinguished-looking gentleman of about thirty-six or thirty-seven years with piercing eyes, a prominent nose, and a sharply pointed imperial goatee surmounted by long, curled moustaches. He glanced up to see Milady de Winter descending the stairs toward him.

  "This penchant of yours for mysterious, out-of-the-way assignations grows somewhat tiresome, Milady," he said, tossing his hat and gloves onto a table. "You did say it was im­portant."

  "I've come by some information that I believe you'll find to your advantage, Your Eminence," said Taylor, smiling at the cardinal.

  "Why could this information not have been passed on to Rochefort?" Richelieu said, pulling out a c
hair for Milady to sit down.

  "Because I don't like dealing with intermediaries," Taylor said, smiling as Rochefort stiffened. "I must be careful. I'm sure you appreciate that."

  "I will tell you if I appreciate it after I have heard what you have to say," said Richelieu. "Our last contact brought less than satisfactory results."

  "I cannot be blamed for Buckingham's escape," said Taylor. "I brought you all the necessary information. It was not my fault that your men were not up to the task."

  "You did not tell me that he would be guarded by the musketeers," said Richelieu.

  "I cannot know everything, Your Eminence. Obviously, your own informant was somewhat derelict in his duties."

  "My own informant?"

  "Did you not arrange to have Monsieur Bonacieux report to you concerning the activities of his wife?"

  Richelieu raised his bushy eyebrows. "For one who claims that she cannot know everything, you are remarkably well in­formed, Milady. It occurs to me that you would make a very useful ally. Or a very dangerous antagonist."

  "I will take that as a compliment, Your Eminence," said Taylor.

  "It was not intended as one, Milady. What new information have you brought me? If it proves useful, you will not find me ungenerous."

  "It concerns Milord, the Duke of Buckingham, Your Emi­nence."

  "By now, he's back in London and well out of reach," said Richelieu. "He's had his assignation with the queen and made good his escape. I have lost my opportunity. Of what interest would he be to me now?"

  "Well, he is still an enemy of France, Your Eminence, and I should think that any intelligence regarding an enemy would be welcome."

  "Let me be the judge of that."

  "And so you shall be. Buckingham has, indeed, returned to England. But he did not return empty-handed."

  "What do you mean?''

  "I have reason to believe that the queen gave him something to take back with him. A token, a pledge of her affections."