THE NIGHT OF THE OPERA DE PARIS

By Andamogirl

A/N: The Opera de Paris is a 1,979-seat opera house, which was built from 1861 to 1875. Now called the Palais Garnier it was built by the French architect Jean-Louis Charles Garnier. The style is monumental and considered Second-Empire Beaux-Arts style (Napoleon III era). The Palais Garnier is one of Paris' most famous monuments with Notre Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, or the Sacré Coeur Basilica. The Thomas Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. is modelled after the Palais Garnier, most notably the facade and Great Hall.

Reference to the season 1 episode The Night of the Whirring Death.

Reference to my story "The Night of the First Mission".

Bessie: And all I try to be is a little bit good. And where does it get me? Blown up with a lousy Italian tenor.

Artie: Baritone.

Bessie: Oh, stop that sweet talk.

The Night of the Whirring Death

A two part challenge story.

Challenge issued by Tripidydoodah. It was her turn. "Write a story basing the boys in England or France at the same period of time. You must retain the same characters and names as they have now. Inevitably I chose France (I'm French).

Okay, in my story my French characters don't have English names, it doesn't sound right, but French ones. But James is Jacques in French and West is a Cardinal point. As for Arthur the common nickname used is Artie, and Gordon is considered to be derived from Gourdon in Saône-et-Loire, France.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

WWW

PART ONE

Paris, France

4th of January 1875

One day before the Opera de Paris inauguration

Hôtel du Lion d'Or, place de la Bastille

Special agent James West woke again with a start, hearing horses neighs and the noises of their hooves on cobblestones.

He was disoriented for a few seconds when he heard people talk loudly in the dimly street – not in English but in French – and then a carriage going away.

He remembered that president Grant had sent Artemus and him here, in Paris, to protect the Chairman of the Foreign Relations of the Senate, Senator Harry Graham. The Senator had been invited by Patrice de Mac Mahon, President of the French Republic to the inauguration of the brand new Paris opera. Some rumors in Washington emanating from the French community there had reached the Secret Service about a possible assassination of the politician – who was a good friend of the POTUS - during the official ceremony. Those rumors referred to a plot involving French royalists who wanted some way to sabotage the long friendship with the US in order to isolate France from its allies - starting with the US. They didn't want to be disturbed by any outside intervention intended to help the Government when they made their coup d'état in order to restore the monarchy.

He stood, stifled a yawn and rubbed his tired puffy eyes. It was the third time he had been awoken that night: the first time because of people talking loudly in the corridor, as everyone slept, and the second time because of dogs barking in the street, he thought and regretted that Senator Graham hadn't invited Artie and him to stay in the US Embassy located in a building along the edge of the Bassin de l'Arsenal. They should have stayed at his side in order to protect him, but the politician had said a firm no. He was safe in the Embassy and 'needed space' after being escorted for several weeks from Washington to Paris under the close surveillance 24 hours a day of two Secret Service agents, he had told Artie and him. So they had found a room with twin beds in a hotel of the Place de la Bastille, close to the Embassy, he added in his mind.

He glanced around him. For once, they hadn't found a room in a cheap hotel, but a grand standing one, the Hôtel du Lion d'Or. President Grant had been generous with the mission expenses.

The hotel room was very nice with floral, colorful wallpaper, golden moldings, gilded bronze lamps and mirrors, thick colored carpets, red comfortable seats also gilded, paintings showing the French countryside and large, comfortable beds with soft mattress. It was warm in the vast room thanks to the central heating, the hot air coming through vents – gilded - one on each wall. The attached bathroom looked like a mini version of ancient Roman baths, with Corinthian pilasters and a symphony of colored marbles, a shell-shaped onyx sink and a big bronze bathtub decorated with golden lion heads.

He increased the intensity of the light provided by the oil bedside lamp in gilded bronze and, looking to his right he saw that Artie's bed was empty and as the conversations in the street progressively ceased he noticed a series of loud purrs and meows.

Cats!

He headed toward the opened French windows lined with large velvet red curtains, opening onto the balcony and spotted his partner sitting cross-legged there. His partner was wearing his winter coat on top of his warm flannel pajamas. He was surrounded by half a dozen stray cats of different species and colors, some of them purring in pleasure as Artie petted them, others meowing to be petted in their turn. In cat-lover heaven, the older man was smiling broadly.

He stepped onto the balcony and joined Artie, scaring the cats which dispersed, bouncing away on the balustrade and then on the side balconies, meowing in displeasure – all except one, a big, gray, fluffy feline with bright green eyes, white whiskers and a scar across its forehead, which stayed curled up contentedly on Artemus's lap. "Sorry," he said as the cat looked up at him in curiosity.

Petting the cat's head, Artemus waved his other hand in dismissal. "Don't be. Stray cats are easily frightened." He paused, looking down at the remaining feline. "But this one is different. She needs a human's love and wants to be adopted. But I can't adopt her as we already have two resident cats in the train. Marmalade and AG wouldn't tolerate her on board. Cats are territorial. So I'm not going to bring her with me in the US, but I can try to find her loving owners and a nice home, here in Paris."

Sitting cross-legged beside his partner Jim reached out, rubbing the cat's chin against his outstretched fingers eliciting more purrs. "That's a good idea. Besides, she's meowing in French, so Marmie and AG wouldn't understand her." Then he chuckled.

Playing with the cat's swaying tail, Artie nodded. "You're absolutely right. They talk to humans with their own language. It's a fact, Jim."

Cocking an eyebrow, Jim said, "I was joking buddy… You really think so?"

Artemus nodded. "Yes. Cats have their own language, whether is it oral - cats use more than a dozen sounds, each having its own meaning - or behavior-like, like when a cat comes up and rubs back and forth against you, and wraps its tail across your calves, or sits on your newspaper when you're reading it, etc. and they do that all the time. I'm actually working on a 'pet project' of mine, an essay about cats' behaviors, taking Marmie and AG as examples. It's in hiatus now that we're here. When I'm back home, I will write another paragraph on 'do cats speak foreign languages?' I'm sure they do. For that I will need to contact my pen pals from the 'International Cats Love club'."

Surprised Jim said, "I didn't know that. I thought you were working on an essay about General Grant's battles?"

Running a finger on the cat's head, between his two pointed ears, the left one being notched, Artie replied, "I finished it before we left New York. The President will be the first to read it - so he can make corrections and comment on it." And the cat pushed against his hand lovingly in return.

Jim smiled. "I'm sure he'll love it. So, you couldn't sleep either because of the noise?"

Playing with the purring cat's tail again, Artemus responded, "No, because I'm nervous. Anything could happen tomorrow, even if I have planned everything with the Senator ahead of the inauguration and it makes me nervous. You know I love to have everything organized to the smallest details, but during our missions, sometimes – no correction, almost every time there are surprises that lead to chaos… and I hate chaos."

Placing a soothing hand on his partner's shoulder, Jim smiled and said, "Life always has surprises, it would be dull and boring otherwise. C'est la vie!" He stood and added, "Come back to bed Artie, we'll have a long, long day tomorrow… beside it's freezing outside and you and I don't want to catch a cold." The rain started. A few cold drops at first and then it was raining heavily within seconds.

Glancing at the Colonne de Juillet illuminated by lampposts and located just a street away, Artie said, "I traveled around the world when I was young and a sailor and I visited many beautiful cities, but Paris is the most beautiful one!… And it's a shame we don't have any free time to visit it. We haven't left the Senator since we've been here and once the inauguration is over, we will have to leave for the Hâvre and take a boat back home." He sighed and stood, cradling the cat in his arms. "We'll meet the two agents of the Sûreté Générale protecting the French President tomorrow morning for a private visit to the opera house before the Inauguration takes place, to locate the spots where assassins could hide themselves or hide bombs. They'll join us in the restaurant for the petit-déjeuner. I can't wait to eat the French pastries…"

Going back to the bedroom, followed closely by his partner who closed the French windows behind him, with one hand, keeping the cat against his chest with the other, Jim asked, "What do we know about them?" Then he disappeared into the bathroom only to appear a moment later with two towels.

Rubbing the feline's neck, Artie chuckled softly. "Well, they are delicious. My preference goes to the pains au chocolat…" And couldn't help but lick his lips, his mouth watering in anticipation.

Coming back into the bedroom Jim placed a towel on Artie's bed and, using the other, he started to dry off his cow-licked wet hair. "I was talking about our French counterparts." Then he removed his rain-damp pajamas, folded pants and jacket on the back of a chair and toweled his naked body dry. He smiled and continued, "And I prefer croissants. Yours are fabulous, buddy, c'est un délice!"

Lowering the fluffy feline onto the bed where it instantly started its grooming, Artemus said, "Thanks, but I don't have the skills of French pastry chefs, their 'tour de main'."

Jim opened his malle de voyage (travel trunk) and pulled out navy pajamas before putting them on. "All your pastries are delicious. Those French pâtissiers are unable to make chocolate chip cookies and citrus cheese like you do, you can't be beat! "

Smiling, pleased by his best friend's compliment, Artie took his wet, warm coat off and folded it on the back of a Napoleon III style chair. He picked up the towel and wiped his soaked curled hair with it. "I don't know much about them," he said. "While you were talking, I mean while you were flirting with that lovely French woman at that reception au Palais de l'Elysée, I was talking with the Directeur de la Sûreté Générale. He just told me their names, Jacques Cardinal and Arthur Gourdon..." He dropped the wet towel to the carpet too and took off his wet pajama pants before removing his dry jacket.

He would sleep naked tonight, he thought, too tired to open his travel trunk to take out his second pair of white striped pajamas.

He yawned and added, "And that they are the best agents of the criminal investigative bureau of the police de Paris".

Jim smiled. "And we are the best agents of the US Secret Service! We're going to form a group of experts, that's perfect."

Glancing at Jim already in bed, Artemus slid between the sheets and smiled when the cat curled up on his pillow, beside his head. "Yes we are." He frowned and said, "There's something that still puzzles me… The Directeur was stunned when he saw me… and even more stunned when he saw you. I asked him why, but he just had a broad smile and said, "Vous le découvrirez assez vite, Monsieur Gordon - you'll find out soon enough, Mr. Gordon." He relaxed and petted the cat's white furred belly. "Well, I'll see. Good night Jim."

Dimming the light, Jim replied, "Good night Artie, sleep well." He watched the cat nuzzle and lick at his partner's face then closed his eyes. He drifted off lulled by the purrs and the repetitive noise of the rain spattering against the window.

WWW

The next morning

Restaurant of the Hôtel du Lion d'Or

5th of January 1875

Pouring himself a third cup of brownish dark, steaming café au lait Artemus said, "Coffee is far better here in Paris hotels than in… well, the entire US hotels!" He pointed at the elegant basket filled with perfect, warm buttery pastries, all golden and crispy. "Mmm, it smells delicious! And the viennoiseries are a heavenly sight!" He picked up a croissant, and French-like, he dunked one end into the hot beverage. He waited for a few seconds while the coffee permeated the puff pastry then wolfed it down, making happy noises.

He chose a golden brioche covered with icing sugar then and took a bite, closing his eyes in delight as it literally melted in his mouth. He ate it, slowly, savoring the taste, letting out ecstatic noises.

Smiling, amused by his best friend's childish comportment, Jim kicked Artie's shin under the table covered with a flowery cloth. "Artie, you're not 6 year old! Behave like an adult!" And Artemus Gordon, 45 years old stuck his tongue out at him. He let out a blast of laughter. "5 year old!"

The older man kicked Jim's shin back. "Don't interrupt me when I'm eating French pastries, I consider that as a sin!" He took a caramelized pain aux raisins, licked his fingers and tore a piece off the pastry and popped it in his mouth. "Oh my God!..." he breathed out, the tepid vanilla crème pâtissière filled his mouth, and closed his eyes in bliss.

Chuckling mockingly, Jim took a sip of hot chocolate covered with a layer of whipped cream which was making a splash in the French capital. He couldn't help but let out a 'Mmmmmm…" of pleasure and close his eyes in bliss and it was Artie's turn to chuckle mockingly.

Opening up a piece of bread with a knife, Artemus said, "I'm already salivating thinking about what I'm going to eat for lunch. I'd like to go to a brasserie. I'm sure our French colleagues know good ones around the opéra." Then he plunged a little spoon in a pot of extra jelly made from quinces and spread a more than generous layer of it on his tartine.

His brow furrowed, Jim asked, "What kind of jam is this?"

Pushing the pot toward his best friend, Artemus replied, "It's extra jelly made from quinces, coings in French. My mom made pots of it when I was a boy. There was a big quince tree behind the barn. It's de-li-cious! Quince is too hard, astringent and sour to be eaten raw, so they need to be cooked. They are used to make jam, jelly and quince pudding which is an absolute delight!"

Taking the spoon, Jim used it to scoop up a little of quince jelly and licked it. "Mmmm… it has a special taste, but it's good."

Placing another spoon in the pot, Artemus said, "I will make quince jam when we return, if I find any. It's better than orange marmalade."

Jim finished his creamy, now tepid chocolate, and said, "Go back to your mom's house and ask her to make pots of quince jelly for you – if the tree's still there, of course."

Biting down on his tartine de confiture de coings, Artie nodded. "That's a very good idea. What about going there for our next leave?"

Pouring coffee in a clean cup, Jim nodded. "I'd love that." He frowned noticing that Artemus had been turned into a living statue of utter stupefaction. He was looking in the direction of the door… and glanced there too. He gasped then stayed open-mouthed with an incredulous expression on his face.

Then Artie breathed out, "I know now why the Director of the Directeur de la Sûreté Générale was stunned when he saw me…"

There was a man on the other side of the room that looked exactly like him. No, not exactly like him he realized after a rapid but thorough observation. They had the same face but the Frenchman had some differences: for example his hairstyle was cut very short and oiled flat and he had a touch of silver at his temples, he thought and he noticed that his counterpart was dressed à la mode française with a black three piece suit and an unbuttoned beige double breasted top coat and a brown contrasting collar. His waistcoat was decorated with a watch chain, wide ascot tie, he had black shiny square-toed shoes, and a top hat and beige gloves. He smiled, 'He's so elegant… like me.'

In his turn, Jim observed his double from head to toe. The Frenchman had an oiled down hairstyle and a thin moustache, reminding him of his 'disguise' as Frank Slade, the notorious outlaw. Otherwise, there were no differences. He was wearing a dark gray three-piece suit and a winter coat with braid trim on the collar and lapels over a matching waistcoat decorated with a prominent watch chain. He had a wing-collared shirt and dark tie in a bow knot and had a woolen flat cap on his head.

He had more casual clothes than his partner, he thought, probably because he wanted to be discreetfor his mission.

WWW

Standing next to the door of the restaurant, Jacques Cardinal was the first to exit that moment of intense astonishment.

He elbowed his partner and said, "Tu sais, Artie, quand on me disait qu'il existait un sosie de moi quelque part dans le monde, je n'y croyais pas…" ("You know, Artie, when I was told that there was a look-alike of me somewhere, in the world, I didn't believe it ... ")

He took 30 seconds to observe his 'colorful' American look-alike. Unlike him his brown hair was left au naturel and he had no moustache. He was wearing a royal blue suit worn with a light blue shirt, a silver waistcoat and an ice-blue tie. His black boots were worn under his pant legs.

Staring at his American doppleganger too, the older French agent breathed out, "Je n'y croyais pas non plus Jacques… Mais cet homme pourrait être mon frère jumeau… C'est incroyable !" ("I didn't believe it either Jacques... But this man could be my twin brother... It's incredible!"). "Regarde! On voit que c'est un Américain." (Look! We can see that he's an American.").

Observing the older US agent, Jacques nodded. He was dressed the American way, with a light brown jacket with tan lapels worn with dark brown pants. He had black knee high boots over pant legs, a yellow shirt, a gold and brown waistcoat and a black string tie. He nodded. "C'est vrai, mais son partenaire est plus beaucoup plus jeune et plus beau, comme moi!" ("That's true, but his partner is a lot younger and more beautiful, like me!"). Then he smirked.

Arthur 'Artie' Gourdon placed a finger against his temple and tapping it, he replied, "La beauté n'est rien face à l'intelligence… et au talent, Jacques." (Beauty is nothing in comparison to intelligence ... and talent, Jacques.") And he grinned before chuckling. He removed his gloves and placed them in the pockets of his coat. Then he sighed, disappointed. "Je m'attendais à ce qu'ils aient leur ceinturon avec leur revolver… Je suis déçu." ("I was expecting them to have their gunbelts and holsters with their shiny revolvers... I'm disappointed."). Then he pouted childishly.

Amused, Jacques chuckled. "Désolé camarade, quand on est à Paris, on vit comme un Parisien, pas comme un homme de l'Ouest. Il faut s'adapter mon cher." ("Sorry comrade, when you're in Paris, you live like a Parisian, not like a man from the West. You have to adapt mon cher."). Placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder, Jacques said, "Je ne parle pas Anglais, mais toi si, alors tu traduiras ce que je leur dirai, d'accord?" ("I don't speak English, but you do, then you will translate what I tell them, okay?")

His eyes still focused on his American double sitting at the table, staring at him, Arthur nodded. "Oui, pas de problème. Allons rencontrer nos amis Américains et faire leur connaissance." ("Yes, no problem. Let's meet our American friends and get to know them.").

They entered the room and stopped next to the two US Secret Agents. Arthur offered his hand to the man who looked like him – almost.

Now that he was close to the American man, he noticed that the resemblance wasn't exact. The other man's hair was curled and natural, and black, with no touch of gray at his temples. His eyes were dark chocolate and his cheekbones more prominent than his and he had a tiny scar between his eyes. "Hello, my name is Arthur Gourdon, and my partner and best friend here is Jacques Cardinal. We both work for the Sûreté Générale," he said with a light French accent.

In response, Artemus stood and shook his almost doppleganger's hand warmly, observing the other man's with awe and deep curiosity, noticing the slight differences here and there. For example, the Frenchman had black eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead were different from his. Then he shook Jim's very close 'mirror' image's hand too. "Hello, my name is… " He paused and said with no trace of American accent, "Bonjour Messieurs, Je m'appelle Artemus Gordon et l'homme qui est en face de moi et vient de se lever est mon partenaire et meilleur ami, James West. Nous travaillons pour les Services Secrets Américains." ("Hello Gentlemen, my name is Artemus Gordon and the man who is in front of me and just got up is my partner and best friend, James West. We work for the US Secret Service.").

He glanced at the younger Frenchman and noticed slight differences with his Jim too, like the color of his eyes, clear blue and not green and he had no scar underneath his lower lip.

It was Jim's turn to speak, "And… Et Artemus et moi sommes enchantés de faire votre connaissance," ("And Artemus and I are delighted to meet you"), he said with a thick American accent. Then he smiled, proud of himself and gave Artie a wink. He had learned some French while living with Artemus who was fluent in several languages. "Je parle un petit peu français." ("I speak a little bit of French.").

Surprised to hear the other men speak French perfectly, Arthur said, "It's a pleasure too, Sirs. C'est un plaisir, Messieurs."

Gesturing to the table covered with a copious breakfast, Artemus said, "Asseyez-vous, je vous en prie, et partagez le petit-déjeuner avec nous." ("Sit down, please, and share breakfast with us.") and he reached for another pastry.

Easing themselves into chairs at their breakfast table, the two Frenchmen gladly accepted a cup of steaming coffee and Arthur couldn't resist taking a crispy croissant from the basket of fresh pastries. Then he took the pot of milk and poured a little of it into his coffee, making a café au lait. He broke le croissant in two pieces, sending crumbs onto the napkin, and dipped one piece into his coffee with milk before putting it in its mouth while watching Artie do the same. "Délicieux! Delicious," he said, mouth full, then let out ecstatic noises.

Smiling, Jacques nudged his partner and said to the two Americans, "Veuillez pardonner mon ami, dès qu'il mange quelque chose de bon, il perd tout son savoir-vivre."

And Arthur translated. "Please forgive my friend, as soon as he eats something good, he loses all his good manners." Then he took a sip of coffee.

Chuckling, Jim glanced at Artemus. "Same thing with Artemus here. You should have seen him letting out happy noises when he was eating a brioche. Luckily there was no one here but us, otherwise I would have been ashamed of his childish behavior. Artemus is a gourmet and an excellent cook who can beat any reputed Chef. He even took lessons in French cuisine when he stayed here for a few months, when he was a young man. He could have become a great Chef but chose to be an actor."

Surprised, Arthur said, "Really? What an extraordinary coincidence! I wanted to be a reputed Chef too when I was younger. Then I joined a circus where I was juggler, an acrobat, a knife thrower and magician… Then I decided to change my life and joined the Army and became a Captain. Then I was seriously injured during the battle of Sedan, September 2, 1870, during the Franco-Prussian War… I spent 6 months at the hospital. Then, I received an honorable discharge. After that, I opted for a different profession and I became a cat burglar. I was the best in Paris."

The two US agents exchanged a surprised look. "You? A cat burglar?" Jim let out.

Smiling, Arthur nodded. "Yes, me. I had a very spendthrift lifestyle when I was a Captain and wanted to keep it that way. I still love expensive things, like clothes, furniture, art, for example, but now I'm very well payed for what I'm doing." Looking at his partner, he added, "Three years ago, Jacques managed to catch me after a two hour pursuit on the toits de Paris (Paris' rooftops). He saved my life as I was going to fall to the ground then he put me under arrest. End of my career as a robber."

He translated what he had just said to his partner in French.

Smiling, Jacques nodded. "C'était ma première mission en tant que jeune recrue de la police de Paris," he said. ("It was my first mission as a young recruit of the Paris police.").

Arthur continued, "We had an immediate coup de foudre, future best friends way. We met again and became friends after I spent three months in a prison. I was very fortunate not to end up in the Bagne de Cayenne, for life. But I had powerful friends in political circles from my time as an officer in the Army, and they owed me a favor, so they helped me to stay at the Prison de la Santé, here in Paris and managed to shorten my prison sentence considerably. Then, Jean persuaded the Directeur de la Sûreté Générale to employ me, as an agent because I had multiple talents I could use to stop criminals."

He translated again in French what he had just said to his best friend. Then he took a sip of coffee with milk and added, "Merci beaucoup Jacques."

Looking at Artie, who was spreading a thick layer of strawberry jam on a croissant he had cut longitudinally, Jim said, "Like I said before Artemus is a gourmet and he adores cooking. I feast every day, in the morning, at noon and in the evening since we became partners".

It was Artemus's turn to translate in French what Jim had just said then he added, "Jim adore ma cuisine et dévore tout ce que je fais." ("Jim loves my cooking and devours everything I do.").

Arthur chuckled. "Jacques is addicted to my cuisine too. I don't know how he does not gain weight, whereas I have to watch my figure."

Letting out a frustrated huff, Artemus nodded. "I know the feeling. But here, in Paris, I will make an exception. Everything is so good, et, c'est bien connu, le meilleur moyen de lutter contre la tentation, c'est d'y céder." ("And it is well known, and the best way to fight against temptation is to yield to it.").

Suddenly the fluffy, gray cat which had adopted Artemus jumped on his knees and rubbing against Artie's chest, it started purring. "There you are…I thought you had joined your friends living in the street after you left the hotel room with us," Artie said.

Immediately Arthur reached out and petted the feline's back and tail. "I love cats, I have two cats in the apartment Jacques and I are sharing in the quartier du Montparnasse, a black one called Phobos and a white one called Deimos."

Lifting his eyebrows in surprise, Artie said, "Phobos and Deimos? They were Greek gods, Phobos the god of Fear and Deimos the god of Terror. Why did you give them those names?"

Pouring himself a new cup of coffee Arthur chuckled. "They were little pests when they were just kittens and terrorized the neighborhood's cats, so it was appropriate… and now they're older, they're just adorable. And I was reading a book on Greek classical mythology at that time so… I ended up giving them those names. In the Iliad, Homer mentions the presence of Phobos and Deimos. For example, he tells, "Οἷος δὲ βροτολοιγὸς Ἄρης πόλεμον δὲ μέτεισι, τῷ δὲ Φόϐος φίλος υἱὸς ἅμα κρατερὸς καὶ ἀταρϐὴς…"

He was interrupted by Artemus who finished the quotation, 'ἕσπετο, ὅς τ' ἐφόϐησε ταλάφρονά περ πολεμιστήν'. I love reading Homer's Iliad. You speak ancient Greek very well, Monsieur Gourdon."

Pleased, Arthur smiled broadly and said, "You too! And call me Arthur, je vous en prie. ("please"). I'm fluent in several languages, like you do, I suppose?" (Artie nodded). Looking down at the purring cat he asked, "So it's a stray cat? Un chat des rues?"

Stroking the cat between her ears, Artie said, "Yes, she is. I found her on the roof with many others and she adopted me. But I can't take her with me. Jim and I already have two cats, Marmalade and AG. They stayed on board the Wanderer, it's the name of our train. Oui, nous vivons dans un train. ("Yes, we live in a train"). But the train driver and the fireman are taking care of Marmie and AG while Jim and I are gone. They're accustomed to our frequent absences."

It was Jacques who said first, "You live in a train?" beating his partner on that, who closed his mouth and swallowed a mouthful of café au lait-ed croissant.

Looking at his French sosie (doppelganger), Jim nodded. "Oui, c'est très pratique to ("Yes, it is very convenient to")… travel throughout the country. The US is a big country!" He glanced at Artie who had just taken a caramel-covered chausson aux pommes. "You should give me more French lessons."

Closing his fingers around a still warm pain au chocolat sitting at the bottom of the basket, Arthur said, "I never left France, I'd like to go to the United States of America and visit your country. Perhaps one day…" Then he took a bite of the pastry. "Mmmm…"

Jacques nodded. "J'adorerais aller là-bas aussi. Si, Arthur a voyagé dans toute la France, moi je n'ai jamais quitté Paris," he said. ("I would love to go there too. If, Arthur has traveled all over France, whereas I never left Paris,"). And he waited for Arthur to translate, which the older man did.

Licking his caramel-sticky fingers, Artemus nodded. "I'd love to show you my country. Maybe I could ask President Grant to arrange a visit. I'm sure he'll agree."

Seeing that the two Frenchmen were stunned, Jim said, "President Grant loves Artie like he was his own son, he never refuses him anything."

Staring at Jim, Jacques said, "Vous appelez Artemus 'Artie"? J'appelle Arthur 'Artie' aussi. Tant de ressemblances entre nous, c'est vraiment incroyable!" ("You call Artemus' Artie? I call Arthur 'Artie' too. So many similarities between us, it's truly amazing!")

Moving to Arthur's lap, the gray cat rubbed its head against the Frenchman's chest. "I think she loves me too," he said.

Jacques nodded. "Un autre point commun… et je sais ce que tu vas me dire, que tu aimerais adopter ce chat errant, n'est-ce pas ?" ("Another common point ... and I know what you're going to tell me, that you would like to adopt this stray cat, don't you?") And Arthur nodded. "D'accord." ("Okay").

Grinning, Arthur took the purring cat in his arms and said, "Je vais emmener le chat à l'appartement, puis nous irons ensuite à l'opéra. ("I'm going to take the cat to the apartment, then we'll go to the opera house."). Now that we have met each other, let's talk about our mission."

WWW

Later, in front of the Opéra de Paris

Place de l'Opéra

Midday

It was pouring with rain.

Holding Arthur's umbrella (the older man had taken it from the apartment along with one for Jacques, when he had let the gray fluffy cat have a meet and greet with Phobos and Deimos one hour before), Artie was protecting Jim and himself, bodies pressed together, from the cold winter rain.

Holding his umbrella, Jacques was keeping himself dry. As for Arthur his hands shoved deep into his pockets, he had opted for a warm raincoat and a hat with a wide brim.

The four men stood in the middle of the Place de l'Opéra, admiring the main façade of the brand new opera house of Paris, dominated on each side by the two gilded figural groups, Charles Gumery's L'Harmonie (Harmony) on the left, and La Poésie (Poetry) to the right.

People circulating around them, in a hurry and holding umbrellas looked at them with awe then with curiosity, saying in a low voice, smiling, "Regarde! Ce sont des jumeaux!" ("Look, they're twins!") or "Regarde! Deux paires de jumeaux! C'est incroyable! C'est la première fois que j'en vois de ma vie." (Look! Two pairs of twins! It's incredible! It's the first time I've seen it in my life.").

Pointing at the avant-corps of the Second-Empire Beaux-Arts style building, ornamented with an abundance of Neo-Baroque decorative elements, Arthur said, "I will give you a complete tour of the exterior later, messieurs, but first, the interior."

They headed toward the main entrance and an officer posted there approached them and saluted. "Tout va bien, messieurs. Personne n'est entré dans l'opéra. Vous êtes les premiers." Dit-il. ("Everything is fine, gentlemen. Nobody has entered the opera. You are the first ones," he said.").

Saluting too, Jacques said, "Merci, Capitaine Blanquart." And the Captain saluted a second time and headed back toward his men.

They entered the premier vestibule shortly after, where they let their hats, umbrellas and coats, on a white stone bench. Then they passed in front of the wickets, framed by pilasters and columns where the tickets would be sold. After having climbed a few steps, they reached the vestibule of the Control and then they finally reached the masterpiece of the opéra, the Grand Escalier. There were multicolored marble, mosaics, columns, lavish gilded statuary and painted ceilings everywhere.

Meeting other guards on their way, they followed their French counterparts through several corridors and stairwells decorated with golden cherubim and nymphs and ended up at the base of the large ceremonial Grand Escalier carved in white marble with a balustrade of red and green marble.

Eyes wide open in awe, Artemus looked up at the pedestals of the staircase decorated with two bronze torcher female statues by Albert-Ernest Carrier de Belleuse and upward at the two divergent flights of stairs that lead to the first storey and further to the Grand Foyer. "I've never seen such a beautiful and monumental staircase in all my life!" He let out with enthusiasm.

Ignoring the sumptuous décor Jim was focused on a tall, dark silhouette moving discreetly (or doing his best to) behind the gilded columns of the first storey, to the right. His instinct was telling him that he needed to investigate that, at once.

He elbowed Artie in his side and pointed at the moving shadow. "Look over there Artie… " and Artemus-hawk-eye located the man within seconds. "I thought there was no-one here, except us. That than has no business being here…" He said.

Cocking an eyebrow, Artie nodded. "You're right Jim. And he's trying to hide himself, that's highly suspicious…" Then, he pulled out the revolver that was in the holster under his left arm. "He could be an assassin doing some reconnaissance or he could have hidden bombs here…"

Spotting the black-cladded man in his turn, Arthur said, "Il se dirige vers le Grand Foyer!" ("He's going toward the Grand Foyer!").

Imitating his partner Jim glanced at Arthur who had just grabbed his gun too, he kept it in a holster attached to his left calf. He suddenly realized that the Frenchman was left-handed, something he hadn't noticed before. Another difference with 'his' Artie, he thought.

Un-holstering his revolver in his turn (a holster he kept attached to his belt at his back) Jacques said, "Nous devons l'arrêter et l'interroger." ("We have to stop him and question him."). Climbing the stairs of the grand escalier d'apparat two at a time he said, "James, Artemus allez à droite, Arthur et moi allons à gauche! Nous allons le prendre en tenaille!" ("James, Artemus go to the right, Arthur and I will go to the left! We are going to catch him in a pincer movement!").

The two duos of agents separated on the landing, and, once arrived on the first storey, they ran toward the Grand Foyer.

Entering the place, Jim and Artie couldn't help but to take a few seconds to admire the long gallery decorated with high mirrors, wall-panelling, parquet flooring, and were amazed by the profusion of sculptures, paintings, gilts and chandeliers, immense, lit too by the bays opening onto the streets and surrounding facades… but came back down to earth as they located the very tall man, dressed in black clothes and wearing a black mask close to one of the bays, trying to hide behind a red velvet curtain.

Guns in hand, the two men saw the French agents enter the other end of the Grand Foyer and run toward the giant.

Both Jim and Artie were running toward the man when he pulled out a gun from his back and aimed at Arthur, right in his heart.

One shot rang out.

The older man grunted as there was a sharp pain in his chest, his gun fell from his grasp, clattering onto the polished wooden floor, then Arthur staggered back, his hand pressed to his chest.

His knees buckled and he collapsed two seconds later.

Jacques who dodged a second bullet as the intruder fired again, pointed his gun at the man who had shot his partner and fired a split second later, twice – hitting the man in the shoulder and right side. He stumbled but stayed upright.

Transferring the gun to his other hand, the man in black fired again but the bullet got lost in the ceiling paintings as he was injured by a third bullet, in his leg. This time he collapsed on the bicolor parquet floor with a heavy thump.

His gun still smoking, Jim joined Jacques next to the black-masked man lying to the floor, unconscious while Artemus dropped down beside his almost double. Arthur was gasping for breath as his ribs burned. His left hand was still pressed to his chest.

He quickly opened the Frenchman's raincoat and discovered… a bullet-proof vest beneath, with the stopped bullet sitting at the level of his heart.

He sighed in relief and smiled. "I invented the same bullet-proof vest a few years ago," he said, as he helped the other man to a sitting position. "Are you okay?"

Pressing his left hand where the bullet was embedded in the armored fabric, Arthur winced, took some harsh breaths and replied the pain showing in his voice, "Je vais bien, je vais juste avoir un très gros bleu." ("I'm fine, I'm just going to have a very big bruise"). He pulled out the bullet then touched his chest and groaned. "A very big bruise and a broken rib too as it seems… He gritted his teeth. "God! Aaah! It hurts!"

Jacques helped his compatriot to stand as Artemus was pulling him up. "Arthur! Tu vas bien?" ("Arthur! Are you okay?"). His voice was shaking. He noticed that there was no blood on his best friend's clothes. Surprised he asked, Tu es n'es pas blessé?" ("You're not injured?"). Then he finally recognized Artemus's latest invention: the bullet-proof vest. "Merci mon Dieu!" ("Thank God!").

Grimacing in pain, Arthur nodded. "Non, je ne suis pas blessé, ou plutôt si, je suis sûr d'avoir une ou deux côtes cassées à cause de l'impact, car j'ai vraiment très mal… mais je ne suis pas mort, c'est l'essentiel. J'ai bien fait d'écouter mon instinct quand de retour à l'appartement tout à l'heure, il m'a soufflé à l'oreille que j'étais en danger. Si je n'avais pas mis ce gilet pare-balles, je ne serais plus là pour te répondre." ("No, I'm not injured, or rather yes, I am, I'm sure to have one or two broken ribs because of the impact, because I really hurt ... but I'm not dead, it's essential. I did well to listen to my instinct when, back at the apartment earlier, it whispered in my ear that I was in danger. If I hadn't put on this bulletproof vest, I would not be here to answer you."). He rubbed his aching chest. "God! The first time I used that bulletproof vest, I asked Jacques to shoot me… and he didn't hesitate a split second!"

He narrowed his eyes, still crossed at his best friend. Seeing that Jacques didn't understand what he had just said, he repeated it in French.

Jacques grinned and replied, "Bien sûr! Je savais que ça marcherait! Toutes tes inventions fonctionnent! Tu vas m'en vouloir jusqu'à quand? J'avais confiance en toi. Et j'ai toujours confiance en toi." ("Of course! I knew it would work! All your inventions work! How long are you going to blame me? I trusted you. And I always trust you.").

Arthur huffed and smiled to his double, "Merci, Artemus." Then he started to remove his bullet proof vest wincing with each movement. He dropped it to the wooden floor. "It's a great invention, but it's heavy. I will improve it, make it lighter."

Patting Arthur's shoulder in a friendly gesture, Artie said, "You know, the first time I met Jim, he shot me. It was at the end of the Civil war during the Siege of Petersburg. He almost killed me."

Stunned Arthur started to blink, gaping too.

Intrigued by his partner's reaction, Jacques said, "Quoi? Quoi?" ("What? What?").

Still pointing his gun at the masked man who was regaining consciousness, Jim said, "I didn't know it was you at that time. You were disguised as a confederate soldier. And I apologized after I discovered I had shot a Union Captain who was a spy."

Artie chuckled. "A handshake and a 'Nice to meet you, I'm James West, General Grant's aide de camp' would have been sufficient as an introduction you know."

Jim smirked. "Too dull."

Even more surprised than before, the older French agent let out, "You were a spy during the American war? I was a spy too – and Captain in the Army. C'est incroyable!" he said, reverting to his mother tongue. Then, in English, he added, "I'm sure you disguised yourself during your missions, right? I did that too, and I still do, because at the Sûreté Générale we mostly work undercover."

Shaking his head in amazement, Arrtie said, "That's fascinating! There are so many similarities between us… That's absolutely amazing! And I'm not talking about those which exist between Jim and Jacques too… Jacques being James in English, to start with and to stay on the subject of names, Jacques calls you 'Artie' and Jim calls me 'Artie' too, and… what is your mother's name Arthur?"

Surprised by the question, Arthur said, "Hélène"… and he smiled. "Let me guess, your mother's name is Helen or Helena."

Moving to join Jim, Artie smiled too. "Helena," he responded. Then, he knelt and removed the black mask from the injured man lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. He gasped in surprise. "Voltaire! I should have recognized his tower-like silhouette."

Both Jacques and Arthur asked in a chorus, "Vous le connaissez?" ("You know him?").

Putting his gun in his holster and picking up Voltaire's gun, Jim said, "Good question. Do the similarities between us stop with us, or do they exist with other people? Is he your Voltaire, or ours? If he's yours, that's bad news for you. It means that you have a Loveless too." He asked the giant. "Where is your Master? Where is Dr. Loveless? Tell me!"

Glaring at Jim, Voltaire said, "I won't tell you anything! You'll never find him!" There was no trace of French accent and it was Voltaire's voice alright, the US agents thought.

Frowning, Artie said, "He's our Voltaire, but that doesn't mean that a French Voltaire doesn't exist, and a French Loveless too. I hope not." Then he slid Voltaire's gun in the pocket of his coat.

Leaning toward Voltaire, Jim asked the other man, "Where is he? Tell me!" But Voltaire didn't respond as he passed out again.

Puzzled and wanting answers, Jacques asked, "Qui est cet homme? Et qui est Loveless?" ("Who is this man? And who is Loveless?").

Jim said, "Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless is a brilliant megalomaniac, and our Nemesis. He has tried to kill us many times… It's a long story. I'm wondering what his role is in the plot involving French royalists… But I'll ask him the second he's my prisoner."

Arthur translated for his partner.

Kneeling beside the passed out giant, the younger French agent noticed that his shoes and the lower parts of his black pants were smeared with fresh mud and small pieces of decaying leaves. "Le bas de son pantalon et ses chaussures sont couverts de vase et de petits morceaux de feuilles en décomposition, et c'est très frais. Comme le Capitaine Blanquart nous a dit que personne n'était entré ici avant nous. Il est donc entré dans l'opéra par une entrée non surveillée par les soldats, où il y a de la vase… et je sais lequel…" (The bottoms of his pants and his shoes are covered with mud, and it's very fresh. As Captain Blanquart told us that nobody entered here before us, this man entered the opera house by an entrance not guarded by the soldiers, where there is mud ... and I know which one.").

Arthur nodded and said, "Oui, moi aussi. Il y a un immense réservoir sous l'opéra destiné à contenir les infiltrations souterraines, et il y a un tunnel qui mène à la Seine. Il est entré ici par là, sans que personne ne le voit." ("Yes, me too. There is an immense reservoir under the opera house designed to contain the underground infiltrations and there's a tunnel that leads to the Seine. He came here that way, without anybody seeing".).

Kneeling too beside the black clad man, Arthur opened his long coat and discovered a knife, in a sheath at his right side. He took it and slid it in his boot. "You won't need that."

Furrowing his brow Artie noticed that the interior of the coat was covered with unusual big pockets. He snapped his fingers twice. "He had bombs in those pockets! He was here to hide them where they will kill the maximum of people."

Looking at Arthur, Jacques asked, "Qu'a t-il dit?" ("What did he say?"). Then he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket before putting them on Voltaire's wrists.

Opening one of the bays opening on the streets, Arthur responded, "Artemus a dit que Voltaire a placé des bombes aux endroits où elles feront le plus de victimes." He crossed the loggia and leaning over the marble railing of the avant-corps, he cried out to the soldiers posted on the first steps of the front stair, located outside the monument, in front of the heavily sculpted avant-corps. "J'ai besoin d'aide! Venez! Tout de suite!" ("I need your help! Come! Right away!")

Immediately a dozen of the soldiers left their positions.

Heading back inside, Arthur glanced at Voltaire, still passed out and said, "Laissons-le là, il ne pourra pas aller très loin. Il sera transporté à l'hôpital le plus proche, l'hôpital de l'Hôtel Dieu." ("Leave him here, he won't be able to go very far. He will be transported to the nearest hospital, à l'hôpital de l'Hôtel Dieu."). Looking at Artie, he added, "Nous allons aller tous les deux dans le réservoir pour voir si ce Loveless n'y est pas. Si oui, nous l'arrêterons et condamnerons l'entrée. S'il n'est pas là, nous condamnerons l'entrée de toutes façons." ("We will both go to the réservoir to see if this Loveless is there. If so, we will arrest him and block off the entry. If he's not there, we will block off the entry anyway.").

Jacques nodded and said to the two Arties, "Et avec Jim nous allons aider les soldats à rechercher les bombes que Voltaire a caché dans l'opéra!" ("And with Jim we will help the soldiers to search for the bombs that Voltaire hid in the opera!").

They separated into two teams.

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In the reservoir under the opera house

Pointing at the broken trapdoor Arthur winced as each movement hurt and said, "He came from the reservoir, no doubt. It was locked when I inspected it yesterday."

Nodding, Artemus took the lantern sitting to the side of the opening that Voltaire had brought and didn't use once inside, because the opera house was lit everywhere. "That will help!" he said.

Arthur pulled open what was left of the rectangular thick piece of wood and went down the metallic steps leading to the dark water.

Following his French counterpart, and holding the lantern, Artie discovered in his turn a boat moored there, at the rusty railing. Arthur noticed a big footprint on the first step, the water there being covered with a thick layer of mud and dead leaves. "He came from here, there's no doubt," he said. "Give me the lantern, Artemus, please."

Glancing around him Artie complied. "There's no one here."

Lowering himself into the boat Arthur said, "Let's inspect the tunnel leading to the Seine, shall we? Loveless could be there waiting for his man to come back."

Nodding again, Artie joined his French counterpart in the boat and untied the rope before taking the oars. Soon after he started to row.

Kneeling at the front of the boat, holding the lantern, Arthur lead Artemus to the tunnel covered by a flattened arch dotted with limestone concretions and bordered on each side by a small concrete ledge, where they spotted big rats running along the moss-covered walls. "The tunnel is long and passes under the Place Vendôme and under the Jardin des Tuileries before reaching the Seine near the Pont Royal. The opening is protected by a fixed grid which lets the water flow through."

Still rowing Artie replied, "Something tells me that it's not fixed anymore."

Half an hour later they reached the daylight and the grid… finding there was a large hole in the middle of it open to the river nearby. Large enough for a boat to pass through.

His vision getting used to natural light Artie accelerated his rowing while Arthur grabbed his gun, ready to shoot anything.

They came out on the Seine near the Pont Royal.

There was a small sailboat moored at the quay, with a mast which could be folded down so that it could pass under many Paris bridges.

Recognizing the familiar silhouette of Dr. Loveless standing at the bow, Artemus paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and said, "Loveless!" and settled his gun on his lap, ready to open fire.

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Miguelito Loveless was standing at the bow of the sailboat he had rented in London and used to come here, to France waiting for Voltaire, enjoying a cup of hot coffee.

His manservant and bodyguard should come back soon after having hidden time bombs in strategical places in the opera house, he thought.

Looking at the ducks floating on the river, he took a thoughtful sip of his coffee as he imagined the explosions which, soon would kill dozens of people and destroy large portions of the new opera house. Then it would be chaos. He loved chaos.

He smiled when he saw the boat leaving the tunnel. "Ah! Voltaire's back…" But his smile vanished from his lips a few seconds later when he recognized who was on board, rowing. It wasn't Voltaire, but…"No! No! That's not possible… Artemus Gordon!" He let out, stunned.

He dropped his cup on the deck, where it crashed, the hot beverage splashing his pants. He briefly winced as it burnt.

He was astonished to realize that a 'second' Artemus Gordon was at the front of the boat, holding a gun pointed in his direction.

Ignoring for now the question 'how is it possible?' because he had to act quickly to stop the 'two agents', he moved back hastily, his face distorted with anger. "You won't stop me, Gordons!"

He turned around and looking at two of his hulking minions standing there, he ordered them, "Bowman! Peters! Bring me the dynamite box! Now!" His blue eyes darkened, became feral. "There is enough left to vaporize these two men! Let's pulverize them!"

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Rowing at top speed toward the small sailboat, Artemus said, "Loveless! He saw us!" And he felt a shiver going down his spine. "Oh this is so not good… Stand ready to fire Arthur! He's not going to let us move closer!"

Arthur stood ready.

He had just said that to Arthur when two massive men approached the bow. But they weren't holding guns, but bundles of sticks of dynamite.

Rowing backward, his heart pounding against his rib cage, Artemus let out a string of curses between gritted teeth.

Swallowing his panic, Arthur gulped and his face went white. He aimed at the two men and pressed the trigger, twice.

In a flash Loveless's minions ducked behind the wooden rail, the bullets making two holes in it. Then they stood up a few seconds later.

Opening his eyes wide in fear, Arthur mumbled, "On est mort!" ("We're dead!") as the bombs flew in their direction, the short fuses lit.

But they had good enough reflexes to jump out of the boat seconds before the dynamite exploded. There were huge BOOMS, fire and the two agents were catapulted into the air amid a big foamy geyser and clouds of dark, billowing smoke as the boat was shattered, disintegrating in a shower of large splinters of wood which flew in all directions behaving like bullets.

The two men were unconscious before they hit the surface of the Seine a few seconds later, like bloodied ragdolls. They sank in the muddy waters, like stones and they disappeared under the waves caused by the shock.

The close blast was strong enough to make the small sailboat roll and pitch, but it didn't stop Miguelito Loveless from going to the bow to watch his oeuvre a couple of minutes later.

His ears ringing, the diminutive man cackled with joy, while rubbing his hands. "Gordons, plural, no more," he said his words getting lost in the loud noise ripping through the air, reverberating along the quais, watching tendrils of smoke float on the Seine, debris and nothing else.

No bodies.

He grinned. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

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In the opera de Paris at the same time

Sixth sense is a great thing to ring bells of alarm in the head.

Hearing the explosions, Jim froze in the middle of the Grand Escalier a defused dynamite time bomb in each hand. A shiver ran down his spine. He paled in fear and let out, "Artie!"

Standing on the landing, Jacques felt his blood turn to ice in his veins with dread. "Oh mon Dieu! Arthur…" And then he rushed downstairs, Jim in tow.

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« Οἷος δὲ βροτολοιγὸς Ἄρης πόλεμον δὲ μέτεισι,

τῷ δὲ Φόϐος φίλος υἱὸς ἅμα κρατερὸς καὶ ἀταρϐὴς

ἕσπετο, ὅς τ' ἐφόϐησε ταλάφρονά περ πολεμιστήν »

« On voit ainsi Arès, fléau des hommes, marcher au combat,

Suivi d'Effroi, son fils intrépide et fort,

Qui met en fuite le guerrier le plus résistant. »

Homère, l'Iliade.

To be continued.