AN: I am certain that I am not Victor Hugo, so I do not claim to own anything here. So basically the Standard Disclaimer applies here. Anyway I hope you all enjoy.
Chapter 1
I stormed into my office, after the Montreuil-Sur-Mer roadblock failed to capture the former mayor who turned out to be none other than convict 24601. Jean Valjean. The very man I was seeking. Over the years I had traced his likely movements, although there was one thing that consistently bothered me - well two honestly - the first being his compassion for the girl, he really did act like a father to her; and secondly was his strength. At Valjean's age no man should have such strength, physical or spiritual.
As my mind whirled around the issue of 24601, there was a fearful knock on my door. One of my officers clearly had reason to disturb me despite stating that I did not want to be. I called for him to enter as the door swung open.
"Pardon me Inspector, but a British officer is here from London. He wishes to speak to you?"
"A British police officer from London?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wants to speak with me?" The young corporal just nodded. "Very well, send him in." He nodded and respectfully backed out of the room.
"The Inspector will see you now."
"Yes, I heard." I could tell that this was an older officer, perhaps with even more age than me. His tone was harsh and accent clearly not local to London. But despite times passage I would know this voice anywhere. In walked an indeed older man, his beard and hair whiting but neatly kept. He wore not an officers uniform but a suit obviously of impeccable quality. There was an overpowering smell of tobacco and male perfume clinging to him, as with his voice it was not something I would forget. "Javert. It has been a long time."
"Not long enough I fear."
"Oh come now. Surely you have your own version somewhere?"
"Indeed I do, and would you please respect my title."
"For the time being I shall Inspector." I could see him smirking. "38609." I growled.
"And will you stop calling me that. It is not my fault I was born where I was."
"Perhaps but that warden's death was, besides you were still an inmate. You needed to be categorized."
"That was self-defence." I could feel my eye twitch.
"Besides the categorizing of you born-in children could have been made worse. You should be considerate."
"Considerate? I'll show you considerate." I grabbed the British officer by his high collared suit and threw him out of the door. He landed heavily but was up quickly. I stared at him holding onto the door for support. "Next time, sir. I shall break your neck." I then slammed the door in his face. Feeling my position of inspector now to be in doubt; I knew I had to flee Paris. To be like the one I had hunted for so long, the one I had stopped being years ago. We would have to be kin by the numbers burned into our skin. Valjean and Javert. The pair of ex-convicts French and Gypsy. Thief and Murderer.
With my mind set I placed all evidence of my police rank on my desk; my pistols, sword and outer layers of uniform. I quickly placed a chair by the window leading to the upper levels of the surrounding buildings. I was fortunate that the heavy oak door to my Parisian office muffled most sound. Glancing back I took one of my police pistols. I glared at the door one last time before using the chair to climb out of the window. I knew Paris' rooftops better than even Valjean knew its backstreets. Incidentally from this vantage point I could still do my duty and run for my life but I knew eventually duty would have to be surrendered.