Hello, and welcome to my new Story.
This is a Sequel.
Here is a brief synopsis of the first story,"The Sound of My Voice," to refresh memories. You may need to read that tale first, if you have not done so, as some of this sequel may not make sense otherwise.
Synopsis of Prequel:
Having left the Army, Athos is now a successful Psychologist and Clinical Hypnotherapist with a Harley Street Practise. When Clarisse Villiers comes into his life as a client, she draws him into a dangerous game in order to bring down her husband, Lord George Villiers, who for years has been running a drug smuggling organisation. He finally meets his downfall, and Clarisse disappears with a pardon and the haul of precious gems she took from their safe when she handed Special Forces agent d'Artagnan the file on Villiers operations.
A/N: With thanks to MusketeerAdventure for the initial prompt in March that planted the seed for this sequel and for previous reviewers who said they'd like to see more of Athos the Hypnotherapist.
This story is set just a couple of months in the future, as I needed to use September.
oOo
My Voice Will Go With You
By Greenlips24
Summary:
George Villier's reach is far, even from a maximum security prison. Athos and Porthos helped bring about his downfall, together with his "wife" Clarisse. Here, they all meet once more as he seeks his revenge.
First, they must find d'Artagnan, who is on a mission of his own. It soon draws them all into a deadly fight for survival with some very dangerous men with everything to gain and nothing to lose.
CHAPTER ONE
A Surprise
Well, this is a blast from the past, she thought ... reaching for her phone.
"Hello Hothead," she whispered from her vantage point overlooking Notre Dame.
"I thought our business was concluded," she added, automatically hitting the record button.
When he did not answer, she turned away from the window and frowned.
It had been almost a year since she had last heard from d'Artagnan. She had kept the phone they had communicated with. It was always useful to have such a phone in her line of work. In fact, she had three cell phones. Who knew when she may need one?
This one however, was her only satellite phone.
Maybe she had kept it for sentimental reasons. That brought a cynical smile to her lips. Sentimentality was quite beyond her.
Listening intently now, she could make out faint sounds.
When she heard a scream, she very nearly dropped the damned phone in shock.
It was the whimpering that really had her attention.
She kept the line open, listening; recording silence now.
After what seemed like a long time, she heard a faint voice.
A faint, familiar surprised voice.
"Clarisse?"
She sighed.
"No, Mother Teresa. Who do you think it is? It's your damned phone!"
But he cut her off with two curt words, before the line went dead.
"Tell Athos ..."
Before she could reply, he was gone.
oOo
Later, she sat at the back of a little cafe on the Boulevard de Clichy and listened to it again. Then she lingered and turned the phone over and over in her hand, thinking; uneasy. She didn't need this.
d'Artagnan had given the phone to her last year he was her control. She had thought it was an ordinary cell phone and had just tossed it into her bag, answering it whenever she heard the distinctive tone she had allocated to him ("Crazy Frog"). Save for the slightly thicker antennae that folded neatly down the side, it was small and compact. It was, he had explained later, a satellite phone. That was probably why she kept it. It was an expensive piece of kit. She did not know it was also a two way radio. He had not told her that. Maybe he did not need to. He had only called her rarely, just to chivvy her along in her task; setting up George Villiers, her so-called husband.
Hothead was still paying for it. Maybe he had forgotten she had it, but the monthly fees just kept rolling on, and were subsequently paid.
It had a high capacity battery. She had only ever charged it once, and then it did not really need it. Its global reach was quite impressive. This one had a "push to talk" function for privacy and was shock resistant and jet water resistant. And encryption encoded. Nice.
She hadn't realised it was in her bag on this trip until the thing squawked at her.
Lost in thought, she drifted back to the night in Kensington almost a year ago, when he had entered her home with his team, and she had retrieved the file from the safe that would incriminate her "husband," George Villiers and send him to prison. She had not seen or heard from d'Artagnan since.
She had slipped away in the aftermath of George Villiers arrest at their home in Kensington and had made a new life for herself on the proceeds of the gems she had also taken from the safe.
After a final meeting with Athos, when they had both reunited past lives Ann and Olivier through an intense but successful hypnosis session, her business with him was also concluded.
Although she had not forgotten Athos.
She had fond memories of him.
They had almost died at the hands of her "husband." Porthos too. But it had all worked out in the end. Especially for her.
She sighed. It was September. She knew they would all be in Picardy, at Athos's chateau for their annual month-long get together. They would be expecting d'Artagnan to join them.
She didn't owe either of them anything, she told herself.
But the scream had been unnerving.
She was not due home for several weeks, and her current mark was going nowhere; she could pick up this heist in a few days.
She thought about seeing Athos again. The minute she had walked into his office that first day last year, she had been attracted to him. She knew it could never be; they were not meant to be together, but the snatched moments she had spent with him, sniping and teasing, and other things, had been the best of her life.
But he knew nothing of her life now, and he certainly would not approve.
No doubt he had someone else now.
Someone safe ... legitimate ... boring.
A visit to Picardy might be nice.
oOo
Heathrow Airport – First day of September.
Porthos was already at Heathrow when Athos strode through the automatic doors, pulling his suitcase behind him, backpack on his shoulder.
They had not seen each other for several weeks, but this annual holiday to Athos's chateau, "La Fere," in Picardy was a real treat. Porthos had called it the "Crash Mansion" when he had first heard about it and the label had stuck. It was the third of Athos's properties, and as with the other two, he was generous in sharing them with his brothers. Picardy was a particular favourite with them. They all took the month of September to meet up there and reaffirm their brotherhood and relax once more in each other's company.
The house itself stood on the footprint of the old building, part of which was burned down in the early 1600's. Half of it was rented out to families in the summer months; the rest was free to accommodate Athos and his guests.
The garden at the rear of the house was a delight, with an established orchard. It was a private space surrounded by fruit trees, vines and creepers snaking up the rear walls. Japanese flowering cherry trees grew through an array of wildflowers, giving an overall impression of soft control.
Aramis was due to arrive in three days, and d'Artagnan whenever he could, his workload with Special Forces permitting. No-one had heard from him for a while, so it would be good to catch up. However, they knew he could be literally anywhere in the world, and as previously serving soldiers, they all respected the secrecy of his role, and the Official Secrets Act that they had all signed at one point.
Porthos could see that Athos was tired as they clasped each other in a brotherly embrace. It had been a busy time at his Harley Street hypnotherapy practise. He was in demand and he was one female therapist down so he had had to manage a variety of female placements and otherwise turn work down.
Constance would be joining him in the practise soon, as a temporary stand-in, and for however long it took to find a permanent replacement. She had some clients of her own in London so it worked out for her as well. It saved them travelling to see her at her practise in Geneva and allowed her to help her dear friend Athos, who she had met on their training course several years ago.
"Sexist," Porthos laughed, when Athos explained.
"No, it's quite legitimate – some females like a female therapist. It is all about trust; you are asking them to sit in a room with a stranger and close their eyes and give themselves over to their inner experience. I like to offer them the choice," Athos replied.
They checked in and headed to the bar.
"And how is the lovely Ninon?" Porthos asked as they waited for their flight to show up on the electronic Departures board on their left.
"She is well." Athos said, offering no more.
"You doin' as you're told?" Porthos chuckled.
"She's not like that," Athos sighed.
Ninon was beautiful, but formidable. She was Constance's best friend, and she and Athos had reacquainted themselves with each other after the Villier's affair. But, like Constance, she lived in Geneva, so it was a somewhat long distance relationship.
"She's a ravin' feminist," Porthos scoffed. He liked Ninon, she was very easy on the eye; but she was too tough for his taste. Athos always seemed to attract strong, opinionated women, whereas his taste was for those who brought out his protective, caring side.
Athos sighed.
"I admit she does have some strong, sometimes rather radical views; but we have begged to differ on several of them," Athos replied, keeping an eye on the electronic board.
"Ha! Just as I thought!"
"Porthos ..." Athos drew his name out in a low exaggerated drawl, intending to put a halt to his teasing, but he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.
Their flight was due in forty minutes, and so far there was no indication that it would be delayed. He couldn't wait to get there and forget about the UK for four glorious weeks.
Porthos merely put his head back and laughed even louder.
"Just friends with benefits, then." Porthos said, picking up their glasses and heading back to the bar. Athos could hear him quietly laughing. After a few moments, he shook his head and smiled. Porthos was incorrigible.
Luckily, Porthos could also take a hint, and when he came back with their refills, he made a point of changing the subject, and they spent the next half hour catching up, before their flight was called and they headed to the Departure Lounge.
Porthos threw his arm around Athos's shoulder as they walked, and Athos felt himself relax for the first time in weeks.
It was going to be a good September.
To be continued ...
oOo
A/N "Clarisse" is the English interpretation of "Clarick," a name sometimes used by Milady de Winter in the Dumas novels.