Sorry for the hiccup in posting, but I caught a nasty cold and could barely breathe for a few days, much less do anything that required brainwork, like posting here...
L ~ L ~ L
When Eliot returned to the Annex, creamy linen fabric hung from the upstairs balcony, camouflaging everything other than the workroom. Quinn and Cassandra had returned from Marseille and someone - Jenkins, probably - had brought Quinn a mug of tea.
Without prompting, Quinn set his cup aside and came to take one of the two oversized, and over-heavy, duffel bags Eliot had brought back with him.
The other man certainly knew what was in the duffels - they made a very distinctive thunk when they landed on the table - but he said nothing other than, "Interesting place you've got here."
"Not my place," Eliot said and offered a hand. "Just borrowing it for this job."
Quinn shook his hand, with a glance that took in the upper story. Beyond the cloth, shelves of books were just visible even though the upstairs lights were out.
"This is related to Chamblin House," Quinn said.
"Not really," Eliot said.
"Uh-huh." But Quinn was a professional and let it lie. He'd have his answers soon enough, Eliot thought, at least some of them.
"Quinn, Baird." Eliot made introductions quickly. "Gotta ask you to turn off your cell phone and hand it over. Jenkins will return it when we get back."
That statement earned him a raised eyebrow, but to his surprise, Quinn pulled his phone out and started powering it down. Quinn quirked one lip in a half-grin.
"Like I said, you've played straight with me until now."
Eliot could only nod - as much because he wasn't going to say anything else until he was certain Quinn's phone was off and not recording or transmitting as at the display of trust he'd just given.
Eliot wasn't sure he could have shown the same trust in return.
"Thank you, Mr. Quinn." Jenkins took the phone. "I assure you, it will be in the same condition when I return it."
Quinn nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. Eliot couldn't blame him, but more reassurances would only serve to raise his suspicions even more.
Eliot took a breath. "This job'll be quick and dirty."
"Best kind," Quinn said.
"And personal," Eliot added.
"Worst kind," Quinn amended. "You sure about it?"
"We're going after Damien Moreau."
Quinn's eyebrows shot up. "You worked for him, and you got out alive. Most people would take the win."
"And my team put him in prison in San Lorenzo a couple of years ago," Eliot said. "But he still has contacts and influence, and now he has my twin brother."
Eliot watched Quinn's mouth purse in consideration, before he glanced at Baird.
"You knew," he said, just a statement of fact.
"I work with Jacob," Baird said. "I met Eliot a few months ago."
"Jake's more trusting than I am," Eliot said, and that made Quinn chuckle.
"Not setting the bar high there, Eliot. Where is he and how do we get him back?"
"There's only one place Moreau would go," Eliot said. "His villa - it used to be his, before President Ribera confiscated it."
"Ribera just died," Quinn said. "News that his villa and its contents are going up for auction was all over - every thief, retrieval specialist, and questionable antiquities dealer in the world will be descending on San Lorenzo for that auction."
Baird looked at Quinn, her expression caught between surprise and disbelief. Eliot looked down to hide his smirk.
Quinn only shrugged. "Probably a few legitimate ones, too."
"How do you know Eliot, exactly?" Baird murmured.
"We'll take the Back Door to his villa," Eliot said to cut off Quinn's answer, "and clear it. Jake'll be held in the dungeon below."
"San Lorenzo was a British colony," Baird said. "Were they still building dungeons during the colonial period?"
"Not the time for a history lesson, Colonel," Eliot snapped. "I know it's there, and that's where he'll keep Jake."
"Villa," Quinn repeated. "That as defenseless as it sounds?"
"You wish," Eliot told him. He pulled a roll of blueprints from one of the duffel bags he'd brought and opened them onto the table.
#
Ten minutes later, Eliot opened the duffel bags and showed its contents to his teammates.
"Think you have enough guns there, Spencer?" Baird asked dryly.
Eliot paused to consider the question, and in that second, Quinn answered for him.
"Against Damien Moreau? Maybe." Quinn pulled a Glock 22 from the duffel and looked at Eliot. "You're serious about this."
"Goddamn right I am." Eliot didn't look up at him, instead focusing on choosing his own weapons.
"Thought you didn't like guns," Quinn said.
"I can use 'em just fine - and I will."
"Tell me you brought along some of those fancy ear pieces," Baird said. Eliot didn't know whether she'd said it to deliberately lighten the mood or not, but he was grateful for it anyway.
In answer to her question, he withdrew a small case from one of the duffels, opened it, and withdrew his own earbud before offering one first to her, then to Quinn.
"And you'll want this." Eliot offered Baird a flak jacket, nodded to Quinn to get his own.
When all three of them had their flak jackets on and fastened, and the comms were checked - Hardison would squawk at that if he were here, but as much as Eliot trusted the man, he would always double and triple check the gear that his life depended on - Eliot nodded to Jenkins.
A moment later, Jenkins said, "Ready."
"Good luck," Cassandra said. Eliot nodded an acknowledgment and opened the door to take the first, stumbling step into San Lorenzo.
Eliot blinked in the sunshine as he heard Quinn muttering beside him. "Never gonna get used to that."
"Parker?" Eliot said. She'd taken an earbud before she left.
"I'm on the south side of the villa," her voice came back. "I counted six guards on perimeter patrol at fifteen-second intervals."
"Thanks, Parker," Eliot told her. "We'll take it from here."
"There's an easy route up to the southeast corner," Parker continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Partly concealed from the house, too."
"Parker." Eliot put every ounce of command he'd ever had into that single word and the two that followed. "Go home."
"No," she said. "Not yet. Not until we have Happy Eliot."
"Parker -"
"I can get him out," she said quietly. "I'm not a fighter like the rest of you, but I am a thief. Getting things and people out of places is what I do. Especially if he's hurt, I can help him without costing you a fighter."
"You know she's right, Spencer," Baird said.
"I do," Eliot admitted and hoped the crack in his voice didn't sound as loud as he thought it did.
He'd never wanted his former life to intrude on his work with the Leverage crew – and for a while, he'd succeeded. Then the Italian woman had shown up, and his team had learned more about that former life than he'd ever intended.
He'd gotten through that with only Nate Ford aware of any of the details of his former life, and Damien Moreau in prison. For the first time in years, Eliot had allowed himself to breathe easier, to relax if only somewhat, knowing that Damien Moreau would never be a part of his life again.
And then he'd gotten the voice mail this morning, and not only had his former life collided with his Leverage life, his twin had gotten caught in the crossfire.
There really was only one thing Eliot could do now. That Parker understood that, or seemed to, brought some comfort, but the weight of what he would be doing still settled on his shoulders.
"All right," he said, his voice stronger. "Let's go."
Eliot led the way to Parker's location, fighting back memories of the last time he'd been to Damien Moreau's villa. Those were the memories that he hated - the good times with Damien, the times when he'd felt like he belonged somewhere. He'd chased that feeling from the day he'd left home to enlist, only able to identify and name the feeling once he'd settled in with Nathan Ford's crew.
Before Nate, he'd let himself belong with Damien Moreau. And then Damien asked him to sell his soul.
Not literally - Damien Moreau wasn't the devil even if he did share the name of the antichrist from that old movie, and Eliot knew that - but he'd asked Eliot to do something evil. So evil that even now, so many years after the fact, it still haunted him.
He'd gotten out, then, by killing every one of Moreau's men that dared to come anywhere near him. Now it looked like he'd have to do the same thing, only worse, to save his twin.
It was a price he'd gladly pay.
#
Eliot supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Parker had found not just an easy approach to Damien's villa but the best approach. He crouched with the others at the base of a rocky outcrop where what might've been a wildlife trail worked its way up the promontory where some long-ago architect had chosen to build a villa.
"Fifteen seconds isn't a lot of time to get up there," Quinn observed.
"I can do it," Parker said at the same time Eliot said, "It's more time than we'd have anywhere else."
"What about going in the front door in disguise?" Baird asked. "Your crew made that kind of con into an art form."
Eliot just looked at her, the question unasked.
Baird shrugged. "So I've heard."
"It'd be worth a shot against anyone but Damien," Eliot said. "He takes security real serious, probably only gotten worse since I was here. Best bet is straight up this path, take out the guards and run for the house."
"We can get partway up - see that bend, there?" Quinn pointed, and Eliot nodded. "Wait there for the next round of patrol."
Eliot nodded. "You an' me'll take out the guards. Parker, Baird - run for the house."
Eliot drew a knife and watched, counting the seconds in his head.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
"Now."
