Chapter 8

The next time the door opened, it was Grimaud who entered the room.

Athos stared at him through weary eyes; he was endlessly tired and drained, and not sure for how much longer he could pull himself together. The constant pain in his body discomforted him, as well as the lack of sleep and loss of blood. He had mounting problems forming coherent thoughts and staying awake.

Grimaud glared at the bandage his fellow terrorist had put around Athos' leg. Without comment, he cut through the fabric with the small dagger he had used to torture Athos, unaffected by the fact that the blade cut through skin as well. He yanked the bandage away with his left hand, revealing the wound on Athos' thigh and then, without warning, he thrust the dagger right into the bullet hole.

Athos cried out in pain, unable to hold back the scream. Panting heavily, he growled, "You bastard."

"Tell me where it is and I'll release you from your pain."

"There. Is. No. Key," Athos panted. "If there is, we have no knowledge of it. Why can't you grasp the fact? If there ever was a key to some deposit box full of money or shares, Rochefort either took it to the grave with him or hid it God only knows where."

Grabbing Athos' hair, Grimaud yanked his head back brutally, forcing Athos to look up to him. "You've no idea what I had to suffer for that money. They want it back and I survived only because I made promises. Promises I need to keep," Grimaud growled. "You'll die one way or the other. If you tell me, I'll end your life immediately and spare you a sea of pain. Your decision. And don't rely on rescue from outside. No one will come."

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Coming around slowly, Aramis' first, dazed thought was that he had, embarrassingly, wet himself. He could feel something warm slowly running down his upper thighs and dropping from his crotch. A second later his confused mind registered the pain, and he remembered being stabbed, and that the warmth must be blood, not urine, slowly seeping out of his body. He groaned.

A half-hearted slap to his face finally brought him round completely and he opened his eyes.

"Ah, there you are. Now, look at you, the great war hero," Philippe Feron sneered at Aramis. "Where is your highly extolled greatness now?"

Aramis stared at Feron, trying to focus on the situation and gauge the other's plans, which was hard with the pain throbbing through his body and the haze that had settled in his mind.

Feron bent forward a little to come closer to Aramis' face. "I can still hear Tréville's eulogy about his great Musketeers who would keep Paris from descending in chaos. And what have you brought?" He straightened himself. "You only caused trouble. It was a good decision of him to finally send you back to war." He rounded the chair Aramis was tightly bound to, saying, "Grimaud will be delighted." Coming to a halt behind Aramis, Feron put a hand on Aramis' injured shoulder, and without warning he suddenly squeezed it hard.

Aramis groaned with pain, dark spots suddenly dancing before his eyes. For a short moment, the pain in his shoulder replaced the pain in his abdomen, though he was not sure which was worse. He waited until the feeling of nausea had passed. "Is there anything important you wanted to relate?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Feron moved to the front of the chair again. With a nod towards Aramis' lower region, he said arrogantly, "You're ruining my floor. On the other hand, what else can one expect from a common soldier?"

Aramis closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he tried to keep the pain under control. He was convinced he could literally feel the blood filling his lower abdomen, his belly bloating from all the blood inside, how the pressure on his lungs made it harder to breathe with every gasp for air. A bad sign, he thought. By the time he realised Feron was still talking to him, he had missed most of what the former Governor of Paris had said.

"And therefore, as much as I love chatting with you about the good old days, it's about time to bring you to Grimaud. Your friend, I guess, will be delighted, if he's still with us."

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The man who had treated Athos earlier slipped through the door, signalling for the other guard to leave. After he'd gone, the Arab took up position beside the door, just like every other guard had done before. "If you've something to say, now is the time," the man said. "Grimaud has found leverage."

Athos thought he'd heard a touch of compassion in the other man's voice, though he had no idea why any of his guards should feel pity for Athos. Swallowing hard, he asked, "What leverage?"

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Constance answered the call on her mobile after checking the caller's number. "Hi Anne, what's up?"

"Hi, I just wanted to know when you are going to leave the hospital," Anne replied.

Constance frowned. "What do you mean? We left the hospital over two hours ago. Is Aramis not with you?"

After a moment's silence Anne asked, "What?"

"We left shortly after 8 am, I returned to the office with d'Artagnan, and Porthos and Aramis shared a taxi home. We agreed that d'Artagnan and I would start sifting through CCTV footage and man the reception here in case Grimaud calls, while Aramis would go home and Porthos would have a lie-down until he feels better."

"But he's not here, he didn't come home. I thought you'd still be at the hospital."

"No need to worry, give me a moment to clear a few things," Constance said. "Maybe he stayed with Porthos, I'll check that. I'll call you back in a minute." She ended the call and immediately dialled Porthos' mobile number. Other than Aramis, he had not lost his mobile during the operation to free Henri. She let it ring for a while before the call was answered by Porthos.

"Yeah?" he asked blearily.

"It's Constance. Is Aramis with you?"

"What? Aramis? No, why should he? He went home after they dropped me off." When Constance failed to respond immediately, Porthos asked, "What's wrong?"

"Anne just called. Aramis never showed up. I thought maybe he stayed at your place or you two cooked up a plan or something and he went somewhere else."

Porthos briefly remained silent, taking his time to stomach the news. "Damn, where could he be? He's not even fit enough to walk, let alone try anything on his own. Besides, he really wanted to see Anne and Henri, he wouldn't have gone anywhere without reporting home first. What a ..." Porthos let loose a stream of curses, suitable even to make Constance blush. "I'll be in the office in fifteen minutes," he said finally and hung up.

D'Artagnan, who stood in the doorframe to his office listening to the last part of the conversation, said, pleadingly, "Don't say Aramis is missing. Please, don't say it."

Constance let her hand holding the handset sink slowly, worriedly looking at d'Artagnan. "He is. Anne just called, asking when we were leaving the hospital."

"Where for crying out loud could he have gone?" d'Artagnan asked, raking his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know. I need to call Anne back and tell her that he's not with Porthos. Maybe she has an idea where he could have gone instead."

"I'll try to get hold of the taxi driver. I'm sure the taxi offices have some kind of logbook, I just need to find out which one serves the hospital. Is Porthos coming?"

"Yes, he said he'll be here in a quarter of an hour."

"I'll need to see him as soon as he's here, maybe he remembers the name of the taxi driver, or his number." D'Artagnan turned around, heading back to his computer where he abandoned his effort to find a trace of Athos and Grimaud and instead tried to get hold of CCTV footage from the street where Porthos lived and Aramis had last been seen. Simultaneously he searched on his tablet computer for the cab company that served the hospital.

Constance joined him a few minutes later. "Anne says there was a big accident on Rue Vaugirard a couple of hours ago, about the time when Aramis should have got home. Maybe the taxi was involved in the accident and Aramis has been brought to a hospital. Maybe he is injured, or he needs to be questioned as witness by the police. He hasn't got his mobile with him so he probably won't be able to call." Apparently, Constance was clutching at every straw.

"Okay. You call all the hospitals and police stations in the area of the accident. See if Retancourt or Brujon can help you with it. I'll start with the cab company."

When Porthos entered the office twelve minutes later, d'Artagnan had already talked to the taxi driver who had driven Porthos and Aramis. They knew now that Aramis had neither been injured during the incident on Rue Vaugirard nor driven elsewhere after they had dropped off Porthos. "He has paid the driver and left the car when the traffic had jammed, intending to walk the way home. We're talking about a distance of around 900 metres here, maybe even less. Somewhere between here and here," d'Artagnan showed them the distance on the map on his computer screen, moving his finger from one point to another, "something must have happened causing him to change his plan and not return home."

"Do you really think he willingly passed on the chance to see Anne and Henri?" Constance asked.

"No," d'Artagnan replied lowly. "But that's better than having to deal with the alternative."

"We must inform Retancourt that Aramis is missing. I don't believe he disappeared of his own free will," Porthos said.

"Did you speak to her?" d'Artagnan asked, turning to Constance.

"Not yet, I spoke to Brujon. He checked whether there was something on Aramis in the police reports on the accident. I'll call her now."

"Okay," d'Artagnan replied. "I'll see if I can find Aramis leaving the taxi so we can see which direction he turned to, what happened after he left the car. I know for sure that there are surveillance cameras around the Palais du Luxembourg as well as further down the road at the museum. I'm sure I can find him on footage there, I just need to get access to their system."

"Anne must be worried sick. First Henri, now Athos and Aramis. Will it never end?" Constance said softly.

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"What leverage?" Athos asked again, gulping around the lump in his throat. For the first time since his capture, real fear gripped him to the marrow when the man still didn't respond. Was it some kind of tactic to leave him in the dark about what Grimaud would confront him with, or just another act of kindness from the Arab, who might be well aware that whatever it was Grimaud could use against Athos would finally break him? "I cannot give what I don't have," Athos repeated hoarsely, desperately thinking about what or, more particularly, who it could be that Grimaud had in his hands now.

The man stirred when there was noise outside the door, followed by a knock a moment later. He turned and opened the door, making room for two of Grimaud's helpers who hauled a man inside the room. The man hanging between the two helpers seemed to be unconscious, if the way his feet were dragging behind was any indication. His head, hanging down on his chest, rolled from side to side, and his clothes were soaked with blood.

"Aramis," Athos gasped. "Aramis!" He started pulling at his bonds, the cable ties cutting deeper into his flesh. "What have you done to him?" he shouted once Grimaud had stepped through the door in the wake of his helpmates, accompanied by another man.

A chair was dragged over from the corner and Aramis was ruthlessly dumped on it. With the help of cable ties and a rope he was tied to the chair in a way that made sure the unconscious man wouldn't fall off it.

Grimaud talked to one of his helpers in a low voice and the man nodded and left, returning a moment later just as the other two finished tying Aramis to the chair. Grimaud grabbed the bucket of water the man had brought. "You and you stay, the rest can go," he said, pointing with his head to the Arab and the other man who had come in with Grimaud. After the dismissed men had left the room, the remaining two took up position, one in the left-hand corner, the other, the one who had warned Athos about the leverage Grimaud intended to use, beside the door, both men cradling their rifles in their arms, ready to use.

Grimaud took a step forward, emptying the bucket of water over Aramis.

Aramis' head snapped up. "What," he said, looking around uncomprehendingly.

"Welcome, Musketeer," Grimaud sneered. "Now look at you, the great war heroes, the infamous Inseparables. Bruised and battered and utterly at my mercy." He stared at them, hate blazing in his eyes. "Time to end this once and for all."

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"And?" Porthos asked, leaning in the doorway to d'Artagnan's office, looking very sickly. "Did you find something on the surveillance footage?"

D'Artagnan looked up, frowning. "You don't look good, you should rest. You look pale."

"It's nothing," Porthos replied. "I'll take some painkillers. Did you find anything?"

"No, I can't get into their system," d'Artagnan said angrily. "What a total fuck-up!" He hit his mouse and it slid over the table. "Maybe you should see a doctor again. Are they sure it's only a mild concussion and not something more serious?"

Ignoring d'Artagnan's remark, Porthos replied," What do you mean you can't get into their system? Usually you can crack everything. It can't be more difficult than hacking into police servers."

"It means I can't get into the system because I can't crack it because it's bloody well-protected," d'Artagnan snapped at Porthos. "It's not as easy as you always presume it is! I'm no hacker, I'm just better with computer things than the rest of you!" D'Artagnan glowered at Porthos, apparently holding back another snide remark. "Obviously, the French Parliament's security system is better secured against cyber-attacks than local authorities," he added in a more placatory tone.

Porthos moved, rounding the desk and putting a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. Squeezing it lightly he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to criticise you. I can't even image how you always manage to get all the information at all, it's a mystery to me. I had just hoped we would find a trace."

"I know. Sorry," d'Artagnan said, looking up at Porthos. "It's just so frustrating that I can't get access to the CCTV cameras around there. There are a couple of cameras further down the road I have access to, but they are too far away to be of any use. I don't have anything we can work with."

"Do you know if-," Porthos started but stopped mid-sentence. Covering his mouth with his hand, he rushed out of the door, making a beeline for the cloakroom.

D'Artagnan rose halfways from his chair, worriedly looking after Porthos. If Porthos was more badly injured than they had thought, d'Artagnan had a problem. It would mean he would more or less be on his own in their search for Aramis and Athos. Frustrated, he kicked the bin under his desk so it spilled its content over the floor. Then he followed Porthos to the loo.

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"Aramis!" Athos tried to get the younger man's attention. "What happened? How are you?"

Aramis' head had sunken down again the moment Grimaud had left the room. He didn't react to Athos' voice.

"Aramis," Athos said again insistently, cursing the fact that he was tightly bound and not able to get any nearer to Aramis, let alone look after him. Eyeing the two guards, Athos wondered why Grimaud had left the room without comment or further action a moment ago, just when Athos had thought Grimaud would draw his weapon and end their lives with a precise shot. "Hey!" Athos shouted, trying to get the guards' attention. "What happened to him? He needs immediate treatment!"

The guard at the door looked to and fro between Athos and the second guard, Athos' question obviously discomfiting him. "I don't know what happened to him, when he was brought here he was already injured," he finally replied.

"It was Feron," Aramis slurred, very slowly raising his head. "He took me by surprise. Stabbed me. Then brought me here."

Athos, who had until now been convinced that the back-up team he had called for had been able to take out Grimaud's men, help Aramis and Porthos against their attackers and free Henri while he had chased after Grimaud, was seized by an uneasy feeling. "What about Henri? What about the others? I thought the special forces had defeated Grimaud's men and freed Henri?"

"They did. Henri is safe, the others, too. I was on my way back home from hospital and bumped into Feron," Aramis said in a low voice. It was obvious that he was in pain and had problems talking at all.

"So, eventually Feron showed up in Paris? How are you?" Athos asked worriedly.

"To be honest, bad. I'm not quite sure how many internal organs are affected, but it sure hurts like hell. Not sure how much longer I'll live through this."

"Hang in there! Porthos and d'Artagnan will come, they never failed to get us out of any mess we were in. Never."

Slowly, Aramis turned his head, looking at Athos. "Not this time, I fear. Something feels terribly wrong inside my belly," he said so softly Athos almost didn't catch the last words.

Aramis' statement made Athos' blood run cold. "Just try to keep awake as long as possible. I'm sure help is already on its way. Hey, you there!" Athos called again to get the guards' attention. "This man needs treatment, what is your plan? Are you going to just let us die here? I thought Grimaud wants information."

The guard beside the door stirred, looking Aramis over closely. After a moment he said, "I thought you said you don't have any information for Grimaud."

"Right, but Grimaud must decide what he wants. If he doesn't need us any more there's no reason not to shoot us here and now. Or he still wants to get information from us or maybe use us as bait or some kind of leverage in negotiations with the police. Then he needs us alive, which we won't be any longer if we don't see a doctor pretty soon," Athos growled. "If we have outlived our usefulness then you should at least have the good grace to kill us with a clean shot, and not let us bleed to death like beasts."

The Islamic guard briefly stared at Athos, then he said something to the other guard in Arabic before quickly slipping through the door.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

An hour later Porthos still lay on the couch in Athos' office, still white as a sheet. "I'll be okay as soon as the dizziness is gone, believe me. Give me half an hour and another painkiller, then we can go and question shopkeepers and try our luck with the security agents at the Palais du Luxembourg."

"You're not nearly fit enough to walk anywhere, but it's your decision, I won't keep you," d'Artagnan said. He sat at Athos' desk and typed on the keyboard, his eyes constantly switching between the two computer screens. "Now I need to start the programme on Aramis' computer as well, then we'll hopefully soon get results."

"And you're sure this works?" Pothos asked.

"My friend, and when I say friend I mean he's not exactly a friend, more a hacker I know from back in school and with whom I loosely held contact afterwards. Anyway, he developed this programme and it's at least as good as the facial recognition system the European authorities work with, maybe even a bit more cleverly worked out. I'll have the programme running on all computers, that way I can scan four times as much footage as I could with only one computer." D'Artagnan hit a single key energetically, obviously done with whatever he had worked on and turned to Porthos. "Eyesi, that's what the programme is called, scans various footage of every CCTV camera within Greater Paris I can get access to at the moment, the footage running in real-time on all computers. It scans every single frame for conformity with either Aramis or Athos' facial features. I need to check occasionally if the transmissions are still running, sometimes the tapped computers recognise that they are being tapped and throw me from their servers." D'Artagnan had rounded the desk and stood in front of Porthos, regarding the older man closely. "Simultaneously, Eyesi also goes through older footage if it's accessible via the individual severs it currently has access to. Depends on how long the servers store the footage."

"And why didn't you use it before? With Henri, or Grimaud?" Porthos asked curiously and in no way whatsoever reproachfully.

D'Artagnan sighed audibly. "Because Jean-Baptiste does not sell the programme, at least not officially and not to private persons, if you know what I mean. And if he does, it has its price. Besides, I've only just remembered that he worked on it years ago, and when I called him earlier he told me that it was really brought to completion and is successfully in use by some, well, er, clients of his."

"Do you mean to say using this programme in Europe is illegal?" Porthos asked, inconveniently just now reminded by his law-abiding mind that he held, after all, a master's degree in law studies.

"Um, well," d'Artagnan said sheepishly.

Porthos furrowed his brow.

"Well, it's not as if tapping CCTV cameras would be legal, so it doesn't make any difference whether or not the programme is illegal, right?" D'Artagnan shrugged.

"No, that's right," Porthos grunted. "And what was his price?"

"Don't ask," d'Artagnan replied, fending off the question by waving his hands around. "Leave it to me, I'll sort it out later. I'm at Aramis' office now."

Before he could leave the room, Constance came in with two coffee mugs in her hands and a bottle of water carried under her arm. "Here," she said, handing one of the mugs to d'Artagnan. "You look like you could use one."

The second cup of coffee she placed on the side table, holding out the bottle of water to Porthos. "You need to drink, it helps with the dizziness." She pulled a blister pack out of her pocket. Handing it to Porthos, she said, "This should help with the nausea, at least a bit. You shouldn't take any more painkillers, I think you've already had enough for today."

Porthos propped himself up, immediately pressing out one of the pills. He swallowed one with the water, emptying half of the bottle with one gulp. "When you're finished with Aramis' computer we can go."

"You don't look like you'd be fit to go anywhere in the near future," Constance said. "I can go with d'Artagnan."

"Well," d'Artagnan drawled. "Someone would definitely have to stay here and keep an eye on everything, check the footage when there's a match and so on. I will go alone and you two stay here. Porthos is probably not even fit enough to run from room to room and check the computers."

"No way," Porthos growled. "I'm going. Constance can look after the computers."

"I don't see a problem if Porthos stays here alone and checks the computers from time to time. He can still rest, and I'm sure he's capable of getting up and walk from room to room if needed, especially if he thinks he's actually fit enough to go out," Constance countered.

"Well, when one of the computers gives an alert and has a match, one needs to check if it's really Aramis or Athos the footage shows and if it's a current recording or from some older material. I've tapped numerous surveillance systems, some store their footage as long as a week or a month, so maybe the computer will get matches on material as old as a week or more. If it's not a recent recording, or if it doesn't show Aramis or Athos, the result must be skipped and the search resumed," d'Artgagnan explained. "And then, there's another problem. It's possible that the programme gets detected and blocked. We would have to reset and work around the firewall again to get access to it," he added thoughtfully.

"How likely is this to happen?" Porthos asked.

"Frankly, quite often. Some servers have programmes which repeat their search for security loopholes within very short time intervals. That's why I usually don't stay logged in into any external servers for longer than half an hour."

"So, this sounds like it would be best if you stayed here. I've no idea how this all works, but I guess we'd probably lose precious time if the process stops and Constance can't get it running again. Or can you?" Porthos asked Constance.

"No, definitely not," Constance snapped, glowering at Porthos. "I suggest Porthos and I go questioning people and you stay here with the computers and make sure everything is running smoothly. You're the only one who can handle the computers properly." Expectantly, she looked at d'Artagnan.

"No! Porthos isn't fit and can hardly walk straight and you-," he swallowed what he had meant to say, altering his argument within a second. "You should stay here with him in case his health worsens. Maybe he needs help," he added lamely.

Constance glowered at d'Artagnan. "What you meant to say is that I'm not capable of looking after myself, right? That it's probably too dangerous for me? I'll go with Porthos and you stay here. Period." She moved to the door. "I'll call Anne, see if she's alright and if she has news. Then I'll try to get Brujon on the phone, maybe the police has news. You," she pointed to d'Artagnan. "You are going to get the programme running on Aramis' computer and let us know as soon as you have something. And you," she said, turning to Porthos again. "You're finishing that bottle of water and drink your coffee as well, it will help. Stay on the couch until I'm ready to go." Glowering one last time at d'Artagnan she left the office, walking to the reception desk where she picked up the phone to make her calls.

Porthos and d'Artagnan stared at each other with huge eyes. "What have we missed?" Porthos whispered in disbelief. "When in the world did your sweet Constance turn into Madame Bonacieux, bossing us around like some fresh cadets?"

D'Artagnan slowly shook his head. "I've no idea." Somehow they must have missed the moment Constance had taken over the reins at LaFère Security.

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"And there I thought I'd been the only one who got caught off-guard," Athos stated in a low voice. "Where did you encounter Feron? What did he say?"

"He stepped out of a door on Rue Vaugirad and I bumped into him. He recovered a bit faster than I and stabbed me." Aramis paused, sucking in air, his breath rattling and uneven. "I woke up in his flat, I guess, where he mocked me for a while before I was brought here."

"Seems we're in a right mess."

"And I doubt you made it any better by shouting at them, daring them to kill us immediately. Ah, what the heck, at least it'll be over quickly."

The door was pushed open with a bang, bouncing back from the wall, attracting the Musketeers' attention. Grimaud came rushing in, followed by the guard.

"You want to die? You can have that," Grimaud snarled. "I don't need you as a bargaining chip because there won't be any negotiations with the police. I don't need you any longer at all!"

Athos stared irately at Grimaud. For the first time he realised that Grimaud, behind his expression of hate and contempt, looked tired and worn out. Athos remembered what Grimaud had told him, about the inhuman torture he had had to suffer, and all thanks to them.

"I'm so fed up with you," Grimaud said in a dangerously low voice. "And I just don't have the time to deal with you any longer. To hell with Rochefort's key and to hell with you. This ends here." He unwrapped the longish object he had brought with him and had kept in his left hand, revealing a kind of short scimitar. "Do you have any idea how it feels to kneel in the dirt, waiting for your execution? Waiting for the sword to come down on your neck? No? Well, now you can experience it first-hand." He moved closer to Aramis.

Athos wondered if Grimaud had lost his sanity, just like Rochefort had in the end. "You can't be serious," he hissed. "If you want to kill us, shoot us. This is insane. We're not in the Afghan Desert!"

"I don't care where we are. Who knows, maybe I don't hit right with the first stroke of the sword," he mused spitefully. "I've been told that you're still conscious and can literally feel how the head is lopped off halfway through, the neck gaping wide open." The dangerous glitter in Grimaud's eyes only emphasised the seriousness of his words.

"You're insane," Athos said again, momentarily being at a loss for more sensible words.

One of the guards, the one who had bandaged Athos, said something to Grimaud in Arabic, sounding angry.

Grimaud replied, to Athos' great astonishment, also in Arabic.

The guard responded, more aggressively than before, his voice raised.

Now the other guard also said something in Arabic.

Athos, tensely following the conversation, didn't understand one word of what was said, only that the name of Allah apparently was, among other things, subject of the discussion.

"Shut up!" Grimaud suddenly shouted in French. "I don't care what you say. This is my business, and mine alone." He closed the distance to Aramis and grabbed his hair, yanking the head back. Slowly, Grimaud placed the scimitar in position on the bare skin of Aramis' throat, obviously aiming for his strike. He looked at Athos, grinning coldly.

Once more, the guard at the door said something in Arabic, urgently. While speaking, he slowly moved forward a couple of steps.

Grimaud stared at the guard, and after a moment's hesitation he let the scimitar sink down a bit while his hand resumed holding Aramis' head back. "I never heard of that before," he replied.

Noises from the door interrupted the two men's staring at each other, a man stepping into the room a moment later. "A call from Hamid," he said. "It's urgent."

Snorting with rage, Grimaud finally released Aramis' head and lowered the scimitar. "What does he want?" he asked annoyed.

"You'll have to ask him," the man answered in an undertone of testiness. "As I said, it's urgent."

"All right," Grimaud said, striding to the door. "Stay here and don't take your eyes off them," he ordered the two guards. "They're highly dangerous, even if they currently look like they wouldn't be able to lift a finger. I'll be right back and finish what I've started." Before slipping through the door, he stopped beside the one guard. "Do never again speak to me in such a manner," he hissed.


A/N

Eyesi®Surgical is a high-end virtual reality simulator for intraocular surgery training and not a face recognition programme, though highly likely as costly as Jean-Baptiste's programme is for d'Artagnan. It's a registered trademark, so just to be on the safe side, there's no copyright infringement intended here whatsoever. I liked the name and thought it fitting for an face recognition programme; besides, my younger brother developed Eyesi®Surgical (along with colleagues), so I think it kind of stays in the family...