Chapter 9

"I've found them!" d'Artagnan shouted just as Constance and Porthos were about to leave. "I know where they're being held!"

"Really?" Porthos closed the door again in a hurry. "Both of them? Where?"

"Come over and I'll show you," d'Artagnan replied from his seat behind Aramis' desk. "Eyesi had a match with Athos, footage from last night showing how he and Grimaud entered a house in Pantin, on Rue Jacquard. We were lucky, the house is quite some distance away from the camera, but the footage has a good shot of Athos almost directly looking into the camera, otherwise even Jean-Baptiste's programme might not have been able to get a match. I zoomed in on the scene, it's definitely Athos and Grimaud. I fast-forwarded the whole footage to check whether they left again – which they didn't as far as I could see – and guess what I found," d'Artagnan said, showing them a still from the footage. "Look, Aramis was brought there a short while ago and he really doesn't look well."

"My God," Constance whispered. "Is that blood? His whole shirt is soaked through, and he looks unconscious."

"Who's the guy with him? Is that Feron?" Porthos asked, barely able to contain his anger.

"If he looks anything like in past times, I would say yes. He leaves again fifteen minutes later, alone," d'Artagnan replied. "I've fast-forwarded until now, they are all still inside, unless there's another exit somewhere the camera doesn't cover. What do we do?"

"I'll call Retancourt. Or Danglard, if she's not in," Constance said, already turning to make her way to the reception area.

"No," Porthos said, straightening himself. "Wait! D'Artagnan and I will go, we can't waste any more time if Aramis' condition is only half as bad as the picture indicates, and we don't know what's with Athos. He was injured from the fight and God knows what Grimaud's done to him in the meantime."

"But you can't do this on your own, it's too dangerous!" Constance said angrily. "You two against Grimaud's men just won't work, it's insane. There's too much at stake here!"

"You're absolutely right, we can't do this alone and we won't. You'll call the police as soon as d'Artagnan and I have left the office. If we call now, we'll be ordered to stay here, you know how this works. Retancourt's already warned us to leave it to them and that just won't do. No one can keep me from going there. So, as soon as we're gone you call the police, send them the footage and give them the address. If they ask where we are, say we're out or you don't know where we are or whatever. Make something up, you can handle this. And tell them to hurry!"

"Okay," said Constance, taking a deep breath. "How can I attach the footage to the e-mail? They'll need to see the house and everything to make plans how to get in."

D'Artagnan had started typing on the keyboard while Porthos had talked, finishing what he'd started. "Here, I've sent an e-mail to your account with the relevant footage as an attachment. I've also added the IP address from the surveillance systems as well as the house's address and some stills. Just forward it to every police e-mail address we have." He got up, joining Porthos at the door. "Call them as soon as we're out of the door, you can start sending the messages while you're on the phone with them, that way you can make sure that they receive the e-mail. If they can't open the attachments for whatever reasons, they can log in onto the server via the provided IP address."

"I'll get some weapons from the gun safe," Porthos said, hurrying to Athos' office.

"Constance," d'Artagnan said, stepping up to Constance and grabbing her hands. "I'll let the programme keep running through any accessible footage. If there's another match, something from today, give us a call. Maybe they'll leave while we're on our way, or there's another entrance or something. No matter what, call us if the computer finds Athos or Aramis again on footage, especially if it's from now onwards."

Constance nodded. "I will do. Promise me to take care." She kissed him, deepening the kiss when she felt d'Artagnan's arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

"D'Artagnan, come, let's move!" Porthos shouted from the door, carrying two handguns.

D'Artagnan ended the kiss, cupping Constance's face with both hands. "I love you, never forget that." He quickly kissed her again before joining Porthos.

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

Porthos had ordered a taxi while picking up the guns, and the car was already waiting outside. The drive would take at least half an hour. "I'll pay you extra if you make it in twenty minutes," he said to the driver after telling him the destination's address.

"No problem, man," the taxi driver replied nonchalantly. He engaged first gear and with a quick gaze into the rear view mirror he merged into the traffic with squealing tyres.

"If Constance alerts the police now, they'll certainly need half an hour just to get a rescue team together, and then another half hour to get to the house and check the location. This means we have half an hour head start to sort things out," Porthos said in a hushed voice.

"What do you intend to do? We should check if there's a second access to the house, but even if we manage to get in there without being detected, there's only two of us, and I'm sure there are more people in the house than just Grimaud with Athos and Aramis. And I bet they're armed to the teeth. You heard what Retancourt said about all the weapons and explosives they found in the estate's grounds."

"You can bet your life on it, but that's not what concerns me now. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll split up. I'll go in there, testing the water if you will, and you stay outside until further notice."

"What do you mean until further notice? That's insane," d'Artagnan hissed. "You won't last one minute there, we'll be so badly outnumbered it's ridiculous. They'll make mincemeat out of you in no time."

"Let them, I don't care."

D'Artagnan huffed. He refrained from replying something and let his head sink down on the headrest instead. Dwelling on his own gloomy thoughts, he stared out of the window.

Porthos closed his eyes, seizing the opportunity to pull himself together and get rid of the sick feeling that had not left him all day.

When the taxi turned off from the Boulevard Périphérique near the conspicuous cinema Étoile Lilas eighteen minutes later Porthos said softly, "It's not about beating them, it's about stalling for time. We won't stand a chance against them if they're in the majority again, I'm fully aware of that, but that's not what matters. We only need to keep them occupied until the special forces are there." He opened his eyes, looking at d'Artagnan. "Athos and Aramis are injured, we don't know what Grimaud's done to them in the meantime. When I'm in there, I'll see to it that he doesn't lay his hands on them any more until the police get there, whatever the cost. I'm not planning to fight them, I'll just make sure to keep Athos and Aramis alive."

D'Artagnan stared at Porthos. When it fully dawned on him what Porthos had planned, he started grinning. "Sounds to me like a good plan."

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

When Grimaud returned half an hour later, looking angry and harried, he didn't have the scimitar with him. A fact Athos registered with great relief, even though he knew it wasn't likely to save them from being killed. Aramis had sunk back into unconsciousness the moment Grimaud had released his head, and he hadn't shown any signs of coming round again ever since. Athos hoped that Grimaud would leave Aramis in peace now and vent his anger on him instead.

Grimaud planted himself in front of Athos and then, without warning, he struck him in the face with his clenched fist.

Athos' head flew sideways and he nearly blacked out. Immediately he tasted blood in his mouth and felt a tooth coming loose. However, before he could bring his head around again, another blow hit him. And then another. Grimaud was raining blows on him and Athos could do nothing other than endure it. When a cut on his brow spilled blood over his face, he couldn't see straight any more and closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate.

Suddenly, as abruptly as they had started, the blows ended. When he opened his eyes, blinking to get the blood out of them, Athos saw the terrorist who had dared to put Grimaud in his place earlier, standing beside Grimaud, his hand resting on the other's arm.

"You must learn to keep your anger in check, brother," the man said sternly in French. "You must always have yourself under control. Allah alone leads your hand in action, not you."

Grimaud glowered at the man. "You and your Allah, you've no idea what this all is about," he growled. "But you're right. They're not worth the dirt under my feet, less so that I bloody my hands on them." He flexed his fingers, regarding the bloodied knuckles on his left hand. Drawing a weapon from the back of his waistband with his bandaged right hand, he said, "We're leaving. Pack everything together, don't leave any traces. We're no longer safe here, there's a change of plan. We'll have to act sooner than planned."

The Arab stared at Grimaud with a frown. "What do you mean by we'll have to act earlier?"

Grimaud looked at the man, his expression clearly showing his dismay about the fact that his orders, for once, hadn't gone unchallenged. "Well, you can always ask Hamid if it doesn't suit your plans," he replied icily.

Both men stared at each other. During the ensuing quietness, repeated shouting could be heard from outside. Grimaud furrowed his brow, finally breaking eye-contact with the terrorist. "What the hell is going on down there?" he asked of the room at large.

The clamour continued, and now they could make out what was shouted. Someone was vociferously calling Grimaud's name.

For the very first time in his entire life, Athos did something he had never done before. He started laughing uncontrollably. He felt a chuckle rise from his belly up the throat, gaining volume, pressing out, until it finally passed his lips and burst out as a nearly maniacal laughter. Not for the life of him could he stop it, even though knowing all too well that the whole situation was more than life-threatening, and apparently not only for him and Aramis. In his mind's eye, he could literally see Porthos standing in front of the house, daring Grimaud to come outside. "It's Porthos," he panted between his laughing fit, wondering if this was just how it felt when someone finally lost his sanity.

"Silence him!" Grimaud barked. "Bring him up before someone gets annoyed and calls the police!"

"I doubt that will ever happen in this neighbourhood," the guard muttered. "He'll be lucky if he doesn't get beaten up for yelling like that." Quickly glancing at Athos he turned on his heel, rushing out of the room to follow orders.

Grimaud slapped Athos in the face with the hand that held the gun, and this finally ended Athos' laughing fit. He spat out some blood.

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

"Grimaud!" Porthos shouted again on top of his lungs. "Come down if you dare!"

There was still no movement in the house, no sign of life, and Porthos wondered if they'd got the right address or if Grimaud, and with him Athos and Aramis, were still there at all.

"Grimaud!" he shouted again. Slightly turning his head to the right, he could see out of the corner of his eye d'Artagnan hiding behind a van a fair way off. He hoped his plan would work, namely keeping Grimaud and his helpers occupied long enough until the police finally arrived. What they had not considered, however, was the fact that maybe the house had been abandoned in the time between now and when the CCTV camera had caught Feron on footage, bringing Aramis to the hideout. Hearing noise from inside the house, he turned his head in time to see the door open a fraction.

"What do you want?" someone hissed.

"I want to see Grimaud, if it's no trouble to you," Porthos replied politely.

The door opened, revealing an Arab pointing a gun at Porthos. With the handgun he beckoned Porthos to raise his hands and step in.

Porthos stretched himself to full height, slowly raising his arms. Then he stepped into the dark hallway.

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

Porthos was thoroughly searched and relieved of his weapons and mobile. Then his hands were bound behind the back with the help of a cable tie and he was pushed forward. Another man, by the looks of it also an Arab, called from upstairs to bring him up. Porthos climbed the stairs, sandwiched between the terrorist in front of him and the muzzle of a gun constantly pressed against his neck, until they reached the second floor. There was dirt everywhere and the whole building looked decayed and abandoned, except for the occasional stacks of boxes on the floor and camp beds Porthos had glimpsed in one of the rooms they passed.

On the second floor they finally reached a door, guarded by a man who was armed with a rifle. The man's sneery gaze looked Porthos up and down, then he spat in front of the Musketeer before opening the door. Porthos was pushed inside the room with a heavy blow and stumbled forward, trying hard to keep his balance. Another feeling of dizziness, worse than before, had befallen him as soon as he had stepped through the front door.

The sight that met him in the room made him almost gasp and it took a moment to regain his composure. Apart from two men he registered out of the corner of his eye, and the one who had stepped inside behind him, there was nothing in the room but two chairs, standing at centre, both occupied. On the left chair sat Aramis, bent forward and apparently only held by a rope and cable ties that bound him to the chair. There was blood everywhere on his clothes and his head hung down lifelessly, his tousled hair making it impossible to get a glimpse of his face.

On the second chair sat Athos. His clothes were far less blood-soaked than Aramis', but the same couldn't be said of his face, which was covered in blood, numerous cuts and bruises completing the terrible sight. Despite all this, Athos was looking at Porthos with a lopsided grin, adding a bizarre touch to the whole scene.

"How comes you all make it so easy for me? Did you all forget how to fight properly or is it just your sluggish and clumsy minds that lead you into disaster?"

Porthos tore his eyes away from his brothers, slowly turning towards Grimaud. "You never did and you never will defeat us. What you will do, however, is pay for this," Porthos growled.

Grimaud looked really surprised. "Look around you," he said, waving the hand holding the gun around. "You're finished. This is the end. You'll all be dead within the next few minutes, what part of that don't you get?"

"You always made the mistake of underestimating us, didn't you?" Porthos replied, having no idea whatsoever how he should stall Grimaud until somebody came to their aid. "We're not even nearly finished."

Grimaud squinted at Porthos for a long time. "Have you lost your mind?" he finally asked, almost sounding genuinely concerned. "Is it that? You really don't look well, maybe your befuddled brains can't grasp the reality any longer?"

Porthos, who had great problems keeping upright due to the dizziness and growing nausea, slowly moved to bring his body between Aramis and Grimaud. If the situation got worse, he would at least be between Grimaud's weapon and his ailing friend.

Turning to the Arab, Grimaud said, "As soon as we're ready to go we'll finish them off. This bedraggled house shall be a fitting tomb for this lot, may they rot away here. Go and ask how long it'll take until we're ready to leave."

Just then, rumbling and cursing was heard from the hallway, constantly coming nearer. When the noise had reached its peak, the door burst open and two of Grimaud's helpers hauled d'Artagnan into the room. An accurate blow to d'Artagnan's head with the butt of a rifle ended the young man's fightback. Dazed, he slumped to the ground.

"We found another one lurking around the house," one of the terrorists said, kicking d'Artagnan into the ribs.

"Fine," Grimaud replied with satisfaction. "Get the rest packed, I'll finish this here, then we can go."

He ordered everyone out except for the two Arabs who had been guarding Athos and Aramis.

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

D'Artagnan groaned, trying to get up but was hindered by Grimaud's boot stepping on his right lower arm, keeping him down on the ground.

"I know you said a quarter of an hour, but that was just too long for me to wait," d'Artagnan said, gazing at Porthos.

Athos frowned at d'Artagnan's words. Had the boy really risked being caught, probably ruining whatever plan Porthos might have had, because he couldn't check his impatience? He quickly gazed at Porthos, whose tiny nod towards the Gascon and the strangely blank mien placated Athos a bit. If he could read Porthos' reaction right, the boy had done nothing wrong.

Glancing at d'Artagnan, Athos found himself being scrutinized by the young man. They made eye contact and d'Artagnan nodded minimally, conveying a message solely by the way he looked at Athos. Obviously, Athos realised, had his capture nothing to do with the rashness that was still so typical for the Gascon from time to time. D'Artagnan had played his part in a plan, and his appearance and strange statement maybe meant that back-up was on the way, but they probably wouldn't be here before at least a quarter hour had passed. Something along these lines was at least what Athos made out of it for himself; everything else would be catastrophic.

"What a strange twist of fate, that in the end you're all here, just like I had hoped," Grimaud said smugly, piling more pressure on d'Artagnan's arm by pressing his boot's heel deeper into the flesh. "It's really too bad I don't have the time now to savour this moment, but duty calls. You'll get an undeservedly quick death, but nonetheless, rest assured it'll be a pleasure for me to finally see you gone." He quickly glanced at each of them, his eyes finally coming to rest on Aramis. "Well, I probably won't have to shoot this one any more."

"At least let d'Artagnan go. You have the three of us, you don't need the boy," Athos said, getting in a sweat about the fact that maybe there was no more time left to wait for help from outside. "Please," he added.

Grimaud barked a laugh. "Is the great Athos really begging me for a life? As you should know by now, I have no heart. You're wasting your time if you try to curry sympathy from me. He'll die like the rest of you." He dropped his gaze to where d'Artagnan lay. "In fact, I'll start with him." Grimaud quickly bent down and seized d'Artagnan by the collar, brutally yanking him up. Firmly holding him an arm's length away, he placed the muzzle of his pistol directly on d'Artagnan's temple, just above the right ear. "And please, spare me any heroic rescue attempts," he said, looking at the two minders left and right in the corners of the room, signalling to them to draw their weapons.

Both Arabs cocked their guns while taking aim, one pointing his weapon at Athos, the other one at Porthos.

"This time, here's no escape for you. On the count of three," he said with a hideous smirk on his face. Slightly moving his finger, he cocked the gun. "One," he started counting.

"Wait!" Athos shouted in sheer despair, tearing at the cable ties binding him to the chair. "No! Not him!"

Undisturbed by Athos' outburst of emotions Grimaud continued with his short countdown. "Two. Thr-"

Before the rest of the short word left Grimaud's lips, a shot rang through the room, quickly followed by a second one.

Aramis' head snapped up, the first sign in over half an hour that there was still life in him.

With eyes big as saucers, d'Artagnan blinked at Athos, evidently in total disbelief that he felt no pain, that he still stood upright, that he was still able to blink at Athos at all.