Erik stood near Andre Moncharmin and looked through the guest list for the masquerade ball. Many of them were local luminaries with a few politicians, well known no doubt, by the entire country. One name in particular leapt out at him.

But of course. Christine had been invited by the boy. One more reason for his attendance.

"The committee managing the July 3rd ceremony and the French president's involvement will meet in the library at eleven during the ball," Erik said. "I have a reliable source informing me of this."

Moncharmin looked at the masked man in disbelief. "It's your money, monsieur, but isn't that what you're paying me to do?"

"I can no longer rely on your ability to gather what I require. And it would be far safer for you if you didn't try and deny it," he added, when Andre opened his mouth in protest.

Moncharmin eyed Erik warily, and decided the best course was to change the subject. "What will you be wearing so I can recognize you?" Although with Reauchard's height and extreme thinness, he would more than likely be very easy to spot in a crowd.

Reauchard's yellow eyes settled on him, and as usual, made him squirm. He would indeed be glad when their association was severed for good.

"Why my dear, Andre, I will be one of many, but don't worry. When the time comes I will find you." He watched as the Phantom's mouth turned up in a facsimile of a smile.

He would be costumed as Napolean Bonaparte and relayed this to Reauchard. "Just in case you may need to know of my whereabouts."

Erik regarded Moncharmin, watching his face carefully. "Our roles unfortunately have been reversed; you are receiving information you were supposed to supply me with," Erik said it much too quietly, refusing to let the matter die.

"What do you mean?"

"The French president will be making an appearance at the masquerade ball and attending the meeting in the library. Why were you not told this by your informant?"

Moncharmin looked sharply at the masked man. "H-How do you know this?"

Reauchard's eyes narrowed to slits. "As I said before, you are not the only one well paid for information; I do have other sources more trustworthy, I think, than you."

Moncharmin sputtered. "If you had this source in the first place, why did you seek me out? And everything I've told you, monsieur has been correct."

The Phantom snorted in disgust. "That is my problem, Andre. You have not given me anything. As for what you have told me, that is yet to be proven."

"It will be, I swear to you."

Before he could back pedal away from him, quick as a snake, Erik had him pushed up against the wall, skeletal fingers around the other man's throat, and eyes burning into his. "Your usefulness to me is quickly nearing its end.

"You have no idea of what I am capable, Andre," he whispered softly.

Moncharmin quailed at the feel of those cold fingers wrapped around his neck. He could do nothing but stare into eyes devoid of all human feeling. Totally helpless against this man who was very likely going to kill him.

He remembered years ago, the Phantom had come to see him in his office at the Garnier. They had just begun a tidy, if uneasy relationship within the walls of the opera house. Andre gathered dirt on patrons of the opera, and the Phantom paid him very well for it. One cool morning early in April, Reauchard had approached him about a particular group of British dignitaries and their wives who were attending the ballet that very night.

He was after the box designation for the party. Moncharmin had thought nothing of it, supplying the number of the box and expecting his usual payment for the information. Later that night during intermission, one of the party, a very well known politico, disappeared from the box. He had remained behind during the break as the rest of the group had gone to stretch their legs. No one had seen him leave the box. His glasses had been found lying on the floor intact.

His wife told the gendarmes he was literally blind without them, so wandering around the opera house on his own was out of the question. Three days later, the man's body had been found a mile from the opera house in a section of Paris well known for criminal activity. His murder was thought to be connected to a high profile case in England involving another member of the labour party, of which the dead man was a high ranking member. A scandal that would likely have caused heavy damage to the validity of the party in the coming elections.

Moncharmin knew exactly of what the Phantom was capable. The dead man was nearly decapitated from a garrote.

Erik's grip tightened momentarily on Andre's throat, causing the man to squeak in alarm, his hands scrabbling desperately to break the iron grip. As suddenly as it had started, he was released. Gasping for air, Moncharmin slid down the wall shaking violently.

"Remember what I said."

He wobbled to his feet, watching Erik warily, his breathing slowly returning to normal. He mulled over what he'd been told before Reauchard had attacked him. He knew of someone who would be very interested in the French president's visit to Chagny. But why hadn't Philippe said anything?

He narrowed his eyes at Moncharmin, his mouth a thin line. "Why don't I know more, Andre?"

Moncharmin slid along the wall a few steps, putting distance between himself and the Phantom, not relishing a repeat of those cold hands on his neck. "Ah...ah...ever since Joseph Buquet disappeared, getting any information from my source, has been difficult at b...b... best," he sputtered. "And I'm fairly certain his movements were traced to the opera house. From there- nothing. Do you know what happened to him?" he asked faintly, already knowing the answer.

"Possibly," and the Phantom's eyes glittered, making Andre wish fervently to be elsewhere, "but that is of no concern to me now. I am the one going blindly into this, and it was your business to give me the facts I need, which you have failed to do. We need to get to the heart of the group attacking the government of France."

He looked hard at Andre. "There have already been two hits in the French parliament and people are very nervous; soon the government will not function well at all. How long will you last Andre? Still interested in your part in all of this?"

"I'm as loyal as the next man," he hastened to say. "Just as long as the money keeps coming m-my way."

He looked curiously at Erik. "My sources for information have always been invaluable; there's a wealth of secrets always to be tapped at the Palais Garnier, from a lowly court clerk to a member of parliament. Isn't that why you followed me here? For information?"

Erik never answered him, but turned and left the room, silently making his way back through the quiet de Chagny house. He felt rather than knew, that Andre wasn't telling him everything; he could smell the lie all over him. Feeding him the false tale of the president's appearance at the ball, was his way of perhaps smoking out the killer. He had hoped that by keeping himself in plain sight, the assassin may have shown himself in some way. So far he had come up against a blank wall. The only thing he was certain about was Andre's double dealing. Then there was the intruder at Timeless Treasures, and although it made him suspicious, he couldn't prove the two events were tied in any way. Time was running out. But if he could get the killer to reveal himself at Chagny, the danger would be lessened for the president.

Better here than in front of hundreds of people on July 3rd, where the event was to be held in the open. The president was being stubborn about this, and insisted on giving his speech at the site of the charge. In Erik's opinion, it may well be his last.

There would be a large contingent of agents, French and American, and he would have the advantage of a bullet proof shield, but there were literally hundreds of places for the shooter to conceal himself; a high powered rifle could be fired from a great distance and with wonderful accuracy. Explosives fortunately, could be ruled out. The immediate area would be cordoned off, inspected and secured well ahead of the president's arrival. But he remained uneasy with the entire situation.

Erik was nearly to the study and the French doors leading outside when he heard voices. He sidled up to the door and listened.

Philippe was sitting in one of a pair of chairs flanking the gray fieldstone fireplace- stone quarried near Gettysburg. He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, smiling at his younger brother.

"... been up to? Haven't seen much of her around here lately." He yawned and took a sip of his wine. "You two used to be nearly inseparable."

"She's busy working, Phil. No mystery there. All their apartments are rented, but they have a tenant over there you wouldn't believe."

He filled his brother in on Erik Reauchard and their confrontation the other day. "He came at me so fast; I didn't have a whole lot of time to react. He went right for my throat, the son of a bitch." He touched his neck with the memory of how it felt to have his air cut off, and the painful pressure on his windpipe.

Philippe quickly sat up and stared at his brother. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? Did you call the police?"

Raoul shook his head regretfully. "Christine got him to stop. He was like some kind of half-assed pit bull. Hell! She was the only one who could get him to let go."

He looked with disgust at his brother. "She talked me out of calling the cops on him and I agreed not to."

"Why?"

"Why what?" he snapped. "Why didn't she want me to call the cops, or why did I agree not to?"

"Both."

Raoul sighed again. "I'm not sure about Christine's reasons, but she finds this deadbeat fascinating." He barked out a laugh. "Aww, you know, small town girl meets deranged Frenchman and seeks romance, or some crap."

"French did you say? Interesting. Gettysburg is becoming very international, don't you think?"

Raoul just grunted in reply, then he got to his feet and stretched. "Yeah, and this one wears a mask. If he's thinking he comes across as that dude in V for Vendetta- well, he better get himself a mask that's way cooler than the one he's wearing now."

His brother sat forward and stared at Raoul in surprise. "What? Did you just say a mask? You better explain that, brother. That's not something you see everyday."

"Yeah, a mask. Christine told me about it when the guy first showed up. It's not as noticeable as you might think. Well, not until you get closer to him." He laughed a little. "And that was much closer than I cared to, Phil. That son of a bitch is strong, and he's thin as hell!"

"Then I suggest you stay away from him, bro."

"Yeah. Good advice. I'm hitting the sack."

Philippe sat on a little longer mulling over what Raoul had just told him. He needed to make a few phone calls.

He heard the boy approaching the study door, and quickly walked down the hall and around the corner, moving soundlessly. Erik watched as Raoul exited the room and ten minutes later Philippe as well.

He went quickly into the study and slipped out through the French doors into the early morning darkness.