A/N Doubtful Guest - You've got me. Any wine would always win :)
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later:
It didn't take long to find Athos; they knew which bar he favoured when the mood was on him. Looking around the dark, warm interior, Porthos and d'Artagnan saw him, alone in a corner. He was not drunk. He knew better than to drink the local beer, and he had swallowed enough of the river water to give his stomach a break. But Porthos recognised the familiar slump of the shoulders, the chin buried in his chest, the fist squeezed so tight his knuckles were white.
He did not hear them approach.
"Alright?" Porthos asked quietly as they took a seat at his table.
Athos raised baleful eyes and took them both in.
"What are you doing here?" he said in the quiet flat tone he used when his guard was up.
"We're Nkosi's rescue party," d'Artagnan said.
"I do not need rescuing," Athos growled, glaring at him.
d'Artagnan met the glare, before looking away.
"Do you want to be left alone?" d'Artagnan replied carefully, taking him in once more. This was a side of Athos he had not seen before, but Porthos had briefed him on the likely outcomes on their drive over. They had been been surprised though, that their friend was not drunk; merely emotionally drained it seemed.
Athos looked down. Before he could answer, there was a commotion outside and a local man threw himself into the bar, shouting for a doctor. Everything went quiet as people stared at the man, whose eyes were wild as he looked desperately around.
Porthos looked around the bar; no-one responded.
"Where's Aramis when you need 'im?!" he muttered.
d'Artagnan sighed and tentatively raised his hand.
"Grab a bottle of whisky," d'Artagnan urged Porthos, who looked at him in surprise as he stood up.
"To sterilise," d'Artagnan smirked, heading out of the door after the man.
Porthos did as he was asked and quickly followed.
They could hear the screams before they reached the small house. The people who owned this house were poor, as were all the villagers; but they kept their humble dwellings clean. It was dark inside, with just two oil lamps burning and d'Artagnan saw the woman on the floor; her hands twisting tightly in the nest of blankets beneath her.
Porthos's eyes widened and he looked at d'Artagnan.
"She's 'aving a baby," Porthos breathed, as the air was rent with a wild scream, and d'Artagnan was galvanised into action.
Soon, there was water boiling on a small stove in the corner, but d'Artagnan opened the whisky and doused his hands in it first, before drying them and dropping to his knees. Porthos knelt beside the woman and took her hand. The sight of Porthos leaning over her seemed to calm her; her husband had panicked and was now at the door with Athos, who had followed them and was now blocking people who were standing outside; having been drawn by the noise.
d'Artagnan tucked his hair behind his ears and put his head down and after a very quick but precise examination he announced that this was a breech baby, and would need to be turned.
The woman screamed again, and her grip on Porthos's hand tightened.
From Porthos's point of view, what followed seemed to go on for a very long time, although it probably didn't. He was fully focussed on the woman, who was in obvious pain as d'Artagnan carefully manipulated the baby around; grateful that it felt quite small. Soon, the baby was moving down and crowning, and he was grinning up at Porthos.
"She needs to push now," d'Artagnan said, wiping his brow roughly with his sleeve.
He didn't know the word for "push," but Athos relayed the request to the woman's husband, using a simple sign, and the man duly shouted;
"Sukuma mke; sukuma, Mesego!" (push wife; push Mesego!)
The woman gathered herself and with one long scream, Mesego delivered her baby.
"It's a girl," d'Artagnan announced, grinning.
After a short, stunned silence, everyone looked at each other and broke out into laughter as the baby took its first breath and let out a loud wail.
An older woman then pushed her way into the room. Apparently she was the village midwife, who initially could not be found, sending the baby's father into a panic and a flight to the bar in search of anyone who could help.
After the initial excitement, things settled down then; everyone content to just look at the baby and smile. The midwife then took charge and checked mother and baby, before settling down on a nearby stool. Now that she had arrived, it seemed she would be staying for a while.
The husband, Baruti, then asked d'Artagnan's name and frowned as he tried to get his tongue around it.
Mesego and Baruti whispered together before announcing they were calling their baby "Kiingereza" – Swahili for dart; the only part of his name that made sense to them.
Mesego then put the baby into d'Artagnan's arms and he held the beautiful dark-skinned baby in wonder, her huge brown eyes stared up at him, and he laughed.
"Hello, Kiingereza," he said gently; silently quite pleased that Aramis was not with them after all.
Turning, he saw Athos, standing in the doorway.
Porthos smiled and patted the woman's hand.
"Asante," she whispered to him. ("Thank you.")
Clapping d'Artagnan on the back Porthos rose and walked over to the doorway.
"After death, there's always life, Athos," he said quietly, locking eyes with Athos before drawing him into a hug.
Far from pulling away, Athos hugged back.
oOo
Heshima was beginning to generate a steady income now by taking conservation tours from world-wide organisations, showing people how wild animals interacted in the wild and how to set up their own conservation programmes. They also had a resort that catered for a small number of vetted wealthy holidaymakers, and d'Artagnan was working on a breeding programme.
As well as the number of lodges within the Garrison, the hotel half a mile from the compound which was run by Nkosi was well established and gaining excellent feedback. Treville was adept at achieving Government grants and bringing new backers on board, and Athos often accompanied him to meetings of Government officials; where he proved to be an excellent negotiator.
For the day to day running of the reserve as well as monitoring and caring for the land and the animals, all had their own duties. Porthos undertook guided mobile safari's, as did Athos, who also flew the plane; for tourists, backers, and for monitoring the herds of different species. They both did horseback safari's. All were very lucrative and maintained by high quality service. They had a small army of both paid and volunteer wardens made up of indigenous people and those seconded internationally to study conservation.
"We have a visitor in Lodge Three," Treville said one morning a few weeks later at breakfast. "He got in last night, a late booking."
Treville was on one of his rare visits to Heshima. As time progressed, he hoped to spend more time on the reserve, but for the moment he left the day to day running to his men while he established a firm business plan.
"Business or pleasure?" Athos asked, looking up at the distinct tone he detected in Treville's voice.
"I don't know yet, I have not had the chance to speak to him."
"What am I missin'?" Porthos asked, as Treville looked thoughtful.
Treville gave him a sideways glance.
"Nothing."
"Jean," Athos said quietly.
Treville sighed.
"There is just something familiar about him."
"Do you want me to show 'im around?" Porthos asked.
Treville caught his meaning and smiled. Porthos would check him out.
"If you don't mind."
"Course not," Porthos said, snagging a piece of toast and striding out.
Later, Porthos reported that he was a "right boring git," which made Treville smile. He could hardly file such a succinct report, but for the time being, he tucked it at the back of his mind and went back to London.
A few days later though, the mysterious man, and Treville's initial reaction to him, was still troubling Athos.
During a break from mucking out the stables, Porthos searched through his photos from the day he had spent with the man and found one with the man in the background.
He brought it back to show Athos.
"What was his name?" Athos asked, as he sat down on a nearby bale of hay.
"John Smith," Porthos said, dubiously.
"I doubt that," Athos replied. "I think Treville is right to be troubled," he added, staring at the photo.
Porthos turned and quickly went to Lodge Three, to confront the man; but it was empty. Whoever this man was, he had gone; drawers and wardrobe empty.
"Scan the photo and email it to Treville, Porthos. Let's make this official," Athos said. "He is in London for a few weeks; he has contacts in the Metropolitan Police. It's been quite a while, but I am sure that this is our friend from the auction."
Athos stared at the photograph one last time, before handing it back to Porthos.
"I am sure it is. You don't happen to have a photo of the back of his head, I suppose? It's all I saw," he said, and Porthos laughed, but there was no humour in it.
"Why would he turn up here, now?" Athos murmured to himself, after Porthos had gone.
On receipt of the image of the photograph, Treville sent it off immediately to his contacts and also to Europol, who could work wonders with photography of vague quality.
Soon he was texting back; the familiar ringtone alerting Porthos that it was Treville.
Porthos grunted as he read the message.
"What?" Athos asked, who was driving them to Maun for supplies.
"Treville's identified 'im. He's a bit of a rogue; been done for fraud and conning people out of their life savin's all over Europe. Oh, scratch that; he's a villain. He's also been done for assault. He's got a nasty temper on him apparently; nearly killed a woman, but she wouldn't press charges. That says somethin'.
"Name?" Athos asked, as he pulled over.
"Guy de Rochefort," Porthos pronounced carefully; passing the phone to Athos to read the text for himself. Treville had also included a recent photograph.
"How can a man like that afford to bid in an auction for thousands of square miles of African land?" Athos asked, looking across at Porthos.
Porthos tapped his fingers on the dashboard.
"Unless, he's part of a syndicate and has backers himself?" Porthos said.
Athos hummed in agreement, and then frowned;
"Why would he turn up now, after all this time?"
They both sat is silence for a few moments, before Athos spoke.
"I'll ask Treville if he can arrange to have his contacts keep this Rochefort under surveillance," he said, passing the phone back to Porthos, and starting the engine once more.
Porthos nodded;
"I think we might be in trouble," he grunted.
To be continued ...
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A/N: I will leave it to you to decide what ringtone Porthos allocated Treville :)
