Hey gang! I'm back! I know I promised back at the beginning that there would be no two month gaps or anything... and yet here we are. I am SO sorry! I've had a lot on my plate lately. I don't really have any legitimately good excuse. Just know that I'm back and I'm going to try and finish this as soon as possible.

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Marguerite was the first one up the next morning and made sure that Andrew was not far behind her. She shook him out of bed and forced him to get ready as fast as possible, despite the fact that the flight did not leave for nearly three hours.

They made it to the airport in good time and security was quick. So they just sat in the airport for a few hours, Marguerite tapping her foot anxiously. If Paul had not gotten on any flights the previous night either, then which flight had he gotten today?

Andrew returned, holding two bagels and handed one to Marguerite. "Andrew," Marguerite said, as he took his seat beside her, "Were there any flights to France earlier than ours?"

Andrew froze mid-bite. He cleared his throat and wiped some crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Um... there might have been. Why do you ask?"

Marguerite narrowed her eyes. "Because, Foulkes, Paul would go for the earliest flight possible and I don't see him around anywhere and if there was an earlier flight-"

"There was one at 5:30!" Andrew cut her off.

Marguerite stared wide-eyed at him. "But it was full. I couldn't get a seat," Andrew continued.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marguerite demanded, "Chauvelin could be on that plane! How could you? How could you?"

"Because of this!" Andrew cried, gesturing to the bagel Marguerite had raised above her head like a weapon, "You kind of have a tendency to freak out!"

Marguerite glanced at the bagel and then lowered it. Andrew sighed. "Look, there's nothing we can do about it, so let's just keep our heads straight and we'll get to France as soon as we possibly can."

Marguerite sighed and agreed. She kept to that agreement and managed to keep herself contained until it was finally time to board. She even kept to the agreement all during the flight, although it included a lot of trips to the bathroom just because she could not stay still for too long. Andrew, however, merely slept nearly the entire way. How on earth did he manage to keep so cool? Marguerite was a fidgety mess, so many what-if scenarios running through her head.

Finally, they landed. Marguerite was almost bursting with anxiety as they waited for their bags. Her's had come round first, but Andrew's still had not appeared. She tapped her foot impatiently as she watched people around her grabbing their suitcases, backpacks, and other luggage and carry them away while she and Andrew still stood there.

Just when Marguerite was about to suggest that the airline had lost the bag, Andrew's small green duffle bag appeared. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. Marguerite let out a sigh of relief. "Finally," she said, "So where now?"

Andrew turned to her. "Alright, Pushy," he said, with a slight smile, "There's one or two places where Blake would go once in France. One is this sleazy hotel down on the trashy side of Paris. It provides a good source of gossip and it's where a lot of the gangsters and other questionable people go. I'm betting that's where he went if he's planning on staying more than one day."

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When Andrew had said sleazy hotel on the trashy side of Paris, he hadn't been joking. The building itself was probably the classiest piece of work for miles and Marguerite was still afraid to go near it. They did not check in to the main lobby as Marguerite expected they would. Instead, Andrew led her around to the bar at the side.

"This is where Blake hangs around the most when he comes here," Andrew explained, "Our best chance of finding him anywhere is here."

"Great!" Marguerite exclaimed, "Let's go!"

She started to walk towards the door, but Andrew grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "But," he said, "It's also where we might find some members of the Republic. France is one of their main operating centers after all. So we need to keep our heads low."

Marguerite nodded and then followed him inside. The bar was just as trashy and rotten as the exterior was. Shady folks of all shapes and sizes... and smells, sat around the tables and at the bar.

Andrew led her towards the bar, inconspicuously slipping a stack of euros into the bartender's hand as they passed. The bartender stuffed the money into his pocket and then, without even glancing at them, allowed them to step behind the bar. Andrew headed for a doorway with a red curtain hanging over it. The bartender did not mind at all, and Marguerite figured that this was not the first time this had happened.

Behind the curtain was the storage room full of all manner of liquors, organized in a surprisingly neat manner. Andrew turned to Marguerite wearing a serious expression. "Now you wait here and keep your eyes open," he instructed, "I am going to go out and look for Blake."

Marguerite nodded. Andrew held up a finger. "I'm not finished," he said, "I'm leaving you here alone under one condition. If Blake does show up, you must not reveal yourself to him."

Marguerite opened her mouth to protest, but Andrew cut her off before she could begin. "No matter what," he said firmly, "He may have a plan and you could ruin it by exposing yourself. He doesn't come here for just any reason. He doesn't like to just come here and chill, have a drink and chat up a casual conversation with a couple dweebs. No. He comes here with a purpose."

"But isn't that the whole reason we're here?" Marguerite asked, "Is to warn him?"

"We're here at this spot to confirm that he's actually here," Andrew explained, "If he is, then we go from there."

Andrew narrowed his eyes. "So stay here, keep your eyes peeled, and don't do anything rash. I'll be back soon."

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Marguerite peered through the gap in the curtain. Andrew had been gone for over an hour and absolutely nothing of interest had happened. She sighed and sat on a barrel of... wine? Beer? Who knows! Who cares! Maybe there was a chance that Andrew had been wrong after all and Percy had not come to this hotel after all.

She heard the door open again. Eagerly, she looked towards it, hoping to see the familiar face of Percy entering. However, she was met with something far more horrifying and unwelcome.

Paul Chauvelin had entered with two far taller men with grim faces at either side of him. How did he know this place? He glanced around the room briefly before turning to the other two men. He seemed to be giving them instructions. Marguerite could hear her heart pounding in her ears. This was not a coincidence that he was here at this particular hotel in this very bar. He knew where Percy would be!

The two men who had entered with Chauvelin nodded, then turned and left the premises. Chauvelin slowly turned back and scanned the room with his black eyes again. Thank goodness Percy was not there after all.

Chauvelin strolled over to the bar and coolly sat down on one of the stools. He glanced around for a moment, then pulled a black hat out of his coat pocket. He placed it on his head and pulled it low over his eyes, then pulled his coat collar up. Then he ordered something from the bartender, and then grabbed a nearby newspaper that a past customer had left behind and began to read it. Marguerite could see him throw an occasional subtle glance towards the door and her heart skipped a beat. He was waiting for Percy!

Now she wished that she could somehow get out, find him, and warn him of the imminent danger awaiting him in the bar. How could he know of the danger until it was too late? Then she realized that there was still a chance that he would not even come to the bar at all. Andrew had said that there were several other spots that he could go to. He could easily have gone to any one of them. She began to relax slightly.

But then the door opened. Marguerite looked and there, in all his fashionable glory, was Percy. Wearing his usual shades, and earbuds in his ears, he strutted inside and headed straight for the bar. NO! Marguerite squirmed atop her barrel. She had to do something! But what could she possibly do?

She wanted to scream when he took a seat just one stool away from the disguised Chauvelin. He did not even pay him any notice, just carried on in his own little world. Chauvelin, however, did notice and glanced in his direction out from under his cap, a sly little smirk upon his lips.

Marguerite was in absolute torment. She just wanted to leap out from behind the curtain and warn Percy of the danger sitting right beside him reading the newspaper. She probably would have, if Percy had not suddenly turned to the slouching figure and said, "Monsieur Chauvelin! I have to say this is a monstrous coincidence! You and me in Paris at the exact same time!"

Chauvelin nearly choked on his drink that he happened to be swallowing at the moment and began to cough incessantly. Percy sooted over, removing his earbuds and glasses, and began to slap him on the back. "Ooh! So sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," he said, "It just seemed like you were enjoying your article so much, I didn't want to interrupt you sooner. What was it about, that you were so intrigued by it?"

Chauvelin composed himself and cleared his throat. "Ah... nothing that would interest you, I'm sure," he replied, glancing towards the door, "Just some French political stuff, you know."

"Of course!" Percy cried, "You would be interested in those things, wouldn't you? I've never really had much of a head for politics myself."

"Mmm," Chauvelin replied, not really paying attention as he glanced at the door again.

Marguerite watched through the curtain anxiously. These two obviously knew they were enemies now and each must be concocting some sort of plan at this very moment. She watched Chauvelin carefully. What was he thinking?

"I never asked before," Percy continued, "What are you majoring in?"

"Political Science," Chauvelin said blandly.

"Of course!" Percy cried out, "You Frenchies are the cleverest lot, aren't you? I wouldn't last one day in Political Science. I'd fail the first class... on the first day! Would you believe it?"

"Yes, well, it's definitely not the easiest major, but I wouldn't say it's the hardest," Chauvelin said, still keeping his eyes fixed on the door.

"Of course it is!" Percy replied.

Marguerite could see the intensity in Chauvelin's eyes as he stared at the door. He was practically on the edge of his seat, as though he were willing it to open or something. Why would he...? Then she remembered the two men who had entered with him earlier then sent away with instructions. He must be waiting for them! If they came back, he would be able to overpower and take Percy away! Marguerite began to panic again. Percy had no idea what Chauvelin was planning, he was just jabbering on about majors.

"I'll tell you though, fashion design is the only way to go!" Percy was saying, "It's by far the most satisfying."

"Hmm," Chauvelin replied, half-listening as he finished off the rest of his drink.

Percy looked at Chauvelin's empty glass. "Can I buy you another drink?"

Chauvelin nodded, his eyes still fixed on the door. Percy signaled to the bartender and the glass was refilled.

"You need a very keen eye for fashion design," Percy continued, "A true artist's eye! If Michelangelo were still alive today, I'm sure he would have been in fashion design!"

What Chauvelin did not notice as Percy jabbered on was Percy slip his hand into his pocket and pull out a small vile of... something. He quickly removed the cap, poured it into the drink, and stuffed the empty vile back into his pocket. It all happened so quickly, Marguerite was not sure it had actually happened.

Percy pushed the glass towards Chauvelin. "Your drink."

Chauvelin, did not even look at it as he picked it up. He took one long swallow and put it down again. There was a pause. Then Chauvelin began gag. Then he began to tug at his collar. Then he began gasping for breath. He put his hands to his throat and began to flail around, gasping. Marguerite could see, even from her secluded hiding spot behind the curtain that his tongue was twice its normal size as he choked.

He fell to the ground and writhed there. Some people rushed to his side from their tables, shouting things in French. Marguerite understood most of it, thanks to her classes back at the university. "This man is in anaphylactic shock!" the bartender announced.

"Someone call an ambulance!" a man cried.

"There's not a hospital around here for miles! He could die before he gets to one!"

"Is anyone here a doctor?"

As the commotion arose, Marguerite suddenly pulled her attention away from the crowd around Chauvelin to see what had become of Percy. He was no where to be found. She looked around the room. Where had he gone? She looked towards the door and just caught a glimpse of him as he silently slipped out of the room, putting his shades back on.