An Unholy Alliance by InSilva
Disclaimer: oh, they aren't mine. Anyone crazy enough to think they are? :)
Chapter Fourteen: Grace and Favours
The…row…with Danny has left Rusty drained and he has fought to keep up the banter and the nonchalance in Bryn's company throughout the trip to Paris. Danny has covered for him. Like he always does.
Now, fully dressed, Rusty sits in the locked hotel bathroom on the edge of the bath and stares down at his left hand. It's the hand that he used to halt Bryn's progress on the basketball court and despite Danny's efforts in the café, he can still feel Bryn breathing underneath his fingers. His mouth screws itself up in disgust at the memory.
It's the same hand that Bryn almost touched in the cab and he closes his eyes as he remembers the nearness of Bryn, the way there was just not enough distance in the cab; in the world, come to that.
And this is nothing. This is nothing in the scheme of things, he reminds himself, because Bryn has done nothing in the scheme of things. Not to him. To Danny, for sure…and he feels the rage, acknowledges the rage and pushes it away, saves it for another time because the point is somewhere there is Saul. And Saul is what this is about. Saul is worth the time he spends in Bryn's company. Saul is worth every remark Bryn makes to him, every look he throws in Rusty's direction, every vicious thought that he knows is crossing Bryn's mind. He doesn't want to think about what Saul would say if he knew about the remarks and the looks and the thoughts.
The door is suddenly opened and he sees Danny in the doorway and realises that maybe there have been knocks and maybe his name has been called and possibly he just hasn't heard a thing.
He's been gone some time. Time enough for him to notice. And he's knocked and called softly and there's been no reply and somewhere at the back of his mind the memory rears its head and he has to act. Has to.
The door is no obstacle and he sees Rusty sat, lost in contemplation. Rusty looks up at him and he sees the strain around Rusty's eyes that Bryn has caused that Rusty doesn't want him to see. He notices the toll that Bryn is taking that Rusty doesn't want him to notice. He reads the turmoil that Bryn is creating that Rusty doesn't want him to read.
Rusty smiles and shakes his head and stares back down at his left hand.
"You know, if it just happened," Rusty muses in a quiet little voice that Danny almost doesn't recognise, "we could get on and deal with it."
"What?"
Rusty ignores the incredulity.
"You heard me. It happens. He happens. People survive this and worst. Michael did."
"Rus…?"
"He's all about the inevitable. He's all about the when." A pause. "I reckon I could cope." And Rusty's voice is soft and wondering and Danny hates everything he hears.
"Rusty…" And Danny falls to his knees beside Rusty and the bath. He reaches out and takes the hand Rusty is fixated on in his. "Rusty…"
There is so much that he wants to say and he can't trust himself to do so without screaming.
Rusty looks down at Danny and he smiles again.
"Thing is, I've never been one for accepting the inevitable."
"Me either." They were more about changing the odds into their favour.
There is silence and then…
"You thinking of proposing?" Rusty asks and he is Rusty once more.
He has been pointed out along with two other men and they are standing huddled together in a separate room. The strangers are questioning all of them with harsh words he doesn't understand and the air of stupidity he has affected is easy to maintain. The two other patients he is stood with are also bewildered and the three of them blink up at their interrogators. They are all of an age and similar description, he realises and he guesses that if they are indeed looking for him all they have to work on is a vague type.
He shivers. A rough description is not going to protect him for long.
Before they meet Bryn downstairs, Rusty tries Michael again. The phone rings for what seems like forever and then it's answered.
"Rusty?"
Breathed. Whispered, even. He knows at once that something is wrong.
"What is it, Michael?" And Danny's head turns round at the tone in his voice.
"Is he…where…"
"We're in Paris. Bryn's with us. What is it?"
There's a half-choke and a swallowed sob and all he can hear is Michael trying not to cry.
"It's OK, it's OK," Rusty comforts helplessly and then the line goes dead and he frowns at the phone. "Sounded like…"
He stops and lets out a heavy sigh and looks at Danny.
"Sounded like Bryn paid him another visit."
Danny swears and they both react as the phone in Rusty's hand rings.
"It's me," Michael says unnecessarily and he has more control. "I'm sorry."
"No, no…" And Rusty is biting his lip because Michael has nothing to apologise for. Before he can say anything else, Michael plunges on.
"Listen. The search in Poland. They were already looking in Germany and Poland and Russia but they narrowed their search radius last night. I tracked back. Bryn called Hobbs."
"He did what?" Rusty snaps.
"He called Hobbs. I've been tapping Hobbs and Jamieson. After our conversation. I got the phone call on tape. He told Hobbs he was working at the problem from the other side. That Hobbs could trust him just like in Guyana. That Hobbs should make sure his men concentrate all their efforts on the towns close to the railway line. To check out the hospitals. To look for an old man who doesn't belong. His name still carries weight with Hobbs I guess."
Danny's been listening and Rusty can tell he feels as sick about it all as he does. Even if the wolves were already looking, Bryn's guided them closer to Saul.
"He didn't say he didn't know Hobbs," Danny says quietly.
"If Saul…" Rusty doesn't want to think about it.
Danny pulls the phone from his fingers, an idea occurring.
"Michael, it's Danny. Can you do us a favour?"
They travel down in the elevator and talk possibilities.
"Jean-Claude?"
"Not enough weight."
"I take it you don't mean that literally. Man is a mountain. Martineau?"
"This time of year? Out of the country."
Danny sighs heavily. Because really there is only one option. And he'd been hoping to avoid it. He glances at Rusty and Rusty is smiling. In spite of everything, Rusty is smiling.
"Oh, you can quit that," he scowls.
"She might not be-"
"She will be," Danny is certain. "Of course, she will be."
Bryn is waiting for them.
"I want to put some feelers out. See where Jamieson is. What he's up to."
"You sure you're backing the right pony?" Danny asks. "Hobbs was in the frame too, wasn't he?"
Bryn makes a dismissive noise. "Jamieson's got more ambition. I plan to start with him."
He checks his watch and looks over at the pair of them.
"I don't need you with me," he says baldly. "Actually, I don't want you with me."
"That's not what we agreed," Rusty says sharply and Bryn gives him a cool look.
"Oh, I know very well what's agreed. I am very mindful of what I've agreed to, Rusty. Rus. Can I call you Rus?"
Rusty's mouth sets in a tight line and Bryn grins.
"Three of us charging around is going to draw attention and the people I need to speak to will run scared. Plus I can't imagine what the pair of you are going to bring to the party." He glances back at Rusty. "Apart from decoration."
"We're coming with you, Bryn," Danny says firmly.
"No, Danny-boy, you're not. I can work this part so much better on my own. You take in some sights. Visit the Gare du Nord. Do some trainspotting. I'll be back this evening."
"No," Rusty insists.
"Yes. Rus. Yes. Get used to the idea that your input is not needed. I'll see you in the hotel bar about eight."
He disappears and Rusty and Danny watch him go.
"We didn't want to go with him," Rusty points out.
Still.
Still.
Still. The dismissal smarts.
They stand outside the smartly painted townhouse and Rusty rings the bell.
"It's all so unnecessary," Danny says à propos of nothing. Except it's à propos of something. And Rusty knows what.
As Danny has predicted, she is in. She is in to them.
The drawing room is full of chintz and satin and chaise longues and heavy drapes and the butler asks them to wait while Madame descends. They are debating whether the Monet is real (and the decision is yes) and as a sideline whether he married his mistress or died from syphilis. Then the double doors open and she glides in, full of magnificence.
"Daniel! Robert!" Both names delivered with delight and a heavy French accent.
"Duchesse," they chorus and they bend their heads and take her outstretched hands to kiss.
"Oh, mes jeunes," Duchesse says fondly. "Vous me manquez beaucoup."
They straighten up and look at the plump, middle-aged woman, face full of powder and rouge. She is permed and painted and petite, dressed in a smart emerald green velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline. Marie-Andrée Larousse aka La Duchesse is an acquaintance of theirs whose appearance belies a sharp intellect. She is also a top Parisian fence. And her name carries influence in many circles.
"You don't change, Duchesse," Danny says gallantly and she giggles.
"Neither do you, Daniel, neither do you."
She motions them to sit down and they accept the rich chocolate liqueurs the butler pours for them, Rusty a little more happily than Danny.
"So," Duchesse says, settling back on satin cushions. "As marvellous as it is to see the both of you – and it is, vraiment – I know you want to ask me something."
"Ah, Duchesse…" Danny shakes his head and plays the little comedy of manners. "How could you think that?"
"As if we would need a reason to come calling," Rusty adds.
She laughs and it is rich and vibrant. "You may ask me." Her eyes are on Danny. "I am happy for you to ask me, Daniel. I give you permission."
Danny is refusing to look at Rusty who is busying himself with the liqueur to keep the grin from showing. Danny puts his own glass down on a little enamelled side table and then drops to one knee before Duchesse and takes her hand in his.
"Duchesse, we would crave your indulgence and ask for you to arrange a meeting."
"Il est beau, n'est-ce pas?" Duchesse mutters softly and Rusty chokes back a choke.
"Bien sûr," he agrees, even though he is fairly certain the question was rhetorical.
"It is important? This meeting?" Her free hand caresses the top of Danny's hand, fingers idly tracing circles.
"It is," Danny nods gravely.
The decision hangs in the air for a moment as Duchesse considers. Because many seek her favour and she does not have to grant a thing. She has no need. But once her word is given, she holds herself accountable. She studies Danny's face and there is the earnest and the sincere and the need. Her eyes flick over to Rusty who is sitting watching and his eyes are also full of the serious and the tense and they both wait. Then she smiles happily.
"Then for you, of course, of course, I will make it happen."
"Thank you, Duchesse." And Danny kisses her hand again, this time with much more feeling.
"Merci," Rusty adds. And there is relief in his voice. "Merci beaucoup."
They have squinted at something – a photo, he guesses – and they have talked amongst themselves and then they have pushed one of the men back to the ward. They have made him dress. Him and the other man. And the pair of them are being escorted outside to a little truck and encouraged on to the back of it. One of the men swings himself up behind the wheel and he sits with his fellow detainee amongst empty sacks which once contained potatoes as the other three men hem them in.
It isn't looking good.
A/N: The French, and I hope I have it correctly, is:
"Mes jeunes...vous me manquez beaucoup" = "My young men...I have missed you very much"
"Vraiment" = "Truly"
"Il est beau, n'est-ce pas?" = "He is handsome, isn't he?"
"Bien sur" = "Indeed"
"Merci beaucoup" = "Thank you very much"