Author's Note: The French police use a rank / title system that would be clumsy and confusing, especially when applied against existing ranks also used in this story, so I have applied British-style police titles to the French law enforcement characters mentioned here.

Chapter 22
Bitterness That Lasts

"Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye"

"The Living Years" - Mike and the Mechanics

10 November 1999
Paris, France
Saint-Vincent de Paul Catholic Church

Detective Sergeant Claude Lebeau walked slowly through the bullet-ridden chaos that was Saint-Vincent. His teammates, including his partner, Charles Palen, all waited in the back of the church as he made his rounds. They knew not to disturb Lebeau when he was listening. The six bodies strewn about Saint-Vincent had a story to tell and he was letting them speak to him.

Though only twenty-six, Lebeau already had a reputation for being an oddity in the Paris police force, an effective one, but a little strange, nonetheless. He always seemed able to pick up on details, some on the force use the American term, the vibe, of a particular crime scene and tease facts from its evidence that others did not see. So effective in this listening was he that he was often allowed to stroll through a scene before the crime scene technicians made their analysis of it. Usually, they confirmed what he hypothesized from the beginning.

Members of the police force, behind his back, of course, joked that Lebeau was destined from birth to become a detective. Born in 1972, his parents had been avid fans of the Frederick Forsyth novel, Day of the Jackal,which had been published the year before. They named their son Claude after the primary protagonist of the novel, Claude Lebel. As a result of the literary reference, the other members of the force often called Lebeau Le Chacal, the Jackal, sometimes even to his face. Though the moniker mildly irritated him, Lebeau did not complain about it, often laughing along with his coworkers when it was mentioned.

Lebeau stood at the front of the church, tapping his fingers on the altar absentmindedly, his eyes transfixed on the indentations on the carpet to the front of the golden table. There were two distinct circular prints there with two smaller ones just behind them, a set of footprints to either side. He pondered the meaning of this. Glancing up briefly, he motioned for Palen to join him with two quick flicks of his fingers. He then returned to his study of the prints.

"Que penses-tu de cela?" (What do you think of that?) he asked when the junior detective sergeant arrived at the foot of the small staircase in front of the altar.

Palen regarded the prints for a few seconds, a hand on his chin. "Hmm," he mumbled. "C'est presque comme un pénitent agenouillé devant l'autel, n'est-ce pas?" (It's almost like a penitent kneeling in front of the altar, isn't it?) Lebeau nodded. "Les deux étaient la main sur la personne pendant la prière, peut-être?" (The two were laying hands on the person during prayer, maybe?)

"Possible," (Possible,) allowed Lebeau, "mais d'une manière ou d'une autre, j'en doute moi-même." (but somehow I'm doubting it myself.) He squatted down and pointed at the two smaller indentations to the rear of the larger circular ones. "Voir ces? Vous voyez comment le bon est plus grand et frotte le tapis à la droite de la personne agenouillée? C'est comme si celui qui était à genoux s'est enfui à la dernière minute." (See these? See how the right one is larger and scuffs the carpet out to the right of the kneeling person? It's like the one who was kneeling dove away at some last instant.) Lebeau pointed to the left at a few droplets of blood. "Peut-être quand c'est arrivé." (Perhaps when that happened.)

"Vous pensez que la personne qui se tenait à la gauche du pénitent a été touchée et que le pénitent s'est éloigné?" (You think the person who was standing to the left of the penitent was shot and the penitent leapt away?)

"Je le pense."(I think so.)

"Pourquoi?" (Why?)

"Ça, je ne sais pas," (That, I don't know,) admitted Lebeau. "Considérant que certains cadavres sont entre les mains de Walther PPK et que les obus sont éparpillés, il était peut-être sur le point d'être exécuté et cela a été interrompu." (Considering the Walther PPKs some of the bodies are holding and the shell cases scattered about, perhaps he was about to be executed and that was interrupted.)

"Le prêtre, vous en pensez?" (The priest, do you think?) postulated Palen.

"Possible. Cela aurait du sens. Si c'est le cas, le stress de l'événement l'a touché et il était sur le point de mourir de toute façon. Viens regarder ça." (Possible. It would make sense. If so, the stress of the event got to him and he was about to die anyway. Come look at this.) They walked over to Patrick O'Banian's body and knelt beside it. Lebeau pulled open the priest's shirt and pointed at the bruises on the old man's chest. "Tu vois ces petites ecchymoses? Il avait une crise cardiaque et tenait fermement sa poitrine. Je pense qu'il était probablement en convulsion sur le sol quand il a été abattu." (See those small bruises? He was having a heart attack and was tightly clutching his chest. I think he was probably convulsing on the floor when he was shot.)

Lebeau paused, his eyes focusing on Father O'Banian's shoulder. "Oh! Qu'avons-nous ici?" (Oh! What have we here?) he asked aloud. He reached down and picked up a long, red hair. Holding it up for Palen to see, he queried, "Je ne me souviens pas de rousses parmi les corps. Le faites vous?" (I don't recall any redheads among the bodies. Do you?)

"Non," (No,) replied Palen, shaking his head.

"Puis une femme rousse était avec le prêtre quand il est mort. Quelqu'un qui voulait des informations de lui, peut-être, ou peut-être quelqu'un qui se souciait de lui. Peut-être même un…" (Then a red-haired woman was with the priest when he died. Someone who wanted information from him, maybe, or perhaps someone who cared for him. Maybe even a…) Lebeau stopped, blinking. He stood.

"Qu'Est-ce que c'est?" (What is it?) asked Palen.

"Je viens d'avoir une pensée," (I just had a thought,) said Lebeau, returning to the altar. Kneeling on the steps before it, he leaned in close to the carpet and eyed the floor carefully. He did not move for a full minute.

"Ah!" he finally cried out. "Et c'est parti." (Here we go.) He pointed for Palen's benefit. Another red hair lay on the thick carpeting. "La femme aux cheveux roux, quelle qu'elle soit, était celle qui était à genoux ici, pas le prêtre." (The red-haired woman, whoever she is, was the one kneeling here, not the priest.)

Lebeau stood and eyed his partner. "Alors maintenant, nous avons une partie de l'histoire. Nous avons juste besoin de comprendre le reste. Ce que nous savons, c'est qu'il y avait au moins huit personnes, peut-être davantage, avec les PPK de Walther qui, pour une raison quelconque, tiraient sur un autre groupe de personnes avec des pistolets automatiques de 9 mm. Il y en avait au moins quatre. Ceux qui portaient des armes de 9 mm ont eu la chance de tomber sur ceux qui portaient le PPK et ont pu leur infliger de lourdes pertes, mais pas avant que le prêtre, le Père O'Banian, ait été tué. (So now we have part of the story. We just need to figure out the rest. The part we know is there were at least eight people, perhaps more, here with Walther PPKs who, for whatever reason, were shooting at another group of people with 9mm automatic pistols. There were at least four of them. Those with the 9mm weapons got the drop on those with the PPKs and were able to inflict severe casualties on them, but not before the priest, Father O'Banian, was killed.)

"Je pense que Saint-Vincent était censé être un lieu de rencontre pour ceux avec les pistolets de 9 mm et les gens avec les Walthers étaient ici pour les prendre en embuscade. L'embuscade a mal tourné et le principal élément de ceux qui étaient réunis est parti comme ils l'avaient fait, à travers la porte arrière avant. Nous pouvons le voir par la traînée de douilles et de sang. Au moins l'un d'entre eux a également été blessé." (I think Saint-Vincent was supposed to be a meeting ground for those with the 9mm pistols and the people with the Walthers were here to ambush them. The ambush went sour and the lead element of those who were here to meet left the way they came, through the back door. We can see that by the trail of shell casings and blood. At least one of them was wounded, as well.)

"Avez-vous une idée de la raison pour laquelle l'embuscade a été organisée?" (Any thoughts as to why the ambush was set up?) wondered Palen.

Lebeau shook his head. "Seulement que c'était censé être quelque chose de macabre. L'un des corps portait une machette et un autre une épée d'armement courte à proximité. Ils avaient certainement l'intention de faire un sale travail sur les corps de ceux à qui ils avaient tendu une embuscade après leur avoir tiré dessus. Nous en saurons plus après avoir identifié les corps." (Only that it was meant to be something grisly. One of the bodies had a machete and another had a short arming sword near it. They certainly intended to do some nasty work on the bodies of those they ambushed after shooting them. We'll know more after we identify the bodies.)

Palen nodded and knelt by one of the slain men, feeling through his pockets for a wallet. He frowned. He reached into each pocket and pulled out all of the contents, placing them on the floor by the body. Seeing no identification cards of any type, he moved on to the body of the woman, checking each of her pockets, as well. He had the same result. Seeing the problem, Lebeau joined him in checking the other bodies.

"Un seul des cinq, Emil Halbert, a quelque chose qui les identifie," (Only one of the five, Emil Halbert, has anything that identifies them,) said Lebeau. "Et aucun d'entre eux n'a de portefeuille." (And none of them have wallets.)

"Quelqu'un les a pris, alors," (Someone took them, then,) said Palen, "probablement les personnes qui les ont tués." (probably the people that killed them.)

Lebeau grunted in agreement. He didn't like the implications. It could only mean these killings were not a one-time incident. There would very likely be more.

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12 November 1999
Winchester, England

The dark-haired man in flex-cuffs did not seem pleased with his accommodations, luxurious though they were. He sat in the armchair, his stiff leg outstretched, and scowled at the three men in front of him as if wishing they would burst into flames. Honnecker grinned at this.

"Not happy with the room, Mr. Moran? Shall I call for the presidential suite for you?" The general chuckled softly at his joke and awaited a reply from the Hunter.

"It's not the room," scoffed the Hunter. "It's the company."

"Oh, come now. Marion and Petrov here are good fellows. I've worked with them for many years. I'd trust them with my own children, if I could have them."

"Drop the funny talk, Honnecker," spat Moran. "I'm not in the mood. I'm here to be your prisoner, not your houseguest."

"Though that may be the case," replied Honnecker, his grin fading, "there is no need for us to not be gentlemanly about it. I intend to treat you with every courtesy and I expect the same from you, Mr. Moran. You have been kind enough to answer the questions put to you by my friend, Charles Ulrich, and for that, I am grateful."

"A moment of weakness on my part," muttered Moran.

"Regardless," continued Honncker, "you are now under our protection for the foreseeable future. Except for leaving this suite, you are free to move about. Mr. Marion and Mr. Petrov will stay with you to insure your safety."

"And when Werner Heinz comes for me?"

"They will protect you."

"Ha! That will be a first. No one is safe from Heinz. No one."

Honnecker smiled. "If you believe that, then I recommend making good use of this hotel's selection of wines until he arrives. At least enjoy the moments you have until then."

Honnecker stood and looked down at the Hunter. "I may, at times, have additional questions for you. I expect the same cooperation from you then as you gave to Ulrich should those times arise."

"Hmph, don't count on it, Honnecker."

"We'll see. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Moran. Until we meet again." Honnecker turned and walked to the door. Petrov held it open for him. "Thank you, Petrov. See to his needs, please."

"Yes, sir."

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15 November 1999
Paris, France

David Ashton sat in one of the few rooms of the house that was actually fully furnished, the dining room. Having just moved back to the place, he was still unpacking his belongings and getting himself established. The house staff, having just barely recovered from moving from Atlanta, were now getting themselves acquainted with the early twentieth-century mansion he called home in Paris. The constant moves were just as much of a jolt for the Minoan as it was for them.

Ashton glanced down the table at his visitors, Hotsuma Bentenrai, Jacob Forrester, Dalla Selbjorgsdottir, Turan Abjer, Dominic Ackart, Joseph Madsen, and Jonas Cartell. Immortals all, they were the first of two groups of reinforcements the Alliance could expect in the next few weeks. Pad Griffin would have the other group in Paris by the end of the week. Ashton smiled at the group in greeting.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming today. Since you all read my initial email, there is no need for me to go through any sort of introduction of the situation. I will just fill you in on what has occurred since that message went out in order to bring you up to present day.

"I mentioned the Hunters and the threat they pose to us. There is another element in the equation, as well. We also have a group of radical Immortals who call themselves the Council who are, in their own way, trying to fight the Hunters. The Council is being led by a young Immortal by the name of Siobhan O'Banian. The issue we have with them is their methods. They are attacking and killing everyone in the Watcher Organization, be they actual Watchers or families of Watchers. Their stated goal is the complete eradication of the organization with the thinking that if there are no Watchers then there are no Hunters.

"We are receiving tacit support from one Watcher, who calls himself PO2, a Navy term. He has dubbed us the Alliance, by the way, probably just to differentiate us from the Council. This individual provides us some limited information regarding the Council and the actions of the Watchers. It has been quite useful up to this point and has enabled us to make some very productive moves in the last few weeks.

"Going back to the Council, as I'm sure you can deduce, our primary problem with them is their extreme method of resisting the Hunters. If they fought the Hunters only, rather than killing Watchers and their families, we would be offering to ally with them. Instead, we find ourselves on opposing sides. Sadly, now we are dealing with a two-front battle, one with Hunters and the other with the Council. We must handle both before this conflict can be satisfactorily resolved. Are there any questions?"

Dalla Selbjorgsdottir raised a finger and spoke up. "I have no questions about the situation, only how we will be organized and what is the plan for moving forward?"

Ashton placed his hands palms down on the table and looked each person in the eyes as he replied. "We are currently all scattered about the city for security reasons. We have been awaiting your arrival before proceeding. Now that you are here, we can initiate the plan. That plan is primarily one of reconnaissance and, when good intelligence is found, exploitation via rapid strikes. We have a few worthwhile tidbits of information already and are working to make use of that data already.

"What we will do now is divide up into small cells and spread out across the city in search of both the Council and the Hunters. When we find them, or hints as to where they are, we will report it to General Honnecker who is manning our operations center, and then will prepare to hit any targets of opportunity. We will do everything carefully; this will not be a search and destroy operation. There are too many innocent lives at risk for that."

Everyone around the table nodded at this. Another Immortal, Turan Abjer, had a question.

"When will we know about the cell assignments?"

"I'll have that information for everyone in a day or two. Keep an eye on your email traffic for that. Everyone has secure email accounts and I will be communicating primarily through those means. That way communication can continue even if we have to move around, as long as we have our laptops, at least."

"Good enough," said Abjer.

"Do we have any information about this PO2 guy?" asked Jonas Cartell. "How do we know he's not a Hunter himself?"

"We don't," admitted Ashton. "All we know up to this point is one hundred percent of his data so far has checked out. Everything he has given us has been completely anti-Hunter and nothing has led us into any sort of trap."

"Yet," muttered Hotsuma Bentenrai darkly.

"Yes," stated Ashton. "Not yet."

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16 November 1999
Paris, France

Brad Miller followed his team leader, Larry Singer, through the front door of the bungalow, his semi-automatic pistol held ready. Alex Corrigan was close behind him.

"What the hell?" they heard from the sitting room off to their right, a voice responding to the sound of the door being smashed inward. The question was joined by a feminine scream as the rear door was also hit by a small battering ram, Paul Grant and Tammy Ochoa stepping through the entrance.

The trio in the front of the house stepped into the sitting room to find a man rising to his feet in front of a couch. Behind him sat a white-faced woman, another scream rising in her throat. The man lunged at Singer, reaching for his pistol. The suppressed weapon fired. The man staggered and took another step. Corrigan fired again as the woman screamed.

"Can it," said Miller flatly, training his weapon at the woman's face. Beside him, Corrigan fired again, dropping the man to his knees. The woman's scream became a series of panicked wheezes.

Grant and Ochoa entered the room, their rapid search of the second story complete. "It's clear upstairs," reported Ochoa.

Miller glanced at the blonde woman. From the neck down, she had a striking, athletic figure. Above that, her acne-scarred face left much to be desired. She also smiled too much, typically at the wrong times. Mentally, Miller shook his head. Ochoa was a waste of a good body. With some training in decent manners as a child and the use of soap and water as a teen, she could have been a real beauty now. Instead, her face and attitude now detracted entirely from the goddess-like physique she sported, at least for him.

Miller turned back to regard the wounded man before them. The two bullets in his chest had slowed him, but not for long. Malik Naja would recover quickly. All Immortals did.

"Steel," ordered Singer.

Corrigan pulled a short sword from the scabbard at his hip. Both of Naja's eyes widened at the sight.

"No!" protested Ana, Malik's wife. "No, you can't do that."

"Oh, really, bitch?" asked Ochoa, stepping forward and taking the sword from Corrigan. "And who is going to stop us? You?"

Ana stood from the couch, approaching Ochoa tentatively.

"No," gasped Malik Naja, one hand on his chest and the other outstretched toward Ochoa. "Please, don't hurt her. Do what you like to me. Just let her go, please." He looked up at the Hunters pleadingly.

"Oh, I don't think so, Immortal," replied Singer. "Mortals who love Immortals are just as tainted as the likes of you." With that, he raised his pistol and fired once. Ana's eyes widened again, her hands going to the hole in her neck. She fell to her knees beside her husband.

"NO!" screamed Malik, turning to place his hands on his wife's shoulders. His eyes met those of his wife's, seeing the light dim in hers.

"And now you can join her," smirked Ochoa, stepping in and swinging the sword with a practiced hand. Malik Naja's head fell from his shoulders. His body and Ana's collapsed together onto the carpeted floor. Both bodies twitched for several seconds before finally lying still.

Brad Miller and the other four Hunters looked down at their handiwork, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Miller suppressed a shudder as he remembered a night three years ago. He and his wife in their little shop back home. An Immortal robber. Traveca's bleeding corpse on the floor. His own grief. His burning rage.

Trav's death is how I was recruited into this. Am I really in the right? Is this what I should be doing to avenge her death?

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Date: 17 November 1999
To: Turan Abjer, Dominic Ackart, Hotsuma Bentenrai, Jonas Cartell, Eric Doyle, Darren Dublin, Jennifer Leslie Ellis, Jacob Forrester, Wallace Frazier, Paderau Griffin, Winter Kjellson, Joseph Madsen, Chris Pellier, James Pellier, Dalla Selbjorgsdottir, Payton Swift
CC: Lawrence Channing, Maximillian Honnecker, Viktor Petrov, Jasper Marion, Charles Ulrich
From: David Ashton
Subject: Cell Assignments

All,

For improved security of our little alliance and better performance of our mission, I am dividing our forces into several cells. The cellular assignments are below. The first person listed in each group is the cell leader. The chain of command within each cell will be determined by the cell leader. The primary mission of each cell is listed above the cell.

Command

Ashton
Abjer
Dublin
Swift

Operations

Honnecker
Channing
Marion
Petrov
Ulrich

Recon 1

Griffin
Ackart
Forrester
Kjellson
Madsen
Pellier, J.

Recon 2

Selbjorgsdottir
Bentenrai
Cartell
Pellier, C.

Recon 3

Ellis
Doyle
Frazier

All reports and updates will be sent through the operations cell. The ops cell will update the command cell, as needed. All recon cells may also be utilized as combat cells, as needed. Stay flexible and alert.

Questions may be forwarded through the operations cell.

Thank you,

Ashton.