"Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And forgettable"
"Enjoy the Silence" - Depeche Mode
25 November 1999
Paris, France
Across the Seine, Payton Swift sat in his room in Ashton's mansion looking over the paperwork from Ethan James' file. He again went through his mental checklist of things he needed to do to prepare to infiltrate the organization. He had already acquired official-looking Watcher records for his cover. He would pass himself off as Ethan James, an American Watcher who graduated second in his class.
It again crossed Swift's mind that he might be called upon to prove his allegiance to the Hunters and actually murder one of his own kind. He shuddered at the thought and tried not to think about how he would handle such a situation. It wasn't the idea of murdering someone that disturbed him, it was that his own death would more than likely soon follow. If he were to take an Immortal's head, he would receive their Quickening - and then the Hunters would know exactly what he was.
He studied the paperwork one last time, although he could almost recite it by heart by now. "Looks good," he said to himself.
Swift went to the bathroom and began to don his disguise. First came the blonde hair - courtesy of Miss Clairol. Then the blue contacts, and finally thick round glasses. Satisfied with his appearance, Swift wandered back into the bedroom. He pulled on his jacket, hiding his 9mm pistol under his coat. He'd made his last contact with Ashton and the other Alliance members that morning. They knew that they wouldn't have contact again until he was firmly entrenched in the Hunter organization. Until then, Swift was on his own.
Swift grabbed the file and headed out the door. "Here we go," he sighed.
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26 November 1999
Paris, France
Rue du Grenier-Saint-Lazare
"Quel bordel," (What a mess,) said Palen as he walked the street alongside Lebeau. His partner just grunted, his eyes scanning in every direction as they moved. They sidestepped the multiple shell casings of bullets and fragments of glass. All of that would need to stay in place for forensics to check out.
Lebeau shook his head, thoughts flying through his mind like phantoms. He tried to grab each of them as they passed a logical part of his brain, but to no avail. Nothing was making sense. He stopped at one of the cars parked by the sidewalk of Rue du Grenier-Saint-Lazare and knelt by the body fallen near it, frowning.
"Ce que je trouve particulièrement étrange," (This I particularly find odd,) he commented to Palen, pointing at the dented passenger door. "Il y a des douilles d'obus ici, mais il y a une épée à côté de cet homme. Et, encore plus étrange, il a été décapité. Pourquoi quelqu'un qui, selon des témoins, aurait une arme automatique choisirait-il de couper la tête de son adversaire?" (There are shell casings here, but there is a sword next to this man. And, even stranger, he has been decapitated. Why would someone who, according to witnesses, has an automatic weapon choose to cut off the head of his opponent?)
Lebeau stood up and sighed. "Nous pouvons voir que la personne était visiblement appuyée contre la porte avec force ici même. La porte est bosselée et la fenêtre est fissurée. Pour une raison quelconque, la personne a décidé de laisser son arme à feu et soit d'utiliser cette épée ou une autre et de tuer l'homme d'une autre manière." (We can see the person was obviously pressed against the door forcefully right here. The door is dented and the window is cracked. For some reason, the person decided to drop his firearm and either use this sword or another one and kill the man another way.)
"Et la même chose avec les deux autres corps," (And the same with the other two bodies,) added Palen, looking behind him.
"Exactement. Il y a des impacts de balles dans plusieurs véhicules et des marques dans plusieurs bâtiments. Il y a du sang partout. Les gens ont évidemment été touchés par les coups de feu, mais les seuls corps sont ces trois personnes. Pourquoi?" (Exactly. There are bullet holes in multiple vehicles and pockmarks in several buildings. There is blood everywhere. People were obviously struck by the gunfire, but the only bodies are these three. Why?)
"Les combattants auraient pu enlever leurs morts et leurs blessés, sauf ceux-ci, quand ils ont entendu les sirènes de la police s'approcher," (The fighters could have carried off their dead and wounded, except for these, when they heard the police sirens approaching,) suggested Palen.
"Peut-être" (Perhaps,) said Lebeau, putting his hands in his pockets, "mais cela ne correspond pas à la déposition des quelques témoins que nous avons. Ils nous disent que tous les combattants sont partis à pied juste après l'explosion." (but that doesn't match the testimony of the few witnesses we have. They tell us the combatants all left on foot right after the explosion.)
"C'est la chose la plus étrange, du moins pour moi," (That's the oddest thing of all, at least to me,) commented Palen. "Ils disent que l'explosion, comme certains l'ont appelée, a duré près de quatre vingt dix secondes. Cela pourrait expliquer les dégâts causés ici, mais je ne vois pas d'éclats d'obus ni de cratères d'explosions. Seulement la destruction." (They say the explosion, or lightning storm, as some of them called it, lasted almost ninety seconds. That might account for the damage around here, but I see no shrapnel and no craters from explosions. Only destruction.)
"Vrai," (True,) agreed Lebeau. "Nous sommes vraiment entrés dans le surréel avec cette affaire." (We truly have stepped into the surreal with this case.)
Palen looked at his partner inquisitively. "Vous avez demandé à enquêter sur cette scène dès que vous en avez entendu parler. Pourquoi? Quel lien y a-t-il avec les meurtres d'église?" (You demanded to investigate this scene as soon as you heard about it. Why? What connection does it have with the church murders?)
"Je ne sais pas encore," (I don't know yet,) admitted Lebeau, "mais je le sais. Je n'ai pas encore trouvé la connexion. Donne moi du temps." (but I know it is. I just haven't found the connection yet. Give me time.)
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28 November 1999
Paris, France
27 Rue des Chênes
Karl Eichmann relaxed in the passenger seat of the car as Erik Frost drove away from the Vallin family's burning home. The hit had been, as he had expected, remarkably easy. The seven members of the family had surrendered instantly to the invasion of the four gunmen. They had not resisted at all and the Watcher husband had, foolishly, complied completely with Eichmann's interrogation under the belief that he and his family would survive if he did so. In the end, the three-round burst of bullets to each of their chests told the family otherwise.
Eichmann and his small team had taken their time getting set up in their hotel suites at the Hôtel Malte - Astotel, courtesy of Bilsby's purse, and getting familiar with the geography of Paris before making any moves against the Watchers on the list O'Banian had given them. They had started with scouting out each of the homes, making a list of the order in which the families would be attacked and when. The Vallin family had drawn the short straw as the first on the list.
"They were a bit odd, don't you think?" commented De Lioncourt from the back seat.
"How so?" asked Eichmann.
"Mainly in what they knew and didn't know," clarified the Frenchman. "They knew of the existence of the Council and its aims. They also were aware of the new security element, the Guardians. They didn't know we were in France, though. We've been here for almost a month and Siobhan's people have been making moves the whole time. How could they not know?"
"Maybe Vallin was one of those Watchers who actually did nothing but watch," suggested Razumov, sitting beside De Lioncourt. "He might have just been focused on his job and not kept up on the other notices that were put out on the Watchers' database."
"Could be," surmised Eichmann from the front. "Siobhan's theory that all Watchers are a threat is somewhat of a stretch, anyway. In any large group, there are going to be those who just do what they're supposed to do and nothing more."
"Are you saying that what she's doing is wrong?" asked Frost.
"Not at all," answered Eichmann. "I'm just giving Vallin the benefit of the doubt. Siobhan is right in believing that all of those threatening us are Watchers and this is the best way to fight them. I'm also saying that we're going to get a few people like Vallin as we go about it. They're collateral damage. That's all."
"So you have no problem with killing people like Vallin and his family? His wife and children?" queried Razumov.
"Hah!" laughed Eichmann. "Not at all. I've done far worse in my day."
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29 November 1999
Paris, France
K&K Hotel Cayré
They had rented a dozen suites on the fourth floor of the Hotel Cayré for themselves. The largest of them, O'Banian's, was also the Council's meeting area. She had given Bilsby, Faaris, and MacNaughton keys to the suite in order to access it should she be away. Most of the Council members roomed alone, the Blacks and a few others being the exceptions.
O'Banian sat alone in the sitting room of her suite, the captured Watcher computer in her lap. The information on its screen was not the focus of her attention. For the moment, she let her eyes roam the vast luxury of the room around her. Such luxury was not her usual lifestyle and she found herself somewhat discomforted by it. She had, in fact, spent a good part of her life fighting against people who lived exactly this way. She fidgeted on the couch, trying to fight down the twinge of hypocrisy welling up inside her.
What's the problem, damn it all? It's not like yer the one payin' fer it. Darmond is. Whatta you care if he's payin' all kindsa money for it?
'Cause I use ta say such money could be better spent in other ways, that's what.
It's jus' for a little while, isn't it? Can't ya enjoy it until this is over?
How long will that be?
Does it matter? As long as it's not comin' outta yer pocket?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Anyway, don'cha have somethin' more important ta do right now?
Lotsa things, yeah. Tha first was makin' sure everyone was safe. I did that. Now I hafta confess ta everyone about this whole damn Ashton business, don't I?
Yeah, ya do, chided the other side of her brain.
Not, tonight. I'm gonna get a good night's sleep in that cushy bed tonight. I'll make my confessions tomorrow. And make my amends, too. I've already got a plan fer that.
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30 November 1999
Paris, France
Darren Dublin listened to the phone on the other end of the line ring and ring. He held the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, one hand absently twirling a pen, the other tossing and catching the hacky sack that was almost as much his companion as his sword was.
"Damn it, David, pick up the bloody phone," he muttered, knowing it was useless. Dublin swore and smacked the phone receiver down a little harder than he had intended. He looked around at the busy Paris street outside the window of the café in which he waited. He had heard through his usual sources of the massacre at Saint-Vincent - five Hunters dead plus the Catholic priest, Patrick O'Banian. He had known Patrick, met him on several occasions, and was greatly saddened at his passing. He was also more than aware what Patrick's death would do to someone else - someone already spinning wildly out of control in Dublin's opinion.
The Irishman ran his hand through his hair, cursing himself for leaving it loose rather than tying it back as he usually did. He shuffled back to the outside table he had occupied, taking a slow drink of his latte. Deep in thought, the hacky sack continued to toss up and down, unwavering in height and rhythm. If anyone had asked him to stop, Dublin would have denied even knowing he was throwing it.
Dublin placed the sack on the table, digging into the pocket of his jeans for the appropriate money. He picked through dollars, lira, marks, rubles, and pounds before finally finding the right currency. He tossed the coins onto the table, retrieved his hacky sack, and made his way off the patio and back onto the street.
A pretty redhead in a business suit walked by, giving him an appraising smile. He returned her grin, eyes sliding sideways when they passed. Then her perfume hit him - Chanel Number Five - and with it came the memories that he tried never to think about.
It didn't matter. She had had her warning and one was all she was going to get. He hastened his step toward his car.
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30 November 1999
Paris, France
K&K Hotel Cayré
O'Banian's eyes skipped uneasily from one Council member to the next. Save Eichmann's detachment, they were all gathered together in her suite. Their gaze, just as pensive, was focused on her. She cursed mentally. She hated speaking in front of groups. She stood, hoping the movement would ease her nervous tension. It didn't.
"I have a…" She cleared her throat. "I have a confession to make to all of ya."
Several of the Council leaned forward in expectation. O'Banian felt her face redden. She put her left hand in her pocket, tightening it into a fist, and continued.
"There's somethin' I haven't told all of ya and it's time I did." She cleared her throat again. "I told Vincent, Omeir, and a few others a few days ago, but I think all of ya need to know. It's that important."
She took a breath. They were all looking intently at her now. This wasn't going to be as easy as the email she had typed out to Eichmann hours earlier. Hell, that hadn't been easy itself. She gulped and pressed on.
"We have others fightin' us besides the Watchers. Other Immortals. That's why ya don't see Aaron and Hewett here anymore. They died fightin' this other group of Immortals when they went to hit the Le Marais Apartments a few days ago."
"So that wasn't Hunters? That was other Immortals?" clarified Tuppankovich.
"Yes," said O'Banian. "They're bein' led, I believe, by a man named David Ashton. I met him when I went after the Harlbert family. He shot me and, before I died, told me to disband the Council. He said, if I didn't, he'd come after me. I didn't know he'd put together a whole group of other Immmortals and fight us all. I thought it was just one man blowin' smoke."
She left her seat at the couch, walking to the window overlooking the city. She kept talking as she moved.
"It took me a while to realize it, but Ashton and this group has actually been fightin' us since before we came to France. They interfered with our attack in Winchester, also. I was hopin' that group that stopped us in Winchester and killed Dasmius was just a random occurrence. Looks like I was wrong and these fuckers want a war. Well, I'm gonna give 'em one. I've already made up my mind. I'm gonna start by killin' off their leader."
O'Banian stared out the window but didn't see the sights. Her mind was busy on other things. Damn David Ashton and his interfering ways. She had never met him before, but knew of him well, could recite story after story of his exploits and adventures. In some ways, she'd grown up on such stories.
Her headache reminded her that David Ashton was only one of her worries. O'Banian closed her eyes, remembering the word scrawled on the ceiling in her own blood. Damn the man! If he had wanted to make a point, why couldn't he just have called her or sent her a note? Why did he have to blow her brains apart?
Because you would have hung up at his voice or tossed a note in the garbage as soon as you recognized the handwriting, a stern voice told her. "But, at least I wouldn't have a bloody headache," she muttered aloud.
"What you say?" Taiki Tokawa enquired, looking up from his game of solitaire.
"Nothing, Taiki, just talking to myself," O'Banian replied, not turning from the window.
"So what's the plan?" Julian Black asked. "We've been here nearly twenty-four hours and so far we haven't done much. I think it's time we got organized."
"He's correct," Tuppankovich added. "We need to plan."
"I have a plan," O'Banian answered, still not turning.
Faaris looked up. "Besides killing Ashton, you haven't really said anything until now. What's the plan?"
"The head of the Watcher organization is a man called Michael Walker."
David MacBane snorted. "Tell us something we don't know."
"Nineteen Quai Voltaire," recited Locke.
All eyes turned toward him. He smiled coldly. "That's the Paris address of Michael Walker's office. The address was in Pierre Garneau's wallet."
"But what good is Michael Walker? He is only one and a paper pusher at that," Julian Black questioned, looking confused.
O'Banian smiled, her eyes still on the city. "One thing I learned with the IRA, was that the people you can easily get at are the pissants. They are expendable and they have no power. Every time you kill one, two more take their place. If you really want to take an organization out - you take out the people at the top. Without leaders, armies descend into anarchy and then you win. If we want to win, we need to take Michael Walker out."
Somewhere off to the side, Fiona Black gasped.
O'Banian turned to her. "What the hell did you think I planned to do with him, send him to Disneyland? This is a war, Mrs. Black, and if you have no stomach for it I suggest you pack off home. You can have tea and sandwiches while you wait for your loving husband to return - if he should manage to keep his head."
"Perhaps you should go, Fiona," her husband suggested. "Things might get - ugly."
Fiona Black paled and screwed her eyes shut. "No. I am staying, Julian." She looked at O'Banian. "You can't frighten me. No matter how hard you might try, you can't."
O'Banian leaned close to her. "Oh, Fiona, I'm not trying to scare you - yet."
"Leave her alone, Siobhan," Faaris told her. "We have other things to think about. How do you propose we go after Walker?"
"We watch his house and his office. He has no reason to suspect we'll come after him. We set up a watch and when he arrives…we grab him."
"What do we do with him when we have him?" Erik Frost asked, mouth dry. He was afraid he already knew the answer.
It was Omeir Faaris who answered. "We kill him."
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After the compromise of the previous set of suites, security was more of a concern. They decided that Vincent Locke would take the first watch. Omeir would relieve him at midnight, Tuppankovich would follow at six a.m.
David MacBane looked at O'Banian inquiringly when she pulled on her boots and slipped on her leather jacket. "Where are you going. Off on another night attack?"
"Something like that," she replied cryptically. It had occurred to her earlier that the same reasoning she had for eliminating Michael Walker and bringing the Watcher organization into chaos, could also be used for displacing those Immortals that opposed them. Get rid of their leader, and they too might just disappear into the woodwork.
Most of them, Siobhan thought bitterly. There would be a certain few stubborn ones who would battle on until the bitter end. Until one of them lost their head. "Stubborn fucking Irishman!" she muttered, shaking her head. Grabbing her Templar sword, she set out to even the score.
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"Well," Locke said. "Siobhan's gone. And like she said, cut off the head and the body dies."
MacBaine, Faaris, and Tokawa turned to face him.
"You saying, Vincent, that we go kill Walker?" Taiki asked.
"Well, maybe not kill." Locke's monotone voice was cold. "We could at least capture him and bring him back here."
"Vincent, this is insane. You know that, right?" David MacBane said, not moving from his place on the couch.
"No, he's right." Faaris stood. "We've got his address and a little info. Let's get him now before they find out what we're planning." Faaris reached for his sword. The notion of being there for another night, just waiting, hadn't been sitting too lightly with him. Locke's idea seemed like the perfect solution.
"Oh, gimme a break. They know everything that's going on," MacBane groused, still not moving.
"Who cares. We're tough and they're not. Now, are we going to get this Walker guy or what?" Locke stood and grabbed his sword. "Well, I'm going and you can help if you want."
"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Julian Black questioned. "I mean Siobhan said…"
"And who the hell died and made Siobhan O'Banian God?" Locke replied. "Siobhan is passionate, intelligent and committed - but she also has her own agenda. I, for one, am not her lapdog. I say we go and get Michael Walker tonight." With that, the Immortal exited the hotel suite, slamming the door behind him.
