Chapter Two
Three Days Later:
"Eduard Mendez," Athos murmured to himself as his eyes narrowed at the computer screen.
"Last I heard, he was in South America," Aramis replied, cautiously, his chair scraping back as he rose and joined Athos at his desk.
"I doubt there are two of him," Athos sighed, as he jabbed a key and sent the printer on the other side of the room into action. "He's been spotted in Cairo."
Aramis sighed.
"He's still quite the globe trotter," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on Athos's shoulder.
Porthos pushed himself up and finished his coffee, before tossing the cardboard cup in his waste paper bin and crossing to the printer.
"Ugly bugger," he grunted, as he pulled off the sheets that Europol had sent over to Treville.
"Ugly by face and ugly by nature," Aramis said, crossing the room and taking the top sheet from him, as they stood shoulder to shoulder.
After a few moments, Porthos took the sheet back from him and, frowning, walked back to Athos, handing him the full sheaf of papers. The three sat themselves down and waited for their leader to speak.
Athos though, did not speak. After staring at the sheaf of papers for a long moment, he dropped it on his desk. Rising slowly, he pulled his leather jacket off the back of his chair and quietly walked out of the room; Mendez's rap sheet now lying on the top of the pile of files, messing up the previously neat stack on the corner of his desk.
"What am I missin'? Porthos said, as they watched the door click back into place behind Athos.
Aramis leaned over and retrieved the top sheet, Mendez's face glaring out in full, glorious colour.
"I preferred it when these were black and white," he said, staring at the image. "You don't remember?" he said, looking up at Porthos.
"Enlighten me," Porthos growled, dropping into Athos's vacant chair. "I've seen too many mug shots like that in the last three years."
"Does the name Samir Al-Hussein ring more bells?" Aramis said quietly. "He passes for a number of nationalities."
"Bloody Hell," Porthos growled, taking the sheet back and staring at the image.
"Precisely," Aramis replied, tapping that name into the computer. "A ghost. And a little before your time, but still notorious.
"A change of name does not detract from the fact he is a psychopath," he continued. "Favourite weapon of choice, a rather brutal knife. No big explosions for him."
He looked up at Porthos once more as the name came up on the screen, followed by a lot of information.
The case they were interested in was the one Athos had led. A former employee of Mendez had turned on him and had been willing to give evidence. Athos had nurtured a relationship with the man, had met his wife, and knew he had two children. The first job was to spirit those children out of France to the safety of trained staff who would look after them while their parents settled into a safe house and eventually, into a witness protection programme. Athos had been on his way, a few days later, to deliver the man from the safe house and deposit him and his wife at an obscure airfield, when a call went out that changed all that.
Porthos hummed a low growl as Aramis logged out. Moving to the window, he looked down into the car park. Athos's sleek, black Alfa Romeo was still there and he had an idea where their brother would be.
"I'll go," he said, quietly, as Aramis shut up shop.
Taking the lift down to the basement, Porthos emerged to the sound of furious swordplay.
He sighed.
Before he could push his way into the training room, the door swung toward him and he narrowly missed being hit in the face.
"Whoa!" he growled as the cadet came through, heading for the changing room.
"Sorry," the young man muttered.
"I suppose you couldn't say no," Porthos said, knowing that Athos liked to vent his frustrations on unsuspecting cadets.
"Would you?" the young man replied.
"Not if I wanted to stay in the programme," Porthos agreed. "Grab a shower and go home. Get some rest. Consider this as part of your training. I'll see you get the marks."
The young man relaxed and looked grateful, before nodding and hurrying away, probably afraid he would be called back by the Lieutenant at any moment to continue their bout.
Porthos shook his head and pushed through the doors, stopping just inside at the sight of Athos, pummelling a punch bag at the other end of the room. Otherwise, the room was empty, all sensible people now off duty, or making themselves scarce at the sight of their angry superior.
Porthos slowly walked over and took hold of the punchbag from the back, effectively stopping it from swinging wildly around, but not stopping the constant flow of angry punches.
"Athos," Porthos said, quietly.
Athos ignored him, hair in his eyes as he continued to throw punches, slowing now, but still there was power behind each one.
Porthos pulled the bag aside, ready to take a punch if Athos did not stop.
Athos stopped, but was not happy.
"Get out of my way," he growled.
"Not yet," Porthos replied. "Not till you tell me what this is about."
Breathing hard, Athos pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the floor at his feet. When he did not lift his head, Porthos tried again. Stepping forward, he put his hand on his friend's shoulder, steering him away from the bag. At first, Athos resisted, but when he saw that Porthos was not about to give in, he allowed himself to be propelled to the wall, where they both slid down to sit, legs outstretched, backs against the brickwork.
Athos was breathing through his nose, nostrils flaring with every in-breath. Eventually, he tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling.
Porthos waited him out.
"It was before your time," he finally said.
"Yeah, I figured," Porthos said. "That name didn't mean much to me. Neither of them."
"He has quite a few names," Athos conceded. "And one very black heart."
Porthos hummed.
"Well," he replied. "I can spend the next hour lookin' him up on the data base, or you could make it easy for me."
Athos huffed, drawing his knees up and resting his arms across them.
"Sorry," he finally said, as his eyes raked around the room.
"What are you apologisin' for?" Porthos asked, gently.
Athos side-glanced him.
"For being a grumpy bastard?"
Porthos laughed, low and deep.
"Yeah," he said, "I do call you that, don't I," he admitted, pushing himself to his feet and picking up Athos's discarded boxing gloves.
"Sometimes, it is justified," Athos responded, raking a hand through his damp hair. "How much do you know?"
"Not much," Porthos replied. "A couple died?"
"Two innocent people," Athos replied. "A man and his wife."
"Ah," Porthos said.
"The man was an employee. A housekeeper, along with his wife. He witnessed a crime. Realised his employer was not the man he thought he was and decided to do the decent thing."
"You got them to a safe house," Porthos added. He knew that much.
"Some safe house," Athos snarled.
Porthos didn't speak, waiting for Athos to gather his thoughts. He put the gloves back on a shelf and leaned his back against the wall.
Athos closed his eyes.
"I was on my way to pick them up and escort them to the Witness Protection operatives," he began. "But Mendez beat me to it."
"You found them?" Porthos asked, carefully.
Athos opened his eyes and stared at the floor, before shuddering out a sigh.
"It was a charnel house," he whispered.
"How did Mendez find them?" Porthos asked. "Our safe houses are secure."
"She made a call," Athos replied, flatly. "The wife. She rang her mother."
Athos looked up at him then, anguish in his eyes.
"I told her, absolutely no communication," he ground out. "But she wanted to tell her mother that the children were safe and that they would be moving out soon and would all be together. Albeit she could not tell her where, as she did not know. It took her four minutes to tell her mother that, before she hung up."
He sighed. Porthos waited for him to continue.
"It took him fifteen to find them. She let him in. She thought it was me. He used my name. We had the room bugged. That's how the alarm was raised that she had used the phone. I drove as fast as I could. I was ten minutes behind him. It wasn't fast enough. He didn't care that he was seen. We had cameras around the room."
Athos closed his eyes once more;
"He didn't care, Porthos."
"Bloody hell," Porthos breathed. "The kids?"
"Safe, and now with their grandmother in the programme. We had to scoop her up after her daughter called her. Her life wasn't worth anything after that."
"Safe, then." Porthos said, dully.
"Safe and very damaged," Athos sighed, pushing himself wearily to his feet.
"She was foolish," Porthos conceded. "The wife."
"And we were sloppy," Athos countered, angrily.
"I tracked him," he added, looking at Porthos. "For five days. Some of my best work," he laughed; a strangled sound. "Every time he moved, I found him. And then, he disappeared. Completely disappeared. I continued to search for him, on duty and off, but I never found him. In the end, I had to give up. We got word he'd been seen in South America. But then, we got word he was in Canada too. And Australia. I suspect he was feeding us that, for a while," he added, his voice trailing away.
Porthos watched as Athos began to pace.
"I swore I would get him, and he swore he would get us," Athos said, coming to a halt and folding his arms, before staring down at the floor, the pain of recollection finally taking its toll. "So now you know."
"So, what's he doin' in Cairo?" Porthos ventured.
Athos huffed and shrugged his shoulders, arms still crossed. He started to tap his foot on the floor.
"I don't know. We need to speak to Europol."
Porthos pushed off the wall and walked slowly toward him, before reaching out and wrapping his hand around Athos's forearm in an attempt to ground him.
"Not tonight, though," he said, firmly. "Tomorrow, yeah?"
Athos suddenly felt very tired. He unfolded his arms and swatted Porthos's shoulder as he turned to go.
"Tomorrow," he agreed, quietly. "I'm exhausted."
"So's the cadet you lathered," Porthos said, pointedly.
Athos looked back at him, contrite.
"Do I need to apologise to him?"
"Wouldn't hurt," Porthos nodded, falling into step with his friend. "Don't want him to think we would all do that."
"Just me," Athos huffed.
"Just when you're a grumpy bastard," Porthos agreed with a grin, slapping him on the shoulder.
Athos reached up and patted him on the back.
"Thank you, Porthos," he said softly, as they reached the outer door.
"Go home, get some rest," Porthos said, using the same directive he had earlier given the cadet. "See you bright an' early in the mornin'"
They met Aramis on the way out and all said their good nights.
Porthos watched his two friends make their way to their cars. Both of them knew Mendez and would both be wanting to get on top of this new development.
Athos opened the door of his car and turned to Porthos, giving him a wave.
"See you tomorrow!" Porthos shouted, as he turned toward his own car. "Go straight home," he laughed. He knew Athos would do that, he never drank when he drove. Especially when in charge of that beautiful black machine of his.
Athos fired up the V6 engine and the car purred out of the car park, the resulting roar as he opened it up echoing around the building.
Porthos and Aramis exchanged a quick wave before they each departed for the night.
Athos though, would not make it home that night.
Eduard Mendez was not in South America. Nor was he in Cairo.
He was in Paris.
oOo
To be continued ...
