Chapter 2 – That's What They Say
Toby was at the warehouse assisting Dr. Roarke at the same time as the press conference was wrapping up. He was an unofficial member of Benoit's cabinet, but it had been mutually established a while back that Toby's talents lay elsewhere. He was the young man who was able to make everyday objects into weapons, and it was remarkable what he could conjure up if he was happy and comfortable. Toby was a one-man assembly line. As long as he wasn't feeling pressured, he found that he was able to work all day, manufacturing guns, knives, and bombs. Dr. Roarke left him to his own devices, for the most part. Toby worked better alone, anyway.
But today, Toby couldn't help but note the flurry of activity that was taking place on the warehouse floor. There were mesh cages being brought in by a forklift and placed on the floor in rows, up and down in a straight line. Hmm. That was weird.
Oh, well. It wasn't really any of Toby's business. Dr. Roarke was a weird dude. He was probably going to bring in some animals, and test some of his formulas on them. Roarke was like the original mad scientist, always cooking up some kind of potion. They had no idea what the hell the guy was doing for Benoit, or how the two of them had even hooked up in the first place. Toby had tested under Jason back in that compound, and then the next thing he knew, he was being whisked away to France. He hadn't really cared. He had lived alone, prior to coming to the compound. He'd never had a family, not even a pet, to care for, or who cared about him. But now, at least he had a purpose.
Cas and Gail had winked Sam and Dean to Paris instead of flying, so that they could bring an array of weapons. Since none of them had known precisely what they would be dealing with, Dean had pretty much packed everything but the bunker's kitchen sink.
Once the quartet had gotten settled into their hotel rooms, they re-congregated in the lobby. "Michelle said she's sending a car to pick us up," Dean told the Angels.
Ms. Delacroix had been delighted to hear from him. She'd meant what she had said about inviting the group to the wedding. It would be nice to have a few people sitting on the bride's side in the church, she had commented lightly. The Delacroix family might be wealthy and well-connected, but they were also extremely dysfunctional. There wasn't one single person she was related to that Michelle actually wanted at her wedding, she confessed sheepishly. And their arrival from America had been a godsend, the bride-to-be added. All of the wedding arrangements had already been made, and now there was nothing to do but wait. Would they like to see some sights, in the meantime? As the prospective First Lady, Michelle had certain things at her disposal; she could send a car from Ben's fleet to come and pick them up. Unfortunately, her fiance was a little too busy to meet her American friends right now, but they could make each others' acquaintances at the wedding.
They'd all exchanged glances when Dean had mentioned that last part. Yeah. Right. Benoit knew exactly who they were, and vice versa. A consensus still had not been reached regarding how they were going to deal with the man, or with Vincent's offspring, either. Now that they were here, it was agreed that they would try to draw out as much information as they could about Levesque from Michelle, and then go from there.
Once arriving at Michelle's hotel suite, the five of them had a drink together, discussing what sorts of things they would all like to see.
"You know what I'd really like to visit?" Sam said to the group. He glanced doubtfully at Dean. Sam was pretty sure he knew how this was going to go over with his big brother. "The Louvre."
"Oh, that's an excellent idea, Sam," Cas enthused. "I saw a pamphlet in our room that mentioned they're featuring an exhibit on the ancient Kingdoms of the Hittite Empire. That should be fascinating."
Dean's mouth tightened, but he said nothing. Gail was watching him with amusement. She knew that art museums really weren't his thing. But curiously, he wasn't raising an objection. Maybe the elder Winchester had just decided to give Sam this one. So many times when they'd gone places before, they had ended up doing what Dean wanted to do. When they had been here before on that Tablet mission, Sam had accompanied Dean to Jim Morrison's grave, even though Sam hadn't been too enthused about it. Maybe Dean was realizing that the scales were usually tipped in his own favour, or maybe he was being magnanimous due to Sam's recent heartache over Damien. In any event, the agreement was reached, and off the group went to The Louvre.
As they rode there in the limousine, Michelle was smiling at her guests. "I'm so glad you suggested this, Sam," she said to the younger Winchester. "I have to confess, I've never been to The Louvre. The only things I know about the place are that it's the world's largest art museum, and it's a historical landmark in its own right."
"It was the Louvre Castle in the 12th and 13th Centuries, and was once the main residence of French Kings," Cas told them. Because of course, he had been there, then. "During the French Revolution, it was transformed into a public museum."
"Wow, I'd better step up my research game," Sam said lightly. "About the only thing I know about the place is that it's located on the Right Bank of the Seine. Oh, and that there are approximately 38,000 exhibits on display at any given time. The museum gets over ten million visitors per year."
Dean stirred, muttering something about it being his opinion that if they got THAT many customers, they could do without his money, and Gail elbowed him.
"If I may," the chauffeur, Luc, chimed in, "I will also add that during the reign of Napoleon, many of the museum's acquisitions were the spoils of war, looted from other European countries. So, there are many different styles of art represented. There are many famous pieces, ones most people have heard of, even if they aren't art lovers."
"Such as?" Michelle asked him.
Luc smiled proudly. "Apropos to the upcoming event, we have The Wedding At Cana."
Dean was puzzled. "Wedding pictures? I thought this stuff was old-timey art. Like, sculptures, and things."
"Oh, there are many of those there, too," Luc responded cheerfully. "The Venus de Milo, for instance."
Dean perked up. "Now, THAT one, I know," he remarked. "That's that chick with two boobs, but no arms, right?" Gail elbowed him again, and he rubbed the spot. "Oww! Too bad you weren't the model for that," the elder Winchester complained, and Gail laughed.
"The Wedding At Cana is a very old painting," Luc persisted. "It was commissioned in the 1500s. It depicts Jesus, changing jugs of water into wine at Cana, which was a city near Bethlehem."
"Galilee," Cas corrected the chauffeur absently.
Luc gave their Angel friend a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Fine. Whatever. He sighed. There was always one of those kinds of guys in any group, wasn't there? Guys who thought they knew everything. But these were Americans; he wouldn't be surprised if they were all that way. They were friends of Mademoiselle Michelle's though, and she was soon to be the President's wife, so Luc let it pass.
Cas was oblivious. He wore a faint smile on his face now, remembering what a joyous day that had been. He gave Gail's hand a gentle squeeze. Hopefully one day soon, once the scourges that were Benoit and Vincent and their ilk were removed from the Earth, he and Gail would be able to have another wedding, and then a sumptuous feast, afterwards. It had been his intention for the two of them to have renewed their vows, by now. They'd had their little ceremony in the backyard of their Earth home shortly after her marriage to Dean had been annulled, but Cas had wanted her to have something on a grander scale. Their family had had so much hardship lately, with very little celebration. Even their Christmas had been tainted by the arrival of Becky and Damien, and of Gail's Uncle Andy's attempted suicide. Apparently, Andy was doing well, though. Prior to coming to France, Cas and Gail had paid a visit to the mental hospital where Andy had remained incarcerated since Christmas. After receiving Andy' permission to search his mind, Cas had been able to determine that Gail's uncle was completely cured of his mental illness. Then, he and Gail had spoken to Kay, who had been going there to visit Andy, each and every day. It was obvious to the Angels that she and Andy were in love, and it had done their hearts good to see that some stories did have happy endings, even though this particular one had been many years in the making. So Cas and Gail had decided to break their usual non-interference rule, and Andy had been released into Kay's custody, after the Angels had visited Dr. Gatling and performed the necessary modification. Her uncle and his lady friend had placed Andy's little house on the market and were currently fielding offers. He had been astonished to find out how much the place was currently listing for. Of course, it didn't hurt that Gail had cut a swath through the house, using every ounce of cleaning power her blade had in it. They had never mentioned this particular little item to her uncle, but Gail had half-joked that she expected a great big present from the two of them, next Christmas.
"So, Cas, maybe you can settle the age-old argument for us, once and for all," Sam joked, breaking the Angel out of his reverie. "Who WAS the model for the Mona Lisa, anyway?"
Luc looked sharply at the younger Winchester. What the - ? Then it occurred to him that this man called Cas must be an art expert. That was the only explanation the chauffeur could think of for that particular question. Everyone knew that it had never been definitively confirmed, though many art lovers had their own opinions on the subject.
Cas did know the answer to the question, and he knew it first-hand. But he also knew that Sam had only been joking, and this was hardly the context for that conversation, so he remained silent on the subject. However, there was something else on his mind. He leaned forward from his position behind the chauffeur.
"How long have you been in Benoit Levesque's employ?" Cas asked Luc.
"Ever since his father died," the chauffeur replied, and the tone of pride crept back into his voice now. "Monsieur Levesque was a good man, and so is his son. He's the best President France has ever had."
"Is that so?" Cas said casually, but he was doing the slow burn now. He and Sam had done a fair amount of research into France's politics before they had come here, and what they had found out had made the group both angry and afraid.
Predictably enough, Cas had been more angry than anything else. The entire situation felt very personal to him. He had allowed Benoit to wriggle free when they had been here on the Tablet mission, because the priority at that time had been ridding the Earth of Lucifer. But now, the man had been allowed to imbed himself in the highest office in the land, much like a tumour will attach itself to an organ in the human body. Cas wondered how many deaths Benoit had been responsible for, so far. Even one was too many, but at least it seemed as though there was still time to prevent out-and-out genocide.
But there was another reason the situation felt like such an affront to Cas, although he would have no way of knowing what it was. When God had punished them as severely as He had following their quest to Mount Kilimanjaro to obtain the Book of Life, their Father had erased everyone's memories of the entire incident. But that went even further, when it came to Castiel. God had erased his memory of having killed Hitler, back at the time of the Second World War. Therefore, Cas had extremely strong feelings on the subject, but no context upon which to explain the intense personal nature of them.
Cas leaned back in his seat in the limousine now, lips pursed tightly together.
"I understand that the museum had to hide or move most of the important artworks during World War II, so the Nazis wouldn't steal them," Luc said innocently, completely unaware of what Cas had been thinking. "Then when France was liberated in 1945, everything began to return to us. Monsieur Martin Levesque, the President's father, was very happy to receive some of the treasures he had loaned to the curator, shortly thereafter. But after he died, his son sold quite a few of the artworks, or donated them, outright. He said it wasn't right for him to keep them, when they should be enjoyed by the public."
Cas frowned deeply. "From what I'm given to understand, records indicate that there are quite a few pieces that were stolen by the Nazis which have remained unclaimed, to this day. Statistics show that at least 35 percent of those were Jewish-owned," he said in a clipped tone.
The occupants of the car fell silent again. Mon dieu, whoever that guy was, he was certainly sensitive, Luc thought. Fortunately, they arrived at the museum a few minutes later. Everyone got out, and Michelle told Luc she would call him when they were ready to be picked up.
They'd toured the place for a while, and Dean's eyes were starting to glaze over. Paintings, sculptures, vases, pottery, and stained glass. He guessed it was all fairly impressive, but everything was starting to blend together for him now, into one big pile of boring crap.
Gail nudged him then, and even though it wasn't her bony elbow for a change, Dean wheeled on her. "What?" he said testily.
"Look." She pointed. "Sam and Cas were asking about Spanish and Italian paintings, and look where they are."
Dean looked to where she was pointing. "The Demon Wing!" Gail exclaimed. Dean looked at the sign again. "Uhhh...that says 'Denon Wing'," Dean said dryly. "Are you sure you don't need glasses, there, Griselda?"
She shrugged. "Hey, I got your attention, didn't I? You were getting that glazed chicken look on your face."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you expect? How many more of these stupid things do we have to look at?"
"Hey, Michelle," Sam said, beckoning to their friend. "Here's a painting by Eugene Delacroix. Relative of yours?"
She smiled. "Obviously, this man did something productive with his life, so I'd say, probably not."
Dean smirked. No matter how bored he was, Michelle could be counted on for some laughs. Gail had told him and Sam how well she and Frank had gotten along in New Orleans, and Dean wasn't too surprised. It was too bad she was engaged to a Nazi; otherwise, maybe Michelle and Frank could go out, sometime. But then, he felt bad. It had been a while since Jody had passed, and no one would blame Frank if he wanted to date another woman. Probably not even Jody. But Frank didn't seem to have any interest in stuff like that. Dean guessed he could understand. Ever since Nicole had turned down Dean's proposal and told him he was free to date whoever he wanted, Dean had found that he didn't really want to date anyone else. Funny how that worked, sometimes. Maybe he was finally growing up, the elder Winchester thought wryly. And maybe, it was about time. He still had that ring in his bureau drawer at the bunker, didn't he?
Grown up or not, that didn't mean that Dean couldn't still be immature, though. Cas looked at his friend, raising an eyebrow. He knew Dean well enough to know that he must be just about at the end of his patience. "So, what do you think about what you've seen here, Dean?" his Angel friend asked him.
The elder Winchester shrugged. "Well, Cas, I've seen a lot of naked people, religious symbolism, and dead animals. We even saw one painting about your first night in Vegas."
Cas was puzzled. "Really, Dean? Which one was that?"
"'Death Of The Virgin'," Dean wisecracked.
And there was Gail and her bony elbow, again. "It was the second night, thanks to you," she muttered darkly. But then, as Dean rubbed his arm and glared down at her, the two of them made eye contact, and then they broke up laughing.
Sam and Michelle wandered over. "I'm kind of getting the feeling that you've had enough art for one day," she said to Dean good-naturedly. "How about if we go for dinner, and a couple of drinks?" She reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. "The President will buy you a nice meal. How would you like that?"
They were all silent for a moment. For the past couple of hours, the group had almost forgotten. This had felt like one of their previous outings, like that castle in Romania, or the maritime museum from where they had stolen Blackbeard's chest. Those occasions had been fun, even though there had always been an underlying purpose to them. But what was their purpose here? They'd found out very little about Benoit Levesque, and even less about the inner workings of his government. It was becoming increasingly more apparent to the group that Michelle didn't actually have much information to offer, in that regard. Could love really be that blind?
Cas glanced at Gail, sighing inwardly. Not only was love blind, it was frequently deaf and dumb, as well. How many of his flaws, sins, and transgressions had she forgiven, or simply overlooked, over the years? Just recently, Sam had been blinded by the love he'd felt for the son he had thought that he had fathered, and Becky had been so blinded by the love she'd felt for Sam that she had borne the Beast, presenting it to Sam as an offering of that love. As tainted and misguided as it might have been, in Becky's eyes it had been love, and love was both the strongest motivator and the fiercest and most dangerous emotion of all.
They had accompanied Michelle today with the aim of...what, exactly? Dissuading her from marrying Benoit? Now, Cas realized how foolhardy that notion was. If you loved someone enough to move to a different continent and marry them, your mind was pretty well made up, he thought wryly. And, once again, there was that little matter of their having absolutely no proof of the kind of man Levesque used to be, and the kind of man he still was.
But maybe some intel could still be gleaned. If they went to dinner with Michelle and plied her with wine, she might yet disclose something of value to them. At the very least, maybe they could find out some more about the child, Gerard. It was he who Gail and Rob had seemed to be concerned about, the most.
"Let's go to dinner, then," Cas said, manufacturing a smile.
Cody was sitting in Dr. Roarke's office, playing around with the computer and waiting. They were almost finished unloading the cages, and then he was supposed to return the forklifts to the various factories and warehouses he had borrowed them from.
Like Toby, Cody had convinced himself that the cages were going to be for test animals. He wasn't super-crazy about the apparent fact that the Doctor was going to be doing experiments on animals, but Cody was over 30 years old now, and he understood how the world worked. Benoit had hinted to some of his more mature cabinet members, Cody included, that Dr. Roarke was working on some very big projects. It was all very hush-hush, out of necessity, but if the Doctor was successful, they would soon have a cure for the worst, most pervasive disease the human race had ever known.
It had to be cancer, Cody and Toby had speculated over lunch. It just had to be. Wow. Imagine that. Almost everybody had a relative or a friend who'd had some kind of cancer, or whose lives had been adversely affected by the disease. In fact, Cody's adoptive mother had had breast cancer when he was an adolescent, and the disease had remained undetected for so long that it had ended up killing her. His adoptive father had been heartbroken after that, so heartbroken that Cody had basically been on his own from that point on. If Benoit and his associate could come up with the cure for cancer, Cody would do anything his boss asked of him. Anything.
As his fiancee and his once and future enemies were sitting down to dinner, Benoit Levesque was shutting down the computer in his office. Soon, he would go home and spend a bit of time with Gerard, before his son's bedtime. The President had only a week left of his existence as a bachelor. Truthfully, he didn't believe that very much of his day-to-day life would change. But it would be good to have Michelle at home when he got there, and he was aware that Gerard was looking forward to having a mother. Perhaps he would consider reducing the boy's dosage, once they got back from their honeymoon. Dr. Roarke hadn't been able to tell Benoit if there would be any longer-lasting effects of prolonged exposure to the formula. In any event, Gerard would be a lot calmer and more content once he had a companion. And then in a few more years, once he had grown into young adulthood, Benoit would see if he would be able to safely harness the young man's power.
The President sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Everything appeared to be running smoothly, according to the timeline he'd had in mind when he had achieved the office. The recently introduced policy of tattooing immigrants was going forward, with minimal opposition. The cages had been delivered to the facility, and soon, the designated officers he had carefully chosen would begin rounding up those immigrants without proper documentation, and taking them to the facility. Then, the cleansing of their nation would begin. Benoit hadn't been lying when he had told the young men that Dr. Roarke would be implementing a cure for disease. No, he hadn't been lying at all.
Benoit rose slowly from his chair. His ribs were still sore from the glancing blow of the bullet. He'd never seen it coming, although in retrospect, he probably should have. Fortunately, Ursula had been with him. The night before Michelle had arrived in Paris, Benoit had taken Ursula out to one of the more upscale restaurants in the downtown core. He'd had a big evening planned for them, because it would be their last, for a while. Once the bloom had come off the rose of his and Michelle's nuptials in the society columns, he and Ursula could resume their intimate relationship. But even though many people looked the other way with regard to their dalliance, Benoit knew that the public would only stand for so much.
Ursula had been stoically accepting of his explanation, and they'd had a nice, leisurely meal and some pleasant conversation. But then, when they had come out of the establishment, the car wasn't at the curb waiting for them, as it always was. Benoit had taken his cell phone out of his pocket to call for it and, as he was doing that, a man had stepped out of the shadows, shouted something unintelligible, and shot Benoit. Or at least, the man had thought he shot him. His hand had been shaking so badly that the bullet had merely grazed the front of Levesque's shirt. Then the would-be assassin had dropped the gun. And then, as Ursula stared at the stranger, large gashes had appeared on his face and hands, and then he was screaming in agony. So Benoit had called Dr. Roarke instead, and the Angel had winked himself over there to clean up the mess.
Benoit had never found out who the man was, or why he had tried to shoot the President. It had sounded like he was speaking a foreign language, and he'd had that swarthy look about him. There could have been a multitude of reasons. Benoit had never told Michelle about the incident, nor had he taken any precautions subsequent to the event. Maybe after the wedding, he would look into appointing one of his senior police officers as a bodyguard, when he and Michelle made public appearances. But Benoit was just arrogant enough to feel that he had all the protection he needed, in the form of people like Ursula. Benoit Levesque was the President of his country, and his people loved him. He knew that they did. He was keeping France safe.
He turned off the lights in his office and closed the door softly behind him.
Lorrie had been pacing back and forth, waiting for Benoit to descend the elevator to the parking garage. Since Benoit had loaned Luc and the limousine to Michelle for the day so she could take her American friends around the city, the President was driving himself home. Michelle had texted him a short while ago and said that she and her friends were having dinner and drinks, and would likely be out late. He'd responded that he was heading home, and to stay out as late as she wanted. Benoit was glad that Michelle had some American friends who had flown here for the wedding. Apparently, she didn't have a close relationship with anyone in her family. Not that Benoit cared, particularly; actually, considering the circumstances, it was best that way. But he did care for her, and the happier she was, the better it would be for him. He hadn't bothered to ask her who her friends were, how she knew them, or even what their names were, merely stating that she should have fun hanging around with them, and he would look forward to meeting them at the wedding.
As Benoit exited the elevator, he was surprised to see Lorrie there. "Good evening, my dear," he said with a raised eyebrow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You never talk to me any more," she said, her lips forming into a pout. "It's been ages since you took me shopping, or out for lunch. And it's been even longer since we...you know." She moved closer to him. "Ever since you decided you like Ursula better than me."
"Now, now, Lorrie, that's simply not true," Levesque protested calmly. "I'm getting married in a week. That's all there is to it." Actually, that wasn't all there was to it; not even close. Lorrie had had her uses, but he'd found that the more he gave her, the more she wanted. She was a young, attractive girl, and he hadn't been able to resist taking her to bed. But, the girl had an inexplicable sense of entitlement about her, even though most of the other young people they'd taken from the compound did not. He had been wondering if it was time to end their association, but he'd been putting off the decision until after the wedding. But there was one thing that Benoit was sure of: there was no way in hell that she was going to stand here and make him feel guilty.
Still, because Lorrie had the power to poison food merely by touching it, he supposed he'd better appease her for now. The last thing he needed was a Game Of Thrones-type situation at the wedding reception. So he pulled her close to him and kissed her, promising her that they would make a very special date, just the two of them, shortly after the wedding. Then the two of them got into his car, and then he asked her if he could drop her somewhere. One thing had led to the other, and then to the other, and they had ended up in Lorrie's bed. Benoit was philosophical about it; he and Michelle had agreed to abstain until the wedding night. In fact, they hadn't even planned on seeing each other at all, until she was walking down the aisle. There would be a lot of press there, he'd told her, and it would be more magical that way. Michelle had thought that was a very romantic thing for him to say.
Benoit extricated himself from Lorrie's embrace, and from her bed, a few hours later. He had gracefully declined her offer to make him a late-night snack, saying that he had some work to do when he got home. But she had been appeased when he'd left her apartment, Benoit was sure.
Predictably enough, Dean had been studying the menu at L'Evian for about ten minutes now, with a puzzled expression on his face. Michelle was sitting to his left, and Cas was to his right. He'd wanted to sit beside two people who spoke the language, so he would know what the hell he was ordering, Dean had announced. Just for fun, Gail had volunteered. He'd given her a sour look and said that he wanted to be able to lift his fork, when dinner came. Maybe if she would consider laying off him with her elbow for a while, he would let her sit beside him at the wedding. Gail had stuck her tongue out at him, then sat on Cas's other side.
"How adventurous are you feeling, Dean?" Cas asked his friend, looking at the menu over Dean's shoulder.
Dean surprised him by saying, "What the hell, Cas. I didn't come all the way to France to eat a cheeseburger. What do YOU think would be good?"
Cas's lips twitched. "Are you sure you want to leave that up to me?"
"Sure, Cas, I trust you," Dean said, closing the menu with a snap. "It's not like I understand a damn word of what I'm looking at, anyway."
When the waiter came, Cas ordered: "We'll have the escargots to start, and for the main course, cuisses de grenouilles and pommes frites."
Michelle and Gail were looking at Dean and at each other, and they were grinning, wondering if he had any idea what Cas had just ordered for him. Sam was bemused, too. He wasn't exactly sure about "cuisses de grenouilles", but he knew that Cas had ordered snails as an appetizer. It ought to be fun, seeing Dean's reaction when the food came.
"Would you like some wine, my love?" Cas asked Gail. He picked up the wine list.
She smiled at her husband. He was making a romantic gesture, but: "Maybe Michelle would like to order the wine," Gail told him, nodding toward their hostess.
Their friend smiled back. "No, you're doing just fine, Cas," Michelle remarked, sitting back in her seat. "Go right ahead."
After Cas ordered wine for the table in flawless French, Michelle was shaking her head in amazement. "Are you sure you're an Angel?" she asked him. "How do you know so much about wine, and art?"
Sam smirked as he passed the basket of bread to Dean. "Have you ever been to a church? They serve wine with communion, and they've got all kinds of artworks."
They joked around about that for a bit, and then the waiter brought the escargots. Dean looked down as the dish was placed in front of him, and his brow furrowed. "What are these things?" he asked out loud.
"Try one, Dean," Cas encouraged him. "They're really very good. You'll see."
Dean looked doubtful. He scanned the place setting on the table in front of him. Michelle touched his arm. "You use that little fork," she told him, trying not to laugh at his confusion. "Stab it, then dunk it in the garlic sauce."
"Stab it? OK; that, I can do," Dean said. He grabbed the fork and did as she'd directed, dunking the snail into the garlic sauce. He chewed it for a bit, then swallowed.
"Well? What do you think?" Cas asked his friend, curious.
Dean shrugged. "Kinda rubber-y, but I like that garlic stuff."
"Now, grab a piece of bread and sop up the sauce with it," Michelle advised. "That's the best part."
Dean obeyed, and Sam was smirking again. "You know what you're eating there, right?" he asked his brother. Dean looked at him. "No; what?"
"Escargot are snails," Sam said, breaking into a grin.
Dean paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Get outta here," he said suspiciously. Then he looked at Cas, who looked back at him calmly. "Are they?" Dean asked him.
"Yes, they are," Cas confirmed. "But, you said you liked them."
"Well, that was before I knew what they were!" Dean said petulantly. He dropped his fork on the plate.
Gail rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should have just ordered him a cheeseurger," she said to Cas, shaking her head.
When the main course came, Cas looked expectantly at his friend as Dean grinned. "French fries," he remarked happily. "Finally, something I want to eat." Then he picked up one of the cuisses de grenouilles, which was, of course, a frog's leg. "These are some pretty scrawny chicken legs, though."
Gail burst out laughing, and Michelle and Cas exchanged a glance. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?" their hostess said, her lips twitching furiously.
"They're frogs' legs!" Gail exclaimed happily, not waiting for the answer to that question.
"You're making that up," Dean accused her.
"No, she's not, Dean," Cas advised. "'Grenouilles' means frog. Just try it. Please."
Dean sighed, looking at the tiny piece of food in his hand. Then he took a cautious sniff, and then he bit into it.
"Well? What do you think?" Michelle asked him.
"Ribbit," Dean wisecracked. He gave her a half-shrug. "It's OK, I guess. But, geez; don't they have any normal food, here? Or something a little bigger, at least? Looks like they're gonna have to drain the swamp just to fill us up."
Michelle laughed. "Maybe I should have smuggled in some Louisiana bullfrogs. They grow them pretty big, in the bayou."
The humans began to tuck into their plates, and Cas steered the conversation in the direction of Benoit's politics. But, as he had previously suspected, she knew very little about what was actually going on behind the curtain, as the expression went. Michelle was not an unintelligent woman, so the only conclusion that he could reach was that she was simply being more than a little naïve. But Cas supposed he couldn't fault her for that. Levesque had obviously pulled the wool over the eyes of most of the members of the public. The man's poll numbers were extremely high, Michelle told the group proudly, and there hadn't been a single incident involving terrorism since "Ben" had been elected. Too bad their own country couldn't say the same.
The friends lingered at the restaurant for about an hour after dinner making small talk, mainly about the upcoming wedding. Then Michelle dropped the quartet off at their hotel. They all thanked her for the meal and the good company, and then the car drove away. Cas turned to the others. "We have a lot of work to do," he told them grimly.
A couple of days later, Benoit and Ursula were talking in his office, and Benoit was being sorely tempted to break the promise he had made to himself. The young woman was just past twenty-five years of age now, in the prime of her life. She was wearing a short skirt, and her blouse's top two buttons were undone. When she came around to his side of the desk and placed the documents in front of him for his signature, he could smell her perfume. As she leaned down to indicate where he was required to sign, a tendril of her long blonde hair came loose from the haphazard bun she wore during office hours, and it tickled his cheek.
Benoit's resolve broke. He grabbed Ursula around the waist, pulling her into his lap.
"What are you doing?" she asked him teasingly. "I thought - "
He silenced her with a kiss, and Ursula started to unbutton her blouse. She'd known he wouldn't be able to resist. She guessed her conscience should probably be bothering her; he was getting married in five days, and Ursula actually liked Ms. Delacroix. But she also liked the feeling of power she had when seducing Benoit. He was the President of the country. One word from him, and she could have anything she wanted. And right now, Ursula knew that it was her that he wanted. She knew that Lorrie had been running around after Benoit, but Ursula knew that he preferred her over that spoiled little brat. Ursula had already protected him against a would-be assassin; what had Lorrie ever done for him?
The door to Benoit's office opened, and his Press Agent walked in.
"Benoit, I need you to - " Jean stopped short. Ursula scrambled off the President's lap and began to do up her blouse, but it was too late.
Benoit was unruffled. "Yes, Jean? What do you need me to do?" he asked calmly.
Monsieur Hamelin was speechless for a moment. He was aware that many politicians, the males in particular, were not exactly paragons of virtue. Jean had been, to use the vernacular, a spin doctor for many of them, for many years now. He himself was single, and on the fence about the entire fidelity issue. But his first thought had been of public perception, as it always seemed to be. For God's sake, the President was getting married in just a few days.
But, was this the fight he really wanted to fight? Jean didn't think so. Ursula was very attractive, and so was Lorrie. Benoit probably didn't think his Press Agent knew, but he did. Sometimes, you had to save these guys from themselves. And, it could always be worse. Jean could be working for JFK. Imagine the full-time job THAT would have been.
"Hugh and the others are waiting in the boardroom," Levesque's Press Agent announced.
Benoit nodded. He'd been expecting this, of course. So why hadn't he locked the office door, then? Truthfully, he wasn't one hundred percent sure why. Had it involved the thrill of potentially being caught in flagrante? But that was so cliché, wasn't it? He couldn't have been testing Hamelin just to see how deep his loyalty went...could he have been?
"Tell them we'll be right there," the President said crisply, and with one more quick glance, Jean said, "Oui, Monsieur." Then he retreated.
"Go on ahead, my dear," Benoit said to Ursula, who was fully buttoned and calm again. "Tell them I'll be there in a minute."
Ursula left the room without another word, and this time, Benoit locked the door behind her. He crossed the room to his wall safe, which was secreted behind a portrait of his father. Once he and Michelle were married, Benoit was going to replace the picture with one of his happy family: bride, groom, and ring bearer, Gerard. He didn't have very much respect for his Press Agent as a man, but Jean Hamelin knew his job. Benoit had to give him that. Jean had told the President that some of his constituents had been raising questions about his father's politics, and past associations. No one had quite had the nerve to come out and use the word, at least not yet, but the inference was clear: Martin Levesque had been a Nazi sympathizer, to say the very least. And, the rumours and innuendoes went much further than that. Benoit's family fortune had been greatly augmented just prior to, and during, World War II. That fact had been easily explained away at the time; the Levesque family had many business enterprises, and there were some industries that thrived in wartime. It was an unfortunate fact of life that war created jobs, and demand for certain goods and services. But there had been whispers that Martin Levesque's wealth had been increased exponentially in the concentration camps, nourished on the flesh and blood of Jews and other minorities.
Benoit wasn't oblivious to all of this; he simply didn't care. Every rich and famous person he had ever heard about had had dirt thrown at them, from time to time. The trick was to keep yourself as clean as possible, however possible. Once he and Michelle were married, Benoit was going to make sure that they had a lot of heartwarming, public family moments.
But in the meantime, there was the Master Plan. He took the folder out of the wall safe and scanned the timeline. Everything was running on schedule. The seven young people from the compound were in the boardroom at this moment, awaiting his arrival. He was going to have his teleporter, Hugh, take them all to the warehouse. Under Dr. Roarke's and Benoit's own supervision, the special individuals were going to be given one more opportunity to display their unique talents there, before the culling process was begun.
He put the file back in the safe, replaced the portrait, and left the office, locking the door behind him.
Hugh, or "Huey", as he preferred to be called, was sitting in the boardroom, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. Ursula had just arrived, saying the boss was going to be there in a minute.
Huey looked around the room at the others. He was in his 20s now, like most of them were. Next to Jerry, of course, Huey was the youngest of the group. Some of them were exactly the same people as they'd been at the compound, except that they were chronologically older. Some of them had grown up and thrived as part of the government's cabinet, while others were restless and bored. Huey himself wavered from one state to the other, depending on the week. Sometimes, Benoit had him doing important stuff, like teleporting members of the French military to border checkpoints. But lately, the young man had been feeling like he was no more than a glorified gofer. Occasionally, he had taken one or two people here and there, and once in a while, even the President, himself. Aside from that, though, Hugh had just been twiddling his thumbs in his little cubicle, playing computer games and waiting to be called on. He guessed he had nothing to complain about, really. He was being paid a generous salary to do very little. Still, there was so much more that he could be doing. He could just look at groups of people and send them places, with his mind. Yeah, that was right; using only his mind. Which of his so-called brothers and sisters could do the same?
Most of the group didn't have that much to do with each other on a day-to-day basis. If they had been normal individuals, their shared experiences at the compound and then having been further abducted and brought here might have created a close bond between them. But, because their abilities were what they were, and because Benoit and Dr. Roarke had fostered a culture of competition and secrecy amongst them, Vincent's offspring were guarded and wary around each other, for the most part. Tenuous acquaintanceships had been struck up here and there, but they got the feeling that if push came to shove, any one of them would probably turn on any of the others at the slightest provocation. Maybe that was the way the old man liked it. All Huey knew was, if it came down to that, he was going to worry about his own hide. Let the others fend for themselves.
Benoit entered the room, greeting his special cabinet members with a wide grin. "It's so nice to see you all in one place," he said expansively. "Did Monsieur Hamelin tell you why I called you all here today?"
Jillian shrugged. "Nope. He never tells us anything."
Neither do you, Mr. President, Kim thought, but he didn't speak aloud. He was wearing his own face at the moment, since he hadn't been sure what the boss had in mind.
Toby and Cody were there too, and they were exchanging glances. Out of all of them, the two young men were the most cordial with each other, but they still weren't what could be termed friends. Toby had always been socially awkward, and Cody was a bit of a loner. They were both average-looking, to be charitable, and had had very little experience with girls, which was one subject they had bonded over.
Lorrie and Ursula sat to Cody's right, and the young men had been trying to figure out how to engage the young women in conversation. That whole half-sister thing notwithstanding, it was awesome just to be included in a small group that featured girls who were this beautiful, Toby thought. But he could tell that there was no love lost between the two of them, that was for sure.
Ursula was giving Lorrie the side-eye as Benoit entered the room. Lorrie had been looking at Ursula as if the blonde girl was something Lorrie had scraped off her shoe. What the hell was her problem? Ursula thought, annoyed. Did Lorrie know about Ursula and Benoit? So what if she did? Was she jealous? Probably. Lorrie was a spoiled little brat, who thought the world revolved around her. She was always looking for special treatment, and pouting if she didn't get it. What a bitch.
Lorrie was thinking the same thing about Ursula. Boy, would she ever love to remove that bleached-blonde bimbo from the game board. Maybe there could be a way, but Lorrie would have to be very careful about it. She knew what Ursula could do to her. In fact, Ursula probably would have done it by now, if Benoit would let her. But Lorrie knew that she was just as important as Ursula when it came to being a member of the team. Let her try it. She had to eat sometime, didn't she?
"Take us all to the warehouse, Hugh," Benoit said to the young teleporter. A moment later, the group was gone.
Eileen was pacing the floor at the headquarters of the Resistance, fingers flying, signing furiously.
"And the only thing the papers and the online news sites are reporting on is what types of pastries they'll be serving at the reception, and the deep, deep mystery of who designed the bride's dress!" the leader of the Resistance group fumed. "Nothing about the concentration camp tattoos, and nothing about the sudden disappearance of those people on the South side!"
Cecile let out a frustrated breath. She jumped up from her chair and grabbed her sister by the arm. "Stop pacing!" she signed. "I'm only getting every second or third word!"
"That's OK; most of them are probably just swear words, anyway," Neil wisecracked. His wife nudged him, but she was laughing, and so were most of the rest of the group.
Eileen stopped her pacing, and her expression relaxed somewhat. "I'm sorry, everybody," she signed, as Cecile translated for those in the group who didn't know sign language.
"It's all right," Neil's wife Celine said, still smiling. "We all know exactly how you feel."
The deaf woman sighed. They did, but they didn't. Neil and Celine were Canadians. They were very nice people, and very dedicated to the cause, but none of their family had been starved, tortured, and gassed to death, had they? Still, Eileen had to remember that all the people gathered here were on her side. Whether they had a personal stake in this or not, they were all here because they believed that opposing Benoit's Fascist regime was the right thing to do. To paraphrase, not only was it the right thing; it was the only thing.
"Look, we knew this was going to happen," Cecile said to the group. She signed for her sister out of habit, but Eileen could read her lips. She could usually make out a lot more than people gave her credit for, but sometimes, it suited her purposes not to let on. She frowned as Cecile continued, "Whether we like it or not, he's the most popular President France has had in a long time, and he's getting married in a few days. 'The Royal Wedding'. Meanwhile, he's playing bait-and-switch with this so-called Immigrant Identification Program. The only problem is, there's absolutely no proof that what Levesque is doing is anything more than what he's told us he's doing. I'm on the inside, and I can't come up with one scrap of proof that there's anything more ominous going on! Everyone who belonged to Les Rebelles Blancs is dead, so we don't have any witnesses to the fact that he was the leader of that group!"
"Yes, you do," Cas said, suddenly appearing in the middle of the room.