The Truth Within

"We have a problem." Moreau´s words were spoken even before he´d fully entered the office.

Talbert looked up, from his writing, refusing to be infected by this man´s anxiety. "We have more than one." he replied, putting his pen away. "Which one are you referring to?"

Moreau marched up to his desk, leaning on it. "There are people asking around. Questions that shouldn´t be asked."

The secretary gave the police man a gaze of indifference. "That was to be expected."

"Not like this." Moreau insisted, and at last Talbert allowed himself to think. Maybe there was something to Moreau´s histrionics after all.

"Like what?" he asked, collected.

"An old man was heard to ask about the Serpents Corail." Moreau told him, walking up and down before his desk. "He´s a civilian. He shouldn´t even know that name."

Talbert understood. "Someone must have told him."

"Javert!"

But at this Talbert looked up, sharply. "We can´t know that. For all we know he could have skipped the city by now. If he´s smart that´s what he has done." He got up. "There are other people, too, Moreau. Others than a wasted inspector to be worried about. Each of them could have spoken to this man." he halted, thinking for a moment. "Do we have his name?"

Moreau nodded and Talbert mirrored the nod. "Take care of this."

"What about Javert?"

"We don´t know where he is. If he ever shows up again, we´ll take care of him. For now we have more pressing issues to deal with. You know what I´m talking about."

And of course Moreau knew.

...

When Valjean had found out where Javert had taken his stay, he´d been surprised. He´d never taken the man for someone able to lower himself down to such a level, even when it was about his life. But obviously he´d underestimated him. And just knowing that the inspector was probably disgusted with himself for staying that close to the street walkers´ patch, the most shady and filthy part of the city, Valjean felt a certain rise of respect for the man. He must hate it, but he did it anyway. Because it was necessary. And Valjean couldn´t help but wonder, if Javert would have also done that before the barricades.

He knocked on the door, throwing a glance over his shoulder, and mused that it might have been a better idea to wear something less shiny than his heavy coat, before he came here. People were looking at him funny – some hungry, for money – ever since he´d gotten here. But it was too late to do anything about that now.

The door got opened, just a bit and along with a very suspicious Javert, there was the barrel of a gun peeking out.

When the former inspector met Valjean´s gaze, his paranoia changed to anger.

"For Christ´s sake!" he cursed, aiming the gun to the ground. "How the hell did you find me?"

"I know this city too, Javert." Valjean told him, attempting to step inside.

Javert cursed under his breath and hurried to the window, peeking out, as if Valjean was not important, but would definitely bring the trouble with him.

"Listen to me." Valjean tried to gain his attention. "I have some information that might interest you."

Javert didn´t listen. He put the gun down, on what could only be called a bed in the absolute widest definitions, and got a tiny bag from underneath it, starting to gather his few belongings.

"What are you doing?"

"If you found me here, so will they." Javert glared at him, over his shoulder, and for a moment Valjean felt guilty, as if he truly gave away the former inspector´s hideout.

"You are good in finding criminals." he mentioned, as Javert kept throwing his stuff into the bag. "But hiding … and pretending that you´re someone else … that´s not your best, now is it?"

Javert glanced at him, for a moment, but didn´t dignify his remark with an answer. Valjean shrugged.

"Your face is just too well known." he mentioned, but of course Javert would know that himself. "Maybe you should … change your appearance." he suggested, and received yet another glare.

"I´ll think about it." was the growled answer. Eventually Javert shook his head, turning back to his bag. "I should have known better than to hide from a convict." he mumbled, not looking up again until he was done. The last item, his gun, vanished inside the bag, and he closed it with a snap.

"What is this information you talked about?" he finally wanted to know. And for an instant the ex-convict was off balance.

"Amélie´s friend says …" he forcefully called himself to order. "... that her husband noticed some intensive movements of the police forces."

Javert snorted. "After this revolt that is hardly a surprise." he commented on this piece of information, that he probably considered rather poor.

But Valjean knew better than that. "No." he objected. "He says it started before the revolt. And it wasn´t your men that he saw."

That at last caught Javert´s attention.

"He saw you too." Valjean affirmed, and the other man´s gaze spoke volumes. "But this …" he shook his head. "Did you notice that now that so many of your men died at the barricades, they got replaced rather quickly?"

"That´s military efficiency."

"No, not like this. This was initiated before the revolt even started. As if someone knew … and wanted them replaced by the right men. His men?"

"His?"

"Apparently they follow a man named Lecomte. Do you know him?"

Javert glanced up, and Valjean knew he did. Only he wouldn´t just admit that.

"What if I did?" he asked.

"Javert." Valjean urged. "Something is going on up there. In the higher ranks of your police, and maybe the national guard. And it is not for the public´s best interest. There´s something more to that. Much more."

Once again Javert snorted, as if this whole talk was simply ridiculous.

"They tried to kill me." he recalled. "One of their own. I´m inclined to agree with you."

"But you said it was to make you take the fall, to blame you for what happened. That´s too simple for this kind of effort."

"I never said it was simple. I said, that this was all I had learned so far. And I know it´s about more than just me. Don´t you dare thinking of me as an arrogant megalomaniac. I know very well how important I am for this world. Or how less."

Valjean stared at him, taken aback. "That´s … not what I wanted to say."

"Of course." was all Javert would give him for a response, and headed for the door.

"Where do you go?" Valjean flinched at the retrieve.

"First I need to find a new stay." Javert answered, brusquely. "And then I need to talk to someone. An old friend." He turned back, briefly. "Tell your servant my thanks. From here I better go on alone."

And with that he walked out, leaving the dumbfounded Jean Valjean behind, to deal with his own thoughts.

...

Cosette paced through her room, her hands fiddling with each other, nervously. Please, she begged. Please, watch over him. Don´t let him run into his own perdition.

This inspector was bad news. She just knew it. Why oh why did her father insist on helping him? It was beyond her.

Oh god, her soul was torn. Two men that she held so dear to her heart. Both in grave and mortal danger, the one by an outside force, the other by his own choice. And in both cases she was totally powerless to interfere. Oh God, was that what life had in store for her? To lose everyone she cared about, to a gruesome fate that didn´t care at all about the pain it would cause her? Just like she once lost her mother without a chance to ever see her again, or say goodbye? Would she lose Marius like that too? And her father? Oh God, she should have never let him go. She shouldn´t have …

"Mademoiselle!" It was Toussaint´s voice that kept her thoughts from spinning round and round, again and again until she would be too dizzy to stay on her feet.

The good soul was in the door, an expression of utter love in her eyes. And for a moment Cosette wanted to yell at her, how she could dare to look so happy when everyone she loved in this world, was about to die.

But then Toussaint spoke.

"I just met a friend of mine, on the market. She works for the baron Gillenormand." The happy glowing in the old woman´s eyes increased even more, and for the first time in ages, as it seemed to her, Cosette felt her heart beat with glee again.

"She says," Toissaint told her. "That the young man, Marius … he woke up."

...

As the old man entered his living room it was dark, save for the shady light that shone in through the window, from the street. He put down his bag, taking off his hat, decorated with all the glory a man of the force could earn, after reaching the respectable rank of an inspecteur général.

After he´d lit the first candle of his lamp, beside the door, Javert rose from the armchair he´d waited in until now. When he stepped out of the dark, the old man swirled around, his hand reaching back, probably for the door handle, in order to retrieve quickly. But it never happened.

Javert´s gaze was hard, cold as stone. And when the old inspector saw him, he let out a sigh of relieve.

"Dear God, Javert." he panted, holding his chest. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Hello, Gareaux." Javert´s voice was cold, his gaze unyielding.

The gray eyes of the old man regained some of their awareness. "I´m glad to see you." he told him, but

Javert remained straightfaced, unimpressed.

"Are you?"

Gareaux´s expression showed a hint of sadness, but that could have been faked. Javert stepped closer, to see him better. He needed to make sure. And somehow Gareaux knew this.

"You know why I´m here." he stated, not a question, and Gareaux nodded, very serious.

"Yes. I know."

Javert still didn´t show any expression other than coldness, staring Gareaux down. He had to give the old man that: he didn´t cringe. But this, once again, could mean what Javert suspected, nothing more. Delaying the inevitable was useless, so he asked him straight: "Are you with them?"

It shouldn´t hurt so much, to ask this question, his voice should not sound scared and sad. But it did.

Gareaux shook his head, sadly. "Oh, Javert. You should know me better than that, son."

Javert held this gaze, boring into it, trying to read it, to find deception in it after all. But he failed. All he saw was truth. Just as he´d always seen it in this man. And something inside him broke, at this discovery. Maybe some things in this world were still the same after all. Maybe not everything was changed and gone to hell. If he could still trust in the integrity of someone.

His chest loosened somewhat with the breath he took in, and if it hadn´t been for that he hadn´t even noticed how tensed he´d been.

"What is going on?" he asked. "Why does Gisquet want my death?"

"It´s not just your death that he wants." Gareaux told him. "You´re just a small wheel in this whole apparatus, Javert."

So it was true. Javert looked down, into the eyes of the man that had taught him almost everything he knew, about being just and a good police man. He looked into his eyes, and what he saw there scared him.

"Tell me what you know." he asked anyway, and Gareaux sighed, shaking his head.

"I don´t know much." he admitted. "Not enough at least."

"Tell me anyway."

The old man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide if he should. As if he wasn´t sure Javert would be able to handle the truth. But in the end he did speak.

"What do you think happened these last few weeks?" he asked. "This revolt. Do you think that just happened because of some angry kids?" he shook his head. "No. How do you think this General Lamarque got sick in the first place?" And before Javert could even work his way through this implication, Gareaux already spoke it out, plainly. "He was poisoned." he said. "By someone close to him."

For a moment Javert was just thunderstruck. Did he just hear right?

Gareaux nodded. "They knew these kids would take the very first reason that would offer itself to them, to start their riot." he lowered his gaze, shaking his head angry but sad. "The only one who probably could have stopped them with reasoning, was Lamarque himself." he pointed out, leaving Javert even more lightheaded than he´d already been.

"Someone wanted this revolt?"

"For two reasons." the old man affirmed, grimly. "To get rid of these kids … and of someone much higher up." his gaze was so intense, when he once again shook his head, fuming on the inside. "This whole thing is much bigger than you can imagine."

Javert remembered how to breath, just a moment before he would have forgotten it.

"Who wanted this?" he asked, but at this Gareaux lowered is gaze, in grim shame.

"I don´t know their names." he said. "Someone very powerful."

"You must know something." Javert pursued, and the old man looked up, with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I have a contact." he told him. "She knows. I told her to ask around. Gather information. I haven´t heard of her yet."

"Who?"

"Her name is Marianne. Marianne Póche. She has a pharmacy at Rue de la Joaillerie."

Gareaux frowned, startled, as he noticed Javert´s reaction. How he stared at him, pale like a fish.

"Marianne?" he could only breath the name, and his reaction finally made Gareaux understand.

"You know her?"

Javert had to make himself come out of this shock. That couldn´t be a coincidence. There were no coincidences. He looked at Gareaux, narrowing his eyes, and started to wonder. How much more did he hide from him?

"She´s dead." he informed his old teacher, purposefully without mercy. "They killed her."

It showed effect. The man before Javert paled. "Oh my God." he groaned, and his shock seemed genuine.

So he really hadn´t known? Javert wasn´t sure about anything anymore.

"You say she was your spy?"

"I … I knew her father well." Gareaux seemed to still struggle with the news of her death. "And … She came to me. She had overheard a conversation between two men. She told me that there was a conspiracy. To make a revolt break lose. A revolt in which these men hoped many men would die. Soldiers. Revolutionaries. Police men." He looked up at Javert, almost pleadingly. "I told Marianne to watch over you, and report to me if there was something worrisome." he told him, as if this fact, his good will, would grant him Javert´s forgiveness.

But he was wrong. It wasn´t Javert´s forgiveness that he had to ask for.

The former inspector closed eyes. "So she knew who I was?" He met Gareaux gaze and the old man had no idea what he´d just done to him, telling this.

"Did she report to you what happened that night after the barricades?" he wanted to know. He knew it probably didn´t matter. But he just couldn´t help himself. He needed to know.

"I haven´t spoken to her since the night before the barricades." Gareaux replied, startled. "Why? What happened?"

Javert straightened, calling his heart to order. "Nothing." he turned to stone once again, and demanded to know: "What did she tell you last time you saw her?"

"She told me what you planned to do. I tried to reach you, but you were unavailable."

"I was undercover."

"I know. I´m glad you made it out alive. Their arms might be long but gratefully not long enough to reach you there."

Not as long as the arm of an ex-convict, Javert added in his mind, but forced it aside.

"And Marianne knew who they were?" he continued the questions.

"She knew one of them. She didn´t tell me his name. She said she wanted to make sure her family was safe, before she gave me the information."

"What family? I thought her parents are dead." And for a moment Javert feared to hear of a husband next, maybe children. Why, for God´s sake? What difference would it make?

"She has a sister." Gareaux told him. "And apparently this woman has a daughter. Still just an infant. She feared for their safety, so I promised her to get them out of the city. To a safe place. After that she agreed to meet me, to give me what I needed. But then the revolt began and we didn´t have a chance to speak again."

Javert closed his eyes. "Then the information died with her."

"Not necessarily." Gareaux objected, still hopeful. "I know Marianne. She was very careful, very considerate. An information as important as this, is something she would have saved somewhere. Just in case something should happen to her."

The old man looked at Javert, and only because he knew him for all these years, he noticed the change in the younger man´s face. The pain it had just caused in his chest to know that Marianne had actually expected not to make it out of this alive.

"I need to tell you some more, Javert." Gareaux finally went on. "You need to be careful whom to trust. Right now no one is clean in my book. I have started to fear for my life. Just before you came I thought someone else was after me. I´m thanking God that it was you."

Javert was irritated. "What do you mean?"

"Outside. In that alley. You really scared me for a moment, Javert."

But Javert could only shake his head, in confusion. "I waited here for you, for hours."

The realization came too late, for both of them. Before Javert even knew what had happened, a shattering sound broke the stillness of the room, as a bullet crushed through the glass of the window, spreading Gareaux´s collar with the darkest red. The old man fell down, his hand clutching his neck, and Javert could do nothing but hold him, watching as his old teacher died away.

Another bullet was fired, gratefully missing him by a few inches, and Javert took cover.

"Monsieur Gareaux!" someone yelled, and when Javert turned, he saw a lanky man, standing in the door to the kitchen, eyes wide. Gareaux´s servant.

Javert didn´t wait for him to figure out how to react to this man with the bloody hands, standing over his dead master, and stormed out of the door. The shooter had to be close. He needed to find him. Before he could run.

But the servant had now decided what to do, much faster than Javert had hoped. He shouted for help, as if the devil himself was after his poor soul. Someone had killed his master, and was currently trying to run. And Javert was the only one who knew that the real murderer was not him.

"Who´s there?" he heard someone shout, at the end of the street, and when he turned around, he saw a police man. When the young officer heard the screams of the servant, he drew his pistol. And Javert ran.

He had no idea, where the others had come from, and why he cursed the fact that the police was so present in the streets at night, but the next thing he knew was that he was hearing the footsteps and voices of at least half a dozen police men, coming from behind him, from ahead, from everywhere.

His hands were still red from Gareaux´s blood. He was a wanted fugitive, had a target on his back already, they would not ask what had really happened. He knew. Oh God, he knew.

And then, when he knew he was cornered with no way to escape, someone grabbed him from out of the shadows, dragging him into a narrow alleyway.

For a moment Javert expected an attack, maybe from the police, maybe from the shooter that had killed Gareaux, from anyone. But the hand that closed his mouth was gentle, not violent, and the eyes that stared at him in this dark corner were familiar too.

Valjean had a finger over his own lips, his gaze tensed, as he listened and waited, until the men chasing Javert had passed their position. As soon as their footsteps were far enough, they snuck away, vanishing into the dark.

I´d like to say thank you to all of you who have read and followed this story so far. I´d also appreciate some feedback. Do you approve to the story? If there´s room for improvement, please let me know.

And once again, thanks for reading.