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Chapter 9

Braving The Perils (Of A Musketeer Life)

"And there you have it all, the missing piece to tie Rochefort to the crime scene." Athos ended his report. "With what he did this summer, his connection with Grimaud and the witness statement from his henchman, the charges against Aramis and Anne must be dropped. The accusations won't hold."

Tréville nodded, looking approvingly over at d'Artagnan. "Good work, d'Artagnan. I will pass this on to the prosecutor. The gendarmerie in Montreau reported an abandoned car in a forest carpark just five kilometres away from Friaize last week. The report was sent to us because of the close proximity to the farmhouse in Friaize, though they think the car might have stood there for a long time, maybe months. I've seen the pictures from Montreau and it damn well looks like this car here," Tréville said, tapping his finger on one of the photos where Grimaud and Rochefort leaned against the car boot, smoking. "I'll immediately sent forensics over to lift fingerprints from it. We have both Grimaud and Rochefort's fingerprints in the database. Maybe they'll even find DNA."

"Anything new on Marcheaux?" Porthos asked.

"His flat and office has been turned upside down. We are analysing everything, but currently there's no hint where Marcheaux or Aramis might be. Marcheaux' partner is also unlocatable at the moment."

"Did you check Marcheaux' file? Do we know if he remembers? Any hints on stab wounds or the like?" asked Athos.

"I've checked his file personally, there's nothing suggesting he was badly injured in recent years and there's no report on injuries for his time in service."

"It doesn't matter," Athos muttered. "I'm sure Aramis is no longer with Marcheaux. He's only a henchman. Aramis will be in the hands of Grimaud by now. If we find Grimaud, we'll find Aramis."

"Nevertheless, the search for Marcheaux and the other officer, Garronet, is still a priority, along with the search for Grimaud," Tréville replied.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"What do you want, Grimaud?"

"What, are you not happy to see me again, Musketeer?"

Aramis' whole body ached, he didn't know how long he had lain there on the bitter cold ground, not even able to waggle his hands or feet. He couldn't feel them any more, which was, if he thought about it, maybe a blessing. As it was, there were already enough body parts hurting, more pain might have only brought tears to his eyes. He tensed up his muscles to stop them from shivering and shaking. He didn't want to give Grimaud the pleasure of seeing him in such poor condition. "You know, I could have lived without seeing you ever again, so the pleasure certainly is not on my side. Now that we have exchanged courtesies, how about you untie me and let me go?"

Grimaud didn't even twitch a facial muscle upon Aramis' response. "Still the reckless one, are we?" He took another step towards Aramis, towering threateningly over the Musketeer now. "I'll shut you up, just wait and see." To emphasize his words, he kicked Aramis in the side with the tip of his boot. Hard.

Aramis gasped, biting his lips immediately after to keep any sound of distress inside. "What do you want?" he growled, once he trusted his voice to carry the words.

Grimaud knelt down beside Aramis, bringing his face close to Aramis' ear. "I only want what's due to me," he whispered. Suddenly a knife flashed in his hands, hovering only inches away from Aramis' face.

Aramis took some effort to not flinch, his numb limbs thankfully simplifying the task.

Grimaud grabbed Aramis' arm and turned him over, a moment later the knife cut through the cable tie holding Aramis' hands together. Before Aramis could even register what had happened, Grimaud produced handcuffs and grabbed Aramis' right wrist where the cold metal snapped home. With brute force, he yanked the arm around, causing Aramis' body to roll back and burying his left arm underneath him. Grimaud pulled out the arm and closed the metal bracket around the other wrist. Then he produced a rope which he tied to the handcuffs.

Aramis watched Grimaud rise and sheath the knife. He wondered what the other man had planned. A moment later Grimaud threw the rope over a hook attached to the ceiling and Aramis knew what was next for him when Grimaud started pulling the rope tight, hauling Aramis up. With his nearly frozen limbs it was painful, but Aramis didn't let it show. "You know, you could've asked. I could have saved you time and trouble and just got up myself."

Grimaud didn't reply but simply continued hauling Aramis into a standing position until his feet barely touched the ground any more.

Aramis wanted to scream, the pain in his shoulder joints were already unbearable. He clenched his teeth so hard that it added further pain in his jaw.

Grimaud tied the end of the rope to an iron ring on the wall, making sure Aramis would stay in the same position. "Don't concern yourself with me. Give me what I want and this will be over."

"You are as mad as Rochefort was."

Grimaud grinned. "Rochefort was as mad as a hatter, but I'm not, believe me. I'm gonna tell you what I want and what I'm going to do to get it, and you can decide how you want it to happen."

"I can hardly wait to hear it."

Unannounced, Grimaud hit Aramis in the face, hard and painful. "Do you think this is a game? Do you think you're in the position to mock me?" Again, his fist connected with Aramis' jawline, hard enough that the former marksman's sight blackened for a moment. Grimaud grabbed Aramis' chin so roughly it left bruises. "Tell me what I want and this will be over before it starts. Or have it the hard way. Your decision." Grimaud stepped back, rubbing his hand to get some warmth into them. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"You know what. Where did you hide it?"

"Grimaud, as entertaining as this all is, I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you want from me?"

"The key."

Silence.

Aramis blinked uncomprehending. "What key?"

"The key Rochefort had with him. Where is it?"

Another stretch of silence followed, the two men staring at each other.

Finally, Aramis uttered, "I know of no key. Nor do I have any key that has formerly been in the possession of Rochefort. You're mistaken."

This time Grimaud punched Aramis in the gut which left the bound man gasping for breath.

"Listen, I know one of you has taken the key into possession. Tell me where it is and we're done here. Otherwise I'll beat you so thoroughly that your own mother won't be able to recognize you again. If you still won't come out with it, I'll make good use of my knife. I'm a virtuoso with the knife, believe me. I can paint your body with a wonderful map of pain. If you still refuse to answer, we're switching to the pistol. Arms, knees, thighs, stomach. There are many possibilities until a man finally succumbs to blood loss and pain. That's why we start easy. Gunshot wounds tend to lead to the death of a man, and a dead man is not useful for me. For now, anyway. When I'm through with you I'm sure there's the next of the renowned Inseparables at hand to continue."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Grimaud. None of us has a key from Rochefort. But don't let that stop you from torturing me."

The next left hook hitting his face made his his nose bleed and set off a loud ringing in his ears. Aramis could hardly move and dodge the hits, but he still tried. After a while he stopped making the effort and simply let the furious blows rain down on him until he felt his mind go numb and his consciousness slip.

He embraced the dark void like an old friend.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Athos, have you thought about calling-" Porthos stopped mid-sentence, closely looking at the man whose office he had just entered. "You look shitty."

Athos lifted an eyebrow. "Well, thanks for the compliment."

"I mean it. When was the last time you slept?"

A tell-tale silence followed Porthos' question until Athos answered. "Last night. About an hour or two."

"And the nights before?"

"Not much. Now, are we through with your interrogation? It's not that you've spent much time in your own bed recently either, right?"

"How about you go home and take a nap? I'm convinced we all, Aramis included, will do better if you have your wits about you rather than collapsing from lack of sleep."

Athos glowered at his friend. "I'm a grown man, I can go without sleep for a while."

Porthos stared with knitted brows.

Athos stared back.

"U-hu. Do you remember the one time when you were so sleep-deprived you missed registering-"

"You wouldn't bring that up, would you?" Athos asked surprised, offended.

"You know how it ended. Get some sleep and come back with fresh energy. I'll call you the moment we have any news. Okay?"

Athos hesitated a second before nodding. "All right. Not that I take orders from you, but I had already entertained the thought of going home and getting a shower. I'll be back in two hours. I rely on you to call me the moment anything turns up. And I mean anything, Porthos, got that?"

The big man nodded. "Promised. And make it three hours at least."

"What did you want anyway?"

"Never mind, I'll speak to Charlène. She can sort it out."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Oh, hi!" Ninon greeted him when he stepped through the door. "I haven't seen you in a while. Busy?"

"Bonjour, Ninon. Yes, we've got a lot going on at the moment. How are you?"

Ninon smiled. "Fine thanks." She took a closer look at the older man. "But you look tired, haven't had much sleep recently, have you?"

Athos smiled upon hearing almost the same choice of words Porthos had used earlier. "No, it's been a rough week. But I hope we'll have everything sorted out in a few days." He held the door open for Ninon who walked by him.

"That's good. I had meant to ask you if you'd like to join me for a private viewing of works by Sophie Calle I've been invited to the week after next."

"I'd like to do that, depending on my workload then." He was unaware of the smile that spread on his face while speaking with her.

"Great! Well, I hope your ex-wife won't mind you going out with me," Ninon added with a wink, turning to step into the street. "See ya."

Athos felt a chill running up his spine. "Ex-wife? What do you mean?" he called after Ninon.

The young woman stopped and turned, smirking. "You never let on you'd been married." Seeing the grave expression on the man's face her smile dropped. "She was here, waiting for you. She asked me if I'd know when you'd be back and we talked a little. She's nice. You must have told her about me because she knew perfectly well who I was. That really makes me wonder why you never mentioned her," Ninon added, faking a sulk.

Athos stepped up to Ninon, his mind weighing all possible answers. "I'm sorry, there was never an opportunity to talk about her. Please, keep away from her. She's dangerous." Seeing the quizzical look on Ninon's face, he added, "I'll explain it to you in due course. At the moment, I'm... Just keep away from her for the time being, okay?"

Ninon nodded hesitantly. "Okay. Bye." She turned and walked away.

Athos watched her go until she rounded the corner, then he headed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Gone was the tiredness he had felt not five minutes ago. He expected to find Milady in his apartment, or at least a note, slipped under the door. However, there was nothing. No hint whatsoever that she had been into his flat at all. He leaned against the kitchen counter and knew he would have to weigh up his concern for Aramis with worry for Ninon, and what his ex-wife was planning. He had to make a decision about what was most important for him now, because there was plainly not enough time to fight on two fronts at once. He made up his mind in less than a minute. Aramis' well-being had utmost priority and left little space for other emotions, the search for his ex-wife and what her intentions were with regard to Ninon would have to wait. But he could at least start with a few simple tasks.

He kicked off his shoes on the way to the bedroom, dialling Porthos' mobile. When his call was answered, he asked Porthos to check if there was any possibility of getting hold of Milady's mobile number, either through d'Artagnan or the police network. And if so, whether they could locate and trace it. Then he rang off and stretched on the bed. He wanted to close his eyes for just a few minutes, take a shower then and return to the office. To be on the safe side he set the alarm clock on his mobile, his subconscious mind causing him to set a time that would allow him an hour to relax rather than the ten minutes he had meant to grant himself. Staring at the ceiling he pondered what he could tell Ninon, and if she'd be willing to leave Paris for a while. Without being aware of it, he slipped into a dreamless sleep before he had thought through his plans for Ninon.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It took a while for Aramis' mind to find his way back to consciousness.

It was a difficult task to undertake, accompanied by groaning and squirming with pain. When the fog that had settled over his mind finally lifted enough to realize he was no longer hanging from the ceiling and the beating had stopped, he also registered the tremble shaking him.

The cold air cut his throat like frozen glass when he breathed in, but at the same time it soothed his hot skin. With his eyes still closed, he took stock of his body. His hands and feet were still bound, so he could not move his limbs freely, but the tiny movements were sufficient enough to understand that no bones were broken. A wonder, given how maniacally Grimaud had beaten him before he fell unconscious. Aramis wasn't sure however if he should call it a piece of luck that no bones were broken; there was almost no part of his body not screaming with pain. His lips as well as one of his eyes were swollen as he found out when he finally opened his eyes and let his tongue taste the dried blood on his lips. He tried to curl up into a ball to keep what little heat was still left in his body, but he gave up halfway through when his stomach revolted and the pain in his ankles increased. He fingered his wrists as well as was possible, wondering if one or both were sprained. The flesh was so swollen that the metal of the handcuffs cut deep into it.

He closed his eyes again. Wondering what key Grimaud was talking about he slipped back into unconsciousness.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Porthos stared into the grey, wet December morning outside his window. Christmas was less than two weeks away, but despite the decorations in the streets and in virtually every department store, shop and restaurant, he was far away from being in festive spirits. They still had no clue to Aramis' whereabouts, Grimaud or Marcheaux. A few stray snowflakes whirled past the window, escaping the big man's notice.

Porthos' eyes returned to his computer screen where footage from the Boulevard Périphérique was frozen in time. He'd worked since five that morning on the CCTV footage provided by Tréville. D'Artagnan had managed to trace the police car Marcheaux had used to get Aramis out of custody to a multi-storey car park in Bercy. Typically, the CCTV cameras inside the car park hadn't worked, but surveillance outside showed only five cars that had left within two hours after the police car had entered the building and which had later been found abandoned on the second level. The police had managed to track down the owners of those cars; two cars turned out to having been stolen earlier, one owner was not reachable so far, the remaining two car owners were unsuspicious. Porthos had concentrated on one of the stolen cars, trying to following it through the thick Parisian traffic with the help of the provided footage; d'Artagnan traced the other one.

Prompting the footage to start running again with a tip of his finger, Porthos continued with his task. When his mobile started ringing a minute later, he wondered whether or not to take the call. Unknown numbers seldom meant anything good. He let it ring twice more before swiping over the screen to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi, buenos dias. Can I speak to Porthos, por favor?"

"Speaking. Who is this?" There was an assessable circle of people who would address him with Porthos instead of Isaac, and usually Porthos knew all of them. He wondered, who this unknown woman was.

"Sorry, my name is Isabella. I must apologize for my French, I'm not as fluent as my brother."

Porthos waited for more, when nothing came, he asked, "And what do you want?"

"Errm, yes, I wondered if you might know where my brother is, I can't reach him."

"If you'd tell me who your brother is, I might be able to help you. Or not." Porthos could hear her laugh nervously and he already regretted having taken the call. They had no time at all to take on new clients at the moment.

"Yes, of course, sorry. I'm speaking of René. I wondered if you'd know where I could reach him, he isn't answering his phone."

Porthos was on the verge of telling the woman he knew no René and he would not be able to help her, when it suddenly dawned on him who he was speaking to.

Oh. Oh.

"Oh! You're his sister Isabella! He told us about you. I just hadn't made the connection, I was a little—, erm, distracted."

She laughed, less nervous, more relieved now. "Yes! It's okay, I should have introduced myself properly. I'm a little worried, that's all. Now, do you know where René is? How I can reach him?"

Porthos hesitated, unsure what answer to this question he should offer. He tried to stall for time. "Well, he's on a kind of assignment at the moment, I guess he's muted his phone. Or left it at home." The lame excuse rang hollow in his ears and he knew she wouldn't buy it if she was anything like the person Aramis had told them she would be.

She was quiet for a moment. "Is he in danger? Do you at least know where he is or don't you have any clue either?"

"Erm," Porthos harrumphed. "It's complicated."

"Listen, I don't know you personally, but I know René trusts you more than anyone else. You and-," there was a short pause where she obviously searched for a name or two, "and Athos and d'Artagnan. As far as I can judge and know my brother, you're the closest friends he has, though he still owes me an explanation where you all were after what happened in Savoy, when he would have needed you most. But that's not my business, my brother certainly has his reasons. All I know is he gave me your name and number, in case anything would ever happen to him. Or if I was in need of help. I can't reach him, that's why I called you. So please, tell me if you know anything about his whereabouts. I really need to speak with him."

"I'm sorry, I don't know where he is. We've been desperately trying to find him for days, and half of the Parisian police is involved in the search for him and he might be in danger, but I really don't know where he is. I can't tell you more."

"Has it to do with Anne's husband?" she asked after a moment's silence.

Porthos brows met his hairline. Obviously Aramis had shared a lot of what was going on in his life with his sister, even though he never felt inclined to introduce her to his friends. "Um, yes. I wasn't aware you know her?"

"I met her once, and I know she means the world to him. The uncertain fate of her husband and the resulting impossibility of a divorce weighs hard on him." As if Isabella had felt the disbelief and slight disappointment arising in Porthos, she added, "He wanted me to meet you all, too, but there simply was not enough time. A flight was delayed and the kids and I were stuck in Charles de Gaulle on a return flight, otherwise we would've only touched down and switched the plane. I called and told him I had about an hour time to see him if he was willing to come to the airport. That's where I met Anne. But I hope we can catch up on a meeting soon," she added warmly.

Porthos was lost for words for a moment

"So, you're already searching for him, do you have any idea where he might be or what happened?" Now her voice had lost the lightness and softness it had had only a moment ago. She sounded deeply worried.

"We're doing everything in our power to find him. We know who is behind his disappearance and why, but we have still not located his whereabouts. If you give me your number, I'll let you know as soon as we have news, okay?"

"Thanks. But there's something else why I called you. It's the reason why I tried to reach René in the first place. Like I said, he told me should I ever be in trouble or need of help I should turn to you, if he's not available."

"And he's absolutely right. Go on, what is it?"

"A friend of René contacted me the other day. We met by chance on the street, I had never seen him before nor heard of him, but he obviously knew me. René's careful about choosing friends and the few close friends he has, I know of. Like Thomas and Abdul whom he knew from an early age. Or you and Athos and d'Artagnan. Anyway, when I thought about the encounter a day later I felt uneasy about it and wanted to talk with René about it. And since yesterday I have the feeling someone is watching us. Me and the kids. I haven't seen someone, it's just a creepy feeling plus the fact I never in my life heard René mentioning a Spanish friend. All his friends are French, except for his late friend's brother-in-law, Antonio."

"Yeah, I've met Antonio," Porthos replied with a warm tone to his voice. "What friend? Did he give you a name?" Suddenly, something dreadful settled in his stomach.

"Yes, he introduced himself as Jussac Rocheouart or Rochforte or something like that. I've never heard of a friend called Jussac, though. It's a rather odd name, especially for a Spaniard."

Porthos almost dropped his mobile. "Jussac de Rochefort?" he croaked.

"Oh, you know him? Is he a friend of yours?"

"No, Rochefort is dead. He was the one who started this whole mess and...," Porthos stopped. He didn't know how much Aramis' sister or mother knew of this summer's events. Maybe nothing, and he was not willing to be the one to share that news. "He's an old enemy but he's dead now. We think he might be involved in the Autriche case and, you know, everything in its wake. Why Aramis has disappeared now."

"But if this man is dead, how can he be here in Spain?" she asked anxiously.

"It isn't him. It's certainly one of his henchmen. Can you describe this man to me?"

Porthos listened to the description of a man who resembled no one he knew. They talked for further five minutes until Porthos ended the call, promising Aramis' sister to call her back once he had spoken with his friends and urging her to be careful. He rubbed his eyes and sat at his desk for another couple of minutes, recapping the conversation. Then he got to check if Athos was in the office yet.