St. Germain Cemetery,
Fontaine-sous-Briovere, Normandy, France

Jean-Marc DuBois was livid with anger. Standing by Yvette's grave where he had laid her to rest a few days before a whirlwind of questions tore through his head. Who had killed her, and why? She had no knowledge of her potential, yet she was slain. 'It was part of the Game' he told himself, but then rebutted that argument. 'She was new. New by minutes in fact when whoever killed Ward took her head as well. She never stood a chance.'

At least he had taught her to fight unarmed. He never could decide if it was to defend herself against experienced Immortals in search of easy prey, or to fight of unwanted advances from a man like Mitchell Ward. 'Except they weren't unwanted, were they?' the internal voice said. DuBois willed it to go away. He had never cared about Ward, a man whom he found to be a pompous ass, and a rich, lecherous bore, too full of a sense of his own self-importance to be bothered about such trifling little things such as other people's feelings. In his opinion, whoever had executed the socialite had done the world a favour. At least until he killed Yvette.

Yvette was different, seriously different. A filthy mouth at times, but wasn't that part of the attraction. Waif-like, seemingly innocent, but a raging siren lurked underneath that facade. Was DuBois jealous of her relationship with Ward? Was he ever? How often had he dreamt of having her in bed with him, giving free reign to her tongue, a delicious stream of expletives in her husky voice as they made love?

He knew that she saw their relationship in a purely platonic sense, with him as an elder brother figure. He too saw himself as her protector, a guardian against other Immortals... and dangerous men. But his feelings had run so much deeper. He had hated the fact that she gave herself so willingly to Ward, whom she believed loved her. DuBois knew better. He loved her, whereas Ward loved only himself, and yet she had clung to the dream, clung to the illusion that she had turned the rich man's head and won his heart, turning her back on the one man who truly loved her in the process. The only thing that cut deeper than that rejection was her death, her cold-blooded slaughter.

The only thing that he could do was to avenge her death by killing her murderer. He knew that it was another Immortal who had killed her, and he would find whoever it was, wherever they were. Let his bumbling French police colleagues think that the assassin had deliberately set the fire to destroy forensic evidence. DuBois knew better. One day soon vengeance would be his. He would kill her murderer, or die trying. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

He knelt down and kissed the headstone. Tears filling his eyes he stood and looked at her grave one more time. "Bonne nuit mon amour. Dort paisablement"

Orly Airport
Paris,
France.

Queuing at Border Control Staniek mused on the new information he had received from Krannix. DuBois was an irritant, and nothing more. However, he would have to be eliminated if he was not to seriously compromise the job he had taken on, particularly when it meant travelling back to the East. That was a complication he could not afford.

Neither could he discount the possibility that Krannix had warned DuBois that he was coming to France. If the information he had found when looking into Krannix's background was anywhere near accurate, he was not above such intrigues. As a precaution he had deliberately taken a different route back, via Madeira and Oporto, but the enemy could still be vigilant.

In any case DuBois would die tomorrow night. A cautious man did not chase two rabbits at the same time. Dispatch the annoying Frenchman and then he would have a clear field to pursue the next job. He had charged Krannix seventy-five million Swiss Francs plus expenses, with thirty million to be paid upfront and deposited in a numbered account. That was a hefty sum, yet the old man had not baulked and simply agreed.

A telephone call from the airport confirmed the deposit had been made. An insurance against betrayal.

As for DuBois, he needed a bait to draw the man out into the open, particularly as he did not know what he looked like. He was prepared to risk DuBois recognising him first but the man needed to be taken out. Sometimes a gamble could pay off. He made a mental note to check the Deaths section of the local papers when he got to Normandy. If the French papers were anything like their English counterparts he would find what he was looking for in there.

He handed his passport to the Controller who stamped it, then handed it back.
"Bienvenue, en France Monsieur Moller"
"Merci."

Tomorrow night.

Notes on Chapter 4

Translations:

"Bonne nuit mon amour" – Good night my love (French)

"Dort paisablement" – Sleep peacefully (French)