SIX DEGREES

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.

Chapter 02|The French Connection

Paris, centre for culture and the arts, home to some of the world's greatest museums and galleries, setting already for a thousand tales and stories for the masses. Taking a sip of coffee, Jethro placed his cup back on one of the small, ovoid pedestals which, as a group, were seemingly intended to serve this suite's occupants in lieu of an actual table.

Hopefully, he would not be joining those tales.

Twisting back to one of the piece's larger, taller, siblings, the handler picked up two plastic cards rested on its surface, shuffling them to inspect a print of his own face under bright sunlight, diffused through gossamer curtains separating the suite and its rooftop terrace beyond. From the street far below wafted chattering voices, punctuated by a scooter's sharp cry, carried in on a light breeze as Paris's bustling Latin Quarter went about its morning business.

Closer however, his partner's tones layered themselves over neighbourhood ambience while she talked outside, phone in one hand, slender shape silhouetted against a clear sky. Now the girl turned again, words resolving into something recognisable as she pushed through white waterfalls of insubstantial fabric, her dress's bold primary colours adding a flash of life against the room's cool hues.

"Oui, merci Mathilde, nous serons là bientôt." She paused, listening to the other speaker. "Ehh... appelez cela une heure? Fantastique. Au Revoir."

Dropping the mobile from her ear, Monty hung up, before turning to her handler. "Change of plans. That was Europol's liaison over at Police Headquarters, seemingly they tracked down the officer who issued Vito's ticket faster than expected. She can hold him at Île de la Cité for the morning if we wish to interview him today."

"I presume you said 'yes'?"

"I did..." now, the girl looked down at her Mondrian dress, "...though a change of clothes first may not go astray."

Maintaining a hold on both IDs, Jethro followed the few steps to their bedroom, arriving at its door just as his partner sat down on the mattress, soft duvet crumpling as she began to strip off white, knee-high boots. Taking another pace over, he placed one card at her side.

"You will probably be wanting that then."

Pausing, his charge picked up the SWA provided Europol identification pass, inspecting it closely.

"Design's changed since Alexandria."

The handler nodded. "It has, though I suspect ours were out of date even then... and these are probably backed up better than what I could bodge together on the fly."

Placing the card into a thin leather wallet, his girl returned to her task. "Probably a good thing, I suspect the Paris police are going to be quizzing those a mite harder than the Egyptians did. There's only so much we were going learn rummaging through Nick and Shamus's personal effects..." divested now of her other boot she stood, turning her back to him, "...and only so far they could be held responsible for the contents of their own evidence locker... Unzip me?"

Stepping forward to oblige, Jethro found the YSL garment's small fastener, sliding it quickly from the nape of his partner's neck to the small of her back, before bringing hands up once more to gently help expensive fabric forward off slender shoulders, and within her easier reach. Waiting a moment until he felt Monty start to lift that away, the handler retrieved a tie, before retreating politely out the door.

Finding one of the lounge mirror's larger panes, he set about fixing it into a full windsor, before continuing the conversation. "Bodge or not, they worked enough to set us on Nick's forged Franklins."

"Yes, and has not that turned into a fine comedy."

Pulling the knot tight and sliding it up neatly against his collar, the handler moved back to lean against the bedroom door frame. "Well, we can't be travelling too badly if Lorenzo feels he should expand the SWA's international reach."

Setting her second cuff link in place, Monty cocked an eyebrow at him. "If that's the result of doing a good job, remind me to stop making an effort."

"In which case they would probably just bundle up the whole shooting match back to AISE."

"Which might be the lesser evil, AISE at least have fewer avenues to accidentally blow our cover by." Pulling on suit bottoms to tuck her shirt into, his girl set about fixing her own tie. "Fiasco or no, it would be nice to start making some headway on Monaco's fallout again. I don't like loose ends, particularly when they're hanging from a corpse or two."

"It certainly would be nice to know how Nick's funny money found its way into his wallet... and I'm starting to wonder if our 'Vito' might have some light to shed on that particular subject."

"You think he might have been the one set us up in Monte Carlo?"

"It's a possibility, certainly if he is actually Padania, and even if he's from Langley..."

Settling a shoulder holster into position, the cyborg placed her PPK in it, before giving her partner a dry look. "Forging their own currency for that variety of operation sounds just a little too cute, even for the CIA."

"Maybe that is over thinking it."

"Or not, it doesn't take much for someone to decide they're being clever." Gun in place, Monty shrugged on her jacket, closing it at the top button, before running an evaluating eye over her partner. "Shall we make a move?"

Nodding, Jethro slipped around beside his girl, placing a hand in the small of her back to usher her toward the door, making their room fast as they went. Farther up the hall could be seen a housekeeper's trolley, currently unattended, and the pair instead turned toward stairs which would deliver them to ground level, past comfortably appointed landings serving double duty as communal space, subtle 30's style portraits hung in their midst.

Seven storeys, six carefully curated arrangements, and they were soon striding past the lobby desk's glowing form to be deposited onto a narrow footpath edging an even narrower street, car-lined flanks separated by just enough to squeeze another vehicle between. To their left, framed by tall buildings at the lane's end, stood the Odéon Theatre, neoclassical pillars now dwarfed by surrounding apartments, still standing guard for the Luxembourg Palace beyond. That however would need to be an adventure for another day and, turning from its sun-bathed plaza, the Blackers instead headed north, diving into bustling streets toward the River Seine's distant banks.

The Latin Quarter, that most bohemian part of Paris and, with time to kill, the pair made full use of its welcoming maze of narrow alleys. Meandering between tiny book shops and cafes, their tables spilling out onto the street, it made for a perfect environment to spot, or loose, any potential tail, putting distance on their hotel in the process. Slowly though that path started to swing north again, crossing the wide expanse of Boulevard Saint-Germain to join Rue Dauphine on its arrow-straight course toward the water-flanked Île de la Cité.

Strolling over white, balustraded arches of Pont Neuf, they crossed the island's skinny western tip, before proceeding along its northern shore beneath high stone walls of the Palais de Justice, Monty's eyes scanning far banks, dotted by cars and tiny market stalls. Reaching the building's end however, the fratello cut back along its landward face, past high gates until, seen through trees and over intervening rooftops, loomed the famous spires of Notre Dame Cathedral.

Though not their intended destination, the ancient church made a fine tourist attraction, drawing a holidaying throng its way which the pair melted into to turn down a wide pedestrian boulevard, passing along the grey edifice of Paris Police Headquarters. Halfway down its length, the Blackers broke off from that foreign tide, instead sliding toward an entrance under the shadow of a hanging Tricolour.

Entrée des Professionnels.

Noting the sign, Monty took another half pace ahead of her handler to stand by an iron gate, set just behind wooden framing, and looked toward the guard stationed inside. Returning that gaze, hand moving subtly toward a hip-mounted pistol, he twisted her direction.

"Bonjour, je peux vous aider?"

Despite the wary stance, his tone was friendly and helpful.

"Oui," dropping into French, the cyborg continued, "George Zusak and Adeline Theroux of Europol, Lieutenant Intern Quesnell should be expecting us."

Holding a hand out through black bars, the man waited patiently while she paired Jethro's ID with her own to pass them over for inspection. Grasping a phone from the wall behind, he took a moment to study both cards more closely until whomever was on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello, Mathilde?" His eyes did not stray from the waiting fratello. "It's Jacques, I have an Adeline Theroux and George Zusak from Europol here to see you... yes... ok, I'll let them in."

Hanging the handset up, the guard placed his own ID against an RF reader, which was answered by the heavy, metallic clack of latches retracting. Hefting the gate open, he beckoned the Blackers inside.

"Lieutenant Intern Quesnell will be down shortly, you can wait in here until then."

Stepping through, Monty accepted their cards back, returning her handler's as the gate clacked shut. Ahead lay a short corridor, and she moved with her partner deeper into the room presented beyond, away from light streaming in through its entrance. At his post, the guard went back to staring at the wall opposite, and she instead turned her attention to the building's interior: not all that different from the SWA, a modern organisation shoehorned into veteran architecture. In this case however, that modernisation had seemingly wended through ancient stone like a creeping growth, snaking under arches and rafters, some rudimentary effort made with paint and plaster to hide the changes, rather than put them neatly on display for all to see.

Next to her, she felt her handler lean down, talking quietly under the watchful eye of a second guard manning the space's security desk. "Do you know if this Mathilde has pulled any camera data together yet?"

"I requested she do."

The room lapsed into silence again, sounds of the city outside wafting in along stone walls. From beyond the desk however came a tapping of shoes on marble, and shortly a figure appeared wearing blues of French Police uniform, approaching rapidly down the far corridor. Pausing briefly to say something to the seated guard, it halted in front of the Blackers, holding out a hand.

"Mathilde Quesnell, you must be Adeline and George."

Grasping the proffered paw, Monty nodded. "That is us, thank you for taking the time to help out."

Giving her handler a chance to make his own greeting, the young agent took a moment to study their host. Mathilde was small, probably only an inch or so taller than herself, but with a compact, more athletic build, blonde hair done up into a low maintenance bun. Beneath it, smiling eyes gave an air of amiable competence.

Or at least of amiability.

Now however, she was beckoning her charges across to the desk. "If you could give me your IDs again, we will need to run them properly before going any further."

Offering up both cards once more, Monty kept her expression carefully bland as they were passed on to the second guard: time to see if the Agency issued items, and their accompanying computer groundwork, were as good as she had been assured they would be. Maintaining unhurried movements, the girl turned back to where their Europol liaison was talking again.

"You look younger than I pictured on the phone, probably only a year or two behind me. I'm surprised I've not seen you before."

"This isn't our usual area of operations."

"Which is another reason I am surprised: you're very young for a field agent. Normally you should be tied to one area, one department first... maybe even here, your French is certainly very good," her eyes flicked to where Jethro was standing, "yours is good also, for an Englishman, but Adeline speaks like a Parisian native."

"Which is why she is doing the talking."

"I grew up in Paris for a time," volunteered Monty, "not long, but enough to acquire the accent."

"Really? I grew up around the 18th arrondissement."

"I was further south, around Montparnasse."

It was a vague reply, deliberately so, upon which Mathilde could build her own assumptions or, hopefully, finish the line of questioning off entirely. Unfortunately that seemed not to be, and the other woman was starting to open her mouth again when Jethro spoke up.

"So how does a girl form Montmartre wind up shepherding Europol agents around?"

The question was answered by a pause, then a particularly Gallic shrug, the blonde seemingly searching for a good response. His interruption however bought time enough and, handing their cards back, the desk guard gave a nod.

"All good, if you could come with me?" Waving for her guests to follow, the Europol liaison lead them out through the room's other exit.

Taking a moment to ensure she retained the correct ID, Monty slipped it back into a breast pocket. Seemingly the SWA's technology department could get something right from time-to-time, though pushing her luck more than once was a less than enthralling prospect.

Ahead, Mathilde was still talking. "Brigadier Lefebvre is waiting in one of the interview rooms..."

"Did you get a chance to pull together any tracking for the motorbike?"

"We did."

"In which case monsieur Lefebvre can wait another ten minutes, I would like to quickly review what's there first." Glancing back, Monty cocked a querying eyebrow at her handler, receiving a nod in return. "Should there be anything needing further investigation it would be better we know now, rather than have to pull your man in again later."

"Uhh... of course, you may as well come to my office then."

Changing heading down a separate turn, the Lieutenant Intern led her charges along aged corridors, drawing interested glances from those they passed... well, from some they passed. Others kept eyes resolutely forward, old, paranoid, or cynical enough to see suited agents trailing behind their Europol representative as trouble. Trouble they did not want to attract to themselves if at all possible.

Eventually however, Mathilde brought them to an open door, which the pair's younger half eyed distastefully, ushering the fratello through into a small office beyond. Above, a fluorescent tube cast cooler, brighter tones than the 50's vintage fittings outside, illuminating two L-shaped desks set back to back, both currently unoccupied, a third chair crammed into one corner, presumably for guests. Making her way to sit at the tidier station, their minder re-logged into her computer as, behind, Monty heard Jethro close them in. The other woman looked up at that, but didn't say anything, instead twisting her monitor around to face along the desk, revealing an open folder.

"I know I sent you a copy of the ticket Lefebvre issued, and his court record, but I have included both again just in case." She pointed to the monitor. "All the camera footage and stills we found are here. I didn't expect to be seeing you so soon, so I've not had a chance to sort any of it, but I did make a dump of the list our number plate recognition software gave back, so there is something to go on."

Double clicking to open a spreadsheet, she shuffled around so her guest could move in for a closer look, before leaning in to jab at the screen. "The far left column is footage reference numbers, which will correspond to each file, then there is date, time, camera reference number and location... do you want to drive?"

Nodding, Monty moved in front of the monitor as she heard her handler roll the spare chair over, placing a palm on one shoulder to guide her down into it under the curious gaze of their warden.

Making a show of opening Lefebvre's ticket to read date and time from it, Monty compared those back against the spreadsheet, before scrolling down to locate its corresponding file. Perhaps unsurprisingly that was the largest present and, opening it also, the girl found herself presented with a grainy, black and white image of a wide boulevard, made distant by unmistakable oversize footpaths of the Champs Elysees.

"The software cuts each clip a few seconds either side..."

Now on the monitor a large BMW touring bike pulled into the gutter, its rider resting back to remove full-face helmet as he was joined by a Peugeot hatchback, the latter positioning itself in the path of any oncoming traffic, roof lights flashing brilliant white. Unfortunately however as its occupant, presumably Lefebvre, exited his car, it became clear he was going to stand on the road side, leaving their camera with a frustrating view of the back of the motorcyclist's skull.

As the two on screen talked, drawing attention from a few passing tourists, Jethro's voice wafted in behind her. "You don't have another angle on this?"

"I'm afraid not, not that has been found yet."

"Pity."

Letting footage play out, Monty watched both vehicles disappear from view once more, before returning her attention to the spreadsheet, scanning for anything else of immediate interest. Seemingly most of what had been dredged up came from Paris, with a smattering of other towns and linking motorways.

"I presume you have a copy of this for me?"

Rolling back toward the computer, their host shook her head. "Not yet, I was going to get it for you after the interview."

"Do it now, seeing as we're here."

Standing, Monty returned her chair to its original position so Mathilde could access the keyboard once more and, moving to the room's other side, the cyborg watched while she extracted a fresh USB drive from its packaging, Jethro leaning down to speak softly in one ear.

"So? What did you think?"

"I think there's going to be a certain amount of work involved sorting through that lot, and probably some maps of Paris and France to make heads or tails of it."

"My thoughts too. It probably wouldn't hurt to check each video as we go if she's only run recognition software, for all we know Vito's stolen those plates from someone else."

That drew a noise of dry agreement. "They're likely not his only set either."

"Nothing we can do right now about that unfortunately, and we've probably some time up our sleeve before anything comes in from down south."

The room lapsed into silence again until, eventually, their liaison extracted the USB drive, bundling it up to hand over to Monty. "That should be everything, shall I take you to Lefebvre now? We probably shouldn't keep him waiting all day."

Inspecting the little piece of plastic and metal, Monty placed it securely into her suit's ticket pocket. "Lead on."

Allowing his partner to step ahead, Jethro followed her out of the room, somewhat against his own instincts leaving the door open as they had found it.

Whether by design, fault, or simple poor luck, the Europol office was placed far from the building's action, and glances through occasional visible windows saw their small party continue to circle that structure's large inner courtyard, descending stairs past its store of parked up patrol cars. Soon however, paving stones disappeared above their heads, leaving incandescent bulbs to light the corridor now laid before them, its flanks populated by pairs of numbered doors, and the spy gave felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. If this was what he thought it was...

Ahead, Mathilde opened one of the doors, ushering him and his partner through into the room beyond: a mirrored wall, small table in the middle with two chairs, one already occupied. An interrogation room, just the thing to put their interviewee at ease.

Now his attention turned to the man in question, recognisable from reviewed footage, squat, cylindrical kepi cap placed on the table before him to reveal a prematurely balding pate. Not an old man, nor particularly large man just... average. For his part, Lefebvre didn't seem to want to hold anyone's eye for too long, hands fiddling with the black cap as Mathilde closed their group in, and Jethro caught his partner's quick, distasteful, glance toward the woman's continued presence.

"Hercule, these are George Zusak and Adeline Theroux from Europol, they would like to ask you a few questions about a traffic stop you made late last year... Adeline, George, this is Brigadier Hercule Lefebvre." Now the Europol liaison paused for a second, her tone taking on a more official tenor. "For the record, I'm to remain present at all times while you're interviewing our personnel."

This time the distaste remained off Monty's face, and Jethro nodded to their host, making a point to keep his own tone relaxed and friendly.

"That's fine," now his gaze shifted to Lefebvre, "this isn't an interrogation, and we're not the CIA, but we do have some questions to help with our own investigation."

Stepping forward, he slid out the remaining free chair, partner positioning herself close enough to be part of the conversation if needed, but also allowing her to keep an eye on the rest of the room. Taking a seat, the SWA man looked across at their interviewee, folding fingers across each other on the desk.

"Thank you for sitting down with us, Brigadier."

Across the table, the policeman's hands ceasing to fiddle, nervous features fleetingly steeled. "Well, when Europol asks..."

It was only momentary however, and one could hardly blame the man for feeling cornered.

He really could have used an emptier room.

"As I said, this isn't an interrogation. Adeline and I are, however, pursuing our own investigation and there is a chance you may be able to help us. Also, I will ask that you do not talk about what is said here with anyone else as it may jeopardise our operation."

A nod. "Sounds more like a spy film than detective work."

Jethro let a wry grin now flick across his face. "You would be surprised how much the two can overlap at times."

Reaching into a breast pocket now, the agent extracted a number of photo prints, crops from Hilshire's set, spreading them out on the table. "Tell me Brigadier, do you recognise this individual?"

Poking at the glossy pictures, the policeman looked across the table again. "Honestly, I don't know how much I'm going to be able to help you monsieur Zusak, the face is not familiar."

"Try and make at least some effort to look at what you are shown."

The voice from across his shoulder was hard, edged with contempt, and Lefebvre's gaze shifted to address it, annoyance cutting again through nervousness to flash across his features. "Mademoiselle Theroux, I make multiple traffic stops every day, so you will excuse me for not remembering all of them in minute detail."

Speaking quickly to halt any further retort, Jethro drew their interviewee's attention back to the photos. "Take another look though if you could, please? Right now, anything would be useful. The stop in question was late last year, on the Champs Elysees. This man would have been riding the same BMW R1200RT pictured, with the same numberplates. Name, at least from the speeding ticket you wrote, of Marcello Schumann, using an Italian-issued EU license."

Glancing momentarily again around the room, the Brigadier reached forward to pick up one of the photos, studying it more carefully.

A minute passed.

Finally, Hercule looked up again.

"I think I vaguely remember him, maybe. French was certainly not his first language, his speech was broken but, honestly, that's all I can think of... which means the stop itself was probably quite routine. If it had not been I would remember more clearly."

"Nothing else? An accent maybe? Clothes?"

That got a wry shake of the head and small shrug. "Motorcycle clothes? The accent... it wasn't French, possibly more American than anything, but I don't think it could have been all that strong."

"And he wasn't argumentative, in a hurry, or try to dispute the ticket?"

"Not that I remember, which means probably not. No-one wants to get a ticket but, as I said... nothing memorable enough to make this one stand out from any other stop."

Leaning back, Jethro paused a moment, squeezing eyes part shut to pinch at the bridge of his nose. It was difficult to tell if the man was just being recalcitrant, or if he was actually going to need to somehow jog memories for every piece of information individually. "Ok then... can you remember at all which direction Schumann came from, or where he went?"

Across from him, Lefebvre's eyes skipped again to Monty, before focusing back on the more understanding interviewer. "If I stopped him on the Champs Elysees, then I probably picked him up on that as well. After... I would probably have continued up toward Ternes. That's my usual patrol route. Again though, I would remember going the same direction, so he probably did not go that way."

"You don't perchance remember where he may have turned off?"

"No."

"Alright..." The spy paused, stifling a sigh, before looking back at his partner with a questioning gaze. "I can't think of anything else."

Now the girl turned her own eyes on the Brigadier. "Were there any issues with his license or fine payment?"

That received an exasperated sound. "Look, I haven't heard anything more regarding the matter or, again, I would remember, so I presume not. If there's nothing noted, then nothing unusual happened."

"And you didn't see anything of note on the bike? Damage, markings, and so on?"

"No."

Monty's eyes returned to her handler, cocking a brow at him. "I've nothing else then either."

And take everything just said with a grain of salt.

Waiting another moment to think, Jethro finally stood, holding out a hand as Lefebvre followed suit. Shaking it, the policeman then shared a similar, if less cordial, gesture with the girl across from him before the elder spy spoke again. "Sorry to have interrupted your day, but thank you for your time all the same."

A Gallic shrug. "I apologise for not being of more help."

"As I said: right now, everything is useful. If you think of more, let Mathilde know, and she will be able to pass it on to us."

Gesturing toward the door, the agent waited for their host to open it, allowing the Frenchman out and letting him get a little way down the corridor before speaking again. "If he does come up with anything, do let us know. You have Adeline's number."

"I will." Now Mathilde glanced between the pair, eyeing its younger half more warily than before. "Was there anything else you needed? You did pick up the USB, yes?"

"I did. I don't believe we need anything more..." Monty paused, and Jethro felt her querying gaze again turned on him.

He shook his head. "...I think you might as well show us out."

Retracing their steps, the little party returned to ground level, sunlight still doing its best to augment weak incandescent glows. As they turned toward the entrance, their liaison looked back at her two charges. "If you don't mind me asking, how much longer are you in Paris?"

It was his girl who replied. "Right now, your guess is as good as ours... until we have enough information to move on."

At that, the blonde seemed to think for a moment. "Well, I'm sure you remember some of the city but, if one or both of you want a more up-to-date tour, feel free to call me."

"I will keep that in mind."

"...and thank you for your time today," added Jethro.

That last got a smile. "That is what I'm here for."

Reaching the reception desk, still manned by the same guard, the Blackers bade their host farewell. Waiting by the gate for it to be once more unlocked, Jethro flicked eyes back as the desk officer caught Mathilde by a shoulder, saying something to her, which was answered quietly and with a glance in their direction.

Interesting.

The clack of a latch returned him to present events however, and the fratello was ushered back onto the street beyond. Turning again toward the island's western end, Jethro waited a few steps before looking down toward his partner.

"So, what did you think?"

There was a pause before her reply came, its tone dry. "I think I felt rather closely watched in there, and came out under-informed for the trouble."

"Well, I'm sure everyone was a bit interested to know what Europol wanted with them... did you catch what was said to Mathilde as we were on our way out?"

"Barely. The chap on the desk wanting to know exactly that: what business we had with the city's Police. Fortunately Mathilde was bright enough to keep her mouth shut, unlike her office."

"Rumour mill at work?"

"One possibility." Pausing as a family of tourists passed particularly close by, Monty continued. "It's nice Mathilde managed to get our data package together with some efficiency, that should help us get a head start before sending anything back to Rome. As to the rest of it, there was a bit interesting fell out of what Hercule had to say, even if his overall accuracy was perhaps dubious."

"It is looking increasingly likely Vito has joined us from across the pond though."

"It is, which makes one more reason I feel less than enthused regards people asking why we're here... I would dearly like to nail down what his interest is before anything of ours somehow finds its way back to him."

"Presuming he doesn't know already." Placing a hand in the small of his partner's back, Jethro guided her through the tourist crowd and toward the Right Bank again. "How about we find something to eat, then set about getting that information as direct from the horse's mouth as possible?"

Night time in the Quarter: a time to be out and about, to find food and entertainment. From the theatre's direction could be heard sounds of patrons leaving its stone entrance and mixing with student body revellers, carried in through open terrace doors on a light breeze, gossamer curtains framing the scene behind in silhouette. Rubbing at tired eyes, Monty lifted her coffee cup from the suite's small desk, taking a sip, before scrolling down to highlight the next row on her spreadsheet.

"Ok, next entry is the same day, two hours later, and it's PA16-117-7... again."

Finding the appropriate video file she opened it up.

Short, five frames only of time-lapse footage: a BMW touring bike slowing almost to a halt, before turning out of a narrow side street and disappearing from view.

"Rue Alfred Dehondencq... again. Leaving this time."

Spinning her chair from the computer screen, the young agent looked toward where her partner crouched next to a large map of Paris, its folds spread across two wide, low, leather ottomans, red marker in hand. Pausing for a moment, she stood to move next to him as he added another entry beside a pre-existing cross on its surface, before carefully joining the last run of marks, ending in a side street near the city's north western outskirts.

Hoisting himself up, Jethro took a pace back, absently resting a hand on his girl's shoulder to shuffle her in front of him. Gone now was her suit, replaced by a black pencil skirt and deeply v-necked shirt, her handler swapping fine wool trousers for a pair of light blue chinos, and she felt thumbs start to massage at her back while they contemplated his handiwork.

"Well, we know why Vito wasn't turning up toward Ternes then."

"And why he was on the Champs Elysees."

Reaching up to gently still her partner's movement with slender fingers, Monty silently studied the results of their previous few hours' labour. The camera location for each video file was marked with an "x", date and time noted beside, the probable journey paths between dashed in. Some carried additional lines as the same camera yielded multiple results, those instances getting more numerous the nearer Paris's north western outskirts they approached. Starting points varied, spread out across the city, as did the jagged lines leading from them: Vito was obviously smart enough to vary his route, and not stay in the same hotel twice. For that matter termination points, though fewer, also varied, but at this stage, their greater percentage ended in the wealthy 16th Arrondissement.

Lifting Jethro's hand away now, the girl knelt down to look closer at a roughly triangular patch of green, set just off the larger, more famous, Bois de Boulogne gardens, and around which a not insignificant number of Vito's trips found their destination.

"I would quite like to know what is of such interest to our American in Jardins du Ranelagh."

"Perhaps he likes Monet." Receiving a look askance, her handler squatted beside his charge. "It would probably make as good of a starting point for us as any. Question is: where? Sitting slap in the middle of the place probably won't do us much good unless Vito actually decides to wander past, and that could be weeks yet."

Eyes flicking over adjacent markers, Monty tapped at the dead-end street on their north eastern side. "His shortest visits seem to have been around Rue Alfred Dehondencq, so I presume that's closest wherever he's visiting. The others are probably where he's left the bike somewhere farther and walked to mix things up."

"It would be nice to go back to Mathilde and get her to pull any other camera footage from the area, but I would really like to avoid trotting into the Paris Police building any more than absolutely necessary."

"Well let's not do so because you decided to visit a Monet collection." She paused. "Something did feel... off, though frankly I would rather we stay out simply to avoid pushing our luck with Rome's IDs."

From behind her came a shuffling noise, and the girl glanced backward to see Jethro drop off his haunches, stretching legs out past her. Leaving one arm to support himself, the other slipped around her waist, pulling her back to curl against him and bring an ear within whispering distance.

"Speaking of the SWA, it probably wouldn't hurt to send Mathilde's data back for Hilshire. With a bit of luck it might help draw a bead from his end."

"Let's finish going through ourselves first, then I can summarise it somewhat... though we'll need means by which to transmit it to him without the greater unwashed catching on."

"Leave Genco and Priscilla to work that one out."

"Hmm."

The noise was dubious at best, and Monty felt her partner's grip tighten slightly as he spoke. "Look at it this way: it's either that, or we contact Hilshire directly with instructions on how to pick it up. I don't know about you, but right now I feel the fewer trails we leave back to the SWA, the better."

Drawing a deep breath, the girl sighed. "You're right, Genco probably is the lesser evil." Lifting her handler's arm away now, she stood, smoothing her skirt down in the process. "In which case, we should probably finish this up so I can send it sooner rather than later... and decide on any other points worth surveilling, unless you intend on watching the same grass grow every day."

Rolling on to his back, Jethro looked up at her. "How far through are we?"

A glance at her computer. "Two thirds, and we've still everything outside Paris to do."

"Then we won't be finished tonight."

"We could be."

Studying his watch for a moment, the Englishman gave his girl a hard look. "No, because at some point this evening you are going to both eat and sleep. Not just one or the other either, both. We do this for another hour, then go and find dinner."

Smoothing her Mondrian dress so it wouldn't crease, Monty changed position slightly to one more comfortable, feeling thick grass give way beneath a checked picnic blanket as she rolled backward and, from behind, came a soft grunt as the movement brought her shoulder into closer contact with Jethro's side. Possibly in response, the arm serving as her pillow wrapped up to turn a book page, briefly obscuring her own novel as they lay together, shaded by leafy trees above. Hovering briefly, it was lowered back down, not to the ground as before, but rather to take advantage of the new arrangement and rest a hand at her waist, thumb gently stroking across soft fabric.

From somewhere out of sight, deeper inside Jardins du Ranelagh, came the laugh of children, brought out by their well-dressed Parisian mothers and nannies to enjoy a clear spring day, before the heat of summer arrived in full force. That was something she could have done without but, present children aside, there were plenty of other couples scattered across the lawn's cool grass to maintain their cover's viability, even for this third visit in just over two weeks. Seemingly they were not the only pair making a habit either, some faces amongst those spread out in the sun familiar from previous days. Not exciting days, slow ones, the fortnight prior spent circulating through areas Vito had visited and now, once again, they were back at the start.

"Seen anything new yet?"

Her partner had not moved, words pitched low, just enough to carry to sensitive cyborg ears.

"Not so far, difficult to whittle away who's worth attention and who's not just yet." Pausing, she lifted her other hand from where it rested atop an expensive DSLR to turn a page of her own story. Carefully aligned, the camera's powerful telephoto lens pointed toward iron fencing at the gardens' edge, then beyond, down Rue Alfred Dehondencq's narrow tarmac, her handler's body obscuring it from passersby. "For the greater part it's been the same faces in and out as the last two times around."

"If it makes you feel better, the gardens are about he same... all around the earth, familiar faces."

"Anyone of concern?"

Behind her, she felt her handler shift subtly as he lowered his book to get a clearer view, surreptitiously glancing across parkland and paths.

"None what jumps out."

"Hmm..."

A movement drew her attention back to the street, and a twitched finger was answered by the damped mirror's rapid snap. Beyond the fence line, three people exited an older stone building, opposite the glass edifice of Électricité Réseau Distribution France's offices, business names taken down during a previous walk past. Pausing on the footpath to talk briefly, the little party broke up, and Monty fired off another burst as two of three got into a waiting Citroen C6, while the third returned indoors.

"Something happening?"

Ensuring to capture the receding vehicle's number plate first, the young agent replied. "Two new out from the accountant's office, must have arrived before we did. They can't be minor clients though as Reichmont saw them down personally."

"At that sort of level, you need to make everyone feel like they're being looked after on a personal basis."

"I somehow doubt though Vito would have ridden all the way here just to see his accountant."

"No, but he could well be seeing someone else's accountant."

Dropping her hand from the camera briefly, Monty turned another page of her book, before placing slender fingers along her partner's arm as a breath of cool breeze ruffled grass around them.

"What we could do with is applying some names to faces, might it be worth getting at Reichmont's appointment book?"

"Maybe..." a brief pause, "... or we could send them to Mathilde to run."

While he couldn't see her features, he must have picked up on the dubious expression that suggestion drew.

"I know we didn't want to walk back into her office, but it also would not hurt to touch base again at least once rather than just evaporating into the ether."

Another pause, before the girl started to reply. "I'm not so worried about contacting Mathilde again as I am about making her too aware of our own movements. Even if she's personally clean, you saw how well her office was secured. Not to mention she was... chatty."

The thumb ceased its stroking, Jethro's arm instead wrapping up around to draw her in tight. "We don't need to get her on it straight away."

"In which case we may as well give the job to Genco."

"Possibly, but this time it's not so much about actually getting the information as it is about maintaining relationships. It would be safer to get names direct from Reichmont, and Genco could run the faces, but you also never know when you might need someone again. At the very least it might serve as a decent double-check, and prevent her wondering where we went."

"Or, it might pique her interest."

Silence descended again, sounds of the parkland and city beyond beginning to filter in on the pair once more and, giving another squeeze, her partner's arm dropped back to its original position.

From somewhere behind them came the shrill squeal of a child at play, followed by laughter.

Another exit from one of Rue Alfred Dehondencq's frontages, this time a moped leaving the power company, its rider pedalling briefly before the bike's tinny two-stroke motor cut in to propel it off down faded tarmac.

More photos.

Releasing the camera, Monty reached forward to once more advance her novel. These really were slow days, not unpleasant, but tedious and, at the rate they were currently going, she would need to source more books.

Suddenly, her handler's grip tightened again, and his voice came once more quietly across to her.

"Look sharp, we may be about to encounter a spot of bother."

Picking his harder tenor, the young spy released her hold on the camera again, hand moving subtly to ensure she could hook her dress's short hem quickly and access the PPK in its garter holster beneath.

Now her head rest was once more withdrawn, and the girl rolled up after it, wriggling around so she could look the same direction as its owner. Propping herself up on one elbow, she draped the other arm across her now half-sitting partner's chest to peer over his shoulder as a new shadow fell across them.

"Hello Jethro, I do hope you're not molesting poor Vesper here too badly..." the voice was plumy, forged in the halls of Eton and Cambridge, it's owner's eyes now moving to rest on her, "...or is it Monty this time?"

There was a pause, and in it the girl's eyes narrowed slightly, taking in their addressor: greying hair, aged face, before her handler finally replied.

"Algy, that's the same outfit you were wearing in Panama... where I was under the impression, by the way, you were still supposed to be keeping shop."

Above them, Sir Algernon Herbert gave a wry smile, face shaded by a white straw hat. "Technically I am but, right now, I'm here to call in a favour."

"Your timing is not exactly glorious, Algy."

"I'm sure it isn't, but I might have something of interest to you... and you still owe me an aeroplane."

That last garnered a wince but, if he noticed, the SIS Chief of Station didn't let on, instead fishing inside a navy blazer. At Jethro's back, Monty cocked a dubious brow, following his movements carefully out her peripheral vision.

"Fear not Vesper, I'm not here to blow your cover, that would defeat the purpose of calling in a favour."

Now the elder man's hand withdrew, holding a large brown envelope, and she relaxed slightly as it was dropped in front of Jethro.

"Mr. Blacker, you're needed."

Eyeing the other spy warily, her partner unwound red string holding the envelope closed, to extract a single glossy photo print. Taking a moment to study it, he handed it back to Monty. The picture was obviously taken at night, marred by a CCTV camera's grainy patina. Under blown-out lights however was laid the unmistakable spread of shipping containers across a wharf hardstand and, nestled between them... she glanced up, cocking an eyebrow once more, careful to keep any hint of surprise off her face.

Unfortunately their new companion either noticed something in that anyway, or was not buying in, because the look she received in return was equally dry. "We're Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, Ms. Vesper... it's our job to know what people are up to, particularly when it pertains to one of our own, present or past. What say we go and find somewhere more private to talk?"

Wariness of its other scattered visitors made for a quiet walk across Jardins du Ranelagh, Monty trotting along on the far side of her handler from Algernon, heels of tall boots sinking into soft grass, before finally reaching a stretch of gravel footpath. Out the corner of one eye, the young agent watched their new companion closely: still the same slightly rotund, slightly chinless, slightly greying man, in the same crisp white shirt and cream chinos, she had originally met in Panama... and still just as dangerously sharp to boot.

And now he had not only found them, but somehow also knew a precise piece of their recent history... a situation the potential implications of which would take some time to digest, implications she was not entirely comfortable with.

Emerging from the garden's southern extremity onto a leafy, tree-lined avenue, Algy lead the pair along a row of parked cars, eventually halting by the curvaceous, light blue shape of a Citroën DS, resting low on its haunches at the kerbside. Waiting for their impromptu host to unlock his 60's-vintage transport, Jethro opened a rear door so Monty could slide onto plush leather benching, before accepting a hessian market bag containing the dregs of their picnic. Seeing her securely closed in, he found his own place in the front, taking a position which would let her lean easily in on any ensuing conversation.

The clack of another door signalled Algy's entry and, starting the engine, he waited for it to warm as the car rose smoothly from tarmac on hydraulic suspension.

In the passenger seat, her handler glanced across at his former colleague. "Not your usual fare Algernon, I seem to remember you getting around in a Bristol."

"And I continue to do so but, when in Rome...

"...do as the French?"

Reversing slightly, the old spy flicked on an indicator, before finding first and edging out into slow-moving traffic, letting its lethargic tide carry their vehicle along, under the Bois de Boulogne and onto the Boulevard Périphérique, crossing the Seine to begin a long, anti-clockwise loop around Paris's southern outskirts.

Listening to humming tyres, Monty eventually spoke up. "I presume you wouldn't care to shed any light on how you located us?"

Pulling back in front of a lumbering lorry, Algernon glanced at her in the rear view mirror. "I'm not going to say it was easy, young Jethro here learned from the best, and he always was particularly good at disappearing. However, as I said: we are the SIS, and we have been doing this for a very long time."

She wasn't going to get an answer then, not entirely surprising, but that left her remaining options at educated guesswork and not much else. It was unlikely any leak had come from within the SWA, the only three people aware of their intended destination were, insofar as she could tell, trustworthy. Moreover, the fratello had been very careful to leave Italy aimed at Croatia, a story which would be backed by Genco, Priscilla, and Hilshire should they be questioned on the subject.

However, if the leak had not come from Italy, that left their having been found to occur in Paris itself.

Propping her head up on one elbow, the girl watched as Seine waters passed beneath them for a second time, meaning they must have made it right around to the town proper's south eastern edge.

The SIS couldn't have enough resources to scour the city inch by inch which, she was given to believe, was not really its style anyway, and it was also highly unlikely Algernon had simply chosen to wander through their little patch of parkland by pure coincidence. That meant a mole somewhere else, probably encountered by chance as part of their continued dealings, but even a mole needed to know what to look out for...

Now however, her attention was drawn elsewhere as Algy left the motorway, looping around to follow the river's path east, carrying on farther from Paris' central arrondissements and ducking finally into outlying suburbs.

There was more space here, tiny inner-city apartments replaced by houses and gardens, surrounded by high stone and iron, and the girl was given time to take it in as their driver used the narrow lines of sight afforded to clear his tail. Seemingly content with the result, he turned down another suburban street, swinging sharply into a driveway as flaking gates under ivy-topped walls opened to allow passage. No sooner had the car halted in its low rooved garage than the doors began to close again, outer wood faces apparently backed by solid steel bars. The rest of the space however more matched their outward appearance, lit by a single naked bulb and white framed casement windows looking into a small, shaded courtyard.

Allowing the car to idle down for a moment, Algy killed the engine, before motioning his guests to climb out.

"Welcome to our Avenue des Ailantes safe house. Come inside and we'll discuss what's required further."

Exiting the garage, Monty waited for their host to secure it, before letting herself be guided around the courtyard's gravel path, past heavily foliaged gardens to the front door of a tall villa, shutters closed and flaking like the garage outside. From here could be seen that the solid wall ran right around three and a bit sides of the property, its fourth partly formed by the building it served, street frontage's ivy headdress butting up to ancient render in a natural barrier against would-be voyeurs.

As she felt Jethro shuffle her backward slightly, there was the rattle of a lock, and they were ushered inside onto rough stone flooring, raw wood steps leading up to the next level. Turning past those however, the fratello was directed to an equally rustic kitchen, stone sink along one wall and iron stove in its hearth, just visible under thin slits of light eking through from outside.

Squeezing past his guests, Algy flicked on the little cluster of light bulbs dangled over a whitewashed table, before hanging his hat on the back of a chair and moving to push open heavy window closures.

"Take a seat, and I do think it's still just cool enough to warrant a cup of tea."

Settling into one of the straight-backed chairs whence she could keep an eye on both door and window, the girl waited while their elder companion crossed to the iron stove, crouching down before it to block her view as a compartment opened on creaking hinges. The noise was followed a moment later by the unmistakable sound of a mechanical combination lock and swish of paper on paper. Another second passed and, with the stove once more presenting its innocently rustic face, he turned back, brushing a few white ashes from another envelope, much like the one yielded earlier. This version however was much bulkier than that received in the park, a good two inches or so thick, and was placed on the table.

"That is for you two."

Reaching forward, Monty unwound another piece of red thread holding the packet closed, withdrawing from it a stolid wad of documentation, topped by more large-format photographic prints. Making a quick study of the latter, she took a moment to ensure nothing was left in the hardy parcel, before passing them to her handler and turning attention instead to their accompanying reporting. Beside her, Jethro spread the pictures out, flicking through quickly before fixing his former mentor with an inquisitive look.

"So tell me Algy, what would cause Her Majesty's SIS have to take interest in an old US Mint press."

Holding a copper kettle under brass tap ware to fill, the older spy paused, before placing it on a more modern, though not by much, gas stove, the click of a piezo igniter accompanying his next words.

"Reasons, young Mister Blacker, reasons."

Reasons they were apparently not going to find themselves party to.

"I must apologise for the somewhat rude contact, however time is pressing and you were difficult enough to find as it was." Joining his guests at the table, Algernon unbuttoned his blazer, letting it hang loose as he sat forward, affording the young agent opposite a glimpse of a small pistol, holstered under one arm.

Seemingly she was not the only one to notice it either. "M still hasn't made you give up that Beretta then?"

That drew a sly grin. "Not for want of trying. Passing my Walther on for something newer fobbed him off a little, but I suspect he may have finally ceased bothering... I satiate him by keeping a Browning in the office."

"But he still allowed you out to play with just that?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Letting the silence hang for a moment, Jethro eyed their host. "Speaking of, I'm surprised you were able to get M to sign off on this. I was under from impression he didn't very much care for me."

"He may have required a certain amount of convincing granted, but I can still make a decent argument when I feel so inclined," the elder spy leaned forward to tap the empty envelope, "and pressing circumstances do not hurt either."

Pausing for a moment, the man continued. "Moving on though, I don't know much more than the broad outline of what's needed, thus won't detain you too long. This technically belongs to the Far East Station; I'm just a friendly face to play messenger boy, so details are better found in that packet than gleaned from anything I might say."

Flicking quickly once more through her documentation to ensure nothing remained caught between pages, Monty picked up one of the photos again, studying it closer. Unfortunately there was very little detail could be made out to differentiate this wharf from one at any freight terminal around the world: same narrow, truck sized corridors, with the same standardised containers stacked in the same standardised end-on-end rows, the small shapes of people only fuzzy outlines scuttling beneath.

Thankfully, Algy began speaking again.

"These photos were pulled off a plant monitoring camera on Hong Kong's Kwai Tsing wharfs about a month ago by one of our penetration teams. The footage itself is older than that mind, but they don't like to go in too often lest someone flags the incursion and spoils their fun. We caught the press components being loaded onto a truck, but lost it at the port gate, truck registration as best as we could discern, and any identification on the containers, is described in your packet."

"Do you know which direction it went afterwards?"

The elder spy shook his head at Jethro's question. "Unfortunately not… hopefully not to mainland China."

Unlikely if the Padania still had a stake in it... one small blessing.

Placing her current photo down, the cyborg leafed quickly through its peers, before looking across also at their host. "You didn't catch a shot of what ship brought the container in."

"No, the camera wasn't angled that direction. I can however tell you that we believe the hull belongs to Anagnos Shipping out of Cyprus. I've been asked to keep an eye on anything of theirs coming through my own jurisdiction, so presumably someone is checking up if they're actually involved or just an innocent bystander."

"Greek Cyprus, with a title like that."

"Yes."

"Name?"

"Anagnos Dragon."

The girl's face remained impassive, attention returning to the documents before her... so seemingly it was the one ship doing dirty work for the Padania, or probably more precisely a specific captain and crew, a trustworthy and reliable one: the Separatists' men, rather than those simply in the employ of puppets.

Which made life a bit easier.

Of course if the SIS were investigating Anagnos also... now the germ of another, less than pleasant, thought started to stir in the back of her head and, as their host stood to attend a whistling kettle, she glanced toward her partner, who reached under the table to give her knee a reassuring squeeze. Shooting him a thin smile in reply, she started to speak, voice once more addressed to their companion.

"The ship's details are included?"

At his stove, the spy-master set about scalding a china teapot before putting boiled water back on its still flaming burner. "I believe so, including her sailing schedule."

"That will be helpful then."

Emptying the pot's hot contents, their host spooned tea leaves into its empty bottom, before pouring the kettle across them and setting it down to brew.

"Would either of you...?"

"How much more do you have to tell us?"

Twisting slightly at Jethro's words, he eyed the younger man over one shoulder. "Not much more off the top of my head, I've been told to keep out of that envelope myself."

"That's not a lot to go on."

"I presumed you… two… might have some ideas of your own."

Beside her handler, Monty again kept her face impassive: if Algernon was going to withhold secrets, then both sides could play that game... and, frankly, the less told about their own angle on the job the better. Holding her gaze for a moment, their opposite seemed to decide he wouldn't be getting any more than that, and turned back to the task immediately at hand.

Amidst the clatter of crockery, her partner opened his mouth once more. "Who's in country, anyone I know?"

A pause, as the answer was apparently considered.

"No-one and no, respectively. There's been rumours of a restructure in China's Ministry of State Security lately, and their intelligence services seem to have both been out to prove their worth. For now that has been making things quite hot, so we've had to pull back..."

In her seat, Monty stifled a disbelieving noise. If someone else's inter-service politics had caused the SIS to pull out completely, then it was not the SIS as previously painted to her.

"...Charlie Wilkes is incumbent Station Head for the Far East, you'll remember him Jethro, but you are only to make contact in case of dire emergency, or once you actually locate the press."

"That I can live with, though it seems a little off to ask for work done, but not also see fit to somehow bankroll it."

"Consider this down payment on a Grumman Goose."

Which meant they were on their own.

Good.

Her handler however was speaking again, having seemingly ignored the jab. "From that I presume though you want us to locate the press in your stead."

"And get it out if you can."

"Easier said than done."

Picking up a now filled teacup, Algy returned to his position at the table. Taking a sip, he appeared to savour the moment, before fixing his former charge with a firm gaze. "You always had a good imagination Blacker, sometimes too good. Use it..."

He paused.

"...now, did you want that cup of tea or not?"

Stepping from beneath the safe house's ivy-topped wall, Monty waited until her partner had secured the yard door, before letting him guide her off down the street, one hand placed lightly in the small of her back. Supposedly, about half a mile south, lay an RER station... which left plenty of time to get out of potential earshot before starting to talk.

At least the streets were clear.

Dropping out of the SIS establishment's sight as they rounded a corner, her partner's voice wafted down in low tones. "So that was different."

Glancing up at him, she kept her tone similarly quiet. "It was. I would dearly like to know how Algernon managed to find us."

A short pause.

"You heard him luv, they're the SIS. They've more manpower, more practice, more budget, and have had significantly more time to get themselves established and dug in across the globe. Best guess: someone at the Police would have tipped them off. If they'd managed to lay hands on the same information we did, and ran the same exercise, all they would then have had to do was pick a few choice locations and wait... and let's be honest here, Mathilde would not exactly have been making acquiring that information difficult."

"Hmm."

It was not a pleasant sound, and the hand at her back moved up to a shoulder to give it a squeeze.

"Presumably whomever that was would've been told who to look out for as well, which suggests we're getting a name for ourselves in the old office."

"Yes... I don't recall your ever introducing me to Algy as 'Vesper'. That would have needed to come from somewhere else."

Another pause as a group of teenagers passed, going the opposite direction, their eyes flicking briefly toward the fratello's younger half.

"Mary?"

The girl nodded. "Mary Christmas, Vanessa Lye... or whatever she's calling herself next we cross paths."

"If the SIS has been investigating Anagnos and the press, it would go some way to explaining her presence at Moonraker... and in Alexandria for that matter. Presuming she actually is SIS of course."

"There seems an increasing likelihood of it." She paused, taking a few more steps along tree-lined footpath to gather her thoughts. "Thing is, if we believe Algy's timeframe, Alexandria, and Moonraker in particular, were well before the SIS pulled their Hong Kong camera footage, so it couldn't be just jumping at that one tip-off. Presuming Mary was in Grindelwald following shipping leads, or in Alex after the press, it bears wondering just how far back she has actually been involved, and to what extent. To be honest it's not a line of thought I'm finding particularly pleasant."

Another pause, as this time her partner seemed to digest those words, a thumb beginning to once more work absently at her shoulder as they walked. Ahead, the RER line came into view, sunk below street level with tall, white buildings denoting its far flank. Stopping momentarily to orient themselves, the pair turned to move against traffic down a narrow, one-way lane above the railway.

Finally, Jethro spoke again. "No, it's not something I've been finding overly comforting either... and part of me is starting to wonder to just whose tune we may actually have been dancing. Of course, the question then is: do we continue the dance, and is doing so in our best interests?"

Now, Monty reached up to still her handler's thumb, before cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Admit it: part of you is also happy to feel needed."

The reply took a moment to come, and it was preceded by a somewhat crooked grin. "Perhaps a little, but to echo your previous thoughts somewhat: I don't like loose ends, and this may just be a chance to tie up a few in one go, Vito's included..."

Another pause.

"...How's your Cantonese?"

"Not great."

"Might be time then for the pair of us to brush up."