Chapter 16

Phileas and Rebecca commandeered a coach from outside. "Damn!" He cursed after they drove off.

Rebecca would have liked to second that sentiment but had no time. She had the missive from France and was finishing the rest of it.

Williams had been on watch of the brothers the day they were attacked. He had not seen what happened, but reported one of the two catching a carriage from the hotel, and directing the driver to Phileas Fogg's street. In getting a carriage to follow his subject, he didn't notice that someone else had been watching.

The League watcher reported Mark's location and Jules being in England at Phileas's home.

Rebecca read that part and paraphrased the rest. "The League's interest in Jules has not diminished with the loss of Count Gregory. They still want his inventive talents. Mark, going to your house sealed his death. The message orders his death and Jules taken back to France with Matthew for training."

"A training center," Rebecca said, dropping the message to her lap. "France has always been the center of League activity."

"Yes," Phileas said, holding on to a hand strap as the coach made a sharp turn on London's cobblestone streets. "It was where the Atlas was built, where the Count's preferred hiding place has always been. It makes perfect sense it would be the location for a training field."

"And this new League cell being set up in America?" Rebecca said. "I would hazard it was ordered put in place by the Count before his disappearance. To what purpose?"

"We will have to find that out after we see to Verne," Phileas said. His tone was controlled and precise, but Rebecca could tell he was as worried as she was.

They stopped the coach at the head of Sevile Row. It was near eight in the morning. There were lots of people in the street making deliveries to houses and going about their business.

Phileas led Rebecca around to the back of the houses. They entered his house through an open kitchen door. All was silent. At this hour, Passepartout and Fogg's houseguests should have all been in the kitchen getting breakfast. Dishes were seen set out with food on them, but nothing had been touched. There was an overturned chair and a heavy dipper lying on the floor.

With hardly a sound, the two trained agents made their way to the front of the house with guns drawn. In the hall, they found a table overturned and blood on the carpet. At the stairwell, they heard Mark and Jules talking upstairs. Mark was being directed to the cabinet where the medical supplies were kept. Phileas and Rebecca took the stairs like they had sprouted wings.

Passepartout was on the floor with a gash in his arm that was bleeding out on the carpet. Mark and Jules were tending to him. They had not heard them enter the house. On the floor to the other side of the hall was an unconscious watcher and another man sitting against the wall with a knife protruding out of his chest. The Foggs lowered their weapons.

Phileas knelt beside Passepartout. "What happened here?"

"The League coming to breakfast unannounced," the valet said with a wane smile. His face was pale, but his voice was still strong. "We explaining how bad of mannered they being."

Jules cut Passepartout's sleeve, revealing the damage.

"Oh, that will need stitching," Rebecca said. She headed to her room and back out of the house fast, cinching one of her jackets over a skirt as she headed for the stairs.

"There were three," Jules said as he wound a bandage over Passepartout's wound. "These two and one in the kitchen."

"No other injuries?" Phileas said.

"A few bumps," Mark reported. "Nothing to mention."

"Nothing here," Jules added.

Once Passepartout's arm injury was bandaged, He was taken into the guestroom to lie down. His own room, one flight higher, was too far to carry him.

Rebecca returned with Dr. Teasdale moments later. "There is a coach outside," she said. Agent Jordan, who had driven them, was with her.

"Jules, Mark," Rebecca called. "Come with us, please?" They followed her and Jordan without protest until Rebecca tried to shew them into the coach.

"Not a word." Rebecca ordered. "Into the coach. Mark, Matthew is already at Whitehall waiting for you. And Jules, you were also targeted in this attack. Those men had orders to take you back to France to a League training center. I will not have you or the Ridgemonts in any more danger." She slammed the door to the coach on their protests.

Jordan jumped back up to the driver's seat had headed off as fast as he could.

That done, Phileas and Rebecca looked over the mess of his invaded home with the same anger. They left the doctor to his work, retreating into the untouched study. Phileas was the first to speak as he poured two healthy portions of brandy for their shock.

"One intruder got away. The League will know by now their attack failed. Once the two upstairs are collected, we have work to attend to." Phileas said it with the solemn sound of a vow. "This was ordered from France. We need the location of that training center."

Rebecca looked into the welcome glass he handed her. "We can't attack it by ourselves, Phileas. And France isn't taking the League's threat seriously. I and Chatsworth believe they have been paid to ignore them."

"No doubt, but not everyone in France will have been bought," he said, dropping into a chair. "I wonder if some friends of ours there might want the League removed as much as we do?"

"I am sure if the threat were explained properly, some would be more than happy to do away with an anarchist training camp on their sovereign soil," Rebecca said. "However, Chatsworth considers the League's presence in France, their problem, not ours. He may not allow the expedition. I also recall you saying the same thing. I'm not sure this will be enough to convince him."

"I think I can talk him into seeing this my way," Phileas said with narrowed eyes. "We have a foreign militant movement working in France, importing arms through England to America. Who knows what trouble they are planning to cause there? Doing it through England threatens our relationship with both France and America. Chatsworth will allow anything I bloody well tell him to. If he does not, I may make a trip to see the Prime Minister and accept the offer to take over father's office."

That stopped Rebecca's heart in mid-beat. Phileas never wanted his father's place. He had resigned from the service, turning his back on it and Sir Boniface. He had turned down the Prime Minister's offer already.

Phileas noticed Rebecca's reaction but was beyond caring how his words were affecting her. He saw blood, League blood. Phileas wanted the League dead, once and for all. He would personally root them out of England and then France with his bare hands, and then tear them out of America before they could take root. For the last two years, he had helped his cousin fight isolated fires. He had seen people killed in the League's wake, good people of brilliance who fell under their power like Professor Marechal, along with hapless pawns whose lives and peace were destroyed like Mrs. Brown, the Ridgemonts, and Verne. They had been nearly killed too many times.

It had given Fogg a reason to wake up every morning, seeing that Verne stayed safe from that threat. But there was no real safety. Not until the League was gone. Now Phileas Fogg had the fire of a crusader running through his veins.

"When Passepartout is well enough, we will go to France," Fogg said. "And by the time I am through, the League will be no more."

The End