Chapter 3
Two weeks after leaving England, after much investigating and searching, Phileas and Rebecca were quietly making their way through the brush down a ridge leading to a large French chateau south of Bourbon after midnight. The family that originally owned this place had long since lost it in the Revolution. It remained a stately looking estate, but showed the neglect of disuse as weeds grew breast high along the grounds. At least it did on the side facing the main road.
On closer inspection, the old chateau's unkept façade disappeared when one circled to the back. Weeds were under control there, and lights showed in the windows. To the north, an extensive kitchen garden near detached buildings was surrounded by 10-foot tall, weedy looking stalks that were regularly visited and tended.
Rebecca, garbed in her fighting suit, looked through her field glasses into the dark night. Watching for movement, she counted the four sentries as they made their rounds. Phileas sat close beside her, dressed in dark clothing for the occasion. She pointed toward each sentry. He gave a nod and made signals to the five men with them. Three were English agents working in France. Two were French agents. Pierre and Deville were well known to Phileas. They were senior agents in the emperor's service, whom he had worked with during the War in Crimea.
Sir Jonathan had found a wing of the French government that did not care for the League of Darkness's activities or its power over certain key people. These officials had been more than happy for the help of their English friends in getting rid of that burden. Happy that is, so long as they were kept out of it until victory had been won. Then, of course, they would claim to have planned and accomplished the task themselves, allowing the English contingent to fade away as if they never were.
That suited Sir Jonathan just fine. He did not want his government's involvement in the handling of France's internal problems broadcasted. England's participation would be covered up, but her Majesty's help would have still been given, and would not be allowed to be forgotten. Britain would have a favor to call on should she need it in the future.
Phileas knew all that through Rebecca. It was the same old game. It was the way these things were done, no matter how shrouded in subterfuge and blatant cowardice by the players.
Not that it matters.
Phileas brushed the annoyance aside as he watched the meeting of the guard. I have five skilled agents for my team, most of which I know. Another fifteen or more police will come into play after the fight has been waged to handle cleanup. That is, if the signal is given that they are successful. Police weren't trained for this sort of work and would be worthless in the main assault.
Nonetheless, it is more than I had dared hope for.
He and Rebecca moved down the ridge with the French on their right, and the English agents Jones and Newhouse on their left. Once they all reached their positions, Rebecca spotted the last two sentries, completing the count to six.
From previous night watches, they knew the sentries were roughly spaced to provide a complete circle around the estate grounds. The watch moved in a slow circle to meet as three pairs once to the right, then to the left, a simple check point arrangement. After this next check point meeting, Phileas would order their attack.
"You know," Rebecca whispered to him. "This would be a grand place to live once the riff-raff is cleaned out. It is a little bigger than Shillingsworth Magna. Ever consider owning a piece of France for visits? This is not that far from Cousin David's estate."
Phileas smiled, giving his cousin/fiancé a sidelong glance. "Too far from Monte Carlo for consideration until now," he said. "But if this is a hint for a wedding present, let me know if you like it as much from the inside later."
The comment on wedding presents had been calculated to get a smile out of her, and it succeeded. He smiled back. This wasn't the time, but later, when the night's work was done. Bless Cousin Jessica for finally ending our walking circles around each other. After a few months of courtship, Rebecca warmed to the idea happily. And when I showered her with roses, champagne, with her favorite meal, she said yes, just before leaving London.
His pulse raced just thinking about her–so close to him, drowning in kisses. She said yes with only one reservation, no announcements until the little season. She bid for the deputy director's position was on Sir Billing's desk and she didn't want her impending marriage to interfere with her candidacy.
Totally understood. Lord knows a married woman would not be given a ghost of a chance at higher office, and I have no intention of standing in her way if that was what she wants. There is an ulterior motive in it. If Rebecca is promoted to an administrative position, she won't be going off on dangerous missions anymore. And that would be very satisfactory to my peace of mind.
Twenty minutes before two in the morning, all sentries quietly reached a checkpoint in the perimeter. They held that position for five minutes to make reports before turning back in the other direction to meet in another pairing. Not two yards from each other, the guards were attacked once.
Rebecca and Phileas dispatched their two with ease. This time, Rebecca noted happily, Phileas was not out to discharge excess anger as he had when they attacked Count Gregory's Canadian stronghold. He dropped his man cleanly with a minimum of fuss. So did the Frenchmen off to their right.
The agents to their left were out of their sight and having it harder. Agent Newhouse's man must have had eyes on the back of his head. He ducked the agent's blow and put up a good fight. Agent Jones came in from behind to help. Between the two, the guard finally went down.
Now, from three angles, the agents moved in. At exactly three o'clock, three simultaneous explosions shattered the night, coming from different areas of the estate. Entrances were made in strategic areas through locked doors and windows to facilitate gas bombings in the barracks and kitchen building to knock out personnel. Those gas bombs had become part of their arsenal by Sir Jonathan's reluctant permission. They were bigger and longer acting than the tiny one set in Rebecca's ring, which she had used to bring down soldiers in America. But they were just as fast acting and would dissipate after two or three minutes, allowing the French policemen to tie up the sleeping victims in safety.
The east wing was where the barracks had been located. Agent Jones and Newhouse handled that with the gas bombs. The French were handling the north side where the detached kitchen house was located. Odd activity had been seen coming in and out of that building. They also had gas bombs, but fewer windows to throw them through. That gave them the more arduous task. Once the main building was secure, their English helpers would join them.
Rebecca and Phileas dove through the front foyer of the chateau moments after the door fell off its hinges. Their part of the attack would be to contain an area believed to hold records and offices. As the smoke from the doorway dissipated, The Foggs found a parlor to the right and to the left a study. Phileas closed off the study and locked it with a little knob and keyhole cover contraption the French had brought to make doors impassible.
Rebecca went further down the front hall, gun drawn, watching for League personnel. The grand stairway leading to the upper floor was right in front of her, with the servant's hall to her left across the wide front hall. She raised her heavy pistol up, bracing it along the wall, waiting for attackers to show. The barracks population should be dealt with by the gas bombs, but one could never be sure plans would work perfectly.
Phileas finished his work at the front of the house, heading further in to find Rebecca. So far, the early commotion had died down. He found her in a servant's hall. One, two, three rooms were off the hall, filled to the ceiling with boxes. The fourth looked to be an office. He sealed all those rooms. At the end of the hall, he found a door with a stairwell leading down. That one he sealed too, and or good measure, pushed a cabinet in front of it. If there was anyone down there, he did not want them joining the party.
As Phileas pushed the heavy cabinet the last foot into place, shots were heard at the grand stairway.
He turned to leave with–Where is Rebecca? She was right here.
Another shot.
Phileas raised his gun and headed toward the main hall and the grand stairway they had seen earlier. He found Rebecca pinned at the entry of the parlor. Three men in League officer's uniforms fired on her from above. A fourth was working his way downstairs. She was outgunned and outnumbered. From his unknown position in the servant's hall, Phileas dispatched the soldier on the stairs, and one more on the upper balcony. The rain of bullets ended as the last gunmen visible dove for cover.
"Would you, please, stop taking off without me," Phileas called across the hall.
Rebecca apparently didn't hear him because she leaped for the stairs after her retreating attackers.
Phileas took the stairs close behind her.
They caught sight of three League soldiers retreating to a position at the far end of a long hall of doors leading to the east wing barracks. The confrontation turned into a standoff. The two parties were too far away and too well covered to make any headway. Without warning, a loud boom went off on the League's side of the hall.
Agent Jones's voice called out across the smoke-filled hall. "These three are down. Sorry to be a spoiler, but we could use some help."
Phileas and Rebecca worked their way down the hall, checking rooms before joining the agents in the east wing. The quick acting gas had done its work. League personnel in various states of dress were found crumpled on the floor. They would be out for nearly an hour. That would be plenty of time for the police to have them bound and ready for transport. They had been told there was an island prison off the coast waiting for all of them.
They found the trouble Agent Jones had mentioned. A small group of League officers unaffected by the gas had grouped together on the upper floor. There were maybe seven of them, protected from attack by the layout of the house. They were working their way to a back balcony stairway.
"If they leave the house, they will escape into the forest." Phileas said. His band of agents were too small to chase after escapees and the police weren't in the right position to see or chase them down.
Two officers with higher rank insignias made the balcony and ordered the others to cover their escape. Those two carried a large drawstring black bag each.
"Something very important there," Phileas said.
Looking about, he grabbed Rebecca's arm and propelled her to a nearby window. He threw open the window and grabbed what looked like a buckle at the waist of Rebecca's outfit. He pulled it, anchored it to the window ledge and barked out a one-word order.
"Down!"
Rebecca sat on the sill, slipping her body over the edge, and did a backward flip through the open air. She slipped down on a cord, unraveling from its place in her suit, anchored securely to the window ledge. Rebecca landed as gracefully as a butterfly in the thick, tall grass. Phileas climbed over the edge and descended after her, quickly sliding down the cord.
Moving around the corner of the building, they were moments ahead of the League officers with their precious bundles. Phileas took aim, intending to stop, but not mortally wound the fleeing officers. They could be important prisoners. His first shot hit one in the hip, making him drop his burden as he fell. The other man grabbed it up as he passed by, running headlong into the woods. Phileas had the time to take one more shot, but it hit a tree inches from its target, spraying bark and wood chips.
After that, there were no more chances. The officers on the upper floor, hearing the shots, broke into two squads, raining bullets on them and the agents still in the house. Phileas caught a shot across the shoulder close enough to tear his coat and cut a trail through flesh. It was not bad enough to stop him, but made the point he needed better cover. He abandoned his pursuit for safe cover behind a ruined stone wall.
For the next five minutes, shots were traded until the League officers ran out of ammunition. The two English agents upstairs came down with the surrendered but triumphant prisoners. They may have lost the day, but they had aided their superior in his escape.
Phileas pulled a flare gun from his coat pocket and fired into the night sky to signal the police. "Let's see how Pierre and Deville are doing."
The kitchen building was on the other side of the far side of the grounds, at the back corner of the west side. Black smoke was boiling out of it through blackened brickwork. The kitchen garden was ablaze. The front door was barred, but the back entrance was open.
Inside, the two French agents were disheveled and holding prisoners.
Agent Pierre was standing over conscious and unconscious prisoners with two weapons in his hands close to the door. Agent Deville appeared the worst off. He looked sick, green, and blackened from smoke. Too much smoke from the fire, or was it some other ill? He was half kneeling by a wall with what one might be presumed the former contents of his stomach in a puddle nearby. Phileas sidestepped the agent, heading for the interior. With Agent Newhouse taking over Agent Pierre's guard.
Pierre stopped Phileas with a hand on his good shoulder. "This is a medical ward of sorts," he said in a low tone. "Deville walked into that room unknowing. It's not pretty in there."
Phileas nodded, setting himself. The League of Darkness implanted watchers with devices to improve their senses and memory, or so it was believed. Few watchers were ever captured alive to test the theory. Mind screws were devices of discipline and presumably how Count Gregory used to keep track of his minions through mind control. Expecting to find patients recuperating from such implantations, Phileas looked inside–and immediately regretted it.
Inside were at least twelve men on cots half covered with sheets. They were all lying on their stomachs with the backs of their heads gone. The doctor or orderly who had dispatched the patients had dispatched himself as well. He was dead in the middle of the room next to his gun. Phileas turned from the carnage quickly to keep from joining his friend against the wall.
"This place must have been under orders should an attack on the compound happen," Pierre said behind him. "We were held off by those three," he gestured toward two dead men and one living woman, sitting under guard. "Others went straight to work on everyone housed here. As far as we have looked, there is not a soul left. The fire in the back is out of control. We have not tried to open the door. It is locked from the inside. The fire is too intense."
"That man caused it," Pierre said, gesturing at one of the unconscious men in an orderly uniform further away from the others. "I caught him fleeing through a window after setting the fire. He was carrying a lantern. In the struggle to capture him, the lantern broke. It caught that bunch of weeds on fire. I don't think we need to worry about that. It is far enough away from the main house not to be a danger. Odd though, they went up in flames so fast. There might have been something inside that jungle he was ordered to destroy."
"We will never know now," Phileas said. "It will have to be combed through after the fire is out." Phileas, Rebecca and Pierre finished checking the building for survivors. They found none. All four wards looked like the first. There were forty-seven dead in all.
Agent Jones joined them with some of the police. They took charge of the grizzly mess in the hospital and got control of the burning room. It did not really threaten anything. There were undamaged cabinets that might hold undamaged information, but it was too soon to know. Phileas ordered the building sealed off after the fire was put out. The police were not to disturb anything.
Now that the French had taken full control, the English agents left the premises. A full disclosure of what was found would be brought to the Aurora and taken back to England, along with any documents that spoke of League activities in England or her territories.
Phileas and Rebecca found themselves with another several weeks of work before returning home. The chateau held a wealth of information on the League, its activities, and the people who worked with or backed them. More importantly to the Foggs, records outlined the League's move to America. Something there was to come to fruition by summer. They now knew where to go and what might await them.
Nothing and no one had been found explaining what their one escapee was carrying. The League officer Phileas had shot, poisoned himself after being brought down. So had the two prisoners from the hospital building. No other prisoner had enough knowledge to tell anything important. The greatest loss was the medical facility records. The fire in the rear of it had done its work.
France's political faction working with Sir Jonathan took in all the information and ran with it. League outposts all over France were raided. The organizations backers and moles in government were gathered up, too. Louis Napoleon's government underwent a radical change of hands not seen since he took power in the mid-forties.
Phileas and Rebecca watched it all with only half interest. They had already set themselves for the second half of their mission, their trip to America.