Chapter 9

Walking down the streets on the way to a warehouse in one of the less fashionable sections of the city of Paris, Phileas Fogg considered what he would do and what he had left back in London. Phileas had not liked the idea of leaving London, but Chatsworth required him to oversee the operations in Paris.

A few agents had been assigned to Verne's side of this operation. Fogg knew they had rented warehouse space. In the short time since the operation had started, a lot of records and accounting information had made everything look good. Jules himself would not see a penny of the money being sent to Paris for him. That was being held in an account to be used as evidence later should Jordan show up with records that did not agree.

Fogg had involved his own solicitor with the main body of paperwork for Verne's enterprise in London. They had injected nothing, just examined the papers to see if there were any catches or deep holes to sink into. Besides Jordan and his unnamed future associate backers getting a sixty percent share of anything that could be patented from the research, the contracts had been quite legal and standard.

In the intervening time since Fogg had set up Verne to meet with Jordan, the man was a perfect gentleman toward Rebecca. Verne had said he had been solicitous, but otherwise proper during their lunch. Jordan had only contacted her once for a meeting in his offices.

Rebecca wasn't in the habit of telling him who she saw daily, but the discreet watch he had set up reported it. That agent had seen no issues since then. He would send further reports to him through Chatsworth.

That part had not been easy for Phileas to set up. Most all agents knew each other to some extent. All knew Rebecca, of course, and she had worked with many of them. An agent had to be brought down from Scotland for this purpose. To further keep problems down, Chatsworth kept Rebecca away, giving her no reason to come to the offices.

Phileas dealt with it all in the thorough manner he had always handled supervisory tasks. His last few years in the service had been filled with such work. But it was an uncomfortable position to be swept back into and an uncomfortable agreement to keep with Chatsworth. It went very much against the grain for him to be doing all this behind Rebecca's back.

Phileas was not sure how to interpret Chatsworth's attitude toward Rebecca's abilities. It seemed like something of a mixed bag, but was better than the condescending attitude he used to take. He now thought her competent yet incapable of duplicity.

And just what did the man think spying is all about? Rebecca could go from minx to shy, innocent, to temptress, to Amazon and back again to frivolity itself in the blink of an eye. The fool clearly hasn't a clue what his agents went through in the field. Just as I have always said.

Even so, he understood Chatsworth's insistence on her being kept ignorant. Phileas hesitated a moment, but faced that admission squarely. He did not like it. He was not personally cold-blooded enough to operate that way. Yet it was the way it was often done. It had been one of those things that grated on him before his resignation.

I saw him use agents, me included, as pawns for the greater good without allowing a full understanding of the greater picture, more often than I can count. Spy craft is not a gentleman's game. It's a dirty business I never cared for, but here I am, in it to the hilt, for Rebecca's sake.

Another thought occurred. Odd how I should feel guilty about what I am doing when Rebecca has been only too happy to connive me into missions. That sour thought brought back the memory of Chatsworth's revelation about Rebecca volunteering him for the mission in Canada. He had been shot at and framed for murder in that mess.

He now wondered if that had been why Chatsworth sent him to Paris.

My natural protective instincts, where Rebecca is concerned, have been making this very difficult. I worry about the time to come when she will feel alone in Jordan's web. I worry she might take the matter into her own hands, in a manner that won't leave anything to prosecute.

If she were told what was going on, there would be no reason to worry.

He chaffed at Chatsworth's instructions. From his own point of view, dealing with Isaac Jordan had been a trial in self-control. A few days after the paperwork had been started, he had chanced upon Jordan at his club. The Reform Club, one of the more liberal gentlemen's clubs in London, was not one Mr. Jordan usually frequented, but he had been making a presence there for the last week. The businessman had come upon him before a game with friends. They had shared a glass of brandy together.

"Your young friend Verne is going to be a very promising investment to my associates and I. We have high hopes for his success."

Phileas made some complementary remarks, for Verne's sake.

The man mentioned Rebecca and asked about his relation to her and how they had become friends with Jules. Fogg told him the truth. They were cousins, raised together, and offered the agreed fiction he and Rebecca had concocted to answer such inquiries. It was perfectly plausible, considering that artists of all ilk lived and worked through patronage.

Phileas said, "Jules was a law student, and a fledgling writer. We saw one of his plays and chose to quietly back his endeavors. The man was on the verge of starving. A bit of money to keep him fed, buy paper and ink, and a foot in the door of a few playhouses seemed a worthy charity. Who knows? One day Verne may make something of it. He might publish the works he shows us."

"Or he may make a success of himself as an inventor and write his plays as a leisure pass time," Mr. Jordan said. "His writing never came up in our discussions, but I can see an optimistic young man such as him whipping up heroic epics. Miss Fogg seems to have great faith in him. I had mistaken her for an English relative when she came to my first meeting. Her demeanor had been almost sisterly."

Phileas sighed and frowned. "She does dote on him. Our backing of him is more a matter of her wishes than mine. I do not object, but Rebecca is the one who prompted it."

"Well, some ladies like to take in strays," Jordan said, understanding. "If helping along an attractive young Frenchman makes her happy, who are we to judge?"

The double implication of the remark would normally have gotten the man knocked cold. Phileas had foreseen where this conversation was headed and readied himself. He looked down at his drink and ignored it.

Mr. Jordan said, "Does Miss Fogg have anyone, any understandings? Your cousin is a fine woman. If she is agreeable and not spoken for, I thought to take her attention away from Mr. Verne. My intentions are perfectly respectable, as long as you have no objections, being a near relative."

Phileas's body language and face were the soul of fraternal camaraderie. "No. Rebecca isn't seeing anyone else, and she is her own woman. I do not take any authority over her associations. If she will see you, I have no objections," he lied.

"Perhaps I will send her a note making the request," Mr. Jordan said. "Good day, Mr. Fogg."

Phileas joined his game partners and took his pent-up anger out on them. He decimated them with dispatch. The game ended early. His wiser opponents had acknowledged Lady Fortune's favor on him and had not chosen to be beggared. The less wise were given a lesson to take home with their empty pockets.

Coming back to the here and now in Paris, Phileas, with Passepartout in tow, found the warehouse with little trouble. Nothing was happening there but the creation of false records. Verne, he discovered, standing by a table arguing with an agent over something. Fogg moved in that direction to see what the trouble was about.

"Really Monsieur Verne," the agent said, "I do not know what you're getting so worked up about. After all, this is just a sham up."

"But this sham up, as you put it," Verne differed with conviction, "will be looked over by real men of science. I've met some of them. If we do not log the experiments and make records to reflect what they relate properly, someone is going to get suspicious. They may even show up in Paris to inspect what isn't going on. You must set the records up in a flowing manner from the research log. I have already given you some material to go by, but you are not using it right."

The agent saw Phileas before Verne did. "Sir," he said. "Good to see you. Will you please explain to your friend here that we know how to handle these things?"

The agent looked at him, begging for him to shut Jules down. Phileas let a slight smirk show.

"They do know how to handle the paperwork and accounting, Verne," he said; "but Verne is right on his side of matters. Do you have anyone here familiar with the science being used? Verne understands it and you should pay attention if he says your records don't reflect the science properly. I have met the experts in Mr. Jordan's employ. Sloppy logs will not fool them."

The agent took the rebuke and turned to his counterparts with the experiment logs Jules had created.

"Thanks, Fogg," Verne said.

Phileas took the seat the agent vacated.

"How are things going in London?" Jules said.

"Jordan has approached me concerning Rebecca, but has not acted on his intentions yet. We may have to arrange a second meeting between them if he doesn't act as we hope. Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to be part of this farce." You were the first name to come to mind when the plan of action had been developed.

Jules, honestly pleased, said, "I am always willing to help. Why is it so important that he meet with Rebecca? I can think of easier ways to that set up without going to all this trouble. I don't understand–"

"All of it has a part to play."

Fogg cut him off before his curiosity got the better of him. "Your part is to help us prove Jordan exploits and cheats his business partners. Rebecca's part is to get close enough to see how he does it. Verne, for the time being, she will be very busy, so please do not send her any correspondence or try to contact her. I am your contact should you have any problems that the agents cannot handle."

There, that should handle Verne causing any problems, he hoped.

Phileas declined to answer the original question, as this was a mission and Jules had only a small part in it to play. Jules did not need to know all. Phileas didn't want to go into the other details with this idealistic young man. Fogg never liked it when Rebecca was used as bait on a mission. She wouldn't be getting shot at this time, but the principal was the same. His cousin was getting used, and this time unawares, with his prompting and consent.

Phileas was reminded how his father had used this sort of ends-justifies-the-means attitude. Phileas had not liked it then and did not like it now, but he was still not in charge of the service, and as such, did not make policy. The whole thing made him feel soiled. Verne would feel the same way and likely unbraid him for agreeing to it. Right now, Phileas was having enough problems in his own head following Chatsworth's plan. Getting a heaping portion of Verne's self-righteous indignation would be too much.

"Certainly, I understand." Jules said.

The sound of the younger man's voice pulled Phileas back to the here and now.

"I thought Passepartout and you could collaborate on the experiments to use in the logs," Phileas said, changing the subject. "I will stay in Paris for a few weeks to oversee things."

Jules brightened. "That would be great. Passepartout knows more of the practical side of this. You know I am more theoretical. He was invaluable in bringing my proposal together. I do not really know much about engine research. I read some journals before meeting with Mr. Jordan to keep from showing my ignorance, but Passepartout is the real man to be handling this."

Fogg accepted the truth of that. He had known the man who became his valet was far more intelligent than his servant's status would dictate upon meeting him. The Frenchman's eyes alone said that. Later, he found out that he had been the designer and engineer of many of the Aurora's controls. Passepartout had also, over the course of their association, admitted to having been a Paris Fireman, a researcher at the British Royal Museum, an Acrobat, and had shown skills in weapons, martial arts, and other hand to hand combat skills.

One evening, I'm going to get the man drunk and find out just how he has come to such a collection of experiences.

As he was thinking about that, the man himself came to Jules, interrupting their talk. The Frenchman had been looking over the experiment logs with the agents as they were discussing it. He had it in his hands.

"Jules, I am reading experimental log. You making battery too capable. The power your battery putting out is twice too little for mechanism you drawing," He pointed to the drawing in question. "Need bigger battery or must redesign old one."

"Really?" Jules said. "It's that underpowered?"

The two men excused themselves and left Phileas to go over Jules's misstep.

Phileas watched for a time as they became more and more engrossed in their theories, lapsing into their native tongue for ease of discussion.