"All right," said Josh, hooking his newly-built lightsaber onto his belt while his teammates finished clearing away the remnants of the morning's pancake breakfast. "Everyone has their assignments?"
Calls of "Yes" and "Good to go" and "Ready as we'll ever be, my young Padawan!" chorused in response. Suppressing a grimace at the latter, Josh glanced over the other three agents one last time, verifying their readiness. This time, no one was going to forget a blaster or a fake ID or anything else the lack of which had hampered their search efforts during the previous two days. This time, they were indeed ready.
"Let's go then, and may the Force be with us!" he said, and the four remaining agents of Terra Group's Team Paris scattered to the four corners of the city to hunt down their shield and their spy.
Lunch and dinner and another breakfast passed (more often than not skipped by one or another of the agents, caught up in their assigned investigations) before Team Paris met again. At noon the next day, they regrouped, settling weary bodies into four chairs around a small table at a restaurant not far from their apartment. No one mentioned the investigation at first, not until after the waiter had come to take their orders. Then Josh looked around the table, noting how Vickie looked as frustrated as he felt, Mike looked as tired, Becki looked as . . . well, it was hard to say what she looked. She was staring at her hands in her lap as if they were a mirror to another world, her expression one of either great concentration or total fatigue.
"Okay," Josh said finally, "now that we're all here, time for reports. First, there's been no further word on Brad's status, not since that transmission from Sci yesterday. Unless any of you came across anything." All heads shook in a tired and despondent negative, and Josh nodded slightly. "That's what I figured. Well, we'll just have to assume he can find his way back to us. He knows where we live, after all." Three tired, half-hearted grins acknowledged this remark.
"Next," Josh said, "what about Crispy? Any new developments there?"
Vickie shook her head. "I haven't heard back from Nick. If he even got my e-mails . . . I hope he has some idea what to do with them. I think we've done all that we can from our end of things."
Josh nodded. "All right. We'll leave that in Nick's hands, then. And that brings us to the reason we're actually here in Paris, aside from running around trying to find every Terra Group agent who goes missing: Cheriss and the shield. How did your investigations go, yesterday and this morning?"
Vickie was first to respond. "As we had discussed, I worked on the holonet addresses we found," she rubbed her tired eyes as she spoke. "I apologize for pretty much ignoring each of you when you came into the loft last night."
"It's all right," Becki said softly. "You were busy."
"What she said," chimed in Mike.
Vickie nodded methodically, almost like she was about to fall asleep. "The translation software got a great workout, though. I've about learned Aurebesh, though." A grin cracked her features for a moment.
"Did you find out anything?"
She shrugged. "Not really. Most were NRI links. The encryption software was good. Ghent must have written it. There were a few links to medical centers. Those confused me. The rest seemed to be to places selling military items, not unlike the shield we're looking for."
"Maybe she was trying to track down where the shield came from," Mike mused.
"Most likely. I also happened to find a link to the Internet."
"Internet?" asked Josh.
"Yep. I was trying to track down the site when you came in. That's why you only got a grunt and a wave."
He nodded in understanding. "What did you find?"
"Besides the fact that our loft doesn't have fiber so it took nearly six hours to track down an address?"
He glared at her.
"Get a grip. I'll tell you."
"Finally," I said. Thoroughly exhausted, I scratched the address down on a Post-it. Next I pulled out my PDA to use the GPS to figure out the location. "Warehouse district near the rail yards. How odd."
Even though I was so tired physically, my mind was racing. I wouldn't sleep, that was certain. Grabbing my jacket, I slipped out of the apartment to the street.
This late at night I knew I'd have to be careful. Especially in the area of Paris where I was going. By foot, it was going to take at least two hours to get there. There was no way I was going to do that.
As luck would have it, a guy on a motorbike happened by. He leered at me as he passed and stopped. Waiting for me to walk by, I could see him checking out his reflection. He looked to be just over six feet tall with long blonde hair. If he hadn't spoken in French, I would have sworn it was Mike, what with the trench coat and shades he was wearing. "Bonjour," he said with a slightly sexy accent.
I turned to look at him, taking in his form from top to bottom. "Bonjour," I replied. "I need to borrow your bike."
"Sure, sweet thing. Where to? My place?" He grinned broadly.
"No, you're going to let me have your motorbike." My left hand gestured outward and to the side.
"Oui, I am going to let you 'ave my motorbike." He got off and held it for me to slide onto the seat.
I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks. I promise you'll find it soon." I reached up and ran my hand down his face. "You just need a little nap." He collapsed in a heap by the road.
Now that I had wheels, I headed to the warehouse district as fast as I could. No need staying out any later than I had to. On the outer edge of the area, I carefully hid the bike. The GPS showed me exactly where I needed to go. I zipped up my black jacket and pulled the collar up. Sure, I could use the Force to conceal me, but this was much more fun.
As I approached the warehouse, I heard something familiar. The whine of an engine. But this was no ordinary engine. I slowly made my way around the corner of the warehouse and hid behind a stack of crates.
Peeking around, I saw what looked like a motorcycle. My ears, however, told me it wasn't. A man with a bulky overcoat jumped up on the back of the speederbike and took off. I immediately recognized the boots the man wore.
"Trooper." I waited for him to get far enough away before making my way towards the door of the warehouse. Enhancing my hearing, I listened for any movement inside. Nothing.
The door, however, was locked. Luckily, it was just a key lock. With a roll of my eyes, I telekinetically unlocked the door.
The warehouse was fairly empty. A few crates were stacked here and there. I pulled out my Maglite and illuminated the area. There were a few spots on the floor that looked like oil. Upon closer inspection, I found it wasn't Terran oil. "Since when are there still Imps around," I mused to myself.
"So, did you find anything of use?" Josh asked.
"I like to think so," Vickie replied. "One of the crates contained two and a half full body units of Stormtrooper armour."
Mike sat up quickly, suddenly quite awake, "And you left them there?!"
She shook her head and grinned. "Nope. My friend with the motorbike was kind enough to help me get it into the apartment building. He got his bike and I got a few really nifty toolbelts."
"You let a civilian help you," Josh said sternly.
She waved her hand in the air. " `You will not remember a thing,' " she recited without the use of the Force.
He nodded with slight approval. "Anyone else have any luck?"
Becki looked up, then down again quickly, but Josh had not missed the glance. "Becki, you have something?"
"Well, maybe," she said. "I don't know--I'm not sure exactly what to make of it. Most of the places on my list turned out to be dead ends. But there was one--it was rather odd." She held up her hands, out in front of her over the table, palms up and eyes still lowered like a supplicant presenting an offering. And then the other three saw what she was holding: a plant of some sort, a long thin stalk with narrow, glossy, grayish-green leaves branching off to either side. "Olive," Becki explained, in prelude to her story.
Even in that crowded little street in the Latin Quarter, the curiosity shop looked out of place. It looked well-suited to crowded streets, that is, but--not Parisian streets. There was an exotic air to it, barely palpable but unmistakable.
"Antiquités," said the sign over the door. After a moment's thought and a deep breath, I pushed the door open with a faint jingling of the bells over it and stepped down into the shop.
Antiquités didn't begin to describe the place. It took me a while to sort out just what the merchandise was; it was something like a three- family yard sale crowded into a one-family garage. Ancient tables and cabinets were covered and filled with the most inexplicable of odds and ends; in one corner stood a lamp shaped like an elephant's foot (maybe actually made from an elephant's foot; I didn't care to inspect it more closely and find out); in another, an old tailor's mannequin, draped in faded robes that must once have been brightly colored. Dice, jewelry, letter-openers, and paperweights, carved from every kind of stone or bone imaginable. A ram's head mounted on a plaque. Mismatched tableware apparently formed from some sort of vegetables--the gourd-bowls were recognizable, but the rest far beyond my ken. Weaponry--knives and swords fanciful enough (and of course looking old enough) that they might have been forged by the smiths of Charlemagne--and even an antique musket or two. Old picture frames displaying canvases faded beyond recognition; old vases still holding withered flowers; old advertisement posters in French and a dozen other languages, several in alphabets I didn't recognize; old clothes; old lamps; old books; old everything. Antiquités.
And curiosities, too--most of it looked pretty old, or perhaps really ageless, but it didn't all look antique. It all, however, did look quite curious. Much of it I couldn't begin to identify. I began to feel as if I'd stepped into a Balzac novel, and at any moment a wizened little proprietor would be offering me some mysterious old donkeyskin inscribed in Sanskrit. If wishing on it could bring us any closer to that bothersome shield, I'd almost be willing to try, despite the lifespan issues and all.
I wandered from table to table wondering what all this could have meant to Cheriss for her to mark the place on her map. As I neared the back of the store, suddenly things began to look less arcane, now oddly familiar. Then I stopped in front of a display of figurines and other more or less useful items carved from wood, and I realized why.
"Olive wood," I murmured, tracing my fingers along a painstakingly carved diorama, apparently intended to depict Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah.
"The very finest, Madame," answered a familiarly-accented voice behind me, and I looked back to see an old man--olive-skinned, not exactly wizened, but obviously the proprietor. "We import them directly from Bethlehem. My brother is a merchant there."
Indeed, I saw a tiny "Bethlehem" engraved under the artist's signature on the back of the diorama. And that explained the familiarity of other items near the olive wood to me; I recognized some of the same sorts of things I'd seen in the various touristy places we'd visited in Israel, nearly two years ago now. Before Project Boussh. Before . . .
Suddenly I didn't much want to look at anything olive. I turned around and addressed the shopkeeper. "They're beautiful. I haven't seen this much olive wood since the last time I was in Bethlehem."
"You are looking for something in particular?" he hinted, appraising me through narrowed, dark eyes.
Looking for someone is more like it, I thought--and that gave me an idea. "A gift for a friend," I said. "She's the one who recommended your shop to me, in fact; so I thought, where better to find something for her?" I pulled out a picture of Cheriss from our briefing package--still photo; a pity I couldn't use the holo here, as it's a much better likeness; and holo seems somehow only to add half the pounds that a Terran camera does; but even among the bizarrerie of this store's goods, a GFFA holoprojector would stand out just a bit too much. "I suppose you probably don't recognize her, just one customer among many. . . ." I mumbled, showing him the photo.
He showed no sign of recognition that I could detect; it's moments like these I could wish to have a Jedi along for the investigation, to read in a man's thoughts what I can't in his face. "Unfortunately, no. But what sort of gift do you have in mind, Madame?"
"Well . . ." I glanced around the shop, and then the display of weaponry in one cabinet gave me another idea. "She's an amateur swordswoman, of a sort; she's very into the whole Medieval thing, collects weapons, even--" I nodded at a mismatched suit of armor standing next to the cabinet-- "working on building her own suit of armor. In fact . . . I believe now she's just looking for a shield to go with it." And this time I watched his face even more closely. If it wasn't my imagination, at my mention of the shield his eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit more, the muscles of his neck tensed, and for a moment he held his breath. Or maybe that was just my own heart skipping a beat.
"I'm sorry," he said when the moment had passed, "I don't believe we have such a shield as your friend is looking for. Perhaps a rapier would suit her?"
"Yes," I answered, "I think it would."
"So now I have a nice, highly decorative sword back at the apartment," Becki concluded, "as well as this olive branch. I . . . he had the branches in a vase there with the olive wood stuff, and it reminded me. . . . Well, olive is the Queen's symbol."
"Olive," Vickie mused. "Bethlehem? You think there's a connection there? That the shopkeeper has something to do with the shield?"
"I'm not sure now," Becki said, "but at the time, his reaction when I mentioned the shield--I don't know, but I think it could be something."
"Has to be something," said Josh, "since it was on Cheriss's map."
"Yeah, tell that to all the dead ends we searched yesterday from that map," Mike grumbled.
"Maybe the shopkeeper was actually one of Cheriss's contacts," Becki said.
"But he didn't recognize her picture," Vickie pointed out.
"We have to assume Cheriss was working in disguise, though, at least part of the time," Josh said.
"Or maybe he's not her contact," Becki continued. "Maybe he's involved with the shield somehow, and she was trying to trace him to it."
"Maybe it's something and maybe it isn't," Josh concluded. "I don't think we can do much more with it for now. Mike, what about you? What did you find?"
Mike pulled his hand from his pocket and flipped something into the air. "Well, I found that."
The coin turned over and over in the air as it headed towards Josh. He grabbed it with his hand and slapped it on the table. "Heads," he called before lifting his hand.
The coin was bronze colored with an outer ring in nickel. What looked to be a palm tree was on its face. Josh picked it up to study it more. Strange writing wound around the right side.
Becki looked over to study the back of the coin. She immediately recognized it. "That's a ten-Shekel coin." She reached over and turned the coin around for Josh to see. Written on the back in several languages, including English, was "Israel" and "New Sheqalim". A large number ten was embossed in the center.
"Where did you find this?" Josh queried.
"Ah, now we can get to the good stuff." Mike grinned as he leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.
"Too many places, not enough time," I muttered to myself. Why Vickie got the easy job was beyond me. She got to sit inside where it was nice and warm and play on the computer all day. "I bet she's playing Rogue Squadron."
I had already met twelve dead ends. And the thirteenth -unlucky for some- promised to lead the same way. I hunched deeper into my coat to keep warm as I walked. When I arrived at my destination, I smiled.
Sauntering inside, I made my way to the far end of the bar. "Pint," I said, simply, to the barman as I dropped a note on the bar.
The man nodded and began pouring my drink. I leaned against the bar to look around. Looks like everyone around here wants to be left alone, I thought. There were many dark corners. I really liked this place.
I turned and picked up the frothy mug before me and took a deep swig, grimacing at the large head. My ears caught something happening nearby. I couldn't understand the language, unfortunately, but it sounded pretty harsh. Kind of like Russian, but with more "el" sounds.
It wasn't long before I did hear one word I knew. Allah. I guessed they were probably using his name like many English-speaking people use God's. I strained a little to try and hear more, sliding my stool a bit closer. My head suddenly began to pound, although I hadn't had that much to drink yet. My vision blurred, and I wavered against the bar. The pain grew rapidly, and I could feel myself beginning to pass out, and then, nothing. I felt fine. Clear headed, even. Suddenly, I could understand what the men were saying, as well. They must have switched to English, fearful of French Arabic speakers, of whom I seemed to remember there were a significant number.
"Was it moved as planned?"
"Yes, it should arrive in a few days."
"Allah will protect us."
"This machine will protect us even more."
"Hush, we are being watched."
Whoops. I downed the rest of my beer and slammed the glass on the bar. "Another," I said, pointing at the glass. Bars are wonderful places to watch people. So busy, so full of reflective surfaces, so much alcohol to drink. . . .
I cast my eyes about as the bartender refilled my mug. I saw two men stand to leave. They were dressed normally; no robes or anything to make them stand out, but that would be too much to hope for. I downed the beer in one gulp and left another note on the bar. Standing up, I thanked the man and staggered from the bar. Best to look drunk. That will keep anyone from being suspicious.
Just outside, I looked for the two men. They hadn't gone far. Pulling up the collar of my coat, I slumped my shoulders and began following.
Ten. Fifteen. Thirty minutes. It was hard to follow for so long without being noticed. At times, I had to take a gamble, and allow them to take different roads to me. At one point, my jacket came off, and was quickly reversed, then tied around my waist. Finally, they went down an alley. I followed quietly and hid behind some boxes. They met up with several others and were talking to each other in their language rather quickly. I strained to try and hear.
All I could hear was the cat I happened to disturb from its meal. It hissed at me and I accidentally bumped into the boxes, knocking some over. Then my head began to pound again, worse than before. Before I could work out exactly what was wrong, well, I guess I just blacked out. I don't know if I hit my head or what, but . . . .
"Before I knew it, everyone, including the cat, was gone. The only thing I found was that coin and a small scrap of paper." Mike pulled the paper from his other pocket and laid it on the table.
Vickie leaned over to look. "Almost looks Aurebesh."
"Close. It's Hebrew," Becki said quietly. "I recognize a few of the letters--they look a lot like Aurebesh."
"We'll take it back and have Zee translate it," Josh said as he took the paper to put in his own pocket.
"Zee doesn't even know French," Becki said in exasperation. "Do you really think she can understand Hebrew?"
"Point."
Vickie cocked her head towards him. "So, Padawan, what did you find?"
Josh flashed a look at Vickie that was slightly more irritated than usual before shaking his head. "Nothing sounds as much like Russian as Russians speaking Russian. . . ."
I was feeling insufferably pleased with myself for a man who'd lost fully a third of the force assigned to him. Brad was alive, even if he still wasn't with us, and for some reason I was beginning to believe Vickie about Crispy. More important to my over inflated sense of self worth, though, was the lightsaber that hung in a shoulder holster under my left arm. I'd come out of the trance feeling more awake and purely alive than I had in a long time. I could feel the lightsaber calling to me, telling me that together nothing could stand in our way.
It was fortunate I'd left the apartment or I'd probably have spent the entire day turning it on and off and back on again, just to see the brilliant blue blade appear and disappear. Though I was sure I wouldn't actually wear it out, as my Dad would have warned me I would had he seen me, it just didn't do for a Jedi and a mission commander to be playing with a lightsaber as though it were a toy. Still, I wanted to see it, turn it on, feel its energy. I wanted to shout to the rooftops, Look what I have created!
A small part of my mind quietly chastised me for my pride. I wanted to ignore it, but I knew it was right. During an undercover operation it was always best to keep my Force-presence as small as possible, and the way I was feeling probably made me shine like a supernova. For now I would just have to enjoy the weight of my new weapon under my jacket.
I found the alley I was looking for - God, I was beginning to despise Parisian alleys - and turned down it. This alley was not unlike the one Becki and I had found ourselves in a few days ago. In fact, were I not sure that I was on the other side of town I might have convinced myself that this was indeed one of those same alleys.
No, there was one difference: this alley was dark. Much darker than the ones Becki and I passed through. In those there was some natural light filtering down from above, or maybe it was just Becki's presence that made them seem brighter. Here, though, the light seemed to end a story and a half above. Dark shadows were cast all around despite its being the middle of the day.
I followed several twists and turns in the narrow road as I neared my objective. Which I still wasn't sure what it was, but I supposed I'd find out when I got there. I just hoped that on the way out the path was as direct and as obvious as it seemed coming in.
I turned a corner and found myself only ten meters from a quartet of rather unfriendly looking young men standing around an irregular pile of overturned crates they appeared to be using as a table and chairs. At a glance I could tell they weren't French, but at first I couldn't place their nationality.
Before I had a chance to put a great deal of thought into it I heard a scuff of leather on concrete behind me. I stretched out with the Force and found two more goons back there. The ones in front of me stood up and came over to surround me. It was then that I noticed most of them carried metal pipes or chains.
The one in the middle stopped less than a foot from me, the toes of his boots practically resting on mine. "Chto vy khotite," he demanded. In Russian. Well, that answered that question. I had no idea what he'd said, but I knew he wasn't asking me to join them for tea.
I didn't answer; instead I just looked at him passively. It wasn't the best tactic for dealing with thugs, as it tended to infuriate them, not to get a response, but it wasn't like I could carry on an intelligent conversation about the fall of the Iron Curtain with him. These looked like the sort of guys who weren't aware it had fallen. Which was another good reason to keep my mouth shut. There was no need to let them know I was an American.
"Chto vy khotite!" he barked again as his friends all took a step closer to me, tightening the circle to an uncomfortable coziness. I just smiled at him, and he rewarded me with one of the most cold, malevolent smiles I've ever seen.
And then the fight was on.
The lead goon pulled his fist back and began a swing at me. I ducked faster than his eye could follow, and his fist sailed over my head. As he pulled it back in surprise I leaped into the air and somersaulted out of the circle. I landed easily on my feet a couple of yards behind the one who swung at me. The goons on the near side whirled around to face me, covering their surprise well.
With their first step toward me I stretched out my right hand palm out and Force-pushed the center of the circle into a tangled heap of arms and legs. That left two of the six on their feet. One charged me, the other threw his chains. I caught the charging one in a Force- pull that sent him sailing past me to crash into the pile of crates. I didn't notice the chains, though, until they'd wrapped around my ankles and knocked me to the ground. Their wielder placed his heavily booted foot on my back, apparently under the impression that would be enough to keep me down. I turned my left palm back and Pushed him as hard as I could. He sailed backwards through the air until he encountered a nearby brick wall at full speed, and dropped senselessly to the ground.
By now the other four were back on their feet and headed in my direction. One saw me lift my head to look in their direction, and he flung his pipe at me as hard as he could. I reached under my jacket and yanked the lightsaber from its holster. In one swift movement I ignited it and swung it through both the pipe in the air and - yanking my ankles as far apart as I could - the chains around my legs.
I sprung to my feet and faced the four remaining Russians with my lightsaber held at the ready in front of me. "You see that?" I asked them, nodding towards the two piles of chain at my feet. "That'll be you if you don't back off."
None of them heeded my warning.
I faked a forward lunge, sending two of the thugs scrambling back away from me. I snapped a vicious side kick into the stomach of another who wasn't as quick to back away. As he slumped to the ground I released my lightsaber into my left hand, and yanked my small, disguised blaster from the small of my back with my right. I dropped to one knee and fired a stun blast up into the chest of the fourth Russian, who was swinging his pipe down right at my head. He crumpled on top of me, and I quickly stood up to toss him off.
When I did I found the last two running off down the alley as fast as they could.
"I searched the boxes and the guys on the ground, but found nothing of interest in finding Cheriss or the shield," Josh said with a frown.
"You're sure they were Russian?" Mike asked.
"I may not be able to speak them all, but I've always been able to recognize most languages. Trust me, they were Russian. It's got a very distinctive sound. Oh, and I found this on one of them," Josh said as he tossed a small pin onto the table.
Vickie raised an eyebrow. "Former Soviet Republic flag. Must be either old uniforms or those who don't want to give up hope."
Becki saw the look on Josh's face after Vickie spoke and tried to sidetrack the forthcoming argument. "Why would Cheriss meet with Russians, former or not?"
Mike shrugged. "They were interested in the shield? It could help them, in many ways."
Josh nodded. "Agreed." He held up the coin Mike had found and turned it over his knuckles. "The majority of our clues seem to be pointing towards the Mideast and Israel, though."
"Yes, but what about the Imp Vickie saw, or even the Russians?" Becki asked.
"Well, we certainly can't ignore those. But absolutely everything else is pointing to the mideast."
"Then," said Vickie, "maybe we've outstayed our welcome in Paris. We should move on to Israel and continue the search there."
Josh shook his head. "We don't know where in Israel to start looking, though. And we still don't know where Cheriss ended up. We still have a few leads here; let's keep looking, and maybe we can answer those questions."
"But only a very few leads," said Becki. "Maybe we need to look at things from a new angle."
Vickie began to ponder their situation. A movie suddenly came to mind. "Musketeers."
"Pardon?" Mike asked. "Did you say `Musketeers'?"
She sat forward. "What are the French known to be really good at?"
"Football," he said with a grimace.
"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "Swordplay. The Musketeers were French. If I remember correctly, there is a huge fencing school here in Paris."
"And you know this how?" Josh asked.
Vickie blushed slightly. "After I got back from Coruscant the first time, I realized I needed to learn more than one style of sword fighting. So, I searched the Internet for schools that offer different styles."
"Did you apply anywhere?" Becki asked curiously.
She shook her head. "No, but they had movies online of matches. I watched them for hours, absorbing everything."
"Bloody showoff," Mike muttered.
Becki giggled and elbowed her wingmate. "She's got a point, though. Cheriss is an accomplished swordswoman. She probably checked out the school to get some practice."
"Then perhaps we should go there," Josh suggested as he waved the waiter over to pay the check. "We've pretty much exhausted the rest of our resources."
"All except the last place on my list," Mike said.