"M'us'teers… Di'mon stus…"

"All right, now we're getting somewhere," Mongoose said. He turned to the agents standing behind him. "We'll have this wrapped up by tonight." He turned back to the terrorist. "All right, we know that the musketeers are going to be sent out to retrieve the diamond studs from Buckingham. What's Taylor going to-"

Tonio suddenly jerked back in his chair. Blood began pouring from his ears, mouth, nose and eyes.

"Son of a bitch!" Mongoose jumped up, toppling his chair. Furiously, he kicked the chair across the room. Tonio's head lolled grotesquely against the back of the chair he was tied to. Blood dripped down onto his clothing, made droplets on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" said one of the other agents, rushing up to inspect the body. "How could he-"

Mongoose turned away. "Explosive implant," he said, flatly. "Detonated by remote control. Poor bastard probably didn't even know about it. Those tooth capsules were there just to throw us off. Taylor hasn't missed a trick."

"Jesus."

"I took a long shot and it backfired," Mongoose said. "We should've taken Bennett right from the beginning, instead of using him as bait."

"Want us to bring him in now?"

Mongoose nodded. "Yeah. Bring him in. But don't be rough with him. He'll probably be very glad to see you. He's got no friends now and he'll be scared. I think he'll want to talk."

"Suppose he's got one of those explosive implants, too?"

"Not a chance. Taylor would've detonated it, instead of sending people after him. No, good ole Doc Bennett's probably the guy who did the operation. It's nice and simple. A little shot while you're asleep and five minutes later, presto, walking time bomb."

"Some doctor."

"You're wasting time. I want Bennett in my custody before nightfall. He gave us the slip with that clever secret passageway and it may cost him his life. Get out there and find him before Freytag does."

"You know what I've been thinking?" Finn asked Lucas.

Lucas belched and patted his stomach. "What?"

"I've been thinking that we got a raw deal. We soldier our damn buns off and all these characters ever do is drink and brawl and screw. Some life, huh? Join the king's musketeers and get paid for raising hell."

They had joined the musketeers for dinner at Moreau's Tavern and, after stuffing themselves until they couldn't possibly eat another mouthful, Finn and Lucas sat kicked back against the wall, sipping wine and watching as Porthos and D'Artagnan regaled the crowd with an impromptu demonstration of the finer points of swordsmanship. Several tables had been pushed aside for the two to occupy the center of the room, where Porthos was discoursing upon the advantages of the Parisian style of fencing over the Florentine style. The Parisian style, as defined by Porthos, consisted of holding a rapier in one hand and a wine goblet in the other. He kept up a steady stream of chatter as he parried D'Artagnan's playful thrusts with exaggerated flourishes of his sword and Moreau's customers were loving it, guffawing, shouting "Well struck!" and pounding on the tables.

Aramis, emphasizing that he was preparing for the clergy, occupied himself with trying to convert the prostitutes. One at a time, he took them upstairs to lecture them upon the virtues of clean living and piety.

"I keep thinking about what Mongoose said," said Lucas. "I just find it hard to believe that one of the musketeers could be an impostor. Surely, it can't be D'Artagnan. Porthos seems like the real thing, all right, and Aramis-"

"If one of them is an impostor," said Delaney, "I'd say that this is our most likely candidate, right here."

Athos came back to the table, having left to get more wine. He sat down heavily and set several bottles on the table, bottles that were refilled periodically from casks Moreau had in his cellar.

"This wine is swill," said Athos, "but my throat is parched and I'll settle for almost anything. Come, Francois, Alexandre, drink up. It's our duty to get rid of all this garbage so Moreau can go out and buy some decent wine."

They refilled their goblets. Athos kicked back his chair to lean against the wall beside them. He frowned as he saw Aramis heading upstairs with yet another potential convert.

"Women," he said, scornfully. "They'll be the death of him yet." He was slurring his words slightly. "It's a wonder he hasn't gotten himself poxed already."

"You don't much care for women, do you?" Lucas said.

"I have no use for them."

"No romance? Never been in love?"

Athos stared out into the center of the room, eyes unfocused, seeing something other than the swordplay and the crowd.

"Once," he said, softly.

Tags: Simon Hawke TimeWars Science Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net