A Fight for Love and Glory, a Case of Do or Die

Thursday nights alway brought in the most lively crowds. If there wasn't a fight between the soldiers and the locals, there was the drunken dancing that most seemed to enjoy, or at least, too drunk to take offense to it. The cigar smoke hung in the air, staining the walls as much as the peeling paintjob, which, admittedly, was ages ago.

Frieda sat from her table, casually surveying the scene. A band was onstage, playing something familiar, but she never bothered to ask for the title. Her maitre'd brought new acts every week or so. Had to. People got bored easily. That was never a good thing.

She was engaged in a conversation, currently, with some no name of a soldier, desperately trying to take her home. It was not in the cards for him. Frieda had been trying all night to turn his attention to a friend of hers, but he was single-minded. He was German, after all.

"Madame Fraulein, You 'ave a telephone call," Molyneux whispered. She was delighted to have a reason to leave.

"Gentlemen, please excuse me. Anita here will keep you company." She stood and took Molyneux by the arm, an an escort across the floor. "Make sure I am not disturbed. My head is pounding and I am running low on civility this evening."

"Oui, Madame."

Justinien walked along the street toward the place he had been informed of. He was told that he could find the information he needed here. Unfortunately, no amount of intelligence could tell him whether this place was Assassin or Templar-run. He kept a firm handshake ready in one hand and his pistol close to his side. A woman stepped out of the building. She looked dreadfully familiar. Justinien checked the picture in his pocket. It was a match. Frieda somethingorother. He followed her closely, careful not to stir to much attention.

Around the backside of the dancehall was a fire escape, which she used for easier access. Only certain member of her circle were allowed through the club entrance to her private apartments upstairs, roped off and behind a locked door and several very large off duty soldiers (in exchange for drinks tomorrow, of course).

The weather here disagreed with her terribly. If it wasn't the rain, it was the pollen. She blinked against the suddenly bright overhead light as she mounted the stairs. She whistled at a rather amorous couple that had found a convenient spot on her fire escape.

"Do you mind?" she grumbled, waiting for them to climb down. They didn't meet her eye as they passed. She looked out into the dark street for a moment as they collected belts and jackets. This place...

Frieda unlocked the door and bolted it back into position when she gained entry. the switch by the club entrance was off. She flicked it on, alerting her guards to be especially mindful of their charge. It also flashed a small light at Molyneux's station. In five seconds, he was to hang up the telephone and allow her privacy on the line.

Whoever she was, she was good. Justinien did not earn the Mentor's trust by stopping at good, though. He paused at the foot of the building. He needed to understand this place one way or another. Who was that man she was speaking to?

Frieda picked up the receiver. When she heard the click of Molyneux's service line disconnect, she began.

"Guten Abend. Geiger hier," she sweetly said. Could be a potential investor, after all.

"Fraulein Geiger. Endlich. Wir haben für Sie gesucht" (At last. We've been looking for you.)

Or not. Frieda blanched.

"Ich war nicht versucht sich zu verstecken, Herr Sekretär." (I wasn't attempting to hide, Mr Secretary.)

"All das gleiche. Wir haben Sie gefunden. Haben uns die Güte, Fraulein Geiger und dort verbleiben. Möge der Vater-" (All the same. we have found you. Do us the kindness, Miss Geiger and remain there. May the Father-)

She slammed the receiver down onto the cradle. Hanging up on the Secretary of the Home Department was not the wisest of decisions.

Frieda glanced at the clock on her desk. Let them come. She'd rather face down an Assassin than deal with him.

Not long had passed before several men passed Justinien on the bench. They moved with a sense of purpose. Templars? They were moving in the same direction as the woman from before. He needed to track them down.

Frieda steeled herself for combat, but was not looking for a physical fight. Such was the way of the lower life forms and soldiers. Words. That's all she would need. After all, she held the leverage. All the documents were in her possession and they would need her to access them. Alive. They would need her alive.

She shuddered slightly while touching up her make up. Surely they wouldn't bring Der Doktor with them. She had lost touch with the enforcers, which was no small feat in itself.

Checking the windows, Frieda quickly went over all her locks and tripwires, making sure any uninvited guests would know how thoroughly displeased with them she would be.

Frieda picked up the telephone and rang downstairs to Molyneux's stand.

"Bonjour, Le Gardien d'Eden," came the jaunty, albeit practiced line.

"I'm coming down. I'm expected. As discussed."

"Oui, Madame Fraulein."

She hung up once she heard his end go dead. Arrangements were being made. She hoped she would not need to follow through, but would without thinking if she was pressed.

Justinien climbed to the rooftop, watching the men approach the door. They knocked. He drew his gun just in case he was spotted. His ears were attuned. He needed this to go perfectly.

Sheisse. They were quicker than she remembered. Frieda picked up her small pistol and secreted it into the back cushions of the chair by her desk.

The knocking came again. More punctuated this time.

"Eine Momente, bitte!" she called. She wondered if her voice was shaking as badly as she thought. In a last ditch defense, she crossed quietly tot he switch and flashed it rapidly. Hopefully Molyneux would notice and send her security detail. She wanted to get everyone downstairs into the club, put a few people between herself and whoever stood at the door. It looked like that plan would have to go by the wayside now.


Frieda sucked in a breath and opened the door. "Muss' ich dich helfen?" They were standing at her back fire escape entrance and it was the middle of the night. And they were probably here to kill her. It was not hard to sound annoyed.

Guns? Whoever they were, they couldn't be up to any good. Justinien would need to take som- Oh merde! They barged in! He jumped down to the fire escape with his gun drawn. He faced the open door, «Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?! {What is going on here?!}»

All of them stood in shock for a split second. Frieda, caught between the door and the serving stand, was more surprised by the man with his gun drawn on her fire escape than by the presumed hit squad. It was turning into that kind of day. Slowly she raised her hands.

The taller of the men rounded on the intruder. "Zhis is a private manner, n'est ce pas?" he growled in fractured French. "Run along." Another, a shorter, balding man kept his gun trained on her. The third had been halted from his ransacking of her desk to survey the scene. He leaned against it, bemused, reaching for his pistol.

Frieda noticed the ring and swallowed hard. Perfect...just perfect.

They weren't answering, only telling Justinien to stand down. Their rings indicated that they were Templars. One man held a gun on the woman. Fine, he'd be the first. Their disregard of Justinien would make them easy targets.
One. Two. Three down. Easy enough.
In the shock of the gunshots, Justinien dashed a cross the room, grabbed the woman, and pulled her behind the serving stand.

Frieda instinctively held on to this stranger as he whipped her behind the stand. It provided just enough cover for the two of them. Had she just been saved by an Assassin? Or just saved for later?

The shorter man fired a single shot, which embedded itself in the painting on the wall behind her.

"Fraulien Geiger, we will be taking your documents now, bitte."

"They will be of little use to you. Unless you can decode them," she called. Her head was pounding. Wasn't adrenaline supposed to dull pain?

There wasn't anywhere for them to go. Her gun was in the chair across the room. Frieda look to her sudden protector expectantly.

Justinien pulled the pin from a grenade. One, turn around, two, aim, three, throw, four, cover her ears, five, BANG! The room grew silent, but it was only a matter of time before the police would arrive. He peeked over the bar to see if anyone remained.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion around her. He had hurled something over the bar, the men had shouted, and he grabbed her head. Oh no. NOnononono
-BANG!-

The force of the blast blew out her windows, throwing the bar back a foot, the concussive blast knocked her silly. The room was ablaze, spinning around her. ONe of the men was in pieces. The one that had gone to her desk was slumped over it. The taller. Where was he? She pulled herself up, but fell. Her legs wouldn't support her, hands shaking.

Good God. The club. Her ears were ringing, but she was certain people were screaming and scrambling for the exits. Molyneux would remember, right? She and to trust his nerves and calm. He'd at least look for her at the rendevous.

She ached all over. She had blood on her hands. Was it hers? She felt at her chest, legs. Another drop splattered onto her skirt. Her nose was bleeding. At least this time it had a more worthy cause.

The Assassin! He still stood beside her. All of this must have flashed through her mind in a heartbeat. He had destroyed her home, possibly her club. Hopefully, he had destroyed the Templars that had come to collect.

Frieda coughed, bringing a little blood to her mouth. "Wer bist du?" No. "Qui êtes-vous?"

"Don't worry about that just yet. Why are the Templars after you?"

Frieda spat blood. "No doubt the same reasons I find an Assassin on my doorstep. You want my notes. And my life."

She lurched toward the fire escape, catching herself on the doorjamb. The outside air blasted into her lungs. "I can guarantee I will make neither easy to own." How much of that was true at the moment, she had no idea.

"I'm not here to kill you," Justinien dropped his gun and unbuckled his grenade belt as he approached the woman who now stood in her doorway, "I only need information. Why are the Templars so interested in you?"

"They tend to track their own more carefully than yours," she said. Her hands clutched at the chain around her throat. Bringing it up to her eyes, the signet ring of the Templars met his vision.

"The locals tend to mistake it for the Rommel's iron cross. A sympathizer is a coward for not taking up arms, but a full Nationalist is feared. The fear I don't mind, but I don't need the fights in my club. This," she nodded at the ring, "just makes me look a war widow. They may not like the Germans here, but they won't throw a single woman into the streets. Easier to hide in plain sight when shadows are few and far between, non?"

She squared up to him, briefly unafraid. "Tell me now: Are you still here not to kill me?"

"Tough talk. Interesting that you'd stand by your convictions when your own were out kill you, oui?" Justinien pulled her into the apartment and locked the door, "I'm not here to take your life. Your allies will do that. I just need to know how the Templars were involved in Operation Valkyrie and where you fit into this mess."

Across the street, a second Templar team was marching toward the building with a single order:
Kill Justinien Rochard by any means necessary.
Civilians clambered and rushed from the club in a disorganized kind of stampede. The police escorted the crowds out of the building before they'd have a chance to get inside and investigate the upstairs explosions.
Pierre, leader of this group of Templars recognized this as the work of one two men: Adam Cassel or Justinien Rochard. Allegedly, Cassel was no longer in France and Rochard had been seen within this vicinity. Incidentally, this club was run by fellow Templar Frieda Geiger. Funny. Hadn't she outlived her usefulness? At least, that was how Pierre understood it. He was never a good listener, so he could be wrong. Regardless, it appeared that Rochard had handled that for everyone else.
Then Pierre saw something in the street. The body of a large German soldier wearing a Templar ring lay trampled by the panic. Fritz. Pierre knew him personally.
Geiger's personal bodyguards were trying to break down her door to no avail. Pierre was warned that she was good. Perhaps he'd underestimated just how good. If Rochard were inside, then Geiger would be at his mercy. The only way in would be through the window.

"Francois, could you find me a two-story ladder? We need to get inside."

Frieda recoiled from him. "Why would you bring us back inside? The floor will break through any moment!"

She stepped lightly through the debris to what was left of her desk. "Oh look at me! I'm an Assassin! I'll just heave grenades wherever I like because I can..." she mocked. She gathered up what papers and binders she could find. Not many, but that wasn't the issue at hand.

"Come with me. We need to leave through the club. My man Molyneux will be awaiting me. I'll tell you about Valkyrie on the way." She heard her men pounding on the club entrance, yelling for her.

"Well?"

"Bagarreuse petit diable, eh?" Justinien plucked his gun and grenades from the floor, "Don't worry about your floor. It'll be fine. Just lead the way."

She unlocked the latch to the club entrance. She was met with the almost glad to see her expressions of her faithful guards.

"Make sure everyone is out safely! I'll find Molyneux, danke." They nodded and led the way down into the club. She looked behind her to make sure the Assassin was following.

"Operation Valkyrie failed because one of your Order got in the way, is what I had heard. I was working in der Reichstag when we had Stauffenberg set wheels in motion. To be honest, we had high hopes for der Fuhrer, but he had lost sight of our goals. The subjugation became a personal vendetta."

The dance hall was almost deserted. Soldiers were dragging local men out. Shouts of "Nazi pig!" and "Vive l'France!" from the street were heard.

"Someone of yours got a little too anxious for action. Tried to eliminate der Fuhrer himself, got caught. Heightened security led to changes we couldn't outmaneuver. We had hoped Staffenberg could pull it off. He almost did. Unfortunate."

She stayed a good six paces behind her guards as they cleared the way. She passed the coat room, where Molyneux was stationed. He wasn't there now. Hopefully he was out of harm's way.

"I know the man who was supposed to kill Hitler. He's the one who designed my grenades. Tell me more about this Stauffenberg. I've heard of him, but only in relation to Valkyrie."
Something was wrong with her story. Stauffenberg was a close personal friend of Rochard's and a devout Assassin at that. Where did Freida get off saying that he was a Templar? He needed to decrypt those documents one way or another, but this woman's head possibly held even more priceless information. . . assuming he could trust a word of it at all.