It is better to be alone than in bad company. – George Washington

The crux of military operations lies in the pretense of accommodating one's self to the designs of the enemy. – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

“Of course I remember you, mignon. One could not forget those peridot eyes,” the crinkled face of the Corsican scrunched even further into the characteristic smile of the French vieux, leading Briel to smile an uncertain smile of her own.

“You have grown quite lovely. Perhaps you would like to stay and be ma belle amie?” The eyes that peered at Briel took in much more than Briel would have liked, and she tried not to squirm under the old man's observation. “Mais, non. I have seen this look too many times; you come for information. Quel triste! I am so sad that you have taken up such a profession, but I must admit, I am not surprised. You always had the inquisitive mind, non?”

“You don't have to speak to me in English, Monsieur Vico. I still speak French very well.”

“Oui, c'est vrai, it's true. But I have not often in these many years had the opportunity, closed in this room as I am, to practice my English. Though I can occasionally venture into the city, I still must remain caché, non?”

“Yes, that is why I am here, actually.”

“I imagined that to be the case.” His eyes appeared as pools of melancholy as he stared into her own. “I have rarely seen eyes such as yours, you know. When I helped Monsieur Spirito, he often handed out the gems for his favorite partisans, something that the king of Arabia had used to pay for his opium. Still, your eyes are more like the true “golden stone” than the evergreen stones I find today...”

“Monsieur Vico, s'il vous plait...”

“In English, ma belle, in English. Of course, you must bring the talk to business. I understand...”

“Please, someone wants to kill me, Monsieur Vico. I am here running for my life.”

“Ah, oui. But you must know that information will cost les dollars, mademoiselle. Though for ma , not so much as for others.”

“I could only bring a few thousand, Monsieur. I did not have time to liquidate my funds.”

“Ah, but someone like you has resources, mignon. You must know that I have not much pay since the end of the trade. I must survive on rien.”

“How much do you require?” Briel realized that the little man would toy with her and ask for more than he would take, but she no longer felt pity on him for his condition. She had hoped that his history with her would garner favor, but he obviously held little regard for shared heritage. Though he had intimated differently, the number he wrote proved he would settle for nothing less than his normal rate.

“Of course,” she stated flatly, displeased in her acquiescence. “I have three for you now, and will bring you three when you provide the information for me.”

“We will say four, and that is satisfactory. Bien sur, please do not be displeased. I am very good at bringing you the information, and I promise that one way or the other, you will have what you seek.”

Instead of pity, Briel now felt only disgust for the man before her. What had she expected? she asked herself. “Fine. I need to locate someone's residence, someone very wealthy and connected to the trade. According to what I have gathered, he entered France through somewhere in Alsace or Franche-Comte. His name is Bill Henry, and he used to run a company called ProtoComm.”

The Corsican interrupted her. “What was the nature of this company?”

Though he did not specify, Briel knew that he did not care about the legitimate aspects of the business. “Pretty much everything. Until recently,” she explained, “he had been intensely involved with drug-smuggling, human trafficking, and guns. He had managed for years to direct his business from the States, but his activities recently came to light, and he had to flee. He has property somewhere in France, likely between Paris and Switzerland, and I need to find it.”

If the nature of Henry's activities bothered the old man in any way, Briel could not discern it. His face reflected no emotion whatsoever at her disclosure, and she found herself liking him even less than before. Still, when he looked at her, something approximating sympathy painted his features.

“Mais, chérie, you must not follow this path. Why will you not find a nice jeune homme and leave this way of peril?”

Even the criminal is giving me advice on my love life, Briel huffed inwardly. “Maybe I would, Monsieur,” she asserted haughtily, “if someone did not want to kill me. Whoever wants me dead may not give me the option.”

Le Corse crinkled his face into a smile again and continued, this time in French.

“I guess I can understand,” he stated cheerily. “Maybe you will demand a very high price. Someone who would chase you all the way to France must want you very badly.”

Briel dismissed his teasing words, cutting off the interview and standing to her feet. She had communicated what she wanted, and with her newly enlightened view of the man before her, she desired to cut the interview as short as possible.

“Thank you, Monsieur, for your concern for me, but I did not say someone chased me. I am the one chasing. Here is the half I promised,” she fumbled in her purse and extracted 4,000 Euros. “I will return tomorrow for the information, and I will provide the other half upon delivery of your goods.”

“This kind of information may require a deeper digging than a day allows. Give me three days and perhaps I will help you.” Then the wistful look returned to his eyes, and he stated mysteriously, “Ah, mademoiselle. Quelle triste!” He sighed again. “A demain.”

“A bientôt,” she corrected.

Without a smile or a word, Briel strode out the door. So much for not staying at the Revelles manor for more than a day. If she could have thought of a different source for the information, she would have used it, but in France, she had few resources. Even with her experience, this old man possessed more knowledge than she could imagine, and his help would benefit her immensely. He had managed to frighten her a little, though, something which rarely occurred, and Briel did not really want to rely on his information alone. Still, with no alternative plan at the moment, she saw no option but to wait for him. Perhaps something else would strike her before she had to let go of another four thousand euros. She didn't even know exactly how she would manage that much cash.

The sun had risen to its late morning abode, but it had not succeeded in burning off the dismal clouds. For Briel, the clouds evoked memories from her youth: her melancholy wanderings through the Revelles grounds, her covert excursions into town to spy on her neighbors, and the hours she spent lying among the maize staring at this same sullen sky.

Shunning her naturally reclusive tendencies, Briel forced herself to return to her cousin's home. For the next two days, Briel's life seemed almost more tortuous than when she feared for her safety. The small-town domestic life surrounded Briel with the constant, inane gossip that comprised Anne-Laure's entertainment.

Several times a day some new acquaintance visited to deliver the rumor of a husband's infidelity or a ruined crop or a failure to declare earnings to the government. The monotony grated against Briel's tolerance.

Even with her misery, though, she found things to entertain herself. She enjoyed the easy jocularity of Bernard when he returned home in the evenings, and the two Renaux children provided much amusement. Briel held no overwhelming motherly instinct, but the constant precociousness and mischief in which they engaged could not help but bring relief to the humdrum routine.

“...that was before Madame Surois threw his best jacket into the cow stall,” Anne-Laure claimed conspiratorially as Briel enter the living room on her second day of domestic incarceration. “Ah, Briel,” she interrupted the unceasing flow of her words, “You have not met Alodie.”

Briel smiled as graciously as possible and said nothing.

“Alodie, this is the cousin I told you about, from Les États-Unis. She is here for a visit, though...” Anne-Laure leaned in to Alodie and faked a whisper. “…though she will not tell me why she decided to visit now. All she would say is that she 'needed to leave.' Can you imagine keeping secrets from your own cousin?”

“Anne-Laure!” Alodie reprimanded, “You are very rude. I'm sure that Briel has a good reason for saying what she does.” Briel appreciated the understanding expression that Alodie donned as their eyes met.

“I am her cousin. It can't be rude. Besides, I think she has run from a lover.”

Alodie tried to hide her smile, but it broke through as a twinkle in her eye. Reaching for an empty water glass, Briel considered making an exit, but mercifully, Alodie returned to the subject of Monsieur Surois's jacket. Briel stayed long enough for politeness, but fled immediately when she sensed that Anne-Laure would not notice her egress.

Still, Alodie stayed so long that Anne-Laure invited her to dinner, and Briel groaned inwardly at the potential awkwardness of such a meal. With an audience, Anne-Laure would undoubtedly seek to return to the most shocking subject, and she had developed a fascination with Briel's secrecy.

To Briel's great relief, Alodie spent the majority of the evening discussing the improved condition of the roads in the countryside, and Briel wondered gratefully if the visitor had introduced the topic just to shield Briel, especially since this subject brought Bernard into the conversation.

After dinner, Anne-Laure became distracted by a gate-hinge she had asked Bernard to fix, and she began a high-pitched diatribe against him. Briel looked up from her perch on the couch with Anne-Laure's four-year-old daughter and smiled pleasantly at Alodie, who had approached Briel as if to engage her in conversation.

“How long will you stay in Revelles?” Alodie began casually.

“Actually, I'm not sure. No longer than necessary, as I am displacing Anne-Laure's housekeeper.”

“Oh,” Alodie consoled her. “I am sure that at least Bernard and the children do not mind at all.”

Trying not to frown, Briel remembered the last time someone had told her almost the same thing. Nick definitely doesn't mind, Felicity had claimed in Belize. How long would Briel need to rely on others' hospitality? She did not like the sense of intrusion or of dependence. Of course, she reasoned, if I hadn't alienated Anne-Laure and all my other family, maybe they would not find my presence such an intrusion.

“Still,” Briel persisted. “I will leave as soon as I am able.”

Desirous to change the subject, Briel began to question Alodie about herself. “Have you recently moved to Revelles? I don't remember knowing you when I was a child.”

“Oh, no.” Alodie answered dismissively. “I am in town for a few weeks to visit my great-uncle. He has grown old, and I am all the family that he has. I met your cousin at the market just the other day. She is very hospitable.”

“Do I know your uncle?” Briel asked meekly.

“It's possible. He sits outside the café with his two friends every evening and tells stories.”

Laughing, Briel imagined the three vieux who frequented the café. “I'm sure I know him, then. Though I hate to admit that I was so young when I left that I do not really know the difference between the three men.”

At this, Alodie laughed, too, and Briel felt a flush of gratitude for such an intelligent, compassionate companion with whom to converse.

“You are not from Normandie, though,” Briel asserted conversationally. “Your accent is different, a mix perhaps?”

To Briel's surprise, a looked of irritation flitted rapidly across the woman's face, though so undetectable that no one but Briel and her trained eye would have seen it. Suddenly flustered, Briel smiled down at the soft, brown pools of Annie Renaux's eyes.

“Mais, non. I have lived many places, as my father moved often for his work. I lived in Oise for eight or so years during school, but I have lived off and on in the States and in Canada recently.”

Alodie had acted so strangely that Briel began to run over the visitor's words, searching for an elucidation of her character. Sadly, Briel could discern nothing of note. Gathering her countenance, she smiled back at Alodie's eyes, searching them for a key to her odd expressions.

“Perhaps we can meet when we both return to the States,” Briel posited strategically. “I must travel often, and I bet we cross paths at some point.” Briel's mind had begun to race, a sudden urgency igniting her desire to leave quickly. Something about Alodie made Briel feel a gathering peril, perhaps just the returning paranoia after a few days of relative boredom. Rather than betray her thoughts, Briel showed nothing of her concern in her taciturn smile.

“Bien sur, that would be wonderful,” Alodie offered nonchalantly. “Currently, I live in California, but we can exchange our emails and keep in touch. I had been living in...” Alodie babbled on about her current plans and where she would live, but Briel did not listen. Instead, she watched as a coldness revealed itself in Alodie's expression; it had been there before, but Briel had not expected it and had therefore not seen it.

Mercifully, Anne-Laure reentered the room soon and drew Alodie's attention to Bernard's failure concerning the hinge. Briel used the interruption to excuse herself, and she retired to her room, her breath hardly contained in a regular rhythm. As soon as Alodie left, Briel would have to accelerate her plan.