"Alright, boys, load your six-shooters. We've got an appointment to keep."
A black Model 67 shot down a main road in France, just another ordinary day. Dreary light shone upon the city and the traffic as the car wove its way through smaller, more common cars on the way to its destination.
"Now listen- ah, driver, a right here, best to keep 'em guessing."
The vehicle swerved and made a sudden turn, veering for a second on the left side of the road before resuming course, attracting many angry shouts from passersby and other drivers. On their left, the Tour de France stood tall and proud and before it a mighty lake. The vehicle kept its way.
"Now, listen. When we dismount, you two - Lyons, Frederick - knock out the guards. Me and Johannson will hit the door and we expect backup asap- you know the drill for that hallway."
The car took a left turn so it now drove bestrode the lake. Its speed undiminished the Tour increased in size until its full breadth could no longer be beheld.
"You got it? You're loaded? We only get one shot at this, you know. No more drills. This is the real deal."
"Mr. Barret," began one of them, who promptly stopped talking - for no apparent reason, as Barret continued to look out at the Tour. A look of disgust crept along his face.
"I came to this country," he began quietly, "Because they said any man could make a living here. Now I know I may have been better off staying in Switzerland."
"You can still make a living," muttered Lyons.
"Not my kind of living."
The car turned right and was now heading broad way towards the capitol building. Men in dark-blue uniforms stood on some corners, and the car zipped past as usual. Perhaps a few of the men noticed something was amiss. But the shouting didn't begin until the car made a sudden ninety degree turn and smashed the curb before the capitol, each door bursting open and four men with six-shots bounding out.
Two bangs inaugurated the cacophany. "They're down, Barret!" shouted Lyons.
"Great, do you want a medal? Get to the god-damn door!"
With two swift kicks the wooden double doors gave way to a single hallway, with some doors on either side and two guards at the far end. No sooner had the doors burst open than the guards had their rifles out and aimed.
Barret and Johannson hit the deck. Overhead bullets cracked, and Lyons and Frederick dodged around the side of the door.
"Can't stay out here for long, Barret, not with security tightening up on the street," growled Frederick.
"Working on it, working on it. Johannson, you got a clear shot?"
"Aye cap'n, thar in my sights."
Two shots in short succession saw the guards crumple up and fall.
"Damnit Johannson you're one crazy sum. .. .. .. .. .," said Frederick.
"Can the sweet talk ladies, let's move," Barret bounded up onto two legs with Johannson right behind, Lyons and Frederick taking up the rear. From the street some shots could be heard.
"Close that door!"
"Ain't no time to make a barricade," answered Frederick.
"Make time, they've probably blocked off this next one," snarled Barret, running up to the far door. "Yup. Barricaded. You got the explosives?"
"Explosives?" Lyons gave a blank stare.
"Damnit Lyons, just go help block the door," Barret waved him off. He rolled his eyes and spared a glance to Johannson, "Kids."
"Aye, cap'n. How ya plannin' on breakin' troo?"
Barret took a small caplet from his coat, cracked it open and began spreading a black powder on the hinges of the door. "Gunpowder. Don't leave home without it."
The explosion was greeted by more shouts upstairs, glancing up the steps Barret could see another door and a window above that door which graciously flooded the flight with light. "Alright, get the hell up here, we gotta move, there's not much time."
In short order the team began scaling the steps, Barret taking the careful precaution of listening at the door. "This is it, the secretary's office, liable to be crowded." He took a small, black, spherical object from his belt. "Let's greet them with a bang."
He opened the door a crack, struck a switch on the grenade, and tossed it in. A quick explosion and a few cries of anguish served as an impetus to push open the door. Bang, bang, bang. One by one the confused and choking stragglers were brought down and the team cleared the room in speed.
"I think we're close to being followed," said Lyons, "They're testing those barricades we made and- yep, they're out."
Barret kicked the final door open, and arm outstretched, had his gun on point. Sitting there, all alone, was Leader Petain.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"The last cry of a dying class of workers," said Barret and summarily shot the aging ruler. A deadly silence fell over the building.
"The deed is done, mate," whispered Johannson.
"And our goose is cooked," said Frederick remorsefully, "That's that."
"Yours maybe," came a cold voice from behind them, "But not France's."
Another shot pierced the air, and Barret hit the ground amidst a puddle of his own blood. Johannson and Frederick whirled around to encounter Lyons pointing a gun at them. "Drop your guns." Thud. Thud.
"Look at that, a former industrialist and the leader dead with not a lot of questions answered," said Lyons, "Oh, woe is France."
"The hell are you talking about?" said Frederick in a low voice, "That industrialist killed the leader."
"Oh, no he didn't. He's a national hero, why would a hero do that? I'm afraid they were both victims of a couple of anarchists."
Johannson's eyes narrowed as Frederick's widened.
"Barret thought he'd be a martyr, you know. Now he'll never have that honor. He was a victim and not a perpetrator, and now he'll be a hero for the wrong cause. I'm sure he'd treasure the honor to his memory." A twisted smile adorned Lyons' face as each heresy crossed his lips.
"Damnit," said Frederick, as his countenance dropped, "Then why'd you even let him bother kill the Leader?"
"Orders from Baudouin... I answer to him, not some aging old coot. I don't know who the next leader will be, I don't care, but I'll be living in a nice house either way. You? Well, wherever you'll be you have public scorn to enjoy."
Frederick's face tightened as the magnitude of the situation began to press upon him. His eyes fell upon Lyons' gun.
"I wouldn't recommend wasting your final cogitations wondering if I have enough shots for you," said Lyons coolly, "There are definitely two bullets."
"Aye, but you still have a shortage of stones," rumbled Johannson, who with a swift upwards kick disarmed the young intelligence agent. Frederick immediately bent down and grabbed his gun, pointing it directly at Lyons.
"You were saying?" said Fredericks, and fired.
The final barricade now began hammering, as possibly every agent in the city tried their hand at undoing it. Fredericks and Johannson looked at each other with the situation growing more dire by the second.
"Thar's a window," said Johannson.
"That there is," responded Fredericks.
"Nobody knows we did it. Only that traitor Lyons knew about us."
"We can destroy the evidence at HQ."
"And then?"
"Anything."
The repair bill for the window was 4,000 francs.
. So now's a good time to get a girl.
