Provenance I - Flee The Bonds by V J Kavanagh

never met. The file also showed Francois to be a hundred millimetres shorter and considerably lighter than Steve. However, monetarily Francois towered above. He was heir to one of Sector 2’s largest industrial dynasties. Thibeauchet Technologie .
    Francois Thibeauchet strode in under the canopy wearing a beige trench coat. Judging by the upturned collar, pocketed hands and pinched face, the tanned Francois preferred warmer climes.
    Steve stood and shook the extended hand, ‘Pleased to meet you.’
    Francois sat and lowered his collar. ‘You have been here long?’
    ‘No, just ordered a coffee.’
    As if on cue, the door squeaked open. ‘ Monsieur? ’
    Francois’s head tilted towards the waiter. ‘ Café. ’
    When the door clattered, Steve pushed the MCD across the tabletop. His right hand remained below the table, inside his jacket. Francois returned the MCD and Steve lowered it into his lap, waiting for the handsome image to appear before looking up.
    ‘Thanks, that’s fine.’ While pocketing the MCD, Steve re-clipped the Cogent’s holster.
    Francois rubbed his hands, ‘I have booked for us a table at Chez Henri . Do you like duck?’
    ‘Very much.’
    Thirty minutes of casual conversation later, they left the café and ambled towards the City centre. Steve stared out over the estuary’s turbid water. He’d called Penny last night, but it’d been fraught, she couldn’t understand his remoteness and he couldn’t explain the reason for it.
    Francois played the perfect host, stopping every so often and pointing out various landmarks. The two exceptions were the Lyon Class missile cruiser moored alongside the quay and the twisted hulk of its predecessor rusting on the far shore. What the Resistance lacked in weaponry, they made up for with ingenuity. They’d recruited a young artificer, whose lowly duties included cleaning the ship’s magazine.
    The guided tour continued across the gravelled Esplanade des Quinconces . Francois stopped in front of a soaring stone monument topped with a bronze statue. ‘The Monument des Girondines .’
    On the monument’s immense stepped plinth, Steve contemplated a more recent addition. A two-metre black granite monolith inscribed with columns of names and a single inscription in large gold letters, ‘ Pour les enfants de Bordeaux ’. Support for the Resistance had temporarily dwindled after that attack. Rumours surfaced in later years that that had been SIS’s intention.
    Francois pointed. ‘ Chez Henri .’
    The oak-panelled restaurant throbbed with lunchtime patrons. Steve inhaled deeply. Aromas of fine cuisine drifted up from cluttered tables.
    An exuberant maitre d’hôtel stepped out from behind the bar and greeted Francois with a vigorous handshake.
    Francois extended his hand. ‘ Julian, je vous présente mon ami de Angleterre, Stephen .’
    The maitre d’hôtel rung Steve’s hand, ‘ Bonjour, Monsieur .’
    ‘Bonjour, Monsieur.’
    Steve handed over his jacket and adjusted his shirt collar, acutely aware that Francois had dressed for the occasion. Julian led them up a narrow wooden staircase to an empty room with a solitary table overlooking the esplanade.
    Francois ordered for them both. ‘ Deux canard et une bouteille de Margaux .’
    As the maitre d’hôtel’s footsteps descended, Francois spoke, ‘I am sorry that Jason has been killed.’
    Steve sipped at iced water. ‘Me too.’
    ‘Do you know what happened?’
    ‘No, not yet. Command has begun an investigation. Rumour has it the Resistance have infiltrated CONSEC.’
    Francois steepled his fingers. ‘You intend to investigate also?’
    ‘Yes.’ Steve banished punitive thoughts with a smile. ‘But not now, we have business to attend to. Right here.’
    Francois cocked his head. ‘Yes, I am curious why you asked to meet in Bordeaux.’
    ‘I want you to recon RS 26.’
    ‘RS 26? Why?’
    ‘We’ve been tasked with an infiltration mission, security analysis. Did you receive the