Chapter 5 Paris by night was always an experience. Beautiful, elegant, a gem of a city General Hammond thought as his plane landed. Months before he'd made this journey to see an old friend under less than optimal circumstances. Now, the circumstances were no less dire, but he had time for more than a brief visit. Not much time, he admitted as he disembarked and climbed into the car that was waiting, but enough not to have to come like a thief in the night and steal away before dawn rose over the city. Le Blues Bar was busy with the trendy late evening crowd when Hammond walked in dressed in casual clothes as if he were no more than any other patron come to hear the blues and have a drink. Joe noticed him first from his place on the stage catching Duncan MacLeod's eye with a practiced look. The Highlander half rose and turned to offer the general a seat. "Hammond," he nodded as the other man sat and MacLeod signaled a waitress to take his order. "They're just starting another set," he explained as he glanced toward the stage. The general nodded. "Then I'm just in time," he smiled, shifting his chair to get a better view of the band. His beer arrived and the house settled down as Joe launched into a raucous and raunchy rendition of "Baby, What You Want Me To Do," one of Hammond's favorites. An hour later the band said goodnight and Joe joined his friends at the table. "Hey, George," Dawson drawled as he settled into a chair, "or is it Sir now?" "I don't see any uniforms here, do you?" he responded quietly. "Yeah, well..." Dawson shrugged. "We'll talk about it later," Hammond promised, glancing at MacLeod. "Feel free to talk about it now," the Highlander said, staring hard the general. "Joe's already told me about his little visit with O'Neill." Hammond stared back. "It's a private matter, Mr. MacLeod. And we have other things to discuss at the moment." MacLeod nodded slowly. He couldn't deny that it made sense for the military to use the Watchers. They were already an established surveillance operation with quite a few ex-military men and women in their ranks. A surveillance operation they didn't even have to infiltrate because just like Joe, they could call on already established loyalties and demand cooperation under the National Secrets Act. He might not like it, but it made sense. "I thought you weren't interested in the Immortals I suggested?" MacLeod asked warily. "That's correct," Hammond agreed. "But we are interested in these." The general held out a small piece of paper to him and MacLeod accepted it cautiously. He read the names, his jaw hardening as he recognized the handwriting. "Adam give you these?" "Captain Pierson suggested them, yes." "He's out of his mind," MacLeod said, handing back the paper. "Gina and Robert de Valicourt aren't suitable for this." "From all accounts, I'd say they were perfect," Hammond responded. "Intelligent, capable at handling weapons, not interested in the Game and stable." MacLeod sighed and shook his head. "Robert I can see, but Gina?" "Are you aware that Mrs. de Valicourt served with exemplary courage in the French Resistance?" "Sure, but..." "She's more than capable, Mr. MacLeod. And they have good reason to join us. They have something more important to fight for than most of those whose names you proffered. A world where they can live and love for another three centuries." And fight they would, MacLeod knew. And for just that reason. He nodded slowly. "All right, I'll see what I can do," he agreed. "This may take a little while. They're on their honeymoon." "Honeymoon?" Hammond asked, a bit startled. "But I thought..." Joe smiled. "The de Valicourts retake their vows every hundred years. It's sort of a tradition." "I see," Hammond nodded. "Well, do the best you can." "I can maybe help you there," Joe grudgingly admitted, pouring himself another whiskey. "Get a hold of their Watcher just to tie up a few loose ends about that mysterious Immortal that tried to take Robert's head last year then showed up at their wedding." "Find their Watcher and you find them," MacLeod grinned. "Thanks, Joe." "Hey, no problem. It's the least I can do for my country," he muttered. "Yeah," MacLeod said uncomfortably. "So, uh, just how much can I tell them?" he asked the general. "How much would you need to tell them?" MacLeod stared at his drink thoughtfully. "Not much, I suppose," he admitted. "They're friends. They'd come as a favor to me and..." He sighed disgustedly. "I can always say that Adam asked for them. They owe him one." Hammond nodded in understanding. "Good. Then I'll leave it in your hands, Mr. MacLeod. As soon as you can locate them have them meet you in Colorado Springs. I'll see you there." MacLeod grimaced and finished his drink. He knew when he was being dismissed. Not that he really minded. Joe and his friend had a lot to talk about. He stood, shrugging into his coat though the night was warm and slightly muggy. "See you in a few days, Hammond. Joe," he nodded. "Yeah, Mac. I'll call as soon as I know anything." MacLeod's departure seemed a signal for a number of other customers to leave. When a few came by the table to tell Joe just how much they'd enjoyed the night's entertainment Hammond waited patiently as Dawson made a little small talk then asked if there were somewhere they could talk privately. Joe nodded and led the way to his small office. He poured each of them a fresh drink then pulled a slightly crumpled napkin and a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. "You mind telling me what this all about, George?" he asked, tossing the items onto his desk. Hammond didn't have to look at them to know what they were. "It's a little irregular," he agreed. "But it's all quite legal." "Legal my ass!" Joe groused as he took a seat and set his cane aside. "Look, I don't know about you, George, but doesn't it strike you as a little peculiar that the Marines are sending Air Force colonels to reactivate fifty year old bartenders who haven't seen action in thirty years?" "Well...no," Hammond admitted, having seen far stranger things in his career. "Okay," Joe nodded. "How about fifty year old bartenders without any legs?" "You got me there," Hammond agreed. "But there really is a point to it." "Which is?" Hammond held up his hands in acquiescence. "I'll get to that, I promise. But first I need to ask you something." Joe sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure, lay it on me, pal." "Do you remember an Army Drill Sergeant name of Bear?" Joe looked vaguely confused and more than a bit surprised by the question. "Army? No," he finally answered. "Marine Drill Instructor, yeah. One of the Montford Marines. Way, way back when they were still segregating. He was legendary. One tough son of a bitch, or so the stories said. Why?" "I was at a dinner party last week in Washington," Hammond explained. "A few of us got to talking about old times. You know, the usual stuff. A couple of guys mentioned they'd gone through Basic back in '67 under a Sergeant Bear. Most intimidating Drill Sergeant they'd ever seen." "So? Maybe it was his kid," Dawson shrugged. "Could be, but I remember my granddaddy talking about a Drill Instructor Bear back when he enlisted for the First World War. Granddad was three quarters Cherokee and they put him with the 25th Infantry." Joe's eyes narrowed. "You're thinking Bear's an Immortal?" Hammond nodded. "I did some checking. Like you said a Drill Instructor Bear shows up in the Marines during the Second World War. Got a reputation for being one mean son of a bitch. After the war he floats from base to base then disappears. Shows up again in the Army in '63 and does it all over again until about ten years ago when he retires and again just disappears." "Looks like you figured it out for yourself," Joe shrugged. "What do you need me for?" "Well, funny thing is, there are only a handful of computer records for him in every case and the hardcopy files have no ID picture." Joe nodded as if expecting this. "He's Immortal all right. Nobody's better at messing up a paper trail than they are." "I'm beginning to see that," Hammond sighed ruefully. "What I need is for you to find him for me." "Do I wanna know why?" "I'm thinking of hiring him." "Hiring?!" Joe sputtered then a light seemed to go off inside his head as the pieces started falling into place. First Methos, then MacLeod, then the de Valicourts and who knew how many others the military was recruiting. He didn't know why and right now he didn't really care, it just seemed like...poetic justice. For all the hell Immortals sometimes put their Watchers through. A Drill Instructor who couldn't die -- though by the time he was done with them they'd probably want to kill him. Dawson smiled as he opened his laptop. "Just give me a minute, George. I'll see what I can do." *** "Got it," Joe looked up from his computer perhaps an hour later. They'd been interrupted when he'd had to close the bar. In the meantime, Hammond had made good use of the break to contact O'Neill and get an update on the situation back at the base. He'd left for Paris almost as soon as the colonel had confirmed Pierson's plan would work. Alexander had been settled in -- Hammond shook his head still trying to comprehend that fact -- while Ptahsennes and Ramirez were on their way. "You know where he is?" Hammond asked coming to stand behind Dawson. "I do. Even got a bio for you," the Watcher smiled. "Seems this guy Bear is military start to finish," he leaned back. "Real impressive resume," he whistled. "He first shows up in 1862 with the 54th Massachusetts Infantry. We think that's where he had his first death. At James Island where the first 'colored' troops of the Civil War saw action." "Nothing before that?" "Sorry," Joe shrugged looking somewhat embarrassed. "The, uh, Watcher who saw him was on the Confederate side. Although he did look the other way when Bear revived and let him get away. That's saying a lot for him though," he added at Hammond's look of distaste. "We had one guy during the war liked to kill any Immortal in the Union Army he came across. His defense was that the North already had an unfair advantage in arms and men. We executed him by the way. I've got the transcript of his trial somewhere if you're interested." "Maybe later," Hammond sighed. "Anything else?" "Some," Joe told him. "He turns up again in 1864 at the Battle of Honey Hill attached to the 35th United States Colored Troops where he dies again. He's off the radar for a while after that until he's spotted in Montana in 1873 working as a Buffalo soldier helping to tame the west. He transfers from fort to fort every few years then settles down with the 25th Infantry after the Spanish-American War as a Drill Instructor which is where your grandfather met him. Retires from the Army in '29, teaches for a while at a Boston military academy then re-enlists in '35 where he's recruited by the Marines to be a Drill Instructor for the first black regiment in '42. You pretty much know the rest of his active duty. In between stints it seems he likes to teach. Always at a military academy." Joe glanced up, smiling. "Guess he likes the discipline." "A lot to be said for that," Hammond agreed. "And he seems to be just what I'm looking for. Have you got a current location on him?" "Sure do," Joe nodded. "He's at the Bronzeville Military Academy in Chicago. Now, you wanna tell me anything?" "Actually, Joe, I have a very special assignment for you if you're willing to accept my offer. It's a little extraordinary, but I believe the Watchers serve a useful purpose in documenting the activities of Immortals. Would you be interested?" "I might be. Depends," he added. "What would I have to do?" "Just take notes and serve drinks." "In Colorado Springs?" "Not exactly," Hammond admitted. "That's where you'll be briefed. And you will have the right to refuse even after we've explained the situation. Of course, everything you do learn will be classified -- even your chronicles until we give the okay. But in the meantime, Joe, you'd be the only Watcher keeping a record of this. I can't spare the manpower, nor would I to keep tabs on these people. But they are important and for the sake of history I will authorize you to do it." Joe nodded thoughtfully then finished his drink. "What they hell," he grinned. "I'm MacLeod's Watcher and I'd probably follow him there anyway. At least this way, I can get the real skinny." "And without violating national security," Hammond agreed. "So you'll do it?" "Sure, George, count me in."