Peace on Earth

her face with it. The bartender ran out from behind the counter. The sleepy, bald fat man tripped him, and he fell with a crash. The woman did something with her purse, and a stream of white foam shot from it as from a fire extinguisher. The waiter jumped back and clutched his face covered with white that dripped down his vest. The blonde aimed a white stream at the other waiter, who fell screaming through the swinging doors, hit. Both desperately rubbed their foamy eyes like slapstick actors who had taken cream pies in the face. We were now in a white fog because the foam gave off an acrid gas that filled the room. The blonde, with a quick glance left and right at the two waiters put out of action, turned her purse at me. I was next. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t try to cover myself. Something large and black appeared before me and boomed like a drum. It was the fat man shielding me with the open umbrella. The purse went sailing to the center of the room and ignited, thick dark smoke pouring from it and mixing with the white fog. The bartender sprang from the floor and ran along the counter toward the kitchen doors, which were still swinging. The blonde had disappeared through them. The fat man threw the open umbrella at the feet of the bartender, who jumped over it, lost his balance, careened into the glass behind the bar, which fell with a great crash as he dove into the kitchen. I looked at the battlefield. The charred purse smoldered between the tables. The white fog thinned out, still stinging my eyes. Around the open umbrella on the floor lay pieces of glass, broken plates, cups, and pizza, all covered with sticky foam and spilled wine. This all happened so fast that the Chianti bottle was still rolling in its basket, until it hit the wall. From the next booth someone rose — the man who had been writing in his notebook and drinking beer. I recognized him at once. It was the pallid civilian I’d quarreled with at the base a couple of hours ago. He lifted his melancholy eyebrows and said:

“Was it worth fighting for that pass, Mr. Tichy?”

“A tightly rolled cloth napkin at close range can stop a bullet,” said Leon Grun thoughtfully. He was the security chief and known as Lohengrin. “The French flics knew this when they were still in long capes. And neither a Parabellum nor a Beretta would fit into a handbag. She could have had a larger bag, but the bigger the piece, the longer it takes to get it out. Nevertheless I advised Truffles to take an umbrella. And I was right, as you saw. Sodium pectate, wasn’t it, doctor?” The chemist he turned to scratched behind his ear. We were back at the base, in a smoky room full of people, well after midnight.

“Who knows? Sodium pectate or another salt in aerosol form with free radicals. Radicals of ammonia plus an emulsifier and an additive to reduce surface tension. At high pressure — a minimum of fifty atmospheres. A lot of it could fit in that purse. They obviously have experts.”

“Who?” I asked, but no one seemed to hear me.

“What was the purpose? Why did they do it?” I asked, louder this time.

“To put you out of commission. To blind you,” said Lohengrin pleasantly. He lit a cigarette but immediately ground it out in the ashtray with disgust. “Give me something to drink. I’ve smoked too much. You’ve cost us a lot of trouble, Tichy. To put together protection like that in half an hour wasn’t easy.”

“I was to be blinded? Temporarily or permanently?”

“Hard to say. It’s extremely caustic stuff, you know. Possibly a cornea transplant could have saved you.”

“And those two? The waiters?”

“Our man managed to close his eyes in time. A good reflex. But the purse was a bit of a novelty.”

“But why did that… false waiter knock the glass out of my hand?”

“I haven’t spoken with him. He’s not able to talk yet. I assume it was because she changed glasses.”

“There was something in my glass?”

“A ninety-five percent likelihood. Why else would she have done it?”

“But she drank the wine too — I saw her.”

“Not the wine, the glass. Wasn’t she playing with the glass before the waiter came?”

“I’m not sure. Wait, yes, she was. She turned it around in her fingers.”

“Well, there you are. We’re waiting for the lab test results. Only chromatography or mass spectrometry will work because there is so little material left.”

“Poison?”

“I’d say so. You were to have been put out of the picture: neutralized, but not necessarily killed. Probably not killed. Put yourself in their place. A corpse means news coverage, theories, an autopsy, talk. But a psychosis, that’s a different story. Gives more elegant results. There are plenty of such drugs today. States of depression, dementia, hallucinations. I think that if you had drunk the wine, you wouldn’t have felt a thing then. Only tomorrow, or later. The more delayed the effect, the more it looks like a real psychosis. Who can’t go insane these days? Anybody can. Starting with me, Mr. Tichy.”

“And the foam? The spray?”

“The spray was the last resort. The spare tire in the trunk. She used it because she had to.”

“Who are the they we’re talking about?”

Lohengrin smiled. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that was not the cleanest, looked at it with a grimace, put it back in his pocket, and said:

“You are naive. Not everyone is as thrilled about your nomination as we, Mr. Tichy.”

“Do I have an alternate? I never asked… Do you have someone in reserve? Through him, we might be able to learn who…”

“No. There is not one alternate now. There are many with similar scores, but we’d have to start a whole new selection process.”

“One more thing,” I said, a little embarrassed. “Where did that woman come from?”

“About that we know something,” Lohengrin said evenly. “Your European apartment was gone through a couple of weeks ago. Nothing taken but everything examined. That’s where they got it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your library. You have a biography of Marilyn Monroe and two picture albums of her. The proclivity is obvious.”

“You searched my apartment and didn’t tell me?”

“Everything was put back in place, even dusted, and as for searching, we weren’t the first. You can see it was a good thing our men learned about the books. We didn’t tell you so as not to upset you. You have enough on your mind as it is. Maximum concentration is essential. We are collectively, you see, your nursemaid,” and he swept his arm to include everyone present: the fat man now without an umbrella, the chemist, and three silent men leaning against the wall.

“So when you demanded the pass, I thought it best not to tell you about your apartment, because that wouldn’t have stopped you. Would it have?”

“I guess not.”

“So you see.”

“All right. But the uncanny resemblance. Was she — human?”

“Yes and no. Not directly. Do you want to see her? She’s lying in that room.” He pointed to the door behind him. For a second I had the mad thought that Marilyn Monroe had died a second death.

“A product of Gynandroics?” I asked slowly.

“A different company. There are others. Would you like to see her?”

“No,” I said. “But someone must have been… steering her?”

“Of course. Probably a woman, and one with great acting ability. The way she moved — did you notice? — was perfect. An amateur couldn’t have done it. To render her so well, to capture the spirit, must have taken a lot of study. Practice. Going over the old movies…” He shrugged.

“They went to all that trouble…” I said. “For what?”

“Would you have picked up an old lady?”

“Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t have stayed for the pizza. Anyway, not for sure, and they had to be sure. And you couldn’t refuse a Marilyn Monroe, could you? But enough said.”

“What did you… do to her?”

“Nothing. A disconnected remote is a puppet with the strings cut. A doll.”

“But then why did she run?”

“Because the product can tell you things. They didn’t want to leave any evidence, any prints. It’s almost three. You must take care of yourself, Mr. Tichy. You have, if you will forgive me, old-fashioned tastes in women. I wish you a good night and pleasant dreams.”