'I don't know.'
'What should I do?'
'Leave him here, without question,' said Younger. 'We may not make it out of Austria. If we're caught and he's with us, they'll put him in some kind of Czech institution — an orphanage or worse. He could be there for years.'
'But how will we get him back?'
'If we get out?' said Younger. 'Easily. We'll send someone for him.'
Colette steeled herself, and they returned to the courtyard. She hesitated — then put the question to her brother, asking what he wanted to do. The boy looked at Younger.
'You want my opinion?' asked Younger.
The boy nodded.
'Stay behind.' Younger decided to put it in terms of the courage Luc would need: 'It will be hard on you, but you'll be helping your sister and me. After we reach safety, you'll follow.'
Luc thought about it. His eyes were deep — deep enough, Younger suspected, to have seen through his tactic. Then the boy took a few steps until he was standing between Freud and his wife. He looked up at Colette, his expressionless face indicating that he had made his decision.
'Wire us the moment you can,' said Freud.
Outside the Westbahnhof railway station, policemen stood guard, demanding papers from everyone who went in.
'It's worse than I thought,' said Oktavian. 'I don't see how you'll get through.'
'The Czechs hold an anti-Semitic riot, and it's we whom they want to arrest,' said Younger disgustedly. They were still inside Oktavian's carriage. 'Is there another train station?'
'Several,' replied Oktavian, 'but the police are sure to be there too. There is another way, Doctor, if you're willing. Aeroplane. A French company began service just last month. The airstrip is small and nearly always deserted. The police may not think of it. The aeroplanes are quite safe, they say, but very dear.'
'What would you think of flying?' Younger asked Colette.
'Luc looked happy to be left behind, didn't he?' she answered. 'Almost as if he were glad to be away from me.'
Vienna's airport — the only one in Austria — consisted of a dirt landing strip with a single craft on it: a double-winged monoplane with the largest propeller on its nose Younger had ever seen. Oktavian was right: there were no policemen. Neither, however, was there anyone else, so far as they could see. No passengers, no ticket agents, no crew. The only building was locked.
Venturing around the back, they found two men drinking coffee and schnapps. One turned out to be the pilot, a Frenchman, who jumped eagerly from his chair when Oktavian inquired about the possibility of two passengers flying immediately to the nearest port.
'We're supposed to fly to Paris,' said the pilot with a Gallic shrug, 'but we're not particular. I could take you to Bremen.'
'Bremen would be fine,' replied Younger.
They agreed to a price. The pilot downed his schnapps and clapped his hands. 'Off we go then,' he said.
The aircraft boasted eight passenger seats. When the pilot had settled into the cockpit, he took an additional swallow from a hip flask and signaled a thumbs-up to his partner, who gave the propeller a strong tug. The engine churned into life. Oktavian, looking less enthusiastic about the plan he had originated, said goodbye to Younger and Colette at the foot of a small ladder leading into the passenger compartment.
'It's strange, Mademoiselle,' said Oktavian. 'All this time I've felt I knew you from somewhere else. A long time ago. You have no relatives in Austria?'
'Perhaps you knew my grandmother,' said Colette. 'She was Viennese.'
'That's it,' cried Oktavian. 'I must have met her. Yes, I can almost remember the event. I knew I had seen your face before. She was of noble birth, your grandmother?'
'Oh, no, she was very poor.'
'I would have sworn it was at some fine ball, and with some fine gentleman.'
'That can't have been my grandmother, Count Oktavian.'
'Well, it will come to me. But you mustn't call me Count. I don't count for anything.'
Taking off, the aircraft rolled alarmingly, but it achieved a semblance of stability on reaching altitude. They peered down at the blanket of snow beneath them — which was not snow, but clouds.
'I've never seen the top of a cloud before,' said Colette. 'Do you think God minds?'
'I doubt He'd begrudge us a view of His handiwork,' answered Younger. 'I'd be more worried about your toying with His atoms.'
'Why do you so mistrust radium?' she asked. 'You made me wear that absurd suit in Professor Boltwood's laboratory. Everyone else thought I looked like a sea diver.'
'Everyone else should have been wearing one too.'
'I wonder if it could explain radioactivity,' mused Colette. 'Dr Freud's death instinct. We don't have any idea why radium atoms split apart — but then we don't know why other atoms don't. Perhaps there is one force holding the particles together, and another one driving them apart. It would be just what Dr Freud described: two fundamental forces, one of attraction and one of repulsion.'
'Which is stronger?' asked Younger.
'I would say the force holding them together,' said Colette. 'That would explain why radioactivity releases so much energy.' A thought came to her: 'But that energy, when it's released — that could be the death force. Perhaps the splitting of the atom is death itself, in pure form. It could communicate the death force to other atoms, causing them to split apart.'
'And you wonder why I don't trust it,' said Younger.
'That could also explain radium's effect on cancer,' replied Colette with growing excitement. 'No one has ever explained how radium cures cancer. Even Madame doesn't know. But Dr Freud was right: cancer cells are cells that have stopped dying. When radium is placed inside a tumor, perhaps it releases the death force, spreading it out over the whole tumor, transmitting it to the cancer cells, which makes them begin dying again. What are you doing?'
As Colette spoke, Younger had become distracted by a separate train of thought until finally he had risen from his seat. 'Pilot,' he called out. 'You said this plane was supposed to fly to Paris?'
'Oui, Monsieur,' said the pilot.
'Take us there.'
'Paris?' asked Colette. 'Why?'
'To see one of your heroes.'
Chapter Seventeen
Under the headline 'Invited to Mexico,' Littlemore read the following front-page story:
An invitation to President-elect Harding to visit Mexico was extended at a conference last night between Senator A. B. Fall of New Mexico, and Elias L. Torres, envoy from President-elect Obregon of Mexico. The invitation contemplated Senator Harding's attendance at the inauguration of President-elect Obregon in Mexico City on the twenty-fifth of this month. Whether the invitation will be accepted seems very uncertain and tonight there was no official statement from the President-elect. Senator Harding is exceedingly anxious to restore amity between Mexico and the United States, but his close advisers doubt the propriety at this time of the President-elect going to foreign soil.
Littlemore was riding a train back down to Washington. He stared out the window for a long time.
On arriving in Washington, Littlemore took a taxi directly to the Library of Congress, just down the street from the United States Capitol. There he asked for some basic facts and history concerning the country of Mexico; the librarian directed him to the World Book of Organized Knowledge. A half-hour later, his pace quickening, Littlemore went to the Senate Office Building.
