would stop responding to my voice. Then my children, who are grown but still visit me every Sunday, would stop coming by the house. Colleagues would no longer include me in their confidences. Old friends would forget my name. Letters I wrote would go unanswered, my telephone calls would ring in crowded rooms but no one would pick up. Waiters would ignore my order or always get it wrong. When I went to the cinema, they would refuse to sell me a ticket, not because they were being rude but because they did not see me unless I shouted and waved my hands. In the end, I would wind up destroyed by my own solitude, utterly lost, an empty and invisible shell, abandoned by all those I had ever adored and even the ones I merely passed by on the street, for no one would acknowledge me, I would be a living ghost in their midst.
“I sat there stunned at her explanation, not saying a word. She said, ‘Shall we test it? Pick up that telephone and call a person you know, anyone, your wife or a friend, dial them up now and, watch, I guarantee you they will not answer.’ I scoffed, because I actually knew my wife was home at that very moment, overseeing our housekeeper’s weekly visit—you see, my wife thinks our housekeeper is a thief and she watches her every move like a hawk. So I picked up the receiver and dialed my flat. As I was dialing, Zoya pointed at me and made a few odd whispering noises. I did not pay much attention because now the phone was ringing. It must have rung twenty times but not a soul answered. Zoya was smiling, watching me holding the receiver of that black phone, which suddenly seemed incredibly dense and unimaginably heavy, like a great rock pulling me to the bottom of the sea. I know it sounds irrational, but it felt profound and terrifying. I swear, looking at that ageless creature sitting before me while the phone endlessly rang in my ear chilled me as the threat of death never has. I slowly hung up the receiver and asked her what she wanted. Zoya gave me a small smile and said I should walk her out of the station and take her to the nearest cafe, there we could say goodbye. So, unbelievably, that is exactly what I did. We got up and I escorted her past the front desk, out the front door, and over to the Cafe Balzac. I ordered us each a white coffee. I asked her, ‘When I walk away from you, please give me your word you’ll remove this curse,’ and she said she would. And so”—Lecan shrugged—“I left her there.”
The men sat there in silence, taking in Detective Lecan’s strange tale. Finally Vidot spoke. “And did you call your wife again?”
“Yes, first thing when I returned to my office. She was home, of course. She said she must not have heard the call when I rang earlier. Then she did not understand why I was weeping on the phone.” Vidot nodded with solemn understanding. Will looked on in amazement. Lecan sat back, “So, what now, Vidot? Will you turn me in?”
The younger detective shook his head. “No, I do not think that is necessary. You are certainly not to blame. I had suspected Zoya would only stay with us a little while, though I had hoped to speak with her once more before she left. I have many questions. I think your friend Maroc might have been angry with you, but, well, he has his own troubles now. So, I see no reason for you to worry.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you for your candor, I sincerely appreciate it. Our business here is done.”
With that, he walked out of the office and Will, still stupefied by all he had heard, followed. “I don’t get it,” he said, trailing behind the detective.
“Nor do I, but there are some answers I do not have time for. We have our lives to live, don’t we? And I will not waste any more of your time, sir. It has been a rare treat getting to know you. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to put a bulletin alert out for your girlfriend.”
“An alert? But she—”
“She is a lovely woman, monsieur, but she is very dangerous. Do not worry, I am sure we cannot capture her, she is well rested and extremely capable. But there are, no doubt, other people who are looking for her as we speak, men quite powerful and not particularly well-intentioned. I suspect she is nimble enough to elude them, but still, I believe it would be better for all if she left the city. We do not need a girl like that running loose in our streets. As our poets never tire of reminding us, Paris is already magical enough.” He smiled. “Good day, I hope we meet again in more fortunate circumstances.”
Vidot walked off, disappearing around a corner of the hall. Will remained standing there, amid the typewriter clatter and cigarette haze of the station’s fluorescent bureaucracy, more than a little uncertain of his own direction.
IV
The scientist sat on his metal stool, meticulously attending to the line of test tubes, uncorking their Claisen heads and precisely administering the drops, his careful actions disclosing little of the irritation that was buzzing through his every nerve. He was exhausted and upset, angry with himself for becoming so distracted by the appearance of Elga and Zoya. But who would have ever thought they would turn up again? It was incredible. After how many years? But it was so peripheral, he had allowed these old, vestigial emotions to define his actions when he should have been wholly focused on the business at hand. He felt as though he had sentimentally fallen prey to his old supervisor Huss’s obsessions and succumbed to some innate desire for satisfaction. But such justice was never useful, and it was completely unnecessary to the matters at hand. He should have stayed uninvolved, let his colleagues sort it out, for that was their business, not his. Those women were the past, causing predictably what they always caused when you unearthed them: bloodshed, chaos, and tragedy. He was glad to leave that behind, to let them fight among themselves, stirring up their small, provincial evils, they were not his responsibility.
He had made it back to the lab to find the Americans waiting, General Strong having just paid the French police off with the money that was supposed to be for him. Then there had been all the questioning. Bendix had told Strong only what he thought he needed to know, keeping significant details aside. Strong had guessed there was more to the story and tones had grown heated. At one point, Strong even called Bendix an “evil little Nazi creep” (this accusation came often and always offended Bendix, who was technically Swiss and, though he had advised the Germans during the war, had never technically joined the National Socialist party). In the end, Strong wanted to shut the shop down and take all the packets of formula off with them, but Bendix refused, telling Strong he could have them once he came back with his cash. In exchange, Bendix agreed to cook up this last final batch.
He had hoped to have time for more clinical tests, but there was no time left. Besides, he had run out of test subjects, and without Brandon’s assistance he had no idea where to find more. It was fine, though, the important work had been done. There might still be some imperfections, but the army could sort through that on their own. They had plenty of guinea pigs on hand.
He reminded himself of the monumental significance of what he had completed here. What Fermi, Oppenheimer, and Teller had accomplished with the atom, he had done with the mind.
Outside the rear entrance, the two men Strong had placed on duty to watch the building lay writhing and choking on the alley’s cold cobblestones, each one purple-faced, each tugging at his throat, desperately wheezing for a last breath.
Along the bench, various tubes of borosilicate bubbled, hissed, and gassed, cloaking Zoya’s footsteps. Before Bendix sensed she was there, she had come up behind him and gently touched the potent point in his neck where the occipital and trapezius muscles meet.
He would have reacted, but he could not. He was immobilized.
She stepped in front of him and smiled. “Sorry. You do like to run away and I had to make sure you would stay with me. But don’t worry,” she said, moving out of his static line of sight, “this will not take long.”
Straining every muscle, desperate to see what she was up to, Bendix found he was frozen in place, fastened firmly to the spot, with every muscle he wished to move now absolutely petrified. His eyes darted about with widening terror. He could hear her opening the glass cabinets, removing items and placing them on the metal counter, and then his pupils dilated wide as he heard the familiar clinking of the syringes being removed from their velvet case. “You are fortunate it is me,” she said, in a voice that was almost soothing. “If Elga were alive, you would be stone deaf by now, watching while she snacked on your bloody ears. Then she’d stick the tines of a fork through an eyeball and pluck that out too. You’d watch her chew with your good eye for as long as she let you.” Zoya returned to his line of sight. “She might even spare your life, so you could suffer in agony. Me, I am not that cruel, I promise I will let you die. But I do think it will hurt.” She held up the needle. “After all, your strange equipment is very new to me, so you’ll have to be a little patient”—she smiled—“I’m a virgin at this.”
