by A. D. Winch
In the last week, however, the amount of times the OSS was mentioned on the internet had mushroomed and was only just starting to slow down. In addition to this, the OSS was not being discussed as a past concern but rather as an ongoing one and its secret activities were being made public.
The internet specialists had traced the majority of these leaks to one user. They had even taken the drastic step of closing down one website and an email account, but they were unable to trace the person or people responsible. Fortunately, they seemed to have contained the outbreak, for the time being at least, and kept it under the radar of the people who mattered.
Meanwhile, Agent Hoover's numerous displays had revealed that the ‘security’ around the Black Queen had faded away. The block had returned to normal, and it was time to render Black Queen. After nightfall, the two agents and two high-ranking French policemen would take Ursula Benjamin in for questioning and she would never be seen in Paris again.
Madame Colbert had insisted on cooking Ursula a last meal before she went. She was not happy that Ursula was leaving and was not shy in expressing a continuing list of fears during dinner. Her main concern was that Ursula would not tell her where she was going or how she would get there.
“Madame,” Claude finally said, “I will accompany Ursula and make sure she reaches her destination safely.”
Madame Colbert smiled, “You’re a gentleman.”
Claude bowed and waved to her theatrically.
“Is this okay, fillette?” he asked Ursula.
She had a mouthful of baguette but nodded gratefully.
It was dark by the time they had finished dinner, and they were keen to leave. Madame Colbert tidied things away while Claude and Ursula got ready.
Claude went to the Benjamins' bedroom and a few minutes later came out again. He was dressed in the same clothes that he had worn when Ursula met him. An oversized coat came down to his knees, and he must have put on so many clothes underneath that he looked as if he had doubled his weight. There were two major differences from when Ursula had first seen Claude. His beard had gone, and all his clothes were clean.
Ursula went to her room one last time to collect a small bag she had packed. She made sure everything was tidy and placed the glass back carefully onto her desk. Ten thousand Euros were piled neatly on her bed, and she placed five thousand into her bag amongst her clothes. The remaining five thousand, she squeezed into the pocket of her jeans. Before she left, she took a bright yellow ski jacket from the cupboard and closed the warped door.
Madame Colbert bid them good luck and reluctantly went back to her flat. She phoned the police and reported two, but possibly three, missing persons. The police were attentive until Madame Colbert told them the address, and then they seemed to lose interest. They promised to send someone round but couldn’t say when.
Claude was waiting for Ursula beside the front door. When he saw her, he frowned and told her not to move. Ursula stood where she had been told and put her coat on.
“You’re not going out like that,” he said firmly and opened the front door. A few seconds later he had pushed his shopping trolley into the doorway. He took out the top layer of plastic bags and looked at Ursula.
“Get in, please.”
“What?” Ursula asked.
“Get in my trolley.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like a gigantic banana, and if anyone is still looking for you, you’re not hard to spot.”
Ursula smiled. She could see his point, and climbed into the shopping trolley. She lay on the plastic bags that were already there and breathed in the scent of Mémé’s washing powder. Claude placed other plastic bags all around and on top of Ursula until she could no longer be seen. He pushed the trolley back into the corridor, locked the front door and placed the key under the plant pot as Ursula had shown him.
It was cold outside but not bitter. There was no longer any snow, and the paths were dry. The streets outside the Benjamins' building were as congested as usual with parked cars. The billboard opposite was advertising the latest dishwasher.
“Why do people need a dishwasher? Why were they given hands?” Claude muttered, looking up at the board.
“Mémé has a dishwasher. It’s my Granddad,” Ursula whispered.
“Shh,” said Claude. “People are used to homeless guys talking to their trolleys but not when they answer back.”
Ursula giggled but then remained silent.
A few people were out, but no one looked at the tramp and his bags of stuff. Claude pushed his trolley onto the path and walked away from Saint-Denis. A few metres down the road, a police car pulled up. Two policemen jumped out from the car and waited. They were soon joined by two other men from a car nearby. The four men walked determinedly along the path towards Claude.
There was nowhere to run, so Claude began to sing and continued walking forward under the street lights. As they neared each other, one of the men adjusted his jacket and revealed a revolver. Claude kept walking. They stared at him as they neared and were reluctant to walk around the tramp. One of the policemen grabbed hold of the trolley and pushed it away from them aggressively. Claude held on and managed to prevent it from falling into the gutter and tipping Ursula out onto the road.
The men laughed to themselves and continued on. Claude looked over his shoulder and watched as they stopped outside the entrance to the Benjamins' building. He knew where they were going. The last thing he wanted to do was stay here and see their response when they found the apartment empty. Claude looked ahead and pushed the trolley faster until he was far enough away that he felt he could take a break.
They were in an underpass. The lights shone brightly, and the graffiti covering the walls was colourful and artistic. There were no security cameras and Claude felt it was safe.
“Time to get out, I’m tired out.”
Ursula climbed out of the shopping trolley, put her hood over her head and stretched.
“Where are we going?” asked Claude.
“I don’t know. I need to find a public phone.”
“Follow me.”
Claude led her to the wide entrance of a metro station. Four public phones had been secured to the walls. However, one had been painted on, one had been yanked so hard the cable had broken and the third had been used for storing chewed gum. Only the last one worked. Even this one constantly crackled, and Ursula doubted she would be able to hear properly.
She dialled the number hesitantly. It connected instantly but continued to ring without anyone answering. After a minute, she hung up.
“No one there?” asked Claude.
“No,” replied Ursula, concerned. If she could not get in touch with Captain Hudson, she didn’t know what she was going to do.
“Try again, fillette, maybe they’re having dinner.”
Ursula dialled the metal numbers again, and the phone rang. Just as she was about to hang up, someone answered.
“Bonsoir,” greeted a warm, feminine voice.
After speaking French for the last ten weeks, Ursula had prepared herself to speak English and was thrown by the greeting.
“Er, hello, er I mean, er, Bonsoir.”
The lady at the other end of the line laughed and spoke in English.
“Good evening, can I help you?”
“Bonsoir,” replied Ursula. “Can I speak to Captain Hudson, please?”
“Please wait.”
Ursula heard the phone being put down and the woman call, “Chéri, there is a young sounding woman on the phone for you. I hope you have not been naughty.”
“You know I only have eyes for you,” replied a male voice and Ursula heard a kiss.
Footsteps approached the phone, and it was picked up.
“Good evening. This is Captain Hudson. Who is calling, please?”
Nervously, Ursula replied, “Hello Captain Hudson, it’s me Ursula Benjamin. You once told me that, in case of emergencies, I should call you.”
Capta
in Hudson didn’t pause, “And this is an emergency?”
“Yes. Please can I meet you?”
“Where are you now?”
Ursula looked around but could not see where she was.
“Claude, where are we?”
Claude read the metro sign to her, “Les Halles.”
Ursula repeated it back to Captain Hudson and could hear him flicking through some papers.
“Can you get to the Gallieni metro station on line number three?”
“Yes, Gallieni station. I think so.”
“I’ll meet you there by the tabac in, shall we say, one hour?”
“That’s fine,” replied Ursula, without knowing where Gallieni was. “Bye.”
“You have to go East,” Claude said and led her to a large metro map on the wall. “I know I promised Madame Colbert that I would accompany you but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Why not?” asked Ursula, pointing at the map and planning out her journey. “I’ll pay for your ticket.”
“The metro system doesn’t encourage shopping trolleys on its trains.”
Over Ursula’s shoulder, he could see a metro employee looking at the two of them and speaking into his walkie-talkie.
“We could leave the trolley here,” Ursula suggested but Claude shook his head.
“By the time I got back, it would be gone and I would lose all my worldly possessions.”
The metro employee walked towards them and tried to appear confident.
“You can go back to my apartment if you like. You know where the key is.”
Claude shook his head again, “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I would get a warm bed and a roof over my head, but in a jail somewhere.”
Ursula looked sad but as she was about to say goodbye, the metro employee stood between them.
“Is this man bothering you?” he asked Ursula. Before she could answer he said to Claude, “On your way, now. We don’t want any trouble.”
Claude smiled at Ursula and turned away. He took hold of his shopping trolley and wheeled it out of the metro station.
The metro employee faced Ursula and smiled, “Don’t worry. He’s gone now.”
She glared and pushed past him
“He’s a friend!” she said angrily and ran after Claude.
As he pushed his trolley away, Claude sang gently to himself. His first thought when someone grabbed his arm was that the metro employee had come after him, and he prepared for a fight.
Ursula put her arms around him and slid a hand into his pocket as she hugged.
“Thanks, Claude. You saved me.”
Claude threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t. I just gave you the push you needed.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going home to my spot on La Petite Ceinture.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s an old abandoned train line.”
“What if I want to see you again?”
Claude scratched his head before answering, “You’ll have to make your way to Rue Florian, near the Mama Shelter Hotel. On this road, you’ll find animals looking over the wall. I usually stay in the catacombs near there. You can get to them from the train line tunnels. If you need me, just leave a note around the giraffe’s neck. Good luck, Ursula, and thank you.”
They hugged again, and Claude went on his way. His hands were a little cold on the trolley’s metal handle, so he stopped and went through his pockets to find his gloves. As he pulled them out, he found some tightly folded up notes. There was no one around, so he opened them up to look. It was five thousand Euros. He looked back over his shoulder, for Ursula. His first thought was to return the money, but she had already gone.
“Merci beaucoup, fillette,” he said to himself and walked out of the station.
The metro train screeched towards the platform, and Ursula got on the moment the doors opened. There were many people in the carriage, but she found a seat and sat down with her head bowed. It was impossible to see her face. She knew where she was going, she knew whom she was going to meet, but she had no idea what she was going to do when she met Captain Hudson nor what she was going to say him.
There was a small bump, and the metro train pulled out of the station.
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***
Chapter 12 – Schwarzkopf Discovers the Truth
Professor Schwarzkopf had been unable to get the image of Eric Meyer in the operating theatre out of his mind. All week, the boy’s pained eyes had haunted him. They were despairing but also full of hatred. He had probably been awake during the whole agonizing procedure, and Professor Schwarzkopf blamed himself. In trying to keep the boy alive, he had inadvertently turned him into the ‘lab rat,' that Agent Angel had called him. A piece of meat to be poked and prodded until it had fulfilled its use. If he had known that this would become the boy’s life when he remonstrated with Agent Angel, he might have kept his mouth shut.
Professor Schwarzkopf did not want to dwell on this any longer. For the time being at least, he was powerless to do anything about it. He stood up from his desk and walked around the pods in the lab. Since his last shift, the crafts had been lowered on their stands and were nearly touching the ground. Professor Schwarzkopf moved away from them and approached the dart. He gazed at his reflection in the metallic exterior. The reflection distorted as he moved, until he was left looking at a monster. He stepped away, uncomfortable with what he had seen.
The dart had drawn him towards it, and he didn’t know why. After the ‘accountability meeting,’ it had been made clear that the dart was no longer a focus for himself and the other scientists. For the foreseeable future, their goal was to take apart one of the pods.
The two pods rested beside each other. They were as far open as Professor Schwarzkopf thought possible. Each looked as if a large piece had been sliced from its top with a sharp knife. This piece, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Professor Schwarzkopf had discovered secretly that he could vary the size of the opening through thought alone. It made no difference whether the opening was big or small - it always opened in the same manner. The surface rippled back like water and was consumed within the remaining exterior of the pod.
The team needed a large opening for their new project, and Professor Schwarzkopf had obliged. Under the strict guidance of Jean Kurtz, their team were to dismantle one of the pods and then rebuild it. Before they began, each scientist had been instructed to look over previous notes and findings to ensure they were all as fully equipped as possible for the task ahead. They were going to take apart a craft that was one of a unique pair. In doing so, they did not want to harm themselves nor did they want to damage a pod.
Professor Schwarzkopf looked from the pods to Doctor Khan. She was sat at a desk, studiously scanning through pages of notes, diagrams and schematics on the computer. Long black hair escaped out of the back of her plastic hat but otherwise she was dressed in Kurtz’s prescribed research clothing. Professor Schwarzkopf still refused to dress in them and every time Kurtz brought the matter up, he dug his heels in further. The other scientists felt he was undermining their entire project, which he was, but not in the way they thought. Only Doctor Khan did not seem to care. He liked her but, at the same time, also felt sorry for her.
“How is the work?” he asked kindly, walking towards her desk.
“It’s very quick,” she replied, pushing her tortoise shell glasses up her nose. “I’m pretty clued up already. I just need to whizz through these, and I’m done.”
She didn’t look up at him once.
Professor Schwarzkopf looked at the mess in front of her. Papers, notes, electronic monitoring equipment and two tablet computers were piled up around her screen.
“Good, good. We are doing well. I’ve read everything on the computer. Is there anything else, amongst your…,” Professor Schwarzkopf surveyed her desk, trying to find the right word, “…research, which could be useful for me to look at.”
Doctor Khan’s gaze flitted between the screen and her desk. She pushed some of the notes to one side and found a tiny memory stick.
“Have a look at this. I seem to remember Miss Kurtz saying that you mustn’t have seen it. I’ve saved copies of the four CDs that were found on the pod, onto this flash drive. It would be a good idea to go through them,” she said absentmindedly.
“Thanks,” said Professor Schwarzkopf, a little surprised. He had definitely not read through the information on them. When he had asked Kurtz about the discs, she had told him that they contained nothing of any interest and changed the subject. He always assumed it was Kurtz’s way of showing him that she was the boss.
He decided that once he had read the contents of the discs, he would not let Kurtz know he had done so. Doctor Khan probably hadn’t even realised that she had gone against Kurtz, and he did not want to get her into trouble.
He sat down at his computer and inserted the memory stick. A number of folders, neatly organised and well classified appeared on his screen. He looked across briefly at Doctor Khan and tried to understand why she wasn’t the same on her desk.
He scrolled through the folders quickly and found the one she had named ‘Pod CDs.’ After clicking on it, four other folders appeared.
The folders were labelled clearly, and Professor Schwarzkopf read through them quietly to himself, “Disc one – History. Disc two - Research data. Disc three – DNA. Disc four – New life.”
Professor Schwarzkopf clicked on the first folder and a video file appeared. He clicked on it. Black and white lines crisscrossed the screen and replaced the woman. They flickered some more and then Ingrid, his wife, emerged. She looked to be in her seventies. Her hair was silver and tied back neatly away from her face, which was covered in gentle wrinkles. Her eyes, as they had always been, were her most striking feature; they were sky blue and as bright as a child’s.
