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Uh, yeah. I’d call that ominous for sure,
I wrote.

We traveled in silence for several minutes.

And yet,
said Sir Walter,
I feel certain my cousin waits for something. Almost, I can feel him as he holds himself in check … waiting …

Hey Sir Walter? Can you hear the, uh, “signature of his thoughts” or whatever you call it?

Hmmm,
sighed my friend.
He learned, whilst we were children, to cloak his thoughts within the confines of his own mind. It was in response to my ability to “hear” him that he developed this shield. But I catch his emotions, at times, when we are near one another.

Can he hear your thoughts if he’s close by?
I wrote.

He is, in this area, deaf as the proverbial pot.

I didn’t recognize the proverb, but I felt relieved.

The ability to transfer thoughts is a de Rochefort trait,
said Sir Walter
. And Helmann has not a drop of de Rochefort blood within his veins.

Guess that’s why I’m stuck writing you, huh? No de Rochefort in me either?

Sir Walter laughed.
You have the heart, if not the blood, of a true de Rochefort. You remind me greatly of Chrétien.

I figured this was a compliment. Until I thought about how Sam might think the same thing, in reverse. That depressed me.

We’d reached the outskirts of Montpellier. Sir Walter guided us towards a newer part of town.
This isn’t at all like that part of Paris where Helmann’s other building was,
I wrote.

Sir Walter replied,
In recent times, there were great projects of redevelopment within this town. After Algeria gained independence from France in the last century, the population of Montpellier grew dramatically. I fear it is no mistake that Helmann has acquired property within a population of immigrants to France.

Wasn’t the south of France one of the last hold–outs for safety if you were Jewish during the Second World War?
I wrote.

Yes,
replied Sir Walter.
Even today, France harbors the largest population of Jews in Europe—more kosher restaurants exist in Paris than in New York
.

Helmann must hate that,
I wrote.

Indeed,
said Sir Walter.

Sick bastard
, I thought for probably the hundredth time. I needed to upgrade my insults.

We arrived and since Sir Walter had already visited the building, we didn’t have to do the boring–as–heck zig–zag through all the floors. Instead, we shot straight up to the top floor where he’d located bodies. I’m pretty used to the whole idea of not having any substance, but there was something creepy about standing in a room of invisible dudes. And what would we learn when we brought a body out of hiding?

Sir Walter dropped my hand to go “grab” the body. There wasn’t anything for me to watch until he came solid with the body. So who were we waking up: friend or foe? I stared into empty space, waiting.

Then, I saw Sir Walter come solid, arms around a man who looked asleep. For a minute, Sir Walter gazed at the sleeper, waiting to see if he’d awaken on his own. When this didn’t happen, Sir Walter wafted a vial of smelling salts below the man’s nose.

We waited.

And waited.

Maybe three minutes passed. The dude on the floor didn’t look North African. He was pale as sunrise. And blond, his hair cropped in a buzz–cut.

Coming solid beside my friend, I asked, “You think he needs another whiff?”

“Perhaps,” said Sir Walter. He waved the vial under the guy’s nose again. I could see why Sir Walter needed me along. Thin and wiry, the young man sleeping on the floor was close to my height. Sir Walter remained solid at the guy’s side, looking puzzled and frustrated.

“
Levez–vous
!” he said aloud.
Wake up.

The guy didn’t even twitch.

Gently, Sir Walter jiggled the guy’s shoulders.

Nothing.

Sir Walter did his sigh that meant, “
I am feeling very frustrated right now, but I’m too French and polite to say anything.
”

He jostled the young man’s shoulders one more time, a bit harder. Still nothing.

After another minute, Sir Walter stood. “If you would be so good as to replace this body, I should like to bring the others into view.”

One at a time, Sir Walter brought out four additional blond–haired guys, all of whom looked more or less the same age. And all of whom looked like they were sleeping. None woke up for Sir Walter.

After a couple more “
I’m really frustrated
” sighs when the fifth guy wouldn’t wake up, Sir Walter spoke to me. “We return to your sister,” he said, “If you would be so kind.” He indicated the sleeping form.

I crossed to the man’s side. They all had this look up close that I didn’t like at all—like guy–versions of Helga. I wrapped an arm around him on either side, and rippled us both invisible.

Then Sir Walter and I slipped through the building walls and shot back to Carcassonne with nothing to show for our afternoon’s work.

What do we do now?
I asked as we journeyed.
Do we go back to sneaking around Geneses offices?
I was really hoping to suggest San Francisco.

Before you joined me in France, I paid visits to several offices. In Tokyo, I discovered the video which I sent to you. In the Paris and Berlin offices, I found nothing of interest. Helmann’s Moscow office revealed a rather disturbing interest in cloning technology.

Clones?
I interrupted.
Like, clones?

Human reproductive cloning, yes. He seems both fascinated and repulsed by the idea. I do not know which impulse will win out. The Catholic Church frowns upon the idea.

Huh.
All I could think of was
Star Wars
and the clone army Emperor Palpatine created, which seriously creeped me out as a kid.

In San Francisco I discovered his recent obsession with acquiring real estate. And I remain persuaded that understanding his intention in this area is deeply important.

Okay
, I wrote.
So we try somewhere else. Flip for it, huh?

Flip?

Flip a coin, dude. Heads, Barcelona—tails, London.

What a … unique means whereby to make decisions of great import.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way. When we got back, the house smelled like pesto, the one dish my sister knows how to cook.

“I found basil taking over the pots in your little greenhouse,” said Mick. “It’s so warm in there, you could have a garden year–round.”

I felt a moment’s guilt, thinking how my sister had been pulled away from her little garden in Las Abs. Over dinner, we discussed the visit to Montpellier.

“It was just weird,” I said.

“Weird in what sense?” asked my sister.

“It was like those guys weren’t alive or dead.” I frowned. “Like they were in some different state of existence.”

“
Mon Dieu
,” whispered Sir Walter, holding his fork half–way between the bowl and his mouth. “My cousin was fascinated in the eighteenth century by Doctor Mesmer.”

Mick shook her head. “Mesmer?”

“Mesmer, like
mesmerize?
” I asked.

“
Exactement
!” said Sir Walter, fork still hovering in mid–air.

“I think you’re on to something,” I said.

“WHAT?” asked my sister, so loudly that Sir Walter’s fork dropped from his grasp. “Sorry,” she murmured.

I turned to my sister. “Hypnosis! What if the sleepers had been
hypnotized?
”

“That would explain the sound sleeping,” said my sister. “So, how do you wake up someone who’s been hypnotized?”

Excerpted from the private diary of Girard L’Inferne.

Circa 2007

I am informed that a descendant of Elisabeth yet lives. I have investigated ten generations of Elisabeth’s offspring and I find diligent, entrepreneurial souls who leave a legacy of self–sacrifice. They are uniformly intelligent; of tendencies to mental illness, they show none.

From her genes, then, will I offer the reward of longevity to my servants in the Glorious New Order. Well, my dear Helisaba, you could not bear me a child while you lived, but your descendants shall live as princes in the New World Order. Princes who will serve and obey.

Chapter Twenty–One

CORPOREAL FORM

·
SAM
·

As I crossed the threshold, two things happened: the overhead lighting dimmed slightly, and Hans looked up, clearly startled by the change in lighting. And then something even stranger happened. It was as if someone had flipped a switch allowing me to hear inside Hans’ head. Radio–Hans was broadcasting severe distress at the moment:
Father has discovered me!

Hans jumped up from the microscope and towards a computer.

Quickly, he closed pages on the screen.

I caught another transmission from inside Hans’ mind as he scanned his computer screen:
It is neither Father nor Fritz …
As I “heard” these bits, I could feel relief rushing through him.

“Greetings,” he said.

He was greeting me?

“This is a surprise,” he said aloud. “Judging by the precise amount of warm air you have displaced, I believe I must be in the presence of Miss Samantha Ruiz. Or perhaps you would prefer
Señorita
Ruiz?”

As he spoke, I caught an odd subtext—an unpleasant sensation as he uttered the word “
Señorita.
”

“To what, I wonder, do I owe the extreme pleasure of your appearance?” Hans laughed softly. “Or rather, your lack of appearance?”

Well, this wasn’t turning out at all as I’d planned. So they had a method for detecting the presence of ripplers? I recalled Helmann asking for a “temperature sweep” of the building. The change of lighting must have been the cue that alerted Hans. I slid inside the wall to see if the lights would change again. Sure enough, the lights returned to full power in the room I’d left.

Hans clicked through screens monitoring the building’s other rooms. He was searching for me.
Radio Hans
told me he was angered by my disappearance.

I stepped back into the room and the lights dimmed. I felt Hans’ elation at my return. My ability to “hear” him was certainly improved. Must have been all the nights I’d spent listening to Christian.

“Come, now
,
you’ve traveled so far. How are we to converse if I alone have vocal chords?” He chuckled, but the way he presented himself on the outside didn’t match what he felt on the inside. “Perhaps we could share a cup of hot chocolate together? There were so many things I wished to say to you but was unable to as a result of the abruptness of your departure.” His voice was smooth and soothing; his emotions were sharp, dangerous.

It was similar to the first time I’d overheard his thoughts. Aloud, he’d calmly asked Helmann’s forgiveness. In his mind, he’d raged in self–defense. It seemed I couldn’t hear all of his thoughts like I could Christian’s. Perhaps I only overheard Hans’ thoughts if they were charged with high levels of emotion.

“Miss Ruiz?” He paused. “Samantha? Let me first offer to you my deep regret for the, ah, methods I employed upon your last visit.”

Radio Hans
made clear he didn’t feel any regret.

He continued. “However, I am most happy to report that all of my hopes and plans are now well underway.” His emotions agreed with his spoken words this time. “Perhaps it is the cameras that make you hesitate? Allow me one moment. They don’t record sound, you know.”

During the time it took him to say these things, he’d risen, turned out the hall and room lights, and dashed around the four corners of the room. I couldn’t see him in the dark, but I could hear him moving.

The lights came back on. “There we are,” said Hans. He pointed to cameras in the corner. He’d placed sticky–notes over the lenses.

Why had he turned off the lights to do this? In a flash, I realized he didn’t want his associates to know he’d stopped the video feed. Before I could think through the implications any further, he addressed me once more.

“Will you now honor me with your corporeal form? There are so many things I could tell you, my dear, if you would but ask it of me.”

That convinced me. If Hans really was changing the course of Helmann’s plans, didn’t I owe it to Will, Mick, and Sir Walter to find out everything I could?

I came solid. “What can you tell me?”

Hans rose and strode towards me.

“Stop right there!” I ordered.

He halted and held his arms wide, smiling. “I mean you no harm,” he said aloud.

But
Radio Hans
said otherwise. He
absolutely
meant me harm.

“Tell me about your father’s plans to erase half of humanity,” I demanded.

He didn’t reply right away. Not aloud. But from his mind I caught more than just an emotion this time. I heard a full sentence:
More than half—we rid the planet of five billion!
I felt his glee as he thought this. So much for Hans the humanitarian.

Hans spoke, head tilted to one side. “Do you recollect what use my father is making of your egg?”

“You said he wanted a kid. You said it would distract him so that you could run things.”

From Hans’ mind, I caught a flash of anger, quickly extinguished, as he turned from me. He indicated the microscope I’d seen him peering into when I arrived. It was set up to look at something inside what resembled a four foot tall thermos. “In here lie wonders, Samantha! Come, come—have a look!”

“Is my egg in there?”

His mouth stretched wide. I’m sure it was meant to be a grin, but it reminded me of Helga’s feral smile. “So much more than that!”

Without realizing it, I’d crept forwards, almost within reach of Hans.