Authors: Roni Dunevich
The rain was coming down in buckets. The streets of Crémieu were flooded. A stooped old lady in black tried to escape from the deluge by taking cover against the wall of a building, shielding the baskets she was carrying.
Reuven called.
“The PM refuses to let us send anyone to Damascus. Too dangerous, he says. It's an election year. He doesn't want Israeli hostages in Syria. It would spell the end for him.”
“Our people will be there,” Alex said.
“Forget it!”
“Why don't you want me in Berlin?”
Reuven hung up.
On the corner of Rue Lieutenant-Colonel Bel, Alex saw a building as orange as a cheap hotdog. The facade was decorated with white line drawings of artisans from the Middle Ages.
Three tipsy old men were sitting near the door, their empty beer mugs pushed to the center of the table. The game of dominoes in front of them had reached a standstill. Each of the men was gazing off in a different direction. Aside from them, the café was empty.
Alex passed his fingers through his wet hair. Where was she?
The middle-aged woman behind the bar smiled and pointed to the coatrack behind him. He sat down at a corner table in the back facing the door and waited.
The espresso tasted of sand. He asked for a glass of water and set his phone and Justus's spare BlackBerry on the table.
The head of one of the elderly men drooped. His chest rose and fell in time with his snores.
Where was she?
Alex leafed through a copy of
L'Ãquipe
that had already seen a lot of hands that morning. Then the door opened and an unusually tall woman with a stunning figure walked in. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a red Jack Wolfskin coat spotted with rain. Her lips matched the color of the coat, and her hair was as golden as ripe wheat.
When she caught sight of him, her red lips turned up in a charmingly crooked smile. Alex stood up, and she reached out a cold hand and surprised him with the firmness of her handshake. She sat down without a word. Her eyes sparkled like an untamed animal's. They examined each other in silence, the smile never leaving her face.
A television was chattering in the distance. The waitress brought over a mug of café au lait the size of a soup bowl and a small basket of croissants. Orchidea picked up the huge mug with both hands and took a sip of the pale liquid without taking her eyes off Alex.
The image of a fig opening, dripping with juice, floated up before him.
He ordered another double espresso. Orchidea still hadn't spoken. She scrutinized him unashamedly, studying him with her brown eyes. The silence stretched out until talking seemed almost impossible.
She put down her coffee. There was a drop of foam on the tip of her nose.
She wiped it with a finger. “I'm Orchidea.”
“So I assumed.”
“Croissant?” she offered, pushing the small basket toward him.
He shook his head.
“It's awful about Justus,” she said.
Did she know that Justus was a traitor? That he had been funding neo-Nazis? Alex decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
“Did you know him?” she asked.
“I met him.”
“He was an extraordinary man,” she said sadly.
She was either cunning and dangerous or naive and harmless. He forced himself to nod.
She looked out at the narrow street. A bolt of lightning turned the interior of the café blue, and the picture on the TV screen flickered. Thunder split heaven and earth.
“Were you close to him?” he asked.
“We all were.”
She had a strong presence, one of those women who demanded all your attention until you forgot someone was waiting for you at home.
She got up and removed her coat. Her breasts swelled under her black sweater. Making an effort to appear indifferent, he raised his eyes and asked, “Why am I here?”
She sat down again and bit slowly on a croissant. She looked troubled.
“Do you know what's at the Orchid Farm?” she asked.
Alex sat up, and his chair creaked as he leaned toward her. “The Nibelung training facility,” he whispered, shoving a piece of croissant into his mouth. She smiled. Then she said, “The Field
Training Unit. We don't do basic training. Nibelungs come here after they've already gotten their pulse down to fifty; after they can empty a whole magazine into a box of cigarettes from fifty feet. This is where they're tortured and deprived of sleep; where rubber bullets are fired at them at close range; where they're shot up with alcohol and have to perform delicate motor tasks when their heart is beating at close to one-ninety a minute; where they learn to make tough decisions under extreme pressure. Every Nibelung comes here once a year for a weeklong refresher course. They lose ten pounds in those seven days. They're taught to withstand prolonged interrogation, humiliation, torture. It all happens in our training facilityâthe Hothouse.”
“But that's not why I'm here,” Alex said, taking a sip of his espresso. It was cold.
“Have you heard of the Cube?”
He put his cup down. “No.”
“It's a concrete cube, about a third of which is aboveground. The cellar is secured. It holds refrigeration units with orchid seeds. Justus bought the farm eleven years ago. He planned to fund the Hothouse by raising rare orchids.”
She allowed herself a small smile.
“Do you really grow orchids?” he asked.
“Only the expensive kind.”
“What's expensive?”
“One to five thousand euros.”
“For how many?”
She burst out laughing. Her face was radiant. “For one.”
“What else is in the refrigerators?”
“Have you ever heard of Hochstadt-Lancet?”
“What's that?” he asked.
“HL2436. It's a lethal virus that was developed at the Israel Institute for Biological Research in Ness Ziona by Professor Severin Hochstadt and Dr. Elimelech Lancet. It destroys the respiratory center in the brain. You breathe it in and then it lies dormant for thirty-six hours before it comes to life and attacks. You're dead within twenty-four hours. The thirty-six-hour delay is meant to give operatives time to make it out of the country after they release it.”
“What's the delivery mechanism?”
“A Ventolin inhaler. Do you know anyone with asthma?”
“I get the picture.”
“The virus is kept alive in a culture made from chicken kidneys. To arm the inhaler, you have to turn the canister clockwise three times and counterclockwise once. Then you can release the virus.”
“Why is it kept here?”
“We're close to the international airport in Lyon and several major highways, the area is quiet and isolated, and the farm is the perfect cover. The locals know that the orchids we grow are worth a lot of money, so they don't think twice about the tight security.”
“Is there a vaccine for Hochstadt-Lancet?”
“It's in very short supply. Just three inhalers. They're in the
Cube. You have to take it twenty-four hours before you're exposed to the virus.”
She smoothed her hair.
“Are you Jewish?” Alex asked.
Orchidea smiled. “My mother is Jewish. My father ran the original Orchid Farm from the 1950s until Justus bought it. Then he retired. Justus offered me the job. I'm very proficient at propagating orchids from seed and breeding special varieties. Justus helped me hone my skills. He sent me to some of the most prominent orchid growers in the world and to countries where orchids grow wild. It was a long time before he told me about the Ring and the training facility he planned to build here. Before the Hothouse, they conducted the training wherever they could find someplace out of the way. They didn't have a dedicated facility with the proper conditions.”
The head of the sleeping old man fell to the table, striking the black domino tiles and knocking them over.
“Where did you do your training?” Alex asked.
“Most of it was at HQ in Glilot. After that, I worked out of the stations in London, Paris, and Brussels for a year. I think I saw you in Paris once.”
He didn't think so. He wouldn't forget a woman like her.
“Justus dreamed up things that didn't exist in any other secret agency, not even the American ones, with all their bells and whistles. Thanks to him, we're ahead of our time.” Her eyes lit up whenever she mentioned Justus's name.
“Aside from Justus, you're the only one who knows all the Nibelungs personally. You know their real identities,” Alex said.
“I don't.”
“But they come to the Hothouse every year, right?”
“I've never seen their faces.”
Alex leaned back and smile.
“Before they come through the gate, they put on ski masks, and they don't take them off until they leave. The only time they're allowed to remove them is when they're alone in their rooms at night. The masks are Dri-FIT.”
“So how do you tell them apart? And how can you be sure that none of them is an impostor?” Alex asked.
“The Nibelungs all have chips implanted in their crotches. All we know is the identity code. Six figures, like a bar code. And the numbers aren't consecutive. When they're on the firing range or doing exercises, they wear a bib on their chest, like athletes.”
“You mentioned tight security. What does that mean exactly?”
“They make an excellent flourless chocolate cake here. Would you like something sweet?”
“I never say no to cake.”
She gestured to the woman behind the bar.
“Most of the systems are robotic. The only human security is at the gate. If you're less than a hundred yards from the wall, we'll know it. Less than thirty yards without a chip, and the system opens fire. The sights acquire the target and lock on to it.”
“Unless you have a chip in . . .”
“Your crotch.”
“Exactly. Do you have one?” Alex asked.
She examined his face before nodding.
“What else?” he asked.
The chocolate cake arrived. Alex cut into it with his fork. Butter, cream, rich Belgian chocolate, and a hint of Cointreau. “That's the owner,” she whispered. “She does the baking. It's incredible, isn't it?”
“Were you sleeping with Justus?”
“Excuse me?” She blushed right up to the roots of her hair. He kept his eyes fixed on her.
“You have a lot of nerve,” she said.
“I found your clothes in his bedroom closet.”
She turned her head away. “How do you know they're mine?”
“Skinny jeans, just like the ones you're wearing. You're six feet tall, and you're a beautiful woman.”
“It's none of your business.”
“Actually, it is. That's why I'm here. Justus is dead. You were having an affair with him. You were close to him.”
“It was over. It happened, and then it was over.”
“You left your clothes there.”
“I left my heart there, too. So what?”
“So now you tell me everything.”
“Why? Who are you?”
“The last one who can still save the Nibelungs. Maybe you, too.”
She stared out at the storm lashing the abandoned street and took a deep breath. “There's nothing to tell. There was chemistry between us almost from the beginning. I was attracted to him because he was an amazing man. We had some sex, but we both knew it couldn't last.”
“Why?”
“It ended four months ago.”
“Why?”
“That's enough.”
She looked sad. Alex realized that her eyes were puffy. She'd been crying.
“He was old enough to be your father,” he said.
“Alex, some people only eat veal. But sometimes there's nothing better than an aged entrecôte from a cow that's already tasted all the herbs in the pasture. You've never fantasized about a twenty-five-year-old?”
Her brown eyes waited expectantly for his answer.
“You mean a girl my daughter's age?”
“I mean sometimes it's the ultimate connection.”
“Was Nelli still alive?”
She winced at the insinuation. “I can see that you didn't know him. It started one year and two days after she died. I thought eventually we'd go back to being good friends, but we didn't get the chance. Justus's clock stopped. For me, he'll always be what he was until the day before yesterday: an unsolved riddle. Are you married?”
“My wife died.”
It was the first time he'd ever uttered the phrase. His lips felt numb.
She stopped chewing. “You're not kidding?”
“No. And yesterday my best friend disappeared.”
“A Nibelung?”
“London.”
“I knew her.”
“I thought you weren't supposed to know who they were.”
“I met her through Justus.”
“How did that happen?”
“It happened. What's your connection to her?”
“She was a good friend.”
Unabashedly, she appraised his face, hands, and body.
“How old are you?”
Alex smiled.
Her face took on a distant expression. “You don't trust me?”
“Not at all.”
She gave him a bitter smile. “As soon as Justus was killed, Reuven took over the Nibelung Ring. He called and told me you were coming to check on the cellar, the inhalers, and the security system.”
“Fourteen Nibelungs have been killed, not counting Justus.”
Her face clouded over. “What?”
He nodded slowly.
She shook her head. “How? They're the best-trained operatives.”
“We took a bad hit. Do you have any idea what went wrong?”
“No.”
“You were close to Justus, and you were very familiar with the Ring,” he pressed.
Leaning in, she whispered, “An orchid seed can lie in the dark on the ground in a rainforest in Borneo for years, and nothing happens. And then one day, for some reason that has nothing to do with the seed, a tree falls nearby and lets a single ray of light through the canopy, and it lands on the seed. The seed opens up, and an incredibly beautiful orchid emerges. It's called the butterfly effect. Chaos.”
Bullshit.
“Justus couldn't have children,” she went on. “He wanted me to have a family. He said that not having kids was terrible. That's why he dumped me, even though he still loved me.” Her eyes were moist. “Let it go, Alex. It hurts to talk about it. But believe me, it was over.”
The BlackBerry pinged. Alex glanced at the screen.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Florence. He was on the list of the dead Nibelungs.”
The color drained from her face.
“What happened to him?”
“He was just removed from the list.”