Biowar

24

Dean heard birds — thousands and thousands of them.

Pigeons, cooing.

They fluttered into the air, then landed again.

Cooing, a short flight, cooing.

He woke up and found himself sitting on a park bench, head hanging backward on his shoulders. It hurt when he raised it; his eyes couldn’t focus — the world had gone gray. He started to get up, then stopped, feeling his face. The sunglasses were perched at the very edge of his nose; he took them off, breathing slowly, regaining his consciousness. A clock began to gong in the distance. It was 7:00 P.M.

Dean slid his head down beneath his knees, letting the blood rush in, waiting out the fog in his brain. He adjusted the glasses but said nothing, unsure whether he was being watched or not.

Pigeons flocked nearby, attracted to the crumbs thrown by an elderly woman at the next bench over.

He got up, still unsure where he was, and began walking to his left. A large group of people were gathered at the intersection of two paths, listening as a tour guide described the significance of the statue at the intersection. Dean began to move to the left when someone bumped into him so hard he spun back and knocked into someone else; together they fell down.

“Um Verzeihung bitten! Entschuldigung!” said a short Asian woman, helping up the person he’d knocked over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please excuse me.”

Lia.

Dean adjusted his glasses, listening as she spewed out a long string of German at the woman, whose expression indicated she hadn’t a clue what Lia was saying.

“I apologize,” said Lia to him. He could tell she wanted him to act as if he were a stranger.

“It’s all right.”

“Did you drop that?”

He looked at the ground. There was an envelope. He picked it up, turned it over. There was handwriting on it, Lia’s:

“I don’t think it’s mine,” he said, handing it back.

“It’s not mine,” she said. He tucked it in his pocket. “You’re American?”

“Yeah.”

“You live here?”

Dean pushed the glasses, waiting for someone to say something in his ear.

“No,” he said finally.

“Oh,” she said, as if losing interest. She turned to go.

“Wait.”

Dean caught her arm. Lia turned at him and gave him a look that would have withered a mugger.

“I, uh — want to get some coffee?” he asked.

“No thanks,” she said, smiling and shaking her head.

He watched her start away, not sure exactly what he was supposed to do. Then he decided to act naturally, as if he really were trying to pick her up. He loped after her and grabbed her arm from behind.

She swung around, her arms pulled back defensively, an inch short of flattening him.

“Look,” she said loudly. “Leave me alone. If you want coffee, you go get it yourself. There must be a million coffee shops on that boulevard where you can pick up some lonely tourist. Get out of my face.”

Lia swung around indignantly and stalked off.

She’s good, Dean thought to himself.

Then he realized that her tirade had drawn the attention of others nearby. He held his hands out apologetically.

“I wasn’t trying to pick her up or anything,” he said.

Half of the dozen or so people nearby nearly choked with laughter. The rest looked as if they might take him on themselves.

Dean ambled in the direction that Lia had given him. He found a coffee bar but realized he had no Euros, only a few pounds and dollars. He went back toward the comer, where he had seen the outside kiosk for an ATM. As he reached into his pocket for the wallet, he found the envelope Lia had dropped. There was an address in the left-hand corner—27 Sitzung.

Sitzung was the name of the street he had just crossed.

He stuffed the envelope in his pocket and went through with the transaction, withdrawing fifty Euros. He walked back along the street, looking for 27. Just as he reached number 25, two men came barreling out of the doorway, yelling and cursing as they shoved each other. Dean tried to avoid their fight, pushing toward the building as a siren sounded down the street. Two men nearby ran up to stop the brawlers, but this only resulted in a bigger tangle, and Dean had to duck quickly to escape being bashed. As he spun around, a hand grabbed him and yanked him into the building. Before he could say anything, a hand slapped itself over his mouth.

A woman’s hand. Lia’s.

Dean felt her pull off his shirt, tugging at his buttons. He helped her, sliding out of it, and doffed his shoes as well when she pointed at them. She pushed him down the hall, where a man in a suit was waiting near a doorway. Inside, Dean found himself in the fitting room of a tailor.

“God, you’re thick,” said Lia, coming in behind him. “If I didn’t have half the embassy working for me, you’d still be out there.” She shook her head. “Being tracked by a bag lady, no less.”

“My clothes were bugged?”

“I just like seeing you naked.”

She stepped aside as Dean lowered his pants to put on the suit that was waiting for him on a hanger.

“I didn’t know you spoke German,” he said.

“The Art Room claims I messed up the tenses, but I think they’re full of it. They want a full report when you’re dressed.”

“About what?”

“What happened in the castle, et cetera. By the time I got inside they’d cleared out.”

“You were there?”

“You think I’m letting you out of my sight, Charlie?” She whistled. “Nice pecs for an old dog.”

“You weren’t there,” he told her.

“I was on the wall when they carried you out,” said Lia. “I had to clamp my mouth to keep from laughing. Just like now.”

“Hey, watch it or I’ll bench-press you.”

“Anytime, big man.”

She leaned up and gave him a light kiss on the lips, pulling away long before he wanted her to.

“Who are they?” asked Dean.

“We’re not exactly sure,” said Lia. “Which is the scary part. Get dressed; we’re going to dinner. Then you’re getting your ears bobbed.”

“What?”

“Eyeglass com systems are too fragile, especially when they get smacked against a hard head like yours.”