Ring of Lies

by Roni Dunevich

  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 facility—the 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?”

  CRÉMIEU, EAST OF LYON | 10:01

  “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 cl
othes 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.”

  CRéMIEU, EAST OF LYON | 11:12

  “What does this mean? Where is he?” Alex sputtered.

  She grabbed the BlackBerry from his hand and stared at the screen. Her eyes opened wide.

  “He’s at the gate of the Orchid Farm!”

  She jumped up and he followed reluctantly, tired of the constant surprises. He ran after her into the angry storm. His dainty café companion had suddenly turned into a wild animal. Water sprayed from the wheels of her Land Cruiser. She was holding her cellphone to her ear. After a few seconds she muttered, “The guards at the gate aren’t answering!”

  His body tensed.

  Emerging from the narrow streets of the town, she veered onto the Route de Siccieu. The road ran between two heavily forested hills. She sped up, and his body sank deeper into the passenger seat. The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the pouring rain.

  “Press on the bottom of your door,” she said.

  A lid opened, revealing a secret compartment that contained a Sig Sauer and three full magazines. Alex slid in a magazine and cocked the gun, sending a bullet into the chamber.

  Château de Saint-Julien cast its shadow over Étang de Ry. Orchidea turned sharply to the south with screeching tires, almost overturning the SUV, and sped along the shore of the small lake, whose surface was riddled with the barrage of rain. They raced through a deep puddle, raising high walls of water on each side. Alex’s knuckles were white as he held on to the door handle. The carcasses of dead frogs floated in the puddles at the sides of the road.

  At the edge of the lake she turned left and drove for a quarter of a mile through the trees, then made a sharp right onto an unmarked dirt road that rose steeply up a hill through thick forest. The Land Cruiser shook and heaved as if it wanted to spit them out, but she took the turns with precision despite her speed.

  The BlackBerry pinged.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Alex looked at the screen. “Florence is back on the list of the dead Nibelungs!”

  Biting her lip, she sped up even more. Her breasts rose and fell against her shirt as the SUV jolted wildly. He nearly bit his tongue. She made it past a rough tree trunk by mere inches. Light began to appear through the pine trees, reflecting off the surface of the puddles.

  At the end of the road was a clearing and a ten-foot-high concrete perimeter wall. Through the open gate he could see low structures that looked like greenhouses.

  Orchidea braked at the entrance and jumped out, holding a gun at her side. Alex ran toward the concrete guard post. Its upper section was made of thick bulletproof glass. He moved up close in a crouch, the air crackling with tension and filled with the smell of iron.

  There was a look of terror in Orchidea’s eyes.

  The guard was on the floor, leaning against a wall. There was a hole in the middle of his forehead. Fresh blood flowed down his face. The wall behind him was smeared with blood and gray brain matter. An H&K submachine gun was beside him. She felt his neck.

  “Joseph . . .” she whispered, shaking her head.

  The second guard was seated in an office chair in front of two dark flat-screens. He was bleeding from a wound in his right cheek. His lifeless eyes stared.

  She checked the computer under the desk.

  “They took the hard drive!”

  “Take me to the Cube!” Alex ordered.

  She grabbed the submachine gun next to the dead guard.

  “Hurry up!” Alex barked.

>   “What’s this?” She froze, taking care not to step on something on the floor.

  The chocolate cake he’d eaten earlier threatened to rise up again.

  Two shiny white spheres, smaller than Ping-Pong balls, lay in front of the door.

  “Florence’s eyes,” Alex said. “That’s why it looked like he’d come back to life.”

  “They used them to get in,” she said, her face white. “They cut the chip out of him and gouged out his eyes. Fucking animals!”

  A portable iris scanner lay beside the eyeballs. The lens was smashed.

  Pulling herself together, Orchidea took off at a run. “This way!”

  Alex matched her long, rapid stride. Large, brilliantly lit greenhouses filled with orchids lined the path.

  A figure was lying on the ground.

  A man.

  Two bleeding holes gaped in the center of his forehead. He lay in a small pool of blood turned pink from the rain. She felt his neck.

  “Who is it?” Alex asked, panting.

  “Bernard. The fitness trainer. He’s dead,” she said with a grim expression.

  “Let’s go!”

  She stopped in front of a glass greenhouse about twenty-five feet square. Inside was an artificial rainforest. At the door was an iris scanner, a small control panel, and a screen that glowed pale blue. The rain pummeling the roof was deafening.

  She struggled to catch her breath as she tried the door. “This is the Cube. It looks like we’re in luck. They didn’t manage to break in.”

  She held her eye up to the scanner. It beeped. With a tight stomach, Alex surveyed the ground in front of the door.

  Nothing there.

  She tapped in a long code. A muted buzzer sounded. As she leaned her weight on the door, Alex passed his eye along the path, then followed her in.

  It wasn’t a greenhouse, and there weren’t any orchids. It was a concrete cube a few feet smaller than the outer glass walls. Dozens of tiny projectors screened images of a rainforest onto the glass.

  Set into the rough concrete wall was a stainless-steel double door. Orchidea tapped in a code. An elevator rose.

  Tensing, Alex aimed his gun at the center of the elevator doors, whose shiny surface reflected their distorted images. The bulbs overhead threw broken light on Orchidea’s face.