Zig Zag

by Jose Carlos Somoza

  Twenty or thirty minutes later the door opened abruptly, banging into the guard. A man in shirtsleeves walked in (not the Big Cheese, not yet, though she was certain he'd put in his appearance soon). The two men exchanged apologies in English, but no one said a word to her. The guy who'd been watching her nodded his colossal head at Elisa and she got up.

  They crossed the living room and headed for the stairs. It smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and men in jackets and shirtsleeves walked in and out of the kitchen carrying cups and glasses. This was all prearranged.

  They searched her again upstairs.

  Not with a metal detector this time, but with their hands. They made her take off her jacket, raise her arms over her head, and spread her legs. It wasn't the regulation female officer who was allowed to touch women, either; it was a man, though she really didn't care. After so many years of surveillance and interrogations, she'd lost all sense of shame. And it was clear that they were certainly shameless. What were they looking for? What were they scared she might do? They're afraid of us. Much more than we are of them.

  After a more-than-thorough patdown, the man nodded, gave her jacket back to her, and opened the door to what looked like a library.

  And there, of course, was the Big Fucking Cheese.

  "Ah, Professor Robledo, always a pleasure."

  She felt ready for him, thought she could handle this. She was wrong.

  Suppressing her fury, she took the seat offered to her in front of the small desk. One of the men left the room, closing the door behind him; the other stood behind her, ready to take action in case she, say, decided to hurl herself at the old fogy and rip his eyes out. Which, of course, was always a possibility.

  "I know why you wanted to come here tonight," the old man said in his precise English, taking a seat behind the desk. He'd obviously just arrived. His overcoat was strewn on a chair, still glistening with the damp night air. "I won't take up much of your time, I assure you. Just a friendly chat. Then you can meet up with your friends." A big lampshade hid part of his face; the man pushed it aside, revealing his smile. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to see, but she looked nonetheless.

  Harrison had aged notably over the last several years, but his deep-set eyes, hidden under the narrow ledge of brows, and the smile on his smooth face (he'd given up the mustache years ago) expressed the same cold, courteous, threatening confidence as always. Maybe even more now than before. Something new seemed to bubble under the surface this time, too. Hatred? Fear?

  "Where's my friend?" she asked, opting not to hide her concern.

  "Which one? You have so many, and they're all so close."

  "Professor Victor Lopera."

  "Oh, he's just answering a few questions. When we're finished with him, you can—"

  "Leave him be. I'm the one you're interested in, Harrison. Let him go."

  "Oh, Professor, Professor ... You're impatience is so ... All in good time. Would you like a cup of coffee? I won't offer you anything else, because I'm sure you've eaten dinner already. Twelve thirty is too late even for Spaniards, right?" He looked to the mystery man standing behind her for confirmation. "Ask them to bring us some coffee."

  She was dying for a cup of coffee, but there was no way she was going to accept anything he had to offer her, not even if she lay dying from a snakebite and he was holding the antidote. When the lackey left, she decided to try losing her patience.

  "Listen, Harrison. If you don't let Lopera go, I'll raise such a stink... I'll raise hell, I swear to God, I will. Journalists, courts, whatever it takes. I'm not the same submissive fool I once was, you know."

  "You've never been a submissive fool."

  "Don't give me that. I'm serious."

  "Oh, really?" Suddenly, all pretense of conviviality vanished. He sat up and pointed his long index finger at her. "Then let me tell you what we can do. We can sue you, you and your friend Lopera both. We can charge you with revealing classified material and Lopera with covering it up, of aiding and abetting. You have broken every legal agreement that you're sworn to, bound by your own signature, so maybe it's time you stopped threatening me ... What the hell is so funny?"

  Elisa tucked her hair back as she laughed.

  "The voice of justice, here lecturing me! You've broken into our houses, our lives, you've been spying on us for years, you kidnap us whenever the hell you want... Right now you're trespassing on private property. I believe in both your country and mine that's known as breaking and entering. And here you are, reeling off my legal obligations!"

  Just then the door opened, interrupting them, but Harrison's expression let her know that he'd changed his mind about the coffee. She congratulated herself. Good. Just bare your teeth and don't bother with the fake smile.

  "So that's how you view the measures taken for your own protection?" Harrison replied.

  "You mean the way you protected Sergio Marini?"

  Harrison looked away, as if he hadn't heard her. She remembered that trick; of all her interrogator's two-faced tactics, it was one of the best. She didn't bother repeating her question.

  "I've just come from Milan, Professor. I can assure you that there is no proof that what happened to Professor Marini had anything to do with Project Zig Zag."

  "Liar."

  "Temper, temper!" Harrison snickered. "That's the Spaniard in you. You've been like that as long as I've known you. Willful... passionate ... and distrustful."

  "You're the one who taught me to distrust."

  "Come, come now..."

  Elisa picked up on something strange. It was as though behind Harrison's smiles and polite words a dangerous beast roared in fear, straining to get loose and rip her throat out.

  The unforeseen possibility that Harrison's mental state might actually be worse off than her own threw her into renewed panic. She realized, then, that she preferred seeing him as executioner, not victim. He says he's just come from Milan. So he must have seen...

  "How did Marini die?" she asked, scrutinizing his face. Once again, he gave her the fake 'Sorry, could you repeat that?' look. And this time she did. "I said, how did Sergio Marini die?"

  "He was ... he was beaten. Presumably by thieves, though we're still waiting for a report..."

  "Did you see his body?"

  "Of course. I already told you he was beaten to death—"

  "Describe it to me."

  She began to tremble when she realized Harrison was doing everything possible not to look at her. "Professor, let's not get off track—"

  "Describe the state of Sergio Marini's corpse."

  "Let me speak," he muttered.

  "You're lying," she whimpered, silently praying he would contradict her. But instead, he shrieked. Like an animal, almost shouting himself hoarse. It was dreadful beyond belief. He went from total tranquility to an unbearable howling in a millisecond.

  "Shut up!" Suddenly, he regained control and smiled. "You're ... if you don't mind my saying so ... boorishly obstinate."

  She now had no doubt whatsoever. It had all happened again.

  And Harrison wasn't even a threat anymore, because he was losing his mind. Like her. Like all of them.

  That substantiation of the facts left her feeling more than vulnerable. She felt lifeless, spent, literally inanimate.

  There are instants, airholes in our consciousness, turbulences of the soul, that are very deep. Without warning, Elisa fell into an abyss of that sort until she hit rock bottom. Harrison no longer mattered, Victor no longer mattered, her life no longer mattered. She sank into a vegetative state, hearing Harrison's words as if they were background noise, a boring television program that was on in another room.

  "Why can't you see we're all in the same boat together? If you sink, we all sink. Honestly, such a temper ... I confess I admire it, I like that part of your personality ... Don't think I'm crossing a line here. I am well aware that I'm too old and you're too young. But I'm attracted to you, I'll tell you that... I want to help you. And yet, fir
st I need you to describe to me the characteristics of that... that 'danger,' let's call it. If indeed it exists..."

  And then it was over. Abruptly, she recovered and recalled the only thing she still had to fight for.

  "Let Victor go, and I'll do anything you want."

  "Let him go? Good Lord, Professor, you're the one who brought him here!"

  He was right about that, the pig.

  "How long are you going to keep him?"

  "However long we need to. We want to find out how much he knows."

  "Well, I can tell you that. You don't have to lock him up naked in a room with a hidden camera, shoot him up with drugs, and force him to tell you about his private life in lurid detail just to find that out. Though maybe that's just the routine for girls, huh?" Harrison made no reply, his jaw set. "I told him about the island," she said finally. "That's it, just the island."

  "That was reckless of you." He looked as though he was choosing a much more vulgar adjective, but then simply repeated, "Very reckless."

  "I needed help!"

  "We are your help—"

  "That's why I needed help!"

  "Don't shout." Harrison, who seemed more concerned with straightening the lampshade than listening to her, suddenly gave up, stood, walked around the desk, and zoomed in on Elisa until his face was just an inch from hers. "Don't shout," he repeated, jabbing her jacket with an admonishing index finger. "Not in front of me, young lady."

  "And you," Elisa replied, pushing his hand away violently, "don't ever touch me again."

  With the next interruption, this time from the other door, she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't give a damn about Harrison and his index finger, but she was beginning to realize that the man leaning over her was not exactly Harrison. Or maybe it was just that it was 100 percent him and he was no longer hiding anything. No artificial sweeteners.

  She recognized the guy at the door immediately. Time had not marked his stony face, had left no trace on the burly body he had managed to stuff into an elegant suit. Elisa was relieved to see that at least Carter was still Carter, "How did I know you couldn't be far behind?" she sneered contemptuously.

  "They want to see her," Carter said to Harrison, without even acknowledging her presence.

  Harrison smiled in return, his courteousness magically reappearing.

  "Of course. Professor, please accompany Mr. Carter. Your friends are all waiting for you. Or at least the ones who could make it... I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing them again." As she stood up, he added, "You'll also be pleased to know that it was one of your own who let us know about the meeting." She regarded him incredulously. "Surprised? It seems not all of your friends are of the same opinion..."

  THE next room was a dark, L-shaped lounge. In it were dusty bookshelves, an old TV, and a small reading lamp bent over a small table. The lamp cast a soft beam of light like a mysterious robot searching for something hidden in the wood grain. Elisa knew it wouldn't take long for the darkness to get to her, but for the time being her encroaching fear was nothing compared to the excitement she felt at seeing everyone again.

  When she did, a lump formed in her throat.

  The man and woman were both sitting at the table but stood when she walked in. Their greetings were just quick, light kisses on the cheek. Still, Elisa couldn't contain her tears. She knew she was finally back with the only people who really understood her terror. Finally back with the damned.

  "Where's Reinhard?" she asked, her voice quivering.

  "Right now he should be taking off from Berlin," the man said. "They'll pick him up at the airport and bring him here."

  So they'd cornered them all again. Who gave us away? She glanced at them again. Who was it?

  It had been years since she'd seen them and she was surprised at how they'd changed, just as she had been last time. Not only had the woman not lost her looks, but Elisa thought she was even more attractive, despite the fact that she must be forty-something by now and had lost a lot of weight. Still, her appearance was shocking. Her long hair was dyed red and hung in a thick mane down her back, and she'd powdered her face and tweezed her eyebrows. Her lips were bright red. And her clothes were striking: a spaghetti-strap top, fastened at the front, tight trousers, and high heels—all black. She also wore a very ordinary cardigan, perhaps (Elisa guessed) to tone down the mournful yet provocative air she gave off. He, on the other hand, had gone completely bald, gained weight, and wore a medium-length gray beard that matched his jacket and corduroy trousers. He had aged a lot more than she had, although she seemed wearier than him. He smiled; she did not. That was what was immediately noticeable.

  One thing they had in common, though, was that their eyes both bore the same haunted look as Elisa's. It was familiar to her. The family of the damned; we're a clan.

  "Together again," she said.

  She had her back to the door and heard the footsteps approaching before the door opened. From behind his glasses, Victor had the look of a scared rabbit. He appeared to be safe and sound, which relieved her, even though she had been sure they weren't going to hurt him anyway.

  "Elisa, are you OK?"

  "Yeah, are you?"

  "Yeah. All I did was answer some questions..." Just then Victor noticed the man and his face showed a glimmer of recognition. "Professor... Professor Blanes?"

  "This is Victor Lopera, do you remember him?" Elisa asked Blanes. "He was in your course at Alighieri. He's a good friend. I told him a lot of things tonight..."

  The woman exhaled noisily as Victor and Blanes shook hands. Then Elisa pointed to her.

  "Let me introduce you. This is Jacqueline Clissot. I've told you about her."

  "Pleased to meet you," Victor said, Adam's apple bobbing.

  Clissot just nodded. Victor's blush and awkwardness on finding himself the unintentional protagonist of the situation might have been comical, but no one smiled.

  Carter's stony voice called out from the door.

  "Do you want anything to eat?"

  "We want to be left alone, if you don't mind," she retorted, making no attempt to hide her disdain for the man. "You still have to wait for Professor Silberg before you can make any decisions about us, right? Besides, you can listen to everything we say with one of the hundreds of mikes you've stashed in the room, so how about you just back the hell off for a little while, and close the door behind you?"

  "Please, Carter, she's right," Blanes said. "Just leave us for a while."

  Carter regarded them blankly, as though he was hundreds of miles away and their words had a time delay before reaching him. Then he turned to his men.

  After the door closed, the four of them sat at the table. Elisa was struck by a simile. We're going to lay all our cards on the table.

  Jacqueline went first.

  "You made a big mistake, Elisa." She glanced sidelong at Victor, who seemed fascinated by her. Jacqueline Clissot's voice and appearance were both very seductive, but Elisa couldn't help thinking, as she regarded the woman, that she must be trapped in a living hell. Maybe worse than mine. "You shouldn't have gotten anyone else involved in ... in our business."

  Jacqueline wasn't holding back any punches. Elisa had a few of her own to deliver, but she wanted to clear something up first.

  "Victor can still make up his own mind. All he knows is what happened on New Nelson, and they'll leave him alone if he agrees not to talk."

  "I think you're right," Blanes concurred. "The last thing Harrison wants is to complicate matters."

  "What about you?" Elisa inquired, suddenly cruel. "Haven't you ever tried to get help, Jacqueline?"

  She regretted the question the second it was out of her mouth. The woman averted her eyes. She knew that not looking directly at anyone had just become habit.

  "I've dealt with my life on my own for quite some time," Clissot declared.

  Elisa made no reply. She didn't want to argue, especially with Jacqueline, but she couldn't stand to hear the Frenchwoman act like
the only martyr in the room.

  "Be that as it may," Blanes said, "Elisa brought Victor here and we should accept it. I accept it, anyway."

  "It should be him doing the accepting, David," Clissot replied. "We should tell him the rest and let him decide if he wants to stay or not."

  "Fine by me." Blanes pressed his temples, as if to clear a new path for his thoughts. Elisa perceived a change in him, too, but it was harder to put a finger on exactly what it was. He seemed more ... confident? Stronger? Or did she just want him to be that way? "What do you think, Elisa?"

  "Let's tell him and let him make up his mind." Elisa turned to Victor and held out a hand, cautious but firm. "I don't want to force you past the point of no return, Victor. I know I should never have gotten you mixed up in all this, but I needed you... I wanted you to come. I wanted someone from the outside to see what's happening to us."

  "Elisa, I—"

  "Listen." She squeezed his hands. "I know it's not an excuse. I thought things would turn out differently, that this meeting would somehow be different... I'm not trying to excuse my actions," she repeated emphatically. "I needed you, and I came to you. I'd do it again, in these circumstances. I'm just so scared, Victor. We're all so scared. You still can't understand it. But we need all the help we can get... and right now you are all the help we can get..." Though one of you doesn't think so, she added to herself. She looked at them all intentionally, wondering who'd given them away. Or had Harrison just lied to cause a rift? Divide and conquer.

  Suddenly, the curly-haired doll with intellectual glasses (modest physics professor frames, no longer the John Lennon wire rims) came to life.

  "Hold on a sec. I got this far myself. Not because you wanted me to, Elisa, but because I wanted to. Hold on. Hold on." He gesticulated awkwardly, as if trying to force a large box inside another one just a couple of inches larger, testing his dexterity. Elisa was surprised at how firm his voice was. "Everyone ... everyone I know always says the same thing. 'I made you do it, Victor.' 'I'm sorry, Victor.' But it's not like that. I'm the one who decides. I might be shy, but I do make my own decisions. And I wanted to come here tonight, I wanted to help you ... help all of you, in whatever way I can. It was my decision. I don't know what I'll be able to do for you, but here I am, count me in. Yes, it scares me, I'm not good at taking risks, and I'm scared of how scared you are. But I want to be here, with you, and I want to hear... everything."