The Boy Who Knew Too Much

by Jeffrey Westhoff

  “Milwaukee. That’s in Wisconsin. You know, where the beer comes from.”

  She shook her head. “I regret I do not know that.”

  He was flummoxed over how else to describe Milwaukee if she didn’t know beer made it famous. “Well,” he said, “it’s the home of Harley-Davidson, too.”

  Larissa smiled. From that moment on, whenever Brian rode the Route 31 downtown bus past Harley-Davidson’s headquarters on Highland Boulevard he would shout, “Thank you!” because Harley’s name allowed him to see Larissa DeJonge smile for the first time. He knew it would be one of the greatest memories of his life.

  “Harley-Davidson!” she said, her eyes lighting up to match her smile. “Such a coincidence! My mother and I used to talk about buying a Harley-Davidson, a Road King, and riding into the mountains and along the Canal du Midi because we knew it would make my father crazy.”

  Brian welcomed the chance to return the conversation to her father. “Do you enjoy making him crazy?”

  Larissa smiled again. Brian hoped he would continue to say things that made her smile. “Only in a good way,” she said. “He is much too serious. Especially lately.”

  “Like the last four months?”

  “Yes.” She paused. “How did you know that?”

  “I know too much about too many things all of a sudden.”

  “Well, Mr. Brian Parker from the city of Harley-Davidson, please sit down and tell me why you think my father is in danger.”

  She was being sweet, but she was humoring him. Brian wondered how he might convince Larissa to take him seriously.

  And then the front door crashed open.

  CHAPTER 12--PEPPER

  Larissa screamed. Brian froze. A terrifying thought shook him, that Skyrm had found him. Brian could not survive another fight with Skyrm.

  But the man who burst through the door was a stranger. He looked like hired muscle, with thick chest and forearms and a flattened nose. His brown hair was unruly, and ragged sideburns outlined his cheekbones. A ruby stud glittered in his left earlobe, and Brian mentally nicknamed the man Ruby Stud.

  Ruby Stud stalked into the living room, shouting at them in French. Larissa started shouting, too, at Brian: “Did you bring this man to my home?”

  “No!” Brian cried. “There’s no way anyone could have followed me!”

  The man stomped toward them. He stood two inches taller than Brian and reeked of cigarette smoke. He wore a white T-shirt, khaki trousers, and scuffed construction boots. With the fingers of one hand splayed, Ruby Stud pushed Brian in the chest like a playground bully. He lowered his voice, but his French was too quick for Brian to follow.

  “What’s he saying?” Brian asked Larissa as she moved to his side.

  “That he will not hurt us,” she said, “but we must come with him.”

  “We can’t.”

  “I know,” Larissa replied as her right foot lashed up toward the man’s groin.

  Ruby Stud twisted away in time so that Larissa’s kick caught him in the pelvis. He grunted, then spun back to swat Larissa. The blow connected with her chin, and she gasped as she fell sideways over the arm of a stuffed chair.

  Brian went hot with rage. He straightened his right hand, imagining it as rigid as a blade, and chopped Ruby Stud’s neck as the brute grabbed for Larissa. The man turned on Brian. His eyes narrowed into a simian glare. Like a gorilla, he raised his arms to crush Brian, but he was slow, much slower than Skyrm had been, and Brian fired two straight punches to the man’s solar plexus. Ruby Stud faltered. His arms fell ineffectually. With all his strength, Brian clapped his hands together and boxed the man’s ears. Stunned, Ruby Stud’s eyes glazed.

  Larissa was moving. From the corner of his eye, Brian saw her run to the foyer. He figured she would head out the door, which was still open, but she stopped at a small console table in the entryway and reached into its drawer.

  Ruby Stud shook his head, trying to regain focus. Brian still held the advantage and couldn’t afford to lose it. Ignoring Larissa, he hopped to the side, spun on his heel and drove a roundhouse kick into Ruby Stud’s stomach. The big man stumbled backward and crashed into a bookcase, which rocked back into the wall. Two framed photos fell from the top shelf and hit the floor with a sharp report of cracked glass.

  Brian moved in on Ruby Stud, readying another assault on the man’s unprotected stomach. But the thug swung his foot around and swept Brian’s right leg out from under him. Brian twirled as he went down and rolled away from Ruby Stud as he hit the floor. He bounced up and assumed a Defensive Back Stance: his right foot stretched forward, his upturned fists held ready at his hips, and his injured left shoulder turned away from his opponent. Ruby Stud grinned and crouched into the traditional prizefighter’s pose.

  “Enough of this,” Larissa said as she strode into the living room, a small tube protruding from her right hand. She walked straight at Ruby Stud. His brow crinkled in amusement as he turned to her. Brian was about to tell Larissa to get back when her hand came up and she filled Ruby Stud’s face with pepper spray.

  The man howled and clawed at his eyes. Larissa pocketed the pepper spray then took the yoga mat from the wall. She began swinging it at Ruby Stud like a baseball bat, herding him toward the door. Brian moved in from the other side, alternating punches to the man’s abdomen and kidneys. Ruby Stud yelled at them ferociously, tears streaming down his face. He wiped his eyes with his left hand while lashing blindly with his right.

  As they neared the foyer, Larissa dropped the yoga mat and went to the door. Brian shoved Ruby Stud forward. The man stumbled and fell at the threshold. Larissa stepped back quickly as Ruby Stud landed in front of her, but he lay still, snuffling and groaning.

  With the big man writhing at their feet and The Replacements upstairs singing “Color Me Impressed,” Brian and Larissa traded looks. Ruby Stud sat up, tears covering his cheeks and a five-inch trail of snot hanging from his nose. Brian threw a full nelson around Ruby Stud and lifted him. Gagging from the cigarette stench that clung to the man, Brian heaved him outside.

  On the stoop and hunched over, Ruby Stud turned back to them. He could keep his eyes open for only a second or two at a time. Larissa aimed the pepper spray at his face and sharply ordered, “Allez!” He backed away and hobbled quickly toward the street.

  Larissa closed the door and fastened the safety chain, which still worked. A small red welt showed on her chin. Brian placed his hand on her opposite cheek and lifted her face for a closer look. “You should put some ice on that,” he said. “How bad does it feel?”

  “It stings,” she said, and covered the welt with her hand, “but I think I stung him more.”

  Relieved that Larissa wasn’t seriously injured, Brian said, “Yes, you did. Remind me to never make you mad.”

  She laughed nervously, and he moved past her toward the living room window. “You were very good, too,” she said. “Was that karate?”

  “No, that was tae kwon do. It’s Korean.” Brian pulled the curtain back about a half-inch to watch Ruby Stud stagger down the street. “Karate is Japanese.”

  Larissa stepped out of the living room. Brian’s left shoulder was throbbing again, probably from lifting the big man off the floor. He heard a freezer door open and close, and Larissa reappeared holding a bag of peas to her chin. “I will call the police,” she said.

  “No, don’t,” Brian said softly, again looking through the gap in the curtains. Ruby Stud was leaning against the dark red van Brian had seen just before the cab dropped him off.

  “But that man broke into my home and attacked us.”

  “If the police pick him up, his employers might panic and do something to your father.”

  Larissa crossed her arms. “If that is the type of man threatening my father, I doubt he is in danger.”

  Brian turned to her. “No, this man’s low-level. He wasn’t armed, either, which is strange.”

  “We should be happy he was not armed.”

  “I
am,” Brian said as looked out the window, “but it’s strange.” Outside, Ruby Stud pulled up the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his eyes. Brian shifted his gaze to the van, the van that had been parked across the street before he arrived. Brian remembered the cigarette glowing behind the windshield, and he understood.

  “I think he was watching your house,” Brian said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was in a van across the street before I got here. Something like this happened in Tears From Moscow. Foster Blake couldn’t figure out how Skorzeny had tailed him to a safe house, but he later found out the safe house had been under KGB surveillance for weeks.”

  “You know this from what happened in a spy movie?”

  “Yeah, except it happened in the book, not the movie. Hollywood thinks safe houses and stuff like that are boring.”

  “Are you joking with me?” Larissa said.

  “No. It makes sense.” Brian met her skeptical eyes. “He had been watching your father’s house. When he saw me pull up in a taxi, he called for instructions and they told him to grab me.”

  “So you did bring him to my home?”

  “Sort of, but he was already here, really. In a red van. Do you remember seeing one?”

  Larissa unpursed her lips and uncrossed her arms. She went to the bookcase and righted it. Then she started picking books off the floor and stacking them flat on the shelves. She didn’t look at Brian. He decided to give her time to think. The music from upstairs stopped. “If you are correct,” she said after a silent minute, “what do we do now?”

  “We have to figure a safe way to contact your father.”

  “I can call him on his mobile right now.”

  “Not from here,” Brian said. “They probably tapped your phone—and his.” Brian was watching Ruby Stud once more. He worried that the man might grab a weapon from the van and return. But Ruby Stud remained outside the van, still wiping his eyes.

  “Your father’s in Spain, right?” Brian said.

  “Yes, in Zaragoza. He’s there for a type of military conference.”

  Brian nodded. A military conference fit with the Prometheus Project. “Do you know anything else about it?” he asked.

  “No, he talks little about his work, as I told you before.”

  Brian looked at her. “Is there anything in the house that might tell us? His computer …”

  Larissa shook her head. “Not here. When he started this new project he was not allowed to work on his home PC anymore. Some people from the university removed it, and now he uses only a portable—a laptop.” She bit her lower lip in thought. “We perhaps could find something in his office at the university.”

  “Can we get into his office?”

  “Yes, I know where he keeps his extra keys.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  Larissa nodded. “We can go tomorrow in the morning.” She picked up one of the shattered picture frames. It contained a photo of her mother. Her eyes on the picture, Larissa said, “You can stay here tonight.”

  Brian felt his cheeks flush. “Thanks,” he said, “but…”

  He didn’t know what to say next. He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He doubted it would be safe for them to remain in the house much longer. How could he persuade Larissa to leave with him, and soon?

  The thunk of a car door sounded outside, and Brian looked back to the street. Ruby Stud was in the van’s driver’s seat. Brian expected the headlights to shine and the engine to growl, but nothing happened. Maybe Ruby Stud still couldn’t see well enough to drive. A small light flickered inside the van. It shone bluish white and illuminated one side of Ruby Stud’s face. His mouth was moving.

  Two words hit Brian like a hammer: cell phone! He recoiled from the window. “We have to get out of here.”

  “What?”

  “He’s on his cell phone, probably calling in reinforcements. We have to get out of here fast. Both of us.”

  Larissa did not move. “What have you involved me in?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am, but I think you were involved already.”

  She stared at him, her stance rigid. Brian feared she would refuse to leave. Then her shoulders dropped and she said, “All right. But where can we go?”

  “If we went to your father’s office this late, could we get in?”

  “Oui, I think I can do that.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of a plan to get us started.”

  Brian looked around the living room. “You may not be able to return here for a while,” he said. “You should pack enough clothes for three or four days. And take any money you have.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “Bring the pepper spray.”

  CHAPTER 13--LAPIN

  Larissa packed quickly, stuffing clothes and toiletries into a black backpack. Its straps were covered with dime-sized pins advertising thirty-year-old punk and ska bands. So were the lapels of the denim jacket she threw on over her Ramones T-shirt. “We can take the Metro to the university,” she said. “A station is nearby.”

  They left through the back door and cut behind several houses until they reached the sidewalk around the corner from Larissa’s house. They walked quickly past the cypress trees of her neighborhood, Larissa leading the way. Neither spoke. Brian frequently glanced over his shoulder to see if they were being followed, but there was no sign of Ruby Stud or the red van.

  After five blocks they reached the Metro stop, which was marked ST-AGNE in large black block letters. Larissa led him down a set of escalators and showed him how to buy a ticket from the automated dispenser. Brian checked his watch as they reached the subway platform; it was after ten. He counted seven other people waiting there, and Ruby Stud wasn’t among them. Brian relaxed.

  He was amazed moments later when the train emerged from the tunnel with only a quiet whoosh. Two years ago Brian and his father rode Amtrak to Chicago to see the Brewers play the Cubs. They caught the El to Wrigley Field at a subway station beneath State Street, and that train’s arrival was deafening. Since then, Brian figured all subways carried the decibel level of a hurricane. He tried to relate this story to Larissa as their train doors opened with a chime, but her eyebrows dipped in confusion when he mentioned the Brewers and the Cubs.

  “Baseball teams,” he said. “The Brewers are from Milwaukee. They lost that day.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said as they took facing seats in the nearly vacant car.

  “Yeah well, they do that a lot,” Brian replied.

  His shoulder throbbed under the weight of the backpack. Brian slipped it off and dropped it on the seat next to him. He grimaced as he rubbed his shoulder.

  “Are you hurt?” Larissa asked.

  “Not badly. My shoulder was injured earlier.”

  “During the fight in my home?”

  “No, I was in another fight, a worse one, this morning in Cannes.”

  “A fight this morning? In Cannes? But that is 450 kilometers away!”

  “I’ve had a busy day.”

  Larissa leaned toward him. “Please tell me about it.”

  Brian did, starting with the game of “Spot the Spy” and Tetzel’s death two days earlier. He recounted the subsequent events as quickly as he could, continuing his tale while the train rolled through two stops. Larissa did not interrupt, her deep brown eyes resting on his face the whole time, yielding more sympathy as he went on.

  At the end of his story, Brian said, “The reason I came to Toulouse, apart from wanting to warn your father, is that I was hoping he could protect me.”

  “My father?”

  “Well, I had hoped the organization he’s working for, I think it’s called Eurocorps, could offer me protection. From Silver, from Skyrm—cripes, from everyone. Like that guy who attacked us.”

  Larissa turned to look at the window even though nothing was visible in the tunnel beyond the Perspex. Brian studied the worried expression reflected in the blackened
glass. Her eyes in the window shifted to him.

  “Do you think this man Skyrm wants to hurt my papa?”

  “Silver said Skyrm was some sort of freelance mechanic. That means somebody else hired him to run security for this operation,” Brian said, “so Skyrm would only be following that person’s orders.”

  She turned from the window to face him directly. “Whose?”

  “I don’t know,” Brian said. “My guess is someone who wants to sabotage the weapon your father is working on. Or steal the plans. That’s what spies do, steal weapon plans.”

  “Like they do in Foster Blake movies?”

  “No, in Foster Blake movies enemy spies don’t bother with the plans. They just steal the weapon.”

  The windows transposed from black to white as the train entered a station marked UNIVERSITÉ-PAUL-SABATIERE. Larissa stood, and Brian followed her off the train. As they walked across the platform and up to the street, Brian noted that the station seemed to have its own logo: a numerical pyramid with one 1 at the apex, two 2s underneath, followed by three 3s all the way down to a base of eight 8s. He wondered why the design didn’t end at the logical conclusion of nine 9s, but mathematics wasn’t one of Brian’s strengths, as Mr. Burke, his algebra teacher, had reminded him all freshman year.

  They came out of the station and strolled past a dormitory and student restaurant, still open at this hour, toward what Brian instantly recognized as an administration building. In front of the building was a long reflecting pool, although now it reflected only streetlights and the inky black sky. As they walked, Larissa explained that “Paul Sab,” as the students and most professors (but not her father) called it, was part of the Université de Toulouse system. The main university, devoted to social sciences, was located in central Toulouse. Paul Sab was the scientific university, home to many of the most advanced research laboratories in France. Brian caught the hometown pride in Larissa’s voice as she explained how the school benefited from Toulouse’s reputation as the hub of Europe’s aerospace industry.

  She led him toward a row of long, narrow buildings. “We may encounter some guards,” she said, “but many of them know me. When we come to the Physics Research building I will tell the guard that my father called to tell me he left urgent information in his office, and I must find it and read it to him immediately. Any guard will believe that Papa forgot something important. As I was on a date when he called, what else could I do but bring my date along?” She paused. “You are my date.”