Babayaga

specifically, he was aiming directly at the very head Vidot was perched upon. Now a bit nervous himself, Vidot began surveying the scalps in the group, seeking the most prudent place to hop next.
    His thoughts were interrupted when, off to the side, there was movement within the thicket of brush. “Hello? Hello? Are you there?” A high-pitched voice speaking English with a thick Swiss accent came out of the trees. “Excuse me, my, my, I am so sorry I am late. I seem to have lost the trail. Excuse me very much!” Then, after pushing branches out of his path the way a master of ceremonies might part a red curtain, one of the strangest-looking men Vidot had ever seen emerged. He was quite petite, only about a meter and a half tall, wearing a pair of round glasses and a baby blue seersucker suit with a neatly folded pocket square tucked into the breast pocket. Perfectly bald, his pale skin was covered in various roseate and pale pink blotches, much like the belly of an ailing dog. It only took one look for Vidot to realize he did not want to taste that man’s blood.
    “Why are you late?” grumbled the American whose gun was still trained on Will.
    “Ah, good evening, Brandon, I am afarid I had a very difficult time following your directions. What seems to be the trouble here? I thought you had things under control.”
    “Nothing we can’t handle, one of our men here has gone a little soft and romantic,” Brandon said, gesturing toward the man called White.
    “I see.” The little fellow walked over to White. “What seems to be the matter here, my friend?”
    “I’m sorry Mr. Bendix, I can’t let them kill that girl.”
    “But you know she’s critical to the plan. We all talked about it before. We kill her, then Brandon arrests the other two fellows here. It’s simply one of those ménages à trois that’s turned into a horrible crime passionnel .” The little man walked a slow circle around the group, stopping in front of Oliver. “Later, before he can call a lawyer, this fancy one with all the connections hangs himself in his cell, the unfortunate victim of star-crossed passion, while the other”—he looked at Will—“this innocent man from nowhere, he tries to tell his story to the police, to the judge, to anyone who will listen, but of course nobody believes him and so he vanishes into a cell for the rest of his days. Everyone wins, you see? Well,”—he looked over toward Will and Oliver—“almost. So you see, White, it has all been thoroughly thought through, so why the delay?”
    “I love her.”
    “That’s stupid. He doesn’t even know her,” said Brandon.
    “He says he loves her but he does not know her? This sounds very mysterious to me, or perhaps it is normal. I do not know. I abandoned my appetite for women so long ago, it is easy to forget how bewitching they can be. But this does sound unusual. Hmmn.” He walked over to Zoya, stopping less than an inch from her cheek. “She is lovely. May I ask your name, mademoiselle?”
    “I am Zoya Fominitchna Polyakov.”
    The little man looked shocked. He stepped back, his mouth hanging open wide. “Zoya … Polyakov? Really! How wonderful, how miraculous. Oh my.” He clapped his hands like a small boy who had received a great treat. “Zoya Polyakov, heavens, yes, this is some news! Brandon, you only told me we had a random Russian girl, not the Zoya Polyakov. Indeed, well, this is a moment worthy of true fanfare.”
    Zoya’s eyes grew wide. “I do not know you,” she said.
    The little man smiled as he waved his finger in the air. “Ah, but I know you, I know everything about you, and about your friend too. What is her name again? Elga. Yes, Elga Sossoka. Of course, who could forget Elga Sossoka? Tell me, where is she these days?”
    “I do not know this woman you speak of.”
    The little man nodded. “Yes, fine, why don’t we lie to each other? We can always sort out the truths from the lies back at the lab.” He turned to the square-jawed friend. “Well, Brandon, I am afraid this sudden piece of good fortune has altered our plans considerably. Though all to the good, I believe. I am overwhelmed by our luck. Your friend White here is under a kind of spell. You see, she is quite skilled at them—aren’t you, Zoya Polyakov?”
    The woman said nothing. White looked confused. “No, don’t talk about her that way. I won’t let you hurt her.”
    The little man smiled. “Oh you can relax, White, your lady friend here