Babayaga

through the night, heading out of town, toward a friend of Zoya’s who she said might help them. Oliver filled Will in as they drove: “The whole adventure was torn right from the pages of Poe. Did you ever read “The Cask of Amontillado”? It was like that, only, thankfully, without the fatal immurement. The map turned out to be accurate, you see, the guns were stashed in the sealed-off catacombs over in Montparnasse, right beneath the cemetery. It makes sense, it’s close to the station, so I suppose my soldier cached it all away before he caught the westbound train. The catacombs down there are littered with piles upon piles of skeletons.”
    “I know about the catacombs, Oliver.”
    “Oh, sorry, of course, I always forget you’re not a tourist. In any case, there’s a hidden street entrance to the lower levels, and once we got in it was merely a matter of identifying the right crypt. Luckily the map was very good, that fellow must have been well trained by the OSS, because we found the spot in no time. I’ll say, though, it was rather amusing watching the jazz boys dig through the ossuary, throwing those ribs, shinbones, and skulls about like mad dogs. At one point I tried doing the ‘Alas, poor Yorick’ bit but no one was amused.”
    “Where was she?” Will asked, gesturing toward Zoya, asleep in the backseat of the car.
    “At the top of the stairs, keeping watch. We were in and out in half the time I thought it’d take. Then it was simply a matter of dashing back to the pharmacy and coordinating a successful attack.”
    “How’d you pull it off?”
    “Oh, well. I had a rather elaborate charade cooked up involving dressing the boys in overalls and pretending to be EDF electricians, but then Red suggested we simply kick in the front door and start firing. We had them out-armed and we possessed the element of surprise, so his plan made sense. Besides, I don’t know where we would have gotten the overalls.”
    “So, you kicked in the door and started shooting? With me just sitting there?”
    “Well, there was a bit of reconnaissance, but I know what you mean. As I said, I would have preferred some intrigue involving handlebar-mustache disguises and whatnot.” He smiled. “But it all worked out. The jazz boys are crack shots, you know, they were all front-line infantry during the war. It was a fortuitous team to have on hand for the job. I must say, you are a lucky man.”
    Will rolled down the window a crack and leaned his head against it. The fresh night air cleared his thoughts a bit, but not enough to make sense of things. He reached his arm over the seat and wrapped his hand around the sleeping Zoya’s ankle. That helped.
    IX

    The guard came for Elga early. She acted as though she were fast asleep when he rousted her, though she was already well prepared. Slowly, she stepped over the sleeping whores and out of the cell, trudging ahead of the officer. She waited as he unlocked the heavily secured doors and took her up the narrow stairs. The main rooms of the station house were mostly empty at that hour; only two officers were in sight, one yawning, one picking at a roll and sipping coffee as he read the morning edition of La Croix .
    The guard walked her down the hall and around the corner, where they came across three men standing around a desk. Her guard interrupted the conversation.
    “I have Elga Sossoka here,” the guard said to the man Elga guessed was his superior, a police captain perhaps. “Which room do you want her in?”
    “Put her in two,” said the captain. Elga noticed that when the guard had said her name, one of the other men in the group, a tall fellow with a bruised cheek who was wearing a rumpled gray suit, reacted almost as if he had been lightly slapped. It was a small and slightly suppressed expression, no one else seemed to notice it. But he eyed her now with a curious interest that Elga did not like. She looked down at her feet and tried to look stupid.
    The guard took her arm and they continued down the hall. The exchange had bristled her nerves. She wondered if she was merely being paranoid, but as they came to the door marked “Room 2,” she looked over her shoulder and saw that the tall man was ignoring his companions and focusing all his attention on her. She knew this wasn’t good; she would have to work fast.
    Room 2 was empty except for two chairs and a metal desk. A notebook and a pair of pencils lay on the desk. The guard seated her in the