Babayaga

with his “sirs” and his formal manner, there was an insubordinate note of condescension in his tone. The superintendent took a step back and changed the subject. “Have you been home yet?”
    Vidot raised one eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
    Maroc smiled mischievously. “I only wondered if perhaps this little adventure of yours might merely be a way of avoiding returning to your apartment. Perhaps this ‘mission’ you describe is not very so important, perhaps you’re only popping up and hauling me off on some merry goose chase so you will not have to explain to your lovely wife why you have been away and out of touch for so long?”
    Vidot paused for a moment before he answered. “You are correct about one thing, sir. My wife is a lovely woman.” If Vidot’s tone had been cool before, it was now arctic. “But I was not aware you had met her.”
    Hearing the edge in the detective’s voice, Maroc decided to leave the subject alone for the time being. He realized it might be a good idea to come along with Vidot on this arrest: Why should the arrogant little officer get all the credit? “Very well,” Maroc said, indulgently patting Vidot on the back, “let’s look into this lead of yours.”
    Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of an ordinary-looking building. Going directly to the front door, Vidot knocked hard. No one answered.
    “See if it’s open,” said Maroc. It was unlocked. “Voilà!” he said with a smile.
    Inside the room there was a scientific lab set up along three long aluminum tables. A line of storage cabinets stood behind them. Rubber tubes, glass vials, and various joints, pipes, and screws ran down the length of the tables, past a series of silent Bunsen burners. At the end of the tables sat a pile of loosely arranged thick manila packets. Maroc went over and pulled one open. It was filled with a white powder. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he said, dipping his finger in for a taste.
    “I would not do that,” said Vidot, grabbing Maroc’s hand before it could reach his tongue.
    “You want to tell me what’s going on here?” asked Maroc.
    Suddenly, a loud voice with a broad American accent filled the room. “Well, bonjour !” They looked over to the staircase, where a broad-shouldered man in a dark blue suit descended, followed by another man. Maroc suspected the men had been hiding, hoping they would leave. Maroc looked to Vidot, but the detective clearly did not know these men.
    The American stepped forward and spoke again, but this time only in English, which Maroc did not understand. The American took his wallet out of his jacket, pulled out a card, and passed it to Maroc. It read:

    He said a few more words Maroc could not understand and then he ceased talking and broke into a broad smile.
    Maroc looked around a little bewildered until Vidot spoke up: “The gentleman says he is General Philip Strong, and he says he’s from the American embassy. He says he is waiting here for his team and he says he would like to know who we are and why we feel we have the right to walk into someone’s private property.”
    “Well, tell him the door was open.”
    Vidot and the man proceeded to have a conversation in English while Maroc stood there feeling increasingly frustrated. Finally, Vidot turned to him. “He says that he and his team have been working with the United States Department of Defense in conjunction with both NATO and Interpol. He claims he has oversight on a project being run out of this building and says the contents of those envelopes are United States property. He apologizes for his English, but neither he nor his colleague speaks French. And, finally,” said Vidot with a bemused smile, “he is requesting we leave the building now as it is a matter of national security.”
    This annoyed Maroc even more. “Oh really? Whose national security is he talking about? Ours? Are the Basques somehow involved, the Kabyle, the Pieds-Noirs? I sincerely doubt it. We don’t need an American cowboy strolling in to lecture us about his idea of national security. And I would specifically like to know what that substance is in those packets over there, in fact I demand to know—” At that moment, mid-rant, Maroc glanced over at the grinning American and realized there might be some opportunity here that he was missing. “Ahem, yes, let me begin again. Vidot, please tell this gentleman we apologize, but this is a major investigation, and while we respect