The Zurich Conspiracy

mean?”
    “Bourdin needs somebody to manufacture chaos and insecurity. If he did it himself, he’d come into conflict with Walther. But Bourdin needs chaos around him, that’s his elixir. Schulmann will deliver it. Then Bourdin can pull the strings, and we’ll all be dangling on them.”
    Josefa shook her head. “Walther will defend Bourdin through thick and thin. Bourdin doesn’t need Schulmann”—she stopped to correct herself—“or to put it better: Bourdin needs Schulmann for some purpose I can’t figure out. He’s got some goal in mind, but I can’t imagine what it might be.”
    Pius poured her wine. “Forget Bourdin for now, Josefa. Come, my dear, grant me the gift of your fair smile.”
    “I’m so precious that you can’t pay enough for my smile,” she retorted.
    “You hardly ever laugh, Josefa, there’s always a trace of sadness in your eyes.” He gave her an almost tender look. She felt herself going limp.
    “That sounds downright poetic. I thought you were a photographer, not a poet,” she remarked, her voice filled with irony, though secretly she knew he was right. How long had it been since she laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks? She couldn’t recall, but she must have done it often as a little girl; before her mother died she must have fooled around with her friends…In a strained, sober voice she added, “But it’s nice of you to be looking after me.”
    “I didn’t want to leave you all by yourself after so much aggravation.” His voice was like velvet.
    “How come you think there’s not somebody waiting for me to come home?”
    Pius slid his stool closer, as if he were about to tell her something confidential. Josefa thought she could feel the warmth of his strong body; she felt like leaning on his shoulder that very moment. Just for a little while. Or maybe a bit longer.
    “I’ve wanted to know for a long time who you share your nights with, Josefa,” he whispered. His dark eyes were burning.
    “And you?” she shot back.
    “Me? With Gelyella.”
    “And who is this exotic unknown woman?”
    “A living fossil,” Pius disclosed with a grin, his face still very close. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Gelyella is about twelve thousandths of an inch long. In the microscope it looks like a bizarre crustacean. It was discovered by Swiss scientists in an underground spring in the midnineties. These miniscule thingies have been around for twenty million years, imagine that. And Gelyella is a veritable beauty: she’s got a perfectly transparent body and no eyes.”
    “Sounds exciting. I’ve never heard of a Gelyella,” Josefa said, suddenly feeling a leaden fatigue spreading through her body. The red wine.
    “People forget about creatures they can’t see, creatures that live in underground worlds.” His finger was fumbling around in one of her bouncing curls.
    “Your creatures are afraid of daylight,” she said, reaching for her wine glass.
    “They’d die miserably in the light.” Pius panted out the words between clenched teeth, his eyes twinkling.
    Josefa knew he was kidding, but a sudden, cold shudder ran down her spine nevertheless. Today had simply been too much.
    Pius laughed as he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her toward him for a second. “Did I frighten you, my dauntless warrior?”
    Josefa pressed her face against the soft material of his jacket—then quickly pulled back.
    “I’ve got every reason to be afraid,” she said, admitting to the anonymous e-mails she’d been receiving. Pius listened attentively—listening was his strong suit.
    “Maybe someone can trace where they’re coming from. You always leave a trail when you’re on the Internet. Go and see Joe Müller at the Internet café in Central Station. Joe’s an old buddy of mine and one smart Internet geek, first class.”
    Josefa was almost awake again. “I know Joe Müller. I took an Internet course from him once. Why didn’t I think of him earlier? Thanks for the tip.” She slipped off the stool. “Let’s get going, Gelyella’s waiting.”
    “But you still haven’t told me who you’re—”
    “Maybe it’s somebody who doesn’t like the light as well,” was Josefa’s rejoinder as she made for the exit.

Once again construction was underway in the enormous hall of Zurich’s Central Station. Men in orange work clothes were setting up metal scaffolding and carrying boards around. It looked very much like the stands for a sporting event,