Part 41 (1/2)
A weight hit my lap. I jumped.
Birdie brrrp-ed brrrp-ed and rubbed his head on my chin. and rubbed his head on my chin.
”Where's Harry, Bird?”
The cat brrrp-ed brrrp-ed again. again.
”You're right.”
Gathering the feline, I crawled into bed.
Harry was sitting on a carved wooden bench outside Obeline's gazebo, the totem pole casting zoomorphic shadows across her face. She was holding a sc.r.a.pbook, insisting I look.
The page was black. I could see nothing.
Harry spoke words I couldn't make out. I went to turn the page, but my arm jerked wildly. I tried over and over, with the same spastic result.
Frustrated, I stared at my hand. I was wearing gloves with the fingers cut off. Nothing protruded from the holes.
I tried to wiggle my missing fingers. My arm jerked again.
The sky darkened and a piercing cry split the air. I looked up at the totem pole. The eagle's beak opened and the carved bird screeched again.
My lids dragged apart. Birdie was nudging my elbow. The phone was ringing.
Fumbling the handset to my ear, I clicked on.
”-lo.”
Ryan made none of his usual sleeping-princess jokes. ”They've cracked the code.”
”What?” Still sluggish.
”Cormier's thumb drive. We're in. You available to scan faces?”
”Sure, but-”
”Need a ride?”
”I can drive.” I checked the clock: 8:13.
”Time to make yourself useful, princess.” The old Ryan.
”I've been up for hours.” I looked at Bird. The cat looked back. Disapproving?
”Right.”
”I was online until three-thirty.”
”Learn much?”
”Yes.”
”Surprised you could stay awake after such rigorous physical activity.”
”Cooking pasta?”
Pause.
”You OK with last night?” Ryan's voice had gone serious.
”What happened last night?”
”Headquarters. ASAP.”
Dial tone.
Fifty minutes later I entered a conference room on the fourth floor of Wilfrid-Derome. The small s.p.a.ce contained one battered government-issue table and six battered government-issue chairs. A wall-mounted chalkboard. Vertical-slat blinds on one dingy window.
The table held a cardboard box, a phone, a rubber snake, a laptop, and a seventeen-inch monitor. Solange Lesieur was connecting the latter two pieces of equipment.
Ryan arrived as Lesieur and I were speculating on the provenance of the serpent. Hippo was two steps behind. Bearing coffee.
Seeing me, Hippo frowned.
”Brennan's good with faces,” Ryan explained.
”Better than she is with advice?”
Lesieur spoke before I could think of a clever rejoinder. ”No coffee for me.”
”I brought extra,” Hippo said.
Lesieur shook her head. ”I'm already stoked.”
”What's Harpo doing here?” Sideswiping the reptile, Hippo placed his tray on the table.
Lesieur and I exchanged glances. The snake's name was Harpo?
Everyone sat. While Lesieur booted the laptop, the rest of us stirred powdered cream and/or sugar into the opaque brown sludge in our Styrofoam cups. Hippo went with two packets of each.
”All set?”