Page 42 of The Paradox Club

“Vivian Harbottle,” said Pilgrim 3 under her breath. “We meet again.” She stared at her computer screen and wondered if Vivian had been foolish enough to turn on the radio. Only a few members of the club knew the name Vivian Harbottle, but plenty of them remembered Ardan 1. Ardan 1 had been a colleague of Harry Maxwell and a close friend to him and his wife, Marie. Some whispered that she had been more than a friend and colleague to Harry. Pilgrim 3 didn’t care about any of that. Ardan 1 had spoken briefly at the Great Debate and, following Harry’s death, had disappeared from the halls of the club. She hadn’t exactly gone into hiding—she still taught at Wisconsin, so Pilgrim 3 had always assumed she lived somewhere in Madison, but when it came to the club, Vivian had exercised none of the privileges of her membership since Harry Maxwell’s death. Until this morning, Pilgrim 3 had been convinced that Vivian Harbottle was ancient history, a woman who had lost her best friend in a tragic accident and who had forgotten all about the Paradox Club and its work.

But if Vivian Harbottle had really left the past behind, why had she turned on the radio? And without the protection Harry Maxwell had used to shield it from detection? Surely, she knew it would be picked up by the big board and that its unexpected survival would attract the attention of the vault keeper. Nor could the timing, so close to October 14, be a coincidence. It was almost as if Vivian was saying, Come and get it—I dare you. Could it be a trap? Could Vivian be using the radio to lure Pilgrim 3 away from the club? Or to distract her while the real action played out somewhere else? The existence of the radio could be a major opportunity for Pilgrim 3, but best to proceed with caution. She picked up her phone and called Montag 5.

“It’s Vivian Harbottle,” said Montag 5. “We’re outside the house now. Nemo 7 looked her up. Don’t I know that name from somewhere?”

“Never mind about the name,” said Pilgrim 3. “Right now, I just want you to watch and report. Don’t go into the house unless she leaves and even then, if you can get in be extremely careful. Don’t touch anything, don’t move anything, just look for an antique radio.”

“And if we find an antique radio?”

“Get it and get out of there. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“Is this the radio that Harry Maxwell brought up in the Great Debate?” asked Montag 5.

“Just do what I tell you to and don’t ask questions. Has Nemo 7 done anything suspicious?”

“He fell asleep when he was supposed to be watching me,” said Montag 5, glancing at Nemo 7 who rolled his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound too worrisome,” said Pilgrim 3.

For the moment, Nemo 7 decided not to fret. The longer they spent waiting outside Vivian’s house, the more time the president or his representatives had to arrive. If his fellow mole Valentine 6, whom Calvin 4 had told him all about, had seen the big board light up, she had certainly warned the president, and he must either be on his way or have already dispatched a team of loyalists. The surveillance assignment Montag 5 had outlined seemed harmless enough. If Nemo 7 had the opportunity to slow things down even more, he would. But for now, he would, like Montag 5, simply sit and watch.

MEN IN BLACK

Tess woke up a few minutes before eight o’clock, after a brief sleep, to the sound of the screen door slamming, a sound that had woken her often in her teenage years—the sound of Vivian leaving to bike to campus. She pulled on her bathrobe and made her way downstairs, following the smell of coffee. Vivian had left a note on the refrigerator. Coffee in the pot. Bacon and eggs in the fridge. An old friend of mine named Richard is coming to visit. Should be here midmorning. He knew your dad. I only have one class, so I’ll be home a little after 9:00. Tess wondered if Richard could be her father’s old colleague and mentor from the university. She had only met him once or twice, but she had heard Harry and Vivian talk about him—once even calling him president. Tess had assumed Richard had been president of some faculty club or other.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and was considering whether she wanted to go to the trouble of warming up the bacon and eggs when the doorbell rang. Tess glanced up at the clock. Five past eight. That was not midmorning. Clutching her mug of coffee with one hand and pulling her bathrobe tightly around her with the other, she walked down the hall and opened the front door.

Two men in black suits and aviator glasses stood on the porch, one a hulk of a man with a thick neck and broad shoulders, the other a wisp of a thing with a pale complexion and hair so blond Tess thought it looked the color of Scotch tape. They could not have looked more threatening to Tess if they had brandished baseball bats or grenade launchers. I mean really, she thought, two men in black suits? Anyone who had ever read a comic book or watched a cartoon knew that meant either Mormons or trouble, and these were clearly not Mormons. If danger comes, you will recognize it, said Harry’s note. He had been right. This danger couldn’t be any more obvious if it came with a flashing sign and a bullhorn.

As she opened the door, Tess caught a fleeting look of surprise on the face of the larger man, but then both men smiled cordially, which only made them appear more threatening. Harry’s ogre story had taught Tess to pay attention to details and not make assumptions. In this case she did not assume that just because the men acted friendly they posed no threat; nor did she assume that just because they seemed so obviously dangerous Tess might not turn the encounter to her advantage. As for details, she committed to memory the precise design of the small silver pin each man wore on the lapel of his black suit. It consisted of two interlocking uppercase letters in a sans serif typeface: C and P. Circling these was the thin line of an ellipse with a small red orb on the left side—like a diagram of an electron orbiting the nucleus of an atom or a planet orbiting a star.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said the wisp.

“There’s no need to call me ma’am.”

“Well, good morning then, Miss…” The hulk let the sentence hang unfinished.

“Tess,” said Tess reflexively, checking herself before she said her last name. Idiot, she thought. Two seconds into the conversation and they’re already winning. She took a slug of coffee, hoping it would wake her up enough to prevent another blunder.

“Would you like to tell us your last name?” said the wisp.

“I would not,” said Tess, further unnerved by the fact that she couldn’t see the man’s eyes.

“As I said then, good morning, ma’am,” said the wisp.

The wisp glanced at the hulk for an instant, and Tess could see that her visitors had no plan. They had been surprised that she came to the door. That meant they thought the house was empty and weren’t expecting to have this conversation. And if they thought the house was empty, that meant they had watched Vivian leave.

“We are trying to get in touch with a Vivian Rosemary Harbottle,” said the hulk before adding pointedly, “ma’am.”

“A Vivian Rosemary Harbottle? You mean there’s more than one?”

“Probably,” said the hulk, without any indication that he found Tess’s question either confrontational or sarcastic.

“The one we’re looking for lives at this address,” said the wisp.

“I’m the only person at this address,” said Tess. She considered that this statement was, in the most literal sense, true.

“Are you saying that Ms. Harbottle is not in at the moment?” said the wisp.