Zig Zag (22 page)

"Craig
was one of my mentors in particle physics," Valente explained.
"He's the one who encouraged me to take Blanes's admission test.
Silberg is a professor of the philosophy of science with a PhD in
history. And check out that tall woman in purple next to Craig..."

It
would have been hard not to, Elisa thought, given that she was
absolutely stunning. Her long brown hair fell straight down to her
waist like a pencil, and her form-fitting clothes were elegant yet
simple. Standing with her was a girl who seemed much younger, with
long, remarkable albino hair. Elisa didn't recognize either one of
them.

"That's
Jacqueline Clissot, from Montpellier. She's a world-famous
paleontologist and anthropologist. The one with white hair must be
one of her students."

"What
are they doing here? They weren't on any of the panels."

"That's
just what I was thinking. I think they're here to meet up with
Blanes. This symposium has been like a big family reunion. Meanwhile,
Daddy Blanes and Mommy Marini are put in charge of telling the
scientific community that the sequoia isn't going to bloom this year.
It's as if their main objective is to lay their cards on the table
and prove that no one's cheating. Weird, isn't it? And that's not
all."

He
walked off, hands in his pockets, and Elisa followed him, intrigued
despite her best efforts at indifference. They crossed the lobby, the
summer light still streaming in through the large windows.

"This
is the strangest thing," he continued. "I bumped into
Silberg and Clissot at Oxford a few months ago. I had to take care of
some stuff with Craig, so I went to his office. He opened the door,
but he was busy. I recognized Silberg and wanted to know who the
hottie with him was. But Craig didn't introduce me. In fact, he
seemed annoyed that I was even there. But being on friendly terms
with the secretaries has its advantages, and Craig told me all about
it later on. It seems Clissot and Silberg had been in conversation
with her boss for a year or so, and finally they were meeting up in
Oxford."

"So?
They were probably just working on a project," Elisa said.

Valente
shook his head.

"I
got pretty tight with Craig, and he used to tell me all about the
projects he was working on. Besides, what kind of project would a guy
like Craig, who deals with particle accelerators, be working on with
a historian like Silberg and a dead-chimp specialist like Clissot?
Add Blanes and Marini into the mix, and what do you get?"

"A
mess?"

"Yeah.
Or a sect of devil worshippers." Valente lowered his voice. "Or
something much more ... exotic." Elisa stared at him blankly.
"What are you thinking?"

He
just smiled. A musical chime announced the resumption of the
symposium, and the public was drawn back to the hall like iron
filings to a magnet. Valente jerked his head in their direction.

"There
they all go. Look at them. Little ducklings waddling along behind
Momma Duck: Craig, Silberg, Clissot, Marini... Blanes is paying for
it all, but it's not his money." He turned back to her. "Now
you'll see why I'm so sure they've been 'watching' us. Check this
out..."

He'd
stopped beside one of the signs propped up on an easel. It read, in
English, "First International Symposium. Modern Theories on the
Nature of Space-Time. July 16-17, 2005. Palacio de Congresos,
Madrid." But Valente was pointing to the smaller print.

"Sponsored
by...," he read aloud.

"Eagle
Group," Elisa finished. She made out the artistic logo. The "g"
in "Eagle" was used in the word "Group," too.

"You
know what that is?" Valente asked.

"Of
course. They're a pretty new conglomerate, but they've made a big
splash. Some EU consortium that finances scientific development..."

He
smiled at her.

"My
father once told me that the equivalent to the Americans' ECHELON in
Europe is called Eagle Group," he said.

11

ON
Sunday,
after the last morning session, Victor went to find Elisa to ask her
to lunch. Wanting to speak to him, she agreed. Something strange had
happened.

Ric
Valente hadn't shown up that morning. Neither had Blanes. And that
double no-show made her uneasy. It was true that Sunday's panels were
devoted to experimental physics, which was not Blanes's field, but
Elisa couldn't help but think that the disappearance of the sequoia
theory creator and of Valente Sharpe had to be related. Nevertheless,
she didn't want to seriously consider the suspicions she'd been
harboring just yet.

They
found a table at the back of the crowded cafeteria and ate in
silence. As Elisa sat there wondering how to broach the topic, Victor
wiped the mayonnaise from his chin and then said, "Blanes called
Ric this morning; he asked him to go with him to Zurich."

She
couldn't swallow.

"Oh,"
she murmured.

"Ric
called to tell me. He said he wasn't going to come today because they
had to meet up and plan."

She
nodded idiotically, gagging on a wad of dry bread that her mouth
seemed unable to send down her throat. She asked Victor to excuse
her, got up, and went to the bathroom, where she spat that ball of
sawdust into the toilet. After splashing her face in the sink, she
reconsidered.
Well,
wasn't that what you were expecting? So what's the big deal?
She'd
considered the possibility during long sleepless nights, and she'd
been more than aware that it was the most likely outcome. After all,
Ric Valente had been Blanes's favorite right from the start. She
dried her face with a paper towel, returned to the table, and sat
down opposite Victor. "I'm happy for him," she said.

And
she supposed she really was. She was glad about everything that had
happened, now that the competition was finally over. The sequoia
theory was still knocking at her door, tempting her with its amazing
mathematical beauty, but soon it would get tired and leave, and she'd
be in peace once more. There were other fish in the sea, scholarships
for MIT and Berkeley that she'd applied for in case Zurich didn't
come through. She was sure she'd end up doing her dissertation with
one of the world's best physicists, no matter what. She was ambitious
and knew that her drive would take her far. Blanes was one of a kind,
but he wasn't the
only
one
who
was one of a kind.

"I'm
happy for him too," Victor spluttered. "I mean, not
entirely. Well, for him I am, but not for you. I mean..."

"I
don't care. Honestly. Blanes and his sequoia aren't the be-all and
end-all."

She
felt better after that blow. She'd always tried to adapt to new
situations, and this was no exception. And since she'd now actually
have some time to relax, she decided she'd reorganize her life. She
might even call her own private "spy," Javier Maldonado,
and return his dinner invitation, asking him a few questions, just to
clear up some things she'd been brooding over since Valente had
spoken to her.
Have
you been spying on me? Do you work for Eagle Group?
She
could just picture his face.

Then
she remembered the bet.

Well,
that was OK, she was pretty sure Valente would forget about it.
When
Blanes said, "Come with me," he probably forgot all about
bets and trotted after him like a puppy.

But
what if he didn't? What if he wanted to play this thing all the way
out? She considered the possibility, and it made her very nervous.
There was no way that she was going back on her word. She'd do
whatever he said. But she also had to assume, or at least hope, that
he wouldn't go too far. She'd give in, hoping he'd do the same. She
was almost sure that Valente was more interested in humiliating her
than anything else, and if she was casual about it and gave in to his
demands, he'd lose all interest.

I'm
going to call your cell phone. Just once. I'll tell you where you
have to go, and how, what you can wear and what you can't...

All
of a sudden, she felt uncomfortable with her cell in her pants
pocket. It was like having Valente's hand on her thigh. She pulled it
out and looked to see if she'd missed any calls. None. Then she
placed it on the table like a gambler staking it all on one number.
When she looked up, she could see the alarm in Victor's eyes; he
seemed to read her thoughts.

"I
think I crossed a line yesterday," he said. "I'm sorry. I
shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You probably misunderstood
me. I... I didn't mean to scare you."

"You
didn't scare me," she replied, smiling.

"Well,
I'm glad to hear you say that," Victor said. But his expression
showed that he was anything but. "All day yesterday, I kept
going over it in my head, thinking I'd been a little over the top. I
mean ... Ric's not the Devil incarnate or anything...."

"I'd
never thought he was. But thanks for clearing it up; Satan might have
been offended."

Something
about that comment charmed Victor. Seeing him laugh, Elisa did the
same. Then she glanced down at her almost untouched sandwich, her
cell phone lying next to it. She added, "I just don't understand
how you two ever became friends. You're so different."

"We
were just kids back then. When you're a kid you do a lot of things
that, later on, you'd never have done."

"I
suppose you're right."

And
then, out of the blue, Victor began to talk. It was like a torrent or
a violent storm, his sentences like thunder rolling from his lips,
but the thoughts that impelled them were more like lightning,
striking from deep within him. Elisa listened carefully since, for
the first time since she'd met him, he was talking about something
other than physics or theology. He stared off into space, reeling off
his tale as he did.

As
always, he spoke about the past. About that which has taken place and
continues to take place, as Elisa's grandfather had once explained it
to her. Things that once were and therefore still are. He spoke about
the only thing we ever really speak about when we're honest, because
it's impossible to go into detail about anything other than our
memories. And as she listened, the cafeteria, the conference, and her
professional concerns melted away. For Elisa, all that existed right
then was Victor's voice and the story he told.