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“But you know she’s critical to the plan. We all talked about it before. We kill her, then Brandon arrests the other two fellows here. It’s simply one of those ménages à trois that’s turned into a horrible crime passionnel.” The little man walked a slow circle around the group, stopping in front of Oliver. “Later, before he can call a lawyer, this fancy one with all the connections hangs himself in his cell, the unfortunate victim of star-crossed passion, while the other”—he looked at Will—“this innocent man from nowhere, he tries to tell his story to the police, to the judge, to anyone who will listen, but of course nobody believes him and so he vanishes into a cell for the rest of his days. Everyone wins, you see? Well,”—he looked over toward Will and Oliver—“almost. So you see, White, it has all been thoroughly thought through, so why the delay?”

“I love her.”

“That’s stupid. He doesn’t even know her,” said Brandon.

“He says he loves her but he does not know her? This sounds very mysterious to me, or perhaps it is normal. I do not know. I abandoned my appetite for women so long ago, it is easy to forget how bewitching they can be. But this does sound unusual. Hmmn.” He walked over to Zoya, stopping less than an inch from her cheek. “She is lovely. May I ask your name, mademoiselle?”

“I am Zoya Fominitchna Polyakov.”

The little man looked shocked. He stepped back, his mouth hanging open wide. “Zoya … Polyakov? Really! How wonderful, how miraculous. Oh my.” He clapped his hands like a small boy who had received a great treat. “Zoya Polyakov, heavens, yes, this is some news! Brandon, you only told me we had a random Russian girl, not the Zoya Polyakov. Indeed, well, this is a moment worthy of true fanfare.”

Zoya’s eyes grew wide. “I do not know you,” she said.

The little man smiled as he waved his finger in the air. “Ah, but I know you, I know everything about you, and about your friend too. What is her name again? Elga. Yes, Elga Sossoka. Of course, who could forget Elga Sossoka? Tell me, where is she these days?”

“I do not know this woman you speak of.”

The little man nodded. “Yes, fine, why don’t we lie to each other? We can always sort out the truths from the lies back at the lab.” He turned to the square-jawed friend. “Well, Brandon, I am afraid this sudden piece of good fortune has altered our plans considerably. Though all to the good, I believe. I am overwhelmed by our luck. Your friend White here is under a kind of spell. You see, she is quite skilled at them—aren’t you, Zoya Polyakov?”

The woman said nothing. White looked confused. “No, don’t talk about her that way. I won’t let you hurt her.”

The little man smiled. “Oh you can relax, White, your lady friend here will not die.” He drew a small revolver out of the holster beneath his suit jacket. “But of course you will.”

Bendix aimed and fired and White’s head snapped to the side as he fell. Then, before his body had landed, the shrill sound of a patrolman’s whistle sounded and a voice shouted out from the brush, “Police! Ne bougez pus. Lâchez vos armes.” The voice was familiar, but before Vidot—who was already bewildered at the great number of people popping up out of the park’s shrubbery—could put a face to the voice there was an even greater commotion as a strange and thunderous thumping noise began to fill the air, like rugs being beaten on a balcony, immediately followed by a wild chorus of piercing screeches.

He heard Oliver yell “Run, Will!” and then, despite the policeman’s insistence that they stop, all the players in the conflict began fleeing in a variety of directions in what quickly became a blur of frantic action. A woman’s voice cried out. More guns were fired. Vidot, craning in vain to see exactly what was happening, could not focus on anything because the skull he was riding on was now tearing through the woods as fast as it possibly could. Navigation was clearly difficult in the dark, and various tree branches came flying in fast at Will’s head, almost scraping poor Vidot. Finally Will stopped, ducking behind a thick tree. He crouched down, breathing hard with panic but otherwise perfectly still, not even moving when the shouts and commotion from the now far-away voices began to fade. Vidot instinctively crouched down too, low on Will’s skull, as if hiding in his own thick forest.

Nearby, a twig broke in the dark. Sensing what was about to happen, Vidot wanted to cry out a warning, Don’t move, don’t say a word. But he couldn’t.

“Oliver?” Will whispered, peering into the dark. “Is that you?”

The small gleam of light, perhaps from a distant streetlamp, caught the edge of the gun as the little man stepped out from the shadows. “No. I’m afraid it is not,” he said. “You will stay silent, please. My driver has the car waiting, parked right past the edge of the trees there. See his headlights? Yes, let’s go.”