STORM: The Black Sphere

Pink carpet. Matching tablecloths. Crystal chandeliers in a 1960s style. Old men with long hair, dressed in ties and blazers, were tucking into gateaux. A table of stout ladies wearing broad-heeled shoes and heavy eye makeup sipped coffee and nibbled at marzipan tarts.

In an annex to the dining room was a chocolateria, the shelves piled high with chocolate blocks, their wrappers showing old-fashioned trains steaming through the Alps. Beside them nestled a pile of chocolate logs tied up with orange ribbon. “You sit down,” Andrew said as he headed toward the counter. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Will took a table by the window. A group of laughing hikers strode past outside. As Gaia sat down, he glanced at his watch. “Half an hour till Vanya’s contact’s due.”

“What do you think he’ll be like?” she asked. “What should we tell him?”

“It depends if Greta gets here first with the notebook. And what the notebook says. We might not even need him.”

“I’m thinking white hair, six feet tall, big Adam’s apple, lumberjack shirt.”

He smiled. She’d just described Vanya. “I’m guessing not all retired spies look like Vanya.”

Will frowned. Yes, Vanya could be overbearing and rude, but he was also loyal, smart, and brave. “He came through for us in St. Petersburg. Maybe he will here too,” Will said quietly.

“Chocolate logs!” Andrew announced. He dropped the package on the table and pulled out a chair. “I couldn’t resist.”

As Andrew sat down, movement by the door caught their attention. It had swung open, and now Greta dashed in. She looked around wildly, saw them, and hurried over. She was clutching a paper bag.

The elderly woman at the table next to them stopped with a forkful of cake halfway to her mouth. Greta was oblivious.

“I cannot delay,” she said. “My mother is expecting me. We are going to stay with my aunt in Bern. Just in case. Here is the notebook. You will let me know what you find out? And if you find the village really is in danger?” She fixed her black eyes on Andrew.

“Of course,” he said. “We’ll phone you. And if David Wickett gets in touch?”

“What—Greta?” Gaia asked him, still smarting after their exchange about Vanya.

Will only smiled. Then he lowered his gaze to David Wickett’s notebook. His heart pounded. At last, they were getting somewhere.

Will was about to do exactly that. Then he held it out. “You’re better at math than me. You take the first look.”

The surprise was clear in Andrew’s blue eyes. But he wasn’t about to argue. He grabbed the book and flicked it open.

For two whole minutes, Andrew had been silent. He’d been leafing through the pages, a frown knotting his forehead. Will was leaning over his shoulder, giving about as much away.

“What does it say?” she demanded. A waitress bringing coffee stopped in her tracks and frowned at them.

“It seems Greta was right,” Andrew said wearily. “It is actually in code.”

He dropped the book on the table and turned it so Gaia could see. “Look—these numbers mean nothing. Even the equations aren’t right. Somehow, he’s encrypted his workings.”

“Maybe. In a few days, or a few weeks, or a few years. It totally depends what sort of encryption he’s used, and since he’s no slouch in the intellectual department, I’m guessing we’re in trouble.”

“If you want the short answer.” Andrew turned the book back around and stared at the pages till the tiny red letters and numbers seemed to merge. A sudden ringing made him jump.

Gaia checked her phone and looked annoyed. “It’s Dad,” she said. Without another word, she got up from the table and headed outside.

Andrew was still poring over the encrypted notes. “I just don’t know,” he said, half to himself. “I can’t make anything of it. The equation here looks like it should make sense, but then . . .” He turned the page and shook his head.

Will reached out. Gently he pulled the notebook away. “Give yourself a break,” he said. He slid the menu over. “We should eat. And I mean something more substantial than chocolate logs. Then we’ll have another look.”

Sighing, Andrew nodded. He opened the menu and cast an eye over the offerings. Beetroot-turnip-cabbage carpaccio. Smoked wild boar ham with green apple salad. Game pâté with pistachios. Suddenly he didn’t feel hungry. Outside the window, he noticed, Gaia was pacing. Tourists were colliding with her, apologizing and waiting for her to reciprocate. It didn’t happen. Gaia’s expression was black.

Andrew closed the menu. He looked thoughtful. “Has she told you about her dad?”

Will wondered what Andrew meant, exactly. The last he’d heard, her dad had been doing a bit better. “What about him?”

“. . . Right.” The news left Will with a mix of feelings. He knew that no matter how badly she and her dad got along, he was still her dad. She still cared about him. But why had she told Andrew about the hospital and not him? Will clenched his fists under the table. He wished she’d confided in him. She should have wanted to confide in him.

Andrew pushed his glasses back up along his nose. A familiar anxious gesture. “There was something I wanted to run past you.” He paused. “I was thinking that if anything did happen to her father, I could ask Gaia if she wanted to live with me. Perhaps my father could become her guardian. If she wanted. She could be my sister.” Pale blue eyes regarded Will uncertainly. “What do you think?”

For a few moments, Will said nothing. Andrew had surprised him. Gaia could be his sister? Will wasn’t sure how to respond. So he bought some time. “Have you talked to your parents?”

Andrew shook his head. “But they’re home now. For a few weeks, anyway. I was planning to. I mean, before we came here.”

Andrew looked slightly taken aback. “No . . . but that’s all right.” His fingers played with the edge of the menu. “I don’t have any issues about it. I don’t have any neuroses. Maybe if I did, Dad would be more interested—”Andrew blushed. “He would be interested in Gaia, that’s for sure.” And he smiled quickly, trying to cover his embarrassment.

“I meant to ask,” Andrew said, eyes on the table. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. But I’ve noticed. You—you . . . and Gaia,” he said at last. He raised his eyes. Fixed them on Will.

Will could only look back. Him and Gaia. Now it was his turn to blush. Then the door swung inward. Gaia was striding toward them, plunging her phone into her pocket.

Gaia scraped back her chair and sat down heavily. She noticed their strained expressions. “What’s wrong?” Her gaze shot to the notebook. “Have you found something?”

“Ah,” Andrew said. “No. Unfortunately. No. We were just thinking we should eat. I think I’m going to order the turnip carpaccio.”

Will still had the menu. And Andrew, who didn’t want to look at Gaia, grabbed the notebook again. He opened it at random. Sighed. Flicked over the page . . .

There had been an edge to his voice. Will had heard it before. He dropped the menu.

Andrew looked up at him, his face rigid. Then words started tumbling out: “I read a feature in a magazine. It wasn’t a journal. I mean it wasn’t peer-reviewed. It was an idea— and I checked it out, and I saw that diagram. Something a bit like it, anyway, I’m sure.”

“It was theoretical, but—it would explain a lot. It could explain Project FIREball . . . If that’s what they were up to. It could explain why InVesta are seriously interested . . . Why they’d want to get their hands on the research!” Absorbed in his thoughts, Andrew had raised his voice. Diners at the surrounding tables had stopped eating.

Gaia was very fond of Andrew. But this was exasperating. “Andrew, tell us—”

A woman had appeared by their table. A woman like none of them had ever seen before.

Grand Restaurant Schuh. 5:30 P.M.