And yet his mystical sixth sense, the one that conflicted with his views on God and the unknown, kept ticking away, nagging him to forget chance and happenstance and tie these random events together into a meaningful package.
Hugo shook his head, frustrated at twisting himself into unhelpful knots. He turned, crossed the street, and began to walk home the way he'd come, cutting south before hitting Max's stall — he still thought of it as Max's — and onto Rue Guénégaud. As he walked, he called Emma.
“Can I buy you lunch?” he asked.
“I brought mine.”
“It'll keep 'til tomorrow.”
“I don't eat leftovers on Saturdays. Are you planning to tell me what you're up to? If so, and you're paying for dessert, then I'm in.”
“Yes,” he said, “that's why I called.” He hesitated, and she heard that, too.
“What do you need, Hugo?”
“Just a tiny favor. I need to know the name and whereabouts of a woman named Ceci. She used to be the head of the SBP before Gravois.”
Emma snorted, delicately. “I told you her name once before. I'll look it up again and bring it to lunch. Where?”
Hugo wanted somewhere close to the embassy. “Brasserie Trudeau. It's been a week since I've eaten there. See you at one.”
He checked his watch and saw he had plenty of time to go back to his apartment, shower, and grab Tom.
Hugo had always done his best thinking while walking. He decided that a meander through the Luxembourg gardens could only help.
As he passed down Rue de Sévres he noticed a new boutique directly across the street, the storefront wearing a fresh coat of dark red paint and the large window filled with hats. Another store that would last a few months, Hugo figured, as he slipped between two parked cars and trotted across the street. A blue Renault clattered toward him and honked feebly, its driver annoyed rather than at risk, but it startled Hugo enough to propel his final step into a leap for the safety of the pavement. As he landed, he pivoted as elegantly as he was able in order to avoid crashing into a man who'd been window shopping himself, a man alerted to Hugo's presence by the horn.
They locked eyes for just a second, and Hugo felt a hole open in the pit of his stomach. He stood still on the sidewalk as the man in his cloth cap lowered his head, muttered something in French, and walked quickly away. Hugo watched the man's back, testing his own instincts, knowing that if he were right, two things would happen. Both did; the man reached the end of the block and made a sharp right down a side street, and as he disappeared from view he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and began dialing.
This was no coincidence. He pulled out his own phone and dialed Claudia.
“Hugo!” Her voice was flooded with relief. “I'm so glad, I've been worried but didn't dare call. I thought you were furious with me.”
“And I thought maybe my dinner companion had put you off me,” he said.
She laughed, a gentle sound down the phone. “Non, Hugo. I know you went home alone. But can we meet? We should probably talk about all this.”
“Sure, but not right now. Listen, something's going on, and I really do need some answers.”
“OK. What is it?”
“I need to know if your father is having me followed.”
“What?” Her surprise sounded genuine. “No, of course not. That's ridiculous, Hugo, why would he?”
“You tell me.”
“Hugo, wait. Are you saying you're being followed? Right now?”
“Yes. Earlier this morning I almost bumped into a man. He wore a cloth cap and was keeping his face away from me. I didn't think anything of it at the time. But just now, I ran into him again.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“I know, it wouldn't usually. Except, an hour ago he was in a hurry. I just ran into him a block away from where I first saw him. A man doesn't hurry like that and cover two blocks in an hour. And the way he scurried away from me, both times. I'm sure, Claudia.”
“There could be other explanations. Coincidence? Maybe he was hurrying to an appointment nearby and is hurrying to another one now.”
“As soon as he noticed me, he went to the end of the block and turned right. Before he made it, his phone was in his hand. He was letting someone know I'd spotted him. Oh, and just so you know, the street he turned down was Rue Récamier.”
“I don't know it.”
“It's a pedestrian street, no cars, and a dead end.” Which means he doesn't live around here, Hugo thought, else he'd know that. And it also means that he'll be back this way any minute.
“Hugo, you're not going to confront him, are you?”
“What a good idea,” he said lightly, “thanks for suggesting it.”
“No, Hugo, it's not a suggestion. He may have a weapon.”
“Then that'll make two of us.”
“This is Paris, Hugo, not the Wild West. You can't have a shootout. Merde.”
Hugo moved into the hat shop and ignored the irritated glance from its proprietor. He stationed himself behind a mannequin and watched through the window. He aimed his next words at both women, saying, “Don't worry, I won't make a mess.” He tried to keep his tone light, but wasn't sure how it had come out.
“Look, can you meet me for lunch?” Claudia said.
“No, I have a date, sorry.” That sounded petty, so he added, “with my secretary, Emma. She has some information for me.”
“OK. Dinner?”
“A drink. Maybe dinner.”
They agreed to meet at the intersection of three streets, Rues de Buci, Mazarine, and Dauphine, at seven o'clock. That would give them a choice of two cafés right there, and another nearby.
A moment after Hugo rang off, the man in the hat appeared at the corner and lit a cigarette, his eyes darting up and down the street. OK, amateur, let's see where you're going. Hugo moved further into the store and looked around. A gray Homburg sat atop the wire head of a two-headed mannequin. Trendy mannequins for traditional hats, thought Hugo, very Paris. He picked it up. His size. A lot like his own fedora, but different enough to change his outline. The middle-aged proprietor, whose wild, bleached blonde hair would defy any hat, moved toward him.
“This one is perfect.” He pulled notes from his wallet and handed them over with a smile. “In a bit of a hurry, though.”
“D'accord. Un sac, monsieur?”
“Oui.” He took the bag and put his own black hat into it. He stuck the new hat on his head and slipped off his coat, turned it inside out, and put it back on. It wasn't designed to be reversible but its muted wool lining would do the trick from a distance. “Merci.” He took one more look through the window and strode out of the store in the direction his follower had taken. At the corner he saw the man talking on the phone as he hurried along the sidewalk. Hugo followed him for two blocks with ease, staying directly behind him and using other pedestrians, mail boxes, and streetlamps as light cover. If the man turned around, all he'd see would be foot traffic and, maybe, occasional glimpses of a man wearing an unfamiliar coat and hat, his face invisible.
He trailed the man south as they continued along Rue de Sévres. If he didn't live in this area, Hugo figured he would probably take the metro. But the man marched right past the entrance to the station at Sévres — Babylon and then past the Vaneau stop. Hugo checked his pace when he realized that his interest in the man had brought him a little too close.
Hugo paused at the entrance to the Vaneau metro and studied the map, a hint of an idea in his mind. He found the street they were on and then picked out the next station along this road. He traced a finger north from it, his suspicion confirmed. We have that in common, Hugo thought, looking at the man's back. You'd rather walk an extra two blocks and get a direct train than have to wait ten or fifteen minutes underground to change trains. He was headed, Hugo was sure, to the next metro stop, Duroc, where he could take the train all the way to Place de Clichy. The stop closest to the offices of the SBP.