Century #4: Dragon of Seas by Pierdomenico Baccalario Page B

which are Ermete and Sheng.
    “Just a photograph, but I don’t think I’d recognize him. What I’m afraid of … is that Sheng might get discouraged if he knew he was some sort of fill-in.”
    Mistral nods. “You’re right.… Oh, here’s my mom.”
    The elevator lets out a chime and opens.
    The two girls turn around.
    Cecile Blanchard is pale.
    Beside her is a tallish man in a long green-gray raincoat and a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
    “Happy to see me?” Jacob Mahler asks, stepping out of the elevator.

A WHITE-TILED PASSAGEWAY DIVIDED BY DARK GLASS PANELS . T O the right is a silver conveyor belt. To the left, aluminum showerheads mounted on the wall. On the floor, a layer of crystal-clear water about ten centimeters deep. It looks like the entrance to a public pool.
    A voice from the speaker on the wall tells Harvey to undress, but he thinks they must be kidding, so they have to tell him a second time. Surprised, he slips off his shoes and puts them on the silver conveyor belt.
    “And the rest,” the voice from the speaker orders.
    Nik Knife is a perfectly still mask behind him.
    “You’re kidding, right?” Harvey Miller asks, laughing nervously.
    The Chinese man simply rests the backpack on the belt. “We do not have much time. Mr. Devil is waiting for us.”
    Harvey nods. Devil’s house, devil’s rules.
    He pulls off his sweater and two T-shirts, ending up bare-chested. He sticks it all on the conveyor belt. Then come his pants.
    “Walk through there.” The Chinese man points to the middle of the passageway with the pool of disinfectant water.
    While Harvey is walking, an X-ray of his skeleton appears on the dark screens that divide the passageway.
    The aluminum showerheads spray him with a pungent-smelling jet of steam. A shower of water mixed with some kind of germicide. Then a jet of scented steam and, finally, hot air to dry him off.
    Meanwhile, six latex-gloved hands rifle through his clothes, open his backpack, pull everything out and put it back in its place. The soles of his shoes are scanned with a beam of orange light. Pants, shirts, sweater and backpack are sprayed with the same disinfectant steam.
    Harvey is given his clothes back at the end of the passageway.
    “You can get dressed now,” says the Chinese man, who now wears latex gloves on his hands and a mask over his face.
    “Really nice of you,” Harvey jokes. “Do you all have to do this when you walk into his place?”
    “Only the people he wants to see quickly,” the Chinese man replies, as stony as a statue. “We are much more careful with the others.”
    He pulls off his gloves and mask as he waits for Harvey to finish getting dressed.
    “My hair’s still wet,” Harvey complains when he’s pushed toward a second elevator with gold doors. “I could catch a cold if I go outside like this.”
    “We are not going outside,” the Chinese man growls.
    The elevator doesn’t have floor buttons. The door closes and the elevator zooms up automatically.
    Twenty-nine seconds. Thirty. Thirty-one, Harvey counts, feeling the pressure on his knees.
    Finally, they reach Heremit Devil’s office.
    “Why, look who’s here, look who’s here!” Mademoiselle Cybel exclaims the moment Harvey steps out of the elevator. “My favorite American boy!”
    He wasn’t expecting to see her here. But Nik Knife’s grip on his elbow makes him keep moving.
    “Mademoiselle Cybel,” Harvey snarls, moving toward the chair the large woman is sunk into. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
    The woman laughs, making her double chin quiver.
    “Looks like I’m pretty good at letting myself get kidnapped at airports,” Harvey continues, annoyed. “At least I don’t see any poisonous spiders this time.”
    “Look carefully.” The woman laughs again. “Look carefully, Miller Junior.”
    Harvey’s eyes dart around the room: a breathtaking view of the city. The river to the west. A large park to the south. Other skyscrapers. The