business. When he heard we had an appointment, he scanned our photo IDs with a handheld and radioed for confirmation. When he got it, he called for the guard inside to open up, and we went in. Next up was a full-body scanner.
“No can do,” I said, stopping before we entered it and set it off. I opened my jacket so they could see my shoulder holster. “I’m an armed Federal Agent, and Miss Aimée is with the Belgian State Security Service.”
“We know, sir,” said the guard in charge, “but no weapons are allowed inside the facility. Those are the rules.”
“The FBI’s got rules too, buddy, and the first one is you don’t give up your piece to anyone unless there’s a gun pointed at your head.”
“Sorry, sir, but I can’t let you pass.”
“No problem. I’ll wait outside.”
A voice came over the guard’s radio in the same accent as Izzy’s. “Mr. Dinkins, there is no need to scan them, and they may keep their weapons. They are friends. Let them pass.”
“Yes, sir,” Dinkins said. He waved us around the scanner and gave us temporary badges with our photos from the IDs we’d shown at the outer door. Fast work. High tech.
“Please, follow me,” he said.
He led us to the elevator, and we took it to the top floor. He left us alone in a reception area outside the elder Birot’s office: lots of metal and glass, lots of modern art, lots of flowers and plants.
“Nice place,” I said, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the woods behind the industrial park.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” said Izzy.
“A face this pretty makes me wonder what’s hiding behind the all the makeup.”
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“It’s my job.”
“And what is making you suspicious right now?”
“Oh, I don’t know — maybe the fact that the building has three floors up and five down.”
“The floors below ground level are where we do our research in controlled environments,” Jacques Birot said, coming up behind us. “The ones above ground are for clerical, accounting, and other support staff.”
“Monsieur Birot,” Izzy said. She hugged him. “I am so sorry about François.”
He held onto her like a father would his daughter. I felt sorry for him, being alone like that. Birot had his hand out to shake mine before I could remember the last time I’d hugged my daughter, Peggy, that way.
“A pleasure to meet to you, Mr. Matthews,” he said.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Thank you. Won’t you both come into my office, please? We can chat there.”
Birot’s office was more of the same: glass, metal, fancy art, plants, and windows all around. I’d definitely give up drinking for digs like that.
“Nice,” I said.
“It was my wife, Maryann’s, concept, which she worked to implement with Barouche. You’ve heard of him, perhaps? He is a famous Belgian artist.”
“Can’t say that I have, but I’m impressed. It makes me feel like I’m standing in the woods.”
“An optical effect achieved through a process that we developed in house. The glass is layered to first distort the image to give the illusion of proximity and then, through an emulsion of mirrored particles, it refocuses the light in a fashion similar to a projector. The glass is smoked to filter out harmful light without loss of clarity. Its density can be adjusted electronically in a manner similar to the opening and closing of a blind.”
”So, it’s all done with smoke and mirrors?”
He didn’t take my little joke very well. At least, he wasn’t laughing.
Two guys dressed like cafeteria workers delivered a tea tray and finger sandwiches. They set everything out on a coffee table and left. Birot sat down in a chair on one side of the table. We took the sofa on the other side. I wasn’t a tea drinker, but I accepted a cup to be polite.
“Izzy tells me you spend a lot of time here,” I said. “Thomas Edison was like that. He had a bedroom right next to his office.”
“He and I
“No can do,” I said, stopping before we entered it and set it off. I opened my jacket so they could see my shoulder holster. “I’m an armed Federal Agent, and Miss Aimée is with the Belgian State Security Service.”
“We know, sir,” said the guard in charge, “but no weapons are allowed inside the facility. Those are the rules.”
“The FBI’s got rules too, buddy, and the first one is you don’t give up your piece to anyone unless there’s a gun pointed at your head.”
“Sorry, sir, but I can’t let you pass.”
“No problem. I’ll wait outside.”
A voice came over the guard’s radio in the same accent as Izzy’s. “Mr. Dinkins, there is no need to scan them, and they may keep their weapons. They are friends. Let them pass.”
“Yes, sir,” Dinkins said. He waved us around the scanner and gave us temporary badges with our photos from the IDs we’d shown at the outer door. Fast work. High tech.
“Please, follow me,” he said.
He led us to the elevator, and we took it to the top floor. He left us alone in a reception area outside the elder Birot’s office: lots of metal and glass, lots of modern art, lots of flowers and plants.
“Nice place,” I said, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the woods behind the industrial park.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” said Izzy.
“A face this pretty makes me wonder what’s hiding behind the all the makeup.”
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“It’s my job.”
“And what is making you suspicious right now?”
“Oh, I don’t know — maybe the fact that the building has three floors up and five down.”
“The floors below ground level are where we do our research in controlled environments,” Jacques Birot said, coming up behind us. “The ones above ground are for clerical, accounting, and other support staff.”
“Monsieur Birot,” Izzy said. She hugged him. “I am so sorry about François.”
He held onto her like a father would his daughter. I felt sorry for him, being alone like that. Birot had his hand out to shake mine before I could remember the last time I’d hugged my daughter, Peggy, that way.
“A pleasure to meet to you, Mr. Matthews,” he said.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Thank you. Won’t you both come into my office, please? We can chat there.”
Birot’s office was more of the same: glass, metal, fancy art, plants, and windows all around. I’d definitely give up drinking for digs like that.
“Nice,” I said.
“It was my wife, Maryann’s, concept, which she worked to implement with Barouche. You’ve heard of him, perhaps? He is a famous Belgian artist.”
“Can’t say that I have, but I’m impressed. It makes me feel like I’m standing in the woods.”
“An optical effect achieved through a process that we developed in house. The glass is layered to first distort the image to give the illusion of proximity and then, through an emulsion of mirrored particles, it refocuses the light in a fashion similar to a projector. The glass is smoked to filter out harmful light without loss of clarity. Its density can be adjusted electronically in a manner similar to the opening and closing of a blind.”
”So, it’s all done with smoke and mirrors?”
He didn’t take my little joke very well. At least, he wasn’t laughing.
Two guys dressed like cafeteria workers delivered a tea tray and finger sandwiches. They set everything out on a coffee table and left. Birot sat down in a chair on one side of the table. We took the sofa on the other side. I wasn’t a tea drinker, but I accepted a cup to be polite.
“Izzy tells me you spend a lot of time here,” I said. “Thomas Edison was like that. He had a bedroom right next to his office.”
“He and I
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