In the Car on the Curb
“Got to sleep sometime.”
“You were supposed to keep an eye on me.”
“Did you do anything awful?”
“Not so far.”
“It’s still early.”
“We have a message,” said Montag 5.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“Just came in. The board lit up.”
“Who called it in?”
“Valentine 6 was on duty,” said Montag 5, “not that it matters.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here. Buckle up.” Montag 5 started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“Anything happen at the house?”
“Lady in her bathrobe came outside for a smoke about twenty minutes ago. Then a man in a bathrobe came out and she went inside with him.”
“A man. Really?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not particularly. I just didn’t know Marie Maxwell had a man. Last I heard she was still pretty angry about Harry’s death.”
“When was the last you heard?” asked Montag 5.
This guy thinks he can interrogate me, thought Nemo 7.
“I don’t know, years ago, I guess. Even that was only secondhand.”
“Secondhand from whom?”
“I don’t even remember. Just gossip in the club lounge. Glad she’s found somebody, though.”
“You were a friend of Harry’s, weren’t you?” said Montag 5.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Nemo 7. “I knew him, but then everyone at the club knew him. You couldn’t help it.
But we weren’t close. Not sure I ever even had a conversation with him.
” There was a slight chance that Montag 5 would know this was a lie, but Harry had died ten years ago.
Nemo 7 could always claim forgetfulness. “Where are we headed?”
“About five miles from here—125 Vilas Avenue,” said Montag 5.
Nemo 7 felt his face flush and his stomach harden. He knew exactly who lived at 125 Vilas Avenue and if the big board had given an alert for that address, it couldn’t be good news. He turned to look out the window, keeping his face away from Montag 5, so as not to betray his unease.
“Why don’t you see what you can find on the address?” said Montag 5. “I’m sure Pilgrim 3 is working on it, too, but I’d like to know where we’re going.”
There was no point in delaying, thought Nemo 7. Pilgrim 3 would find out soon enough who lived there, and he didn’t want to look like he was dragging his feet. As they sat at a red light, he pulled up the information on his phone.
“House is owned by a Vivian Harbottle,” he said. “No one else living at the address according to the most recent records.”
“Vivian Harbottle,” said Montag 5. “Why do I know that name?”
Why did Montag 5 know that name? Doubtless from a private conversation with Pilgrim 3, who was privy to all sorts of information and who also obtained all sorts of information to which she was not privy.
“No idea,” said Nemo 7. “Says here she’s single, fifty-two years old, teaches at the university, not much else on her.”
“Social media accounts?”
“I’m checking, but I don’t see anything.”
“I swear I know that name from someplace.”
“Vivian Harbottle,” said Pilgrim 3 under her breath.
“We meet again.” She stared at her computer screen and wondered if Vivian had been foolish enough to turn on the radio.
Only a few members of the club knew the name Vivian Harbottle, but plenty of them remembered Ardan 1.
Ardan 1 had been a colleague of Harry Maxwell and a close friend to him and his wife, Marie.
Some whispered that she had been more than a friend and colleague to Harry.
Pilgrim 3 didn’t care about any of that.
Ardan 1 had spoken briefly at the Great Debate and, following Harry’s death, had disappeared from the halls of the club.
She hadn’t exactly gone into hiding—she still taught at Wisconsin, so Pilgrim 3 had always assumed she lived somewhere in Madison, but when it came to the club, Vivian had exercised none of the privileges of her membership since Harry Maxwell’s death.
Until this morning, Pilgrim 3 had been convinced that Vivian Harbottle was ancient history, a woman who had lost her best friend in a tragic accident and who had forgotten all about the Paradox Club and its work.
But if Vivian Harbottle had really left the past behind, why had she turned on the radio?
And without the protection Harry Maxwell had used to shield it from detection?
Surely, she knew it would be picked up by the big board and that its unexpected survival would attract the attention of the vault keeper.
Nor could the timing, so close to October 14, be a coincidence.
It was almost as if Vivian was saying, Come and get it—I dare you.
Could it be a trap? Could Vivian be using the radio to lure Pilgrim 3 away from the club?
Or to distract her while the real action played out somewhere else?
The existence of the radio could be a major opportunity for Pilgrim 3, but best to proceed with caution.
She picked up her phone and called Montag 5.
“It’s Vivian Harbottle,” said Montag 5. “We’re outside the house now. Nemo 7 looked her up. Don’t I know that name from somewhere?”
“Never mind about the name,” said Pilgrim 3. “Right now, I just want you to watch and report. Don’t go into the house unless she leaves and even then, if you can get in be extremely careful. Don’t touch anything, don’t move anything, just look for an antique radio.”
“And if we find an antique radio?”
“Get it and get out of there. Don’t let anyone see you.”
“Is this the radio that Harry Maxwell brought up in the Great Debate?” asked Montag 5.
“Just do what I tell you to and don’t ask questions. Has Nemo 7 done anything suspicious?”
“He fell asleep when he was supposed to be watching me,” said Montag 5, glancing at Nemo 7 who rolled his eyes.
“Doesn’t sound too worrisome,” said Pilgrim 3.
For the moment, Nemo 7 decided not to fret.
The longer they spent waiting outside Vivian’s house, the more time the president or his representatives had to arrive.
If his fellow mole Valentine 6, whom Calvin 4 had told him all about, had seen the big board light up, she had certainly warned the president, and he must either be on his way or have already dispatched a team of loyalists.
The surveillance assignment Montag 5 had outlined seemed harmless enough.
If Nemo 7 had the opportunity to slow things down even more, he would.
But for now, he would, like Montag 5, simply sit and watch.