Read Déjà Vu: A Technothriller for Free Online Page B

Saskia retrieved her wallet and held it up. She squeezed the sides and it became transparent, revealing her ID. The man did not seem to glance at it.
    “Ms Saskia Brandt. Welcome. I am Jean-François Champollion. I am descended from the Champollion who successfully deciphered the hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt.”
    Saskia smiled politely. Her French was not quite proficient enough to understand what he had said. She smiled anyway. “I understand you make hats.”
    Jean-Francois shrugged. He seemed to agree but with reluctance. “I ‘make hats’, yes.”
    Saskia removed the computer printout from her pocket. It had been folded and unfolded many times. The edges were corrugated with finger marks. She offered it, but he made no move to take the paper.
    “Do you sell this hat, Jean-Francois?”
    “Hmm?” He craned forward. He devoted equal time to the paper and her chest. She shook the paper to get his attention.
    “The hat.”
    “The hat, yes.”
    Saskia sagged. She had been to ten hat shops in the last three hours. All of them had fingered the picture. None recognised the hat. Jean-Francois, however, clapped a hand to his forehead and exclaimed.
    “You recognise it?”
    “It is the eagle.”
    “The what?”
    He said, “Der Adler, you might say in German. Not only did I sell this hat, young lady, but I made it. Let me show you.”
    They walked to the back of the shop. It was surprisingly small and dark. They shuffled past the exquisitely dressed attendant, who was standing near an alley window smoking a cigar. He stared at her. His tongue slowly emerged, snake-like, and tickled the end of the cigar. She remembered his earlier question. Have I seen you somewhere before?
    They climbed down the narrowest stairwell Saskia had ever seen, slid through a tiny door and entered a room that was filled with hat boxes. It was lit by a single swinging bulb. Somewhere, high in the shadows, was the ceiling. Water dripped. She heard rats. Jean-François Champollion shouted, “Level ten, number three.”
    There was squirt of compressed air and a box came sailing down through the void and landed in the little man’s arms. His hands were tiny. He gave her the box and removed the lid. Inside was a navy-blue fedora with an eagle on the band. “This is a design exclusive to my establishment.”
    “Excellent,” she said. “Does it sell well?”
    “Madame, I make them to order. This particular one is for an Italian duke.”
    “How many have you made in the past six months?”
    He paused and twiddled a sideburn in his fingers. “...Three.”
    “I need to know who you sold them to.”
    The man smiled. “Of course, madame. Please wait here.” He left and closed the door behind him.
    Saskia waited for a while. She began to feel uneasy. Why did he take her to this room? What did she possibly need to see in a room full of hats? The light bulb swung. Shadows stretched and contracted.
    She tried the door handle.
    It didn’t move. She barged against it. Nothing.
    There was a puff of compressed air and a hat box dropped out of the air. She stepped aside but it clipped her shoulder and she stumbled into workbench. Tools clattered to the floor.
    She ran against the door once more. She hissed in pain. Wood splintered. Her shoulder would be like pulp in the morning. Her chest would be worse.
    Another box hit the floor. And another.
    She reached down and grabbed one of the fallen tools. It was some kind of awl. She forced it into the gap between the door and its frame. The wood split easily. There was a hiss of compressed air from above. She took one last run against the door and it fell like a drawbridge. She ran up the steps. At the top was the backroom. It was empty. She crashed into the shop proper.
    The hat maker and the attendant were standing by the door. The attendant was helping the old man into his coat. He was still smoking the cigar. They turned as Saskia approached.
    The attendant first: she slapped the smouldering cigar into