Chameleon by Cidney Swanson

with her brother. “And yours is certainly … cozy,” she said upon greeting me at my door the next morning. “You should come stay with us. Save you from a few bruises. Will can sleep on the couch in the sitting room.”
    “I’m sure he’ll thank you for that.”
    She pushed the elevator call button. “He suggested it, so we can stay up together for late–nights with Sir Walter. And now that I’ve seen your doll–sized accommodations …” She shook her head. “What part of ‘elbow room’ do the French not get?”
    After a hurried breakfast of crusty baguettes and strawberry jam, we stepped outside with our group. Sir Walter stood conversing in French with Madame Evans. A bright sun greeted us as we departed our Latin–Quarter lodgings and trekked to Notre Dame Cathedral. Following a ten minute introduction to the history of the cathedral, Madame Evans released us to explore on our own for an hour.
    The sheer, monstrous size of the building overwhelmed us.
    “How’d they do this without cranes?” Will asked.
    “Impressive, is it not?” replied Sir Walter. “I always enjoy being in the presence of an older woman .” He chuckled to himself.
    Mickie looked at him blankly and Will interpreted. “Notre Dame means ‘Our Lady,’ Mick. And she’s a couple hundred years older than present company.”
    Present Company directed us to a quiet apse. “Did you find your reading enlightening?”
    I nodded my head yes .
    Mickie’s “Fascinating!” overlapped with Will’s “Creepy.”
    Sir Walter continued. “The stories are familiar to me, from conversations with Pfeffer, but they make for disturbing reading, nonetheless.”
    “Speaking of disturbing,” Mickie said, “You sent an article on Neuroprine deaths in France. We’ve seen something similar in the U.S.”
    Sir Walter listened.
    “So, do you have a plan to halt these occurrences?” asked Mickie. “‘Cause that’s pretty much number one on my to do list.”
    “We fight a desperate battle,” Sir Walter replied. “Allow me to share some of our opponent’s past accomplishments.”
    “Here we go with the history,” muttered Mickie.
    “You recall the map I sent to you?” asked the French gentleman.
    “Sure,” said Will.
    Sir Walter asked, “Are you able to recall to mind the lands which were lacking in markings of red?”
    Mickie and Will nodded. I couldn’t remember the map like they did.
    “The markings indicate concentrations of known Helmann’s carriers. The areas lacking red are areas where Helmann was free to eliminate known carriers during the Nazi reign.”
    “A genetic purge,” Mickie whispered.
    Sir Walter spoke. “Yes.”
    “Pfeffer kept us in the dark about so much, ” Mickie said.
    “No doubt he intended to keep you safer, knowing less,” said Sir Walter. “As you can guess, he and I disagreed upon that.” The old man sighed softly.
    I used the pause to whisper a question. “Why did Helmann want a purge? Either time?” It was the question of a child who still needed to understand her mother’s death.
    “Why, indeed? Can you think of no reason to eliminate such a trait from a population?” Sir Walter’s eyes drifted to the clerestory windows.
    “There’s an obvious benefit if you controlled those who carry the trait,” said Will. “And if you eliminate those you can’t control, you could have a monopoly on invisibility. Or raise an invisible army.”
    “Your supposition is correct. This goal drives my cousin. It has driven him for … let us say, a long while.”
    Will shifted on his feet, leaning in and lowering his voice. “So he plans to control anyone who has this ability …”
    Sir Walter nodded. “And to reproduce additional controlled chameleons by all means available, genetic or conventional.”
    Will spoke softly. “So, we know who’s behind the headlines we’ve been following, and we have a good idea of what he hopes to achieve. Is it time to call in Scotland Yard or the French FBI or