Read Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The Régie de l'Énergie headquarters occupied the former offices of the Paris Métro administration, a sprawling complex of rooms above the old Gare de Lyon station. Léon had been there twice in his career, both times for training sessions that had left him feeling small and insignificant. Now, three days after the operation, he found himself sitting in a waiting room outside the office of the Director of Distribution, wondering if he would ever leave.

The summons had come that morning, delivered by two officers of the Garde Souterraine. They had said nothing, simply escorted him to the headquarters and left him in the waiting room with a tepid cup of chicory tea and a growing sense of dread.

He had expected the summons sooner. The operation had succeeded beyond his hopes. The surge had triggered alarms throughout the grid. The Régie had been forced to acknowledge that something was wrong with the distribution system. The unauthorized devices had been discovered—all four of them—and removed from the network. The full power of the geothermal plants was now flowing to Level Four.

But the victory, if it could be called that, had come at a cost. The Régie had launched an investigation into the surge, and suspicion had fallen on Léon. He was the maintenance engineer who had logged the most fluctuations. He had access to the conduits. He had been seen in the area of the Port-Royal access point on the night of the operation.

The evidence was circumstantial, but circumstantial was enough. The Conseil des Profondeurs didn't require proof. They required results.

The door to the Director's office opened. A young woman in a gray uniform stepped out.

"Artaud," she said. "The Director will see you now."

Léon stood, his legs unsteady, and followed her into the office.

The Director of Distribution was a woman named Veronique Charpentier, a career bureaucrat who had risen through the ranks of the Régie through a combination of competence and loyalty. She was in her fifties, with sharp features and cold eyes that seemed to see through everything.

"Artaud," she said, gesturing to a chair. "Sit."

He sat. The office was spacious, with real wooden furniture and a view—if one could call it that—of the main concourse of the Gare de Lyon, where a steady stream of people moved through the underground's largest commercial district.

The Director studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she spoke.

"You've been with the Régie for twelve years. Your performance evaluations have been consistently satisfactory. You've never been disciplined, never been accused of misconduct. You're a good worker, Artaud. Dependable."

"Thank you, Director."

"Don't thank me yet." She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Three days ago, someone created a demand surge that nearly overloaded the power grid. The surge triggered alarms in every substation from Châtelet to Denfert-Rochereau. It took our engineers hours to stabilize the system. Do you have any idea what could have caused such a surge?"

Léon forced himself to meet her gaze. "No, Director. I don't."

"That's strange," she said. "Because our investigation suggests that the surge originated in a bypass relay installed in the conduit near Port-Royal. A relay that was built from spare parts, using components that are available in the maintenance supply stores. Components that you, as a maintenance engineer, would have access to."

"With respect, Director, many people have access to those components. The supply stores serve hundreds of technicians."

"True. But only a handful of those technicians have the expertise to build a bypass relay capable of disabling the monitoring systems. You're one of them."

Léon said nothing. The Director's eyes bored into him, patient, relentless.

"The relay has been traced to a workshop in the lower tunnels," she continued. "A workshop operated by a man named Marcus Tailleur. Do you know him?"

"I know of him," Léon said carefully. "He's a former engineer. Retired."

"He's a dissident," the Director corrected. "He's been under surveillance for years. We know about his network, his meetings, his plans. We've been waiting for him to make a move." She paused, letting the words sink in. "And now he has. With your help."

Léon felt the blood drain from his face. This was worse than he'd feared. The Régie knew about Marcus. They knew about the network. They had been watching all along, waiting for the resistance to reveal itself.

He thought about Amelie. About Richard. About the others. Were they all compromised? Had the operation been doomed from the start?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Director smiled. It was not a friendly smile. "You're a terrible liar, Artaud. But I appreciate the effort. Loyalty is a valuable quality, even when it's misplaced." She stood and walked to the window, looking out at the concourse. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell us everything—the names of your co-conspirators, the details of your operation, the location of Marcus Tailleur's network. In exchange, we'll reduce your sentence. You'll serve a few years in the detention center, then you'll be released. You'll lose your job, of course, but you'll still have your life."

"And if I refuse?"

She turned back to face him. "Then you'll disappear. Like all the others. And your friends will disappear with you. It's your choice."

Léon stared at her, his mind racing. He thought about the detention center at Châtelet, the rumors of interrogation, the people who never came back. He thought about Amelie, Richard, Marcus—the people who had trusted him, who had risked everything for a chance at change.

He thought about the children in the tunnels, playing in the amber glow of the half-powered lights. The lights that were now shining brighter, if only for a moment.

"No," he said.

The Director's smile faded. "No?"

"No," he repeated. "I won't tell you anything. I won't betray my friends. I won't help you maintain your lies."

The Director sighed, as if disappointed by his answer. "Very well. You've made your choice." She pressed a button on her desk. The door opened, and two Garde officers entered. "Take him to Châtelet. Solitary confinement. He'll be interrogated in the morning."

The officers grabbed his arms and hauled him out of the chair. As they dragged him toward the door, Léon felt a strange sense of peace descend over him. He had been afraid of this moment for weeks, but now that it was here, he found that he was no longer afraid.

He had told the truth. He had refused to betray his friends. He had chosen the right side.

And whatever happened next, that choice would mean something.