“Are you saying plants have an intelligence?”
“They breathe, and eat, and reproduce. They can feel pain, and they can utilize defenses against their enemies. For example, terpenes are used by certain plants to poison the soil around them and to discourage competitors. Other plants exude alkaloids to make them unpalatable to insects. We’ve proved that plants communicate with one another by pheromones.”
“Yes. I’ve heard of that,” Janus said.
“Some plants are meat eaters. The venus flytrap, for example. Certain orchids look and smell like female bees, to decoy male bees. Others resemble female wasps to attract the males to visit them and pick up pollen. Another type of orchid has an aroma like rotting meat to coax carrion flies in the neighborhood to come to them.”
Janus was listening to every word.
“The pink lady’s-slipper has a hinged upper lip that closes when a bee lands, and traps it. The only escape is through a narrow passageway out the rear, and as the bee fights its way to freedom, it picks up a cap of pollen. There are five thousand flowering plants that grow in the Northeast, and each species has its own characteristics. There is no doubt about it. It’s been proven over and over that living plants have an intelligence.”
Janus was thinking: And the missing alien is at large somewhere.
Chapter Eleven
Day Three
Bern, Switzerland
Wednesday, October 17
Bern was one of Robert’s favorite cities. It was an elegant town, filled with lovely monuments and beautiful old stone buildings dating back to the eighteenth century. It was the capital of Switzerland and one of its most prosperous cities, and Robert wondered whether the fact that the streetcars were green had anything to do with the color of money. He had found that the Berners were more easygoing than the citizens from other parts of Switzerland. They moved more deliberately, spoke more slowly, and were generally calmer. He had worked in Bern several times in the past with the Swiss Secret Service, operating out of their headquarters at Waisenhausplatz. He had friends there who could have been helpful, but his instructions were clear. Puzzling, but clear.
It took fifteen phone calls for Robert to locate the garage that towed the photographer’s car. It was a small garage located on Fribourgstrasse, and the mechanic, Fritz Mandel, was also the owner. Mandel appeared to be in his late forties, with a gaunt, acne-pitted face, a thin body, and an enormous beer belly. He was working down in the pit of the grease rack when Robert arrived.
“Good afternoon,” Robert called.
Mandel looked up. “Guten Tag. What can I do for you?”
“I’m interested in a car you towed in Sunday.”
“Just a minute till I finish this up.”
Ten minutes later, Mandel climbed out of the pit and wiped his oily hands on a filthy cloth.
“You’re the one who called this morning. Was there some complaint about that tow job?” Mandel asked. “I’m not responsible for—”
“No,” Robert reassured him. “Not at all. I’m conducting a survey, and I’m interested in the driver of the car.”
“Come into the office.”
The two men went into the small office, and Mandel opened a file cabinet. “Last Sunday, you said?”
“That’s right.”
Mandel took out a card. “Ja. That was the Arschficker who took our picture in front of that UFO.”
Robert’s palms felt suddenly moist. “You saw the UFO?”
“Ja. I almost brachte aus.”
“Can you describe it?”
Mandel shuddered. “It—it seemed alive.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean…there was a kind of light around it. It kept changing colors. It looked blue…then green…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. And there were these little creatures inside. Not human, but—” He broke off.
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Were they alive?”
“They looked dead to me.” He mopped his brow. “I’m glad you believe me. I tried to tell my friends, and they laughed at me. Even my wife thought I had been drinking. But I know what I saw.”
“About the car you towed…” Robert said.
“Ja. The Renault. It had an oil leak, and the bearings burned out. The tow job cost a hundred and twenty-five francs. I charge double on Sundays.”