"And you are?"

"Theodosios Procopides," said Theo, expecting the name to ring a bell for Drescher.

The flatsie, at least, got it in one — indeed, Theo saw a little window appear on the sheet, showing the correct spelling of his name using the Hellenic alphabet and listing some basic facts about Theo. The attribution tags for the "Non," and the stating of his name immediately changed to "T. Procopides."

"And what can I do for you?" asked Drescher, still oblivious.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" said Theo.

Drescher shook his head.

"The, ah, last time we saw each other, I didn't have the beard."

The detective peered at Theo's face. "Well, I — oh! Oh, God! Oh, it's you!"

Theo glanced down. The flatsie had done a commendable job of punctuating the detective's outburst. When he looked back up, he saw that all the color had drained from Drescher's face.

"Oui," said Theo. "C'est moi."

"Mon Dieu," said Drescher. "How that's haunted me over the years." He shook his head. "You know, I've seen a lot of autopsies since, and a lot of dead bodies. But yours — to see something like that when you're just a kid." He shuddered.

"I'm sorry," said Theo. He paused for a moment, then: "Do you remember me coming to visit you, shortly after you had that vision? Out at your parents' house — the one with that great staircase?"

Drescher nodded. "I remember. Scared the life out of me."

Theo lifted his shoulders slightly. "I'm sorry about that, too."

"I've tried to keep that vision out of my mind," said Drescher. "All these years, I've tried not to think about it. But it still comes back, you know. Even after all I've seen, that image still haunts me."

Theo smiled apologetically.

"Not your fault," said Drescher, gesturing dismissively with his hand. "What was your vision of?"

Theo was surprised by the question; Drescher was still having trouble connecting his own vision of that dead body with the reality of the human being sitting in front of him. "Nothing," said Theo.

"Oh, yeah, right," said Drescher, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

There was awkward silence between them for a few moments, then Drescher spoke again. "You know, it wasn't all bad — that vision, I mean. It got me interested in police work. I don't know that I would have signed up for the academy if I hadn't had that vision."

"How long have you been a cop?" asked Theo.

"Seve n years — the last two as detective."

Theo had no idea if that was rapid advancement or not, but he found himself doing the math related to Drescher's age. He couldn't have a university degree. Theo spent far too much time with academics and scientists; he was always afraid he'd accidentally say something patronizing to those who hadn't gone any further than high school. "That's good," he offered.

Drescher shrugged, but then he frowned and shook his head. "You shouldn't be anywhere near here. You shouldn't be anywhere in Europe, for God's sake. You must have been killed in or near Geneva, or I wouldn't be the cop investigating it. If I'd had a vision that I was going to be killed here on this day, you can bet I'd be in Zhongua or Hawaii instead."

Theo's turn to shrug. "I didn't want to be here, but I have no choice. I told you, I'm with CERN. I was part of the team that led the Large Hadron Collider experiment twenty-one years ago. They need me to duplicate that the day after tomorrow. Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I would be somewhere else."

"You haven't taken up boxing, have you?"

"No."

"Because in my vision — "

"I know, I know. You said I was killed at a boxing match."

"My dad, he used to watch boxing all the time on TV," said Helmut. "Funny sport for a shoe salesman, I guess, but he liked it. I used to watch it with him, even when I was a little kid."

"Look," said Theo, "you know in a way that no one else does that I really am at risk. That's why I've come to see you." He swallowed. "I need your help, Helmut. I need police protection. Between now and when the experiment is replicated in — " He glanced at the wall clock, a flatsie held up with tape, fifteen centimeter digits glowing on its surface " — in fifty-nine hours."

Drescher gestured at all the other flatsies strewn across his desk. "I've got a lot of work to do."

"Please. You know what might happen. Most people have this coming Wednesday off work — you know, so they can be safe at home when the time-displacement is replicated. I hate to even ask, but you could use that time to catch up on any work you might miss today and tomorrow."

"I don't have Wednesday off." He gestured at the other people in the squad room. "None of us do — in case something goes wrong." A pause. "You have any idea who might shoot you?"

Theo shook his head, then, glancing at the recording flatsie, said, "No. None. I've wracked my brain for twenty-one years trying to figure it out — trying to determine who I might have pissed off so much that they'd want me dead, or who could profit from having me out of the way. But there's no one."

"No one?"

"Well, you know, you go crazy; you get paranoid. Something like this — it makes you suspect everybody. Sure, for a time, I thought maybe my old partner, Lloyd Simcoe, had done it. But I spoke to Lloyd just yesterday; he's in Vermont, and has no plans to come over to Europe anytime in the near future."

"It's only — what? — a three-hour flight, if he takes a supersonic," said Drescher.

"I know, I know — but, really, I'm sure it's not him. But there is somebody out there, some — what do you guys say? What's the phrase? Some person or persons unknown who may indeed make an attempt on my life today. And I'm asking you — I'm begging you, please — to keep that person or persons from getting at me."

"Where do you have to be today?"

"At CERN. Either in my office, in the LHC control center, or down in the tunnel."

"Tunnel?"

"Yeah. You must have heard of it: there's a tunnel at CERN twenty-seven kilometers in circumference buried a hundred meters down; a giant ring, you know? That's where the LHC is housed."

Drescher chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Let me talk to my captain," he said. He got up, crossed the room, and rapped his knuckles against a door. The door slid aside, and Theo could see a stern, dark-haired woman within. Drescher entered, and the door closed behind him.

It seemed he was gone for an eternity. Theo looked about nervously. On Drescher's desk was a hologram of a young woman who might be his wife or girlfriend, and an older man and woman. Theo recognized the older woman: Frau Drescher. Assuming it was a recent shot — and, really, it must be; holocameras had been priced out of reach of an honest cop until a couple of years ago — then the decades had been kind to her. She was still a very attractive woman, content to let her hair show its gray.

Finally, the door at the far end of the room opened again, and Detective Drescher emerged. He crossed the busy squad room and returned to his desk. "I'm sorry," he said, as he sat back down. "If someone had made a threat or something… "

"Let me speak to your captain."

Drescher snorted. "She won't see you; half the time she won't even see me." He softened his voice. "I am sorry, Mr. Procopides. Look — just be careful, that's all."

"I thought you — you, of all people — would understand."

"I'm just a cop," said Drescher. "I take orders." He paused, and a sly tone slipped into his voice. "Besides, maybe coming here was a big mistake. I mean, what if I'm the guy who shot you the first time out? Didn't Agatha Christie write a story like that once, in which the detective was the killer? It'd be kind of ironic, then, you coming to see me, no?"

Theo lifted his eyebrows. His heart was pounding, and he didn't know what to say. Jesus Christ, he had been shot with a Glock, a gun favored by police officers all over the world…