Belgrade Noir

They had enjoyed each other, absorbed the scents and tastes of Spain and Portugal, visited museums, indulged in culinary delights, enjoyed the luxury of expensive hotels, and made love — often, relaxed, free of sorrow and guilt. Then, two days before their return, while having a dinner in Nice, Isak told her that he was ready if she wanted to do it.

Marija was enthusiastic. She didn’t say anything to anyone. She only messaged Tamara, hinting that she had great news. When they headed back, Isak flew to Frankfurt for a three-day artificial intelligence conference, and she returned on a direct flight to Belgrade to a new, completely altered reality.

As she drove home from the airport, her telephone rang. When she answered, she saw on the small screen the little rat face of that tiny man in the white coat — the director.

“Mrs. Vranješ?”

“Yes?”

“There have been… ah… some changes.”

“What changes? I don’t understand.”

The director avoided looking her in the eye. “Marija 2.0 didn’t return to the location. We assume there has been some kind of coding error.”

She felt a sudden rage, accompanied by fear. “And now what? Where is she?”

The little man shrugged. “We are not sure. We think she’s in the apartment. In your apartment. The GPS signal from the mobile device that you left for her indicates that she is there. But, of course, she could have left the phone and gone out without it.”

Marija tried to calm down. Where was Aleksandar now? The day before yesterday, Isak had told her offhandedly, as if it were something irrelevant, Aleksandar had asked for — and received — several days off work so he could go visit his sick father. This worked in her favor — he wouldn’t be home when she faced her replacement.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked coldly, and saw from the expression on the director’s face that his whole career was at risk.

“Hmm…” He coughed. “I… I hired an ambulance that belongs to a clinic that is part of Mr. Lero’s holdings. The vehicle will wait with the team discreetly in the side street near your building. If you find Marija 2.0 in the apartment, use the safe word and let me know. The team will get her here right away.”

“And if it’s not there?”

He shrugged again, an apologetic expression on his face. “We’ll wait till she’s back. And in the meantime, we’ll try to locate her some other way.”

Marija hung up without saying goodbye.

Ten minutes later, she unlocked the front door with a spare set of keys, entered the apartment, and put her suitcase down. It was getting dark outside, and the only light in the apartment came from the spacious living room. She paused at the door, looked inside, and saw the floor lamp turned on. And there, on the sofa, was a human form.

When she got up the courage, Marija entered the room and turned on the overhead light. Marija 2.0 turned her face toward her, smiled, and stood up.

“You got a nice tan,” she said. “Much nicer than mine. I suppose everything went well? Was Isak a chivalrous lover, a man who will take care of you?”

Marija gulped, then panicked. This was totally wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. If the programmed return of her artificial copy went wrong — what else could have gone wrong?

“You know,” continued the woman in front of her who was — and was not — her, “Aleksandar and I had a long, long talk.” She smiled, staring into Marija’s eyes. “And we agree on what is to be done.” Marija 2.0 took a step toward her.

“Mom… Mombasa!” she shouted. “Mombasa!”

“You were interested in singularity. I have something to tell you about singularity. But we don’t have time for that.” Marija 2.0’s smile was now wider but didn’t reach the woman’s eyes.

“Mombasa, motherfucker!” Marija yelled. “Momb—” She backed up against something and turned around. Her husband stood right in front of her and smiled, just like the creature she was trying to retreat from.

She felt a sting in her neck and looked at Aleksandar’s hand. She saw a plastic syringe full of clear liquid and a long glittering needle. She lifted her hand toward the spot where he’d injected her and stared at him with disbelief. Then she crashed onto the parquet floor.

The worst of it was that she was aware of everything.

Her eyes were open, she could see, she could hear what was going on, but she couldn’t move or feel anything while they removed her clothes and redressed her. She heard her phone ringing, how Marija 2.0 answered it. “Yes,” she confirmed to the director. “She is here. I used the safe word. You can come for her.”

Aleksandar looked at her for the last time before he left so the members of the director’s team wouldn’t notice him as they were coming out of the apartment. He peered at her with complete indifference, like she was an object, before he disappeared forever from her sight.