Alan Turing stepped out of the car onto damp cobblestones.
The building in front of him was bland.
A pale, two-story structure with shuttered windows and an wooden door.
It looked like a minor government office or perhaps a storage depot.
"This is it?" Turing asked, turning to the man who had accompanied him from the Élysée.
Renaud gave a faint smile. "Appearances, Mr. Turing, are the first line of defense. Shall we?"
The door opened with a creak, and a plainclothes guard stepped aside without a word.
They walked down a short corridor to another door this one made of reinforced steel, with a locking mechanism that clicked in three distinct places before it opened.
The second door revealed a completely different world.
Rows of workbenches lined the room, each cluttered with gears, wiring, rotors, paper rolls, and unfamiliar contraptions under white dust covers.
Large chalkboards filled one wall, already covered with streams of letters, numbers, and notations.
