CHAPTER THIRTY – RAMON
The large open office stretched through the entire second floor. It was filled with a gaggle of people, each going about his or her business with purpose and direction. In a well chosen corner, Professor Nicolades Melczarek had set up his workstation. This allowed him to keep watch on those scurrying overpaid ants of the nest. His eyes lifted from looking through his reading glasses – he had been going over the notes in the folder marked Project Dwargone. His head was still down and he was looking at nothing in particular. The large room was filled with tables, desks with computers, screens on the wall, charts and scientific paraphernalia. He then looked at one or two of these people and tried to work out what they were actually doing at that very instant. Most wore clean and sanitised white coats, some were topped with white hair nets, and some wore floppy white tracksuits with oversized socks. It reminded him of a scene years ago, at the Lotz University in Poland.
Back then, amongst other tasks, he was required to assess, design and enforce the necessary protective clothing and equipment for the Department of Physics and Applied Informatics. Damned Soviets were always over his shoulder; he never could make any independent decisions, everything he wrote, from personal letters to laboratory notes were double checked by them. His home and family were constantly under surveillance and there was always the pressure to perform, to analyse and decode the various bits and pieces that the KGB put to him. He fondly remembered how he had put something over the Reds and had never been found out – maybe it would not have been of any great consequence, yet he found it inwardly satisfying.
Back in those days, the Russians had given him permission to go ahead with the manufacture of uniforms and protective clothing which included manufacturer’s tags bearing the Polish Coat of Arms. It consisted of a stylized white eagle with golden beak and talons in a red shield. The communists had changed the design by removing the golden crown with cross and even shortened the length of the talons. Nic was careful in ensuring that the tag was approved by the soviet masters before the clothing was manufactured and issued. It was only after Poland saw off Russian rule that he drew attention to the tag, which, if one was to fold it in half, the lower portion would show a stylized picture of Nikita Khrushchev’s head atop a feathery and absurd body.
He had come a long way since then. His was a unique position within CERN, requiring vast knowledge in many fields. The title of the position he accepted in Geneva, was Operational Inspector General, Developmental, Experimental and Organizational Facilities for European Nuclear Research.
He loved the work and felt very gratified when he was offered employment from many other worldwide facilities. This would do him fine. He had set up the many policies and procedures to ensure that the staff and the facility were kept healthy and safe. “When it all boils down, I’m just a glorified health and safety inspector” he would tell the continual flow of VIPs and visitors from all over the world, “but maybe a bit more technically trained in physics and sub atomic sciences. Simply put, it’s my job not to let these white coats blow up the world accidently.”
His eyes went back to the papers he had been reading.
There was something – he could not quite put his finger on it – that was different and he found this a little uncomfortable.
The conclusions reached by the various formula and flowcharts appeared accurate enough. The instruments to be used, the detectors, the radiation containment, the predicted readings, residual isolation, power projections and energy rates and levels, all were within tolerable criteria. Yet there was something niggling at his intuitive senses. He read it all again without finding a reason for his concerns. He closed the folder, picked up his rubber stamp and still with some trepidation, brought the stamp down on the front of the folder. The project was now approved on all levels. Be that as it may, Professor Melczarek had made his mind up that he would be there to witness the event and would keep his keen mind and eyes on each and every process. He also wanted to meet this little girl from Oklahoma whom he had heard so much about. He pushed back on his office chair, picked up the file then threaded his way through the mass of oddly dressed people, toward the Director’s office.
Induction and safety training was taken very seriously at the centre. Professor Lien and Aggie were glad to get through the mountain of information, rules and instructions. The people in the personal protective equipment store had a little trouble with finding suitable – and well fitting – protective clothing for Aggie. She had struggled a little when trying to hold a heavy extinguisher and aim a jet of foam at a make-shift fire. All in all however, the trainers were happy to issue them both with a clearance certificate.
Later in the afternoon, Professor Lorenz collected them and escorted the pair to the inner workings of the LHC. “Just through this doorway and ..de dah.. here’s the set up Aggie. Would you like a soda before we start the initial check?”
“Not just yet Professor, wow I never expected all this, you have really been busy. What do you think Professor Lien? – just a few steps up from our meagre lab back home?”
“Looks like an Aladdin’s cave Aggie, do you want me to stay here? – I know this is your show – and I did promise not to look over your shoulder.”
“From now on Professor, consider yourself totally involved and you may ask me anything you like. The only reason I have not let you in on all the details before, was due to an agreement between Professor Lorenz and myself. He’s OK with it now, so let me just write down this equation for you...here we are...this is what it’s all about.”
Professor Lorenz nodded in agreement, “If everything checks out, the collision will occur at exactly midday tomorrow. You, Aggie, will have the honour of pushing the Activer button on Project Dwargone. Ok let’s start with checking the stabilizers and buffers – I’m still waiting for my cauldron, it’s on its way.”
Edna in the meantime had strolled downtown and was lost in the maze of a huge thrift shop.
“Madam, that Beanie Baby is quite valuable. Humphrey the Camel was retired in December 1995 and that one still has a perfect tag.” A familiar voice. She turned to face Inspector Ramon Odrow of the Musee Police, Paris. “Ah, do not worry yourself Madam Kellor, I have no jurisdiction here. When I was informed about your return to Europe, I was anxious to meet you again – to perhaps talk further about the little gift you sent me. May I have the pleasure of taking you for cafe et gateaux next door?”
“In handcuffs?”
“Non, however that is a fantasy I myself may be arrested for, ha ha. No, I must beg you for some of your time – this is an extremely important matter and may develop into an international incident, one which would involve yourself, your niece and one other – I believe her name to be Mrs Megan Redcliffe. I desperately need to know of how you came to find that tin and more about that event at the Musee d’Orsay. Believe me Madam Edna, I am not your enemy and seek not to bring any trouble to your door.”
“Well, OK. To be honest, I’ve nothing better to do with my time today. I wouldn’t mind a long French stick dipped in a hot cuppa chino. Lead me to your place of interrogation, Inspector Inquisitor.”
Ramon Odrow was sure Edna was playing with her words but chose to ignore the innuendo.
The Kahvesi, a Turkish cafe was indeed just around the corner and he found a suitable table just outside on the footpath. It was a sunny day with a very light breeze and there was a wonderful waft of spices coming out of the small Thai restaurant further down the street.
“It appears your niece is not quite the little innocent girl I thought she was. From what I can gather, she is highly educated and mature. After she told me of her fear of having to eat bread and spiders, she nearly melted my heart, and believe me, I don’t get fooled easily. Anyway good for her and I’m not bitter about it.”
“My Aggie is an amazing girl Inspector. Some people will tell you she has special gifts or even that she has ESP, I don’t know exactly, but she’s still a loving and likeable
child with absolutely no trace of evil or darkness. When I said I had no idea of what she was trying to do to that painting in Paris, I was telling you the absolute truth. She obviously had her reasons, but hell inspector, she didn’t damage it.”
“Please call me Ramon. These special gifts...was it she who suggested something was ...out of order, in our Museum? – never mind. I am interested in Mrs Megan Redcliffe. My people tell me she is a lawyer, is very wealthy yet on her travel documents she states she is a Personal Assistant – if one were suspicious, one could easily deduce that perhaps she is the mastermind of some business or enterprise, which one has not yet defined.”
Edna turned on her chair, “Let me just bring this flowerpot closer, your people may get a better reception...how’s that inspector?”
Ramon Odrow nodded in submission, reached over and removed the bug. “Fine, here, I have another one and a camera in my top button.” He placed them both on the tablecloth – Edna picked them up and dropped them into the jug of water and watched them sink to the bottom. This was not the blubbering woman that Ramon had interviewed months ago.
“I see you have gifts also Madam Edna.”
“Look, you should be ecstatic that you have that piece of Van Gogh’s ear. Any other museum would offer big money for it. Consider it a gift from Vincent to his whore, to the undertaker, to Aggie and then to you or your gallery, whatever you like. We don’t want it, we don’t want anything to do with it – send it to the Van Gogh Museum in Holland, they’ll love it I’m sure. Did you do a DNA match?”
“I cannot confirm or deny that, but Madam, our Musee is certainly not ungracious for your offering. Dear lady, it’s just that there are so many... loose threads as you say, ...and I have a job.”
“Fine Ramon, get to the point – what’s bothering you?”
Edna spent the next hour smoothing out the story of their eventful trip. On the surface, the story was one of innocence and coincidences and Ramon could find nothing wrong with Edna’s responses. Both purposely avoided talking about the authenticity of the painting that Aggie had felt.
“There was one thing we didn’t cover Edna – Anton Orrslet, the undertaker at Arles, said he also gave you a large photograph of one of his forbears. Did you take it to America with you?”
“Oh that horrible monstrosity – yes Aggie loved it for some reason. I actually had to leave some ceramic bowls behind in Paris because of all the junk we took on the plane. She ended up giving it to Megan who really didn’t want it, and I believe it’s still in her attic. Hey, if you want to have it back for any reason, we’ll send it to you – no problem. Here, let me ring her now and we’ll settle it.”
Edna took the mobile from her handbag and pushed some buttons. Ramon hoped that the signal could be traced to Megan’s location. His bungling men had lost sight of her and the man she was with, just outside the city. That limousine was bugged with the latest tracking devices, yet she had still managed to elude them with a male on a motorcycle. “Megan, I’ve been asked by the French officials if they can have that photo of the undertaker that Aggie gave you – it’s something to do with their heritage. OK fine, I knew you would be happy to have an excuse to get rid of it. No, no problems, I’ll tell you all about it tonight. Having a good time sweetie? Great. See you this evening then – have fun. Bye now.”
“Again Edna, I, we would be very grateful to have it. The way I see it, that little parlour in Arles will become a major attraction and museum in its own right – especially after the story of the ear comes out.It would appear that the Roman ruins will have to wait a century or so more.
I am very satisfied with everything you told me Edna. I will make it my purpose that you and your accomplices, er I mean acquaintances; will not be mentioned in any of my reports to the government.”
“So you will be having some sort of special announcement about the Van Gogh relic? – a big party perhaps?”
“It will be a worldwide event and the Musee owes you its fervent thanks. Of course you understand you are not invited.”
“Suits me fine. Aw come on Ramon, there’s still something bothering you – out with it.”
“Just another little loose thread, perhaps not important or worth asking about. I did have a long talk with one Monsieur Jeroen – I believe he is an undertaker in Vermont. He remembers you but absolutely denies that he asked or suggested that you call into and pay a visit to Anton Orrslet in Arles. I thought that was strange. But you know these undertakers, their minds are often affected by the formaldehyde and embalming chemicals they work with – certainly would not make good witnesses at any enquiry.”
“umm..Ramon, these cakes are so moist and tasty. I think I’ve had enough.”
He could take a hint - he stood up, poured two glasses of water from the jug, pulled up his white sleeve cuff and fished out the bugs. “The boss will want these back – we have to account for everything these days, don’t we?” He thought that was pretty witty. He motioned to the waiter for the bill.
“Ramon, do you think I could have a copy of the tape of this session? Our waiter friend here – his name’s not Kato Fong is it? - with his directional microphone could surely run off one for me – and I hope he captured my cleavage tastefully.”
The inspector could only shrug and look towards heaven. “And while we’re at it, tell your spies back at the hotel to go home.”
Both smiled warmly as they shook hands.
“Inspector Odrow, whatever they pay you, it’s not enough - au revoir. Oh, by the way, how is your family? Is your boy out of the Bastille yet?”
“And adieu to you Missus Kellor.” He watched her walk away - “putain chienne de enfer” he whispered.
“Gees, what a sleazy, pecker-headed asshole” whispered Edna as she headed back to the thrift shop to find Humphrey the retired Beanie Baby Camel.
Inspector Ramon Odrow turned to Slavis, the Turkish waiter. “Erase the last five minutes. It’s in the interests of la securite nationale - do it now! – and find out just who in Hades is Kato Fong?