They walked around the town until dusk and turned in for the night. The next day they lunched in the town of Dole. Sven changed their route at the last minute; they would no longer visit nearby Pontarlier. They would instead end their day in the Franco-Swiss border town of Montbeliard. He chose not to explain the reason, and Michael decided not question his decision.
As they drove, Michael remained fascinated with the European architecture: the massive churches built hundreds of years ago, the little villages that remained frozen in time. It was one thing to see pictures of Europe, quite another to view the scene firsthand. He relished his temporary change in social status. This trip would be fun; he pledged to enjoy every moment.
The two men drove the last leg towards Montbeliard. It was an industrial town, home of Peugeot and other car manufacturers. Sven knew the town and made a reservation at the Chateau De Villersexel. There were only five rooms in the hotel; the remaining area of the chateau was available for tours. It was an exquisite chateau with a colored past, including the ghost of a woman who drowned in the nearby river.
They settled in their rooms, and after a leisurely dinner, they retired. They were unable to reserve adjoining rooms; however, Sven was a mere three doors away. Michael wound down by watching the local Sky News station. As he disrobed for bed, he noticed, with some alarm, his doorknob was turning, slowly, noiselessly. There was no knock and no rattling of the knob. Was it his imagination? He stared at the knob and saw it turn again. His first thought was to call Sven, but at that moment, he didn’t want to make a sound. The door was bolted; he knew if someone tried to break in, the noise would attract too much attention. He picked up a nearby chair, just in case.
Just then, he heard a disturbance in the hallway. Two men were talking in loud, foreign voices. He strained to listen the conversation, which sounded confrontational. There was a thump and then the echo of heavy footsteps fading away. Michael was cognizant of the perspiration exuding from every part of his body; his hands were trembling. What should he do? He was one step away from panic, and he considered the possibilities; was Sven dealing with an intruder? Perhaps the guy with the limp was here. Or, maybe it was just some drunk trying to find his room. Calling Sven made no sense. If there was a scuffle, it was most likely still going on downstairs, outside the chateau. Sven had made it clear—Michael was not to leave his room. He decided to wait until morning to find out what had occurred.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After a restless night, Michael met Sven for breakfast. He cleared his throat, “Sven, did you hear a scuffle outside your room last night?”
“No, around what time?”
“About one a.m.”
“Hmm, no, nothing I can remember, but I may have been in the shower.”
Michael decided not to bring up the doorknob issue. He thought Sven might think he was paranoid. If Sven didn’t know anything about the altercation, perhaps it had nothing to do with them. It was probably someone trying the wrong door. This incident had been a diversion from the upcoming challenge—their final border crossing. Upon returning from a light lunch in town, there was a cluster of gendarmes outside their hotel. Sven offered no comment, and Michael decided to take the same tack, although, he did find it peculiar. Why had Sven changed the route at the last moment? This was a small town, and there were at least a half a dozen police cars and an ambulance. “Sven, that’s a lot of police for this town.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Perhaps we can inquire inside the hotel.”
Michael refrained from commenting further. He took note of Sven’s demeanor; he appeared matter-of-fact about the whole thing. Did Sven know something he was not willing to share?
*******
Sven enquired at the hotel desk. “I say, young chap, why all the police and ambulance? The clerk responded without making eye contact. “There was an unfortunate occurrence last night. I am unable to supply any details at this time.”
Michael observed Sven; he appeared concerned and apprehensive, but offered nothing regarding the incident.
“Let us meet later for our evening meal, about eight, Michael?”
“See you then, Sven.”
The afternoon passed in slow motion; at last it was eight o’clock.
The waiter cleared away the remnants of another fine dinner. Michael and Sven sat back, satiated, although guarded, from the earlier events. From out of nowhere, Sven made a surprise announcement.
“I was able to get some more information about the incident at our hotel last night. A man was murdered, and apparently, the bellhop said he had used his cane to defend himself as it was broken in two. However, it does concern me. I am not in complete surprise this situation has arisen. I have been working on a foil for the last few hours.
Michael was shocked. “Could it have been our man with the cane?”
Sven ignored the comment and continued, “I don’t want to inform you of any future details as I need your reaction to be genuine, but please expect a sudden change in our plans. You’ll need to keep your wits about you. You will receive a surprise call from the front desk. I would like your reaction to be genuine. This change of plans is to ensure our secrecy and safety over the Swiss border and on to Zurich. Please remain packed and ready to leave in a hurry any time after the next hour, but most likely it will be early in the morning. I will tell you this much, our last leg will be airborne.”
Michael was incredulous. Why could he not know more ahead of time? What was he to do, and what were his choices? So far, Sven appeared trustworthy, but what the hell? He remained calm; however, he decided to challenge Sven. “Is there nothing more you can tell me?”
“The rest of our departure will be very much out of the norm. Please trust me.” The look on Sven’s face was a first. Sven’s eyes softened and his eyebrows lifted in an imploring manner. “I need you to portray an element of surprise. Believe me, it is near impossible to feign astonishment, and it is imperative that you appear flustered and shocked. If, indeed, someone is following us, we will leave him in the dust.”
“I’ll stay packed, but I’m not happy about this,” Michael stated in a firm tone. All the while, he felt he was in box; he had no option. He would notify Sara as soon as possible.
“Trust me. Within minutes of our arrival in Switzerland, you will be comfortable and realize this was our best option. We’ve come this far with no upsets. I cannot be sure about this man, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Although I have contacts at the border, this man may also have connections, and possibly his connections are superior—it is anybody’s guess.”
At Sven’s request, the rest of the evening was spent inside the chateau. A game of chess helped pass the time. The men concluded their day with an aperitif. Because of the impending unknown, plus the murder, their conversation had become strained.
“I am somewhat concerned about the Swiss border crossing,” said Sven.
“Why?”
“Let’s say the man with the cane is somehow connected with the Irish government. He may have thought the smartest approach would be to confront us at the border security and may have alerted them before his demise. They could demand to open our luggage. It would be a speedy way to get the cover back to Ireland.”
“Shit! Excuse me, Sven. I’m losing my cool.”
Sven spoke in a whisper. “I understand; it is a definite turn of events. I believe I have a rock solid ‘checkmate’ if it was your man. Perhaps there is more than one interested party in this cover; who knows why he was eliminated?”
The duo said goodnight and Michael made his way to his room. Things had been going like clockwork. Now, he was knocked off guard in just one millisecond. Here he was, not exactly at Sven’s mercy, but damn near. If this was a private plane, he would have no options. The pilot and Sven would be in control. He was far from home and did not speak a foreign language. He had a precious cargo that he assumed would be in safe hands within hours. Could this plane be taking him somewhe
re other than Zurich?
He would call Sara. She should know where he was and the next plan, which, at best, would be vague. His personal cell phone would be best. His gut feeling remained positive; however, he felt he should cover his tracks. He was doubtful Sven’s history was trumped up. He had the cover sewn in the messenger bag. Of course, once he was on a plane, anyone could access the cover, no matter where it was hidden. His understanding at this juncture was that a plane would take them over the border. The more Michael thought about it, his sensibility became more fragile. There were no commercial airports here. Was this a clever maneuver?
When he called Sara, he would remind her that his personal cell could be tracked by satellite, possibly giving his location if he didn’t get back to her in a day or two. Sven was not aware Michael had his own cell. He supposed he could walk away tonight; it was another thing to be in a non-commercial plane with no escape and no witnesses. The cover would be found within minutes if he were taken hostage. Damn! What to do?
His call to Sara was cryptic but informative. He told her he would call the minute they arrived in Switzerland. He slept off and on, anxious for morning to arrive. He had his bags packed and could leave in less than five minutes. He had shaved before bed.
Morning finally came. At precisely seven a.m., the phone rang. He was surprised by how flustered he was, considering the call was anticipated.
“Monsieur! Your companion has fallen ill. Please come to the desk as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be right down.” He grabbed his messenger bag with the cover in it and headed down to the foyer. He left his luggage in the room.
“Michael, I’m afraid I have run into a bit of bad luck.”
“Sven, what happened?”
“I am having some severe stomach pain. I think it is a return of diverticulitis; I am experiencing unexpected bleeding.”
“My God, have you called a doctor?”
“I am pretty sure I know what this is; I would prefer to see my personal doctor. I am quite close to home. The bleeding is what is concerns me. I have an unusual blood type and wish to have my doctors in Zurich address my condition.”
“How far are we from Zurich?”
“Not far. I spoke with my doctor; he has ordered an air ambulance, and it will arrive in thirty minutes.”
“What can I do?”
“I would like you to accompany me—if you don’t mind. Zurich is your destination, is it not?”
“Yes, it’s my next stop. I’ll put my things together without delay. Are we near an airport?”
“Yes, there is a regional airport for small planes on the outskirts of town. We will use either a helicopter or a single engine plane.”
“I’ll be down right away.”
Michael took the stairs two at a time. In minutes, he returned with his luggage and saw an ambulance at the front door. They were wheeling Sven on a stretcher into the back of the vehicle. Michael jumped in.
The ruse went well; no doubt the innkeepers were convinced. The drive to the small airport was short, and a Swiss ambulance helicopter was on the runway. They were transferred to the aircraft within minutes. The rotors started, and they were on their way. Michael was astonished by the precision of the whole thing. How slick was this? On the other hand, were they really going to Zurich? His comfort rested in the fact the ambulance plane appeared authentic. His intuition told him Sven was on the level.
The views from the chopper were dramatic, revealing snow-capped mountains and lakes. He could see small white fluffs of sheep roaming the grassy knolls below. The lake bordering France and Switzerland was like a dark sapphire glimmering in the sunshine. They maneuvered in and out through the valleys that were framed by enormous craggy mountains.
Michael was not sure if the pilot was in on Sven’s scheme. He had just played along, looking down at the awesome view. He marveled at Sven’s influence and last-minute ingenuity involving this tricky situation.
All of a sudden, the engine had a different drone. Sven appeared startled, and Michael knew something had gone awry.
With a calmness that was reassuring, the pilot said something in French. All of a sudden his voice changed to alarm mode, confirming Michael’s worst nightmare. He didn’t need anyone to tell him, the helicopter was going down! Michael looked down at the terrain; he saw nothing but snow.
Sven uttered the words, “Hold on, Michael; this isn’t good.”
Michael watched in dismay as they hurtled toward the ground. He knew they had not hit a cable or wire; something was wrong with the engine. It seemed like eternity in slow motion as they tumbled and lurched downward. His last thought before they hit the ground was to wonder if the chopper had been sabotaged. It was obvious the pilot was not instigating this crash!
****
Michael did not know how long he had been unconscious. He lifted his head, surveying the chaos. Sven was lying in the snow about ten feet away. Michael and the pilot were still in their seats. The pilot appeared lifeless; there was blood oozing out of his ear and he was slumped in a way that confirmed his neck was broken; he was not breathing. The splintered rotors lay in disarray in the snow. Michael’s door was lying about twenty feet away; the fuselage of the helicopter was pretty much intact, although, part of the roof was missing, and there was a gaping hole at the rear.
His first thought, after a brief prayer, was a moment of panic, wondering if he had lost the cover. Glancing around, he spotted his suitcase and shoulder bag in the snow. They both seemed to still be intact and closed, so he moved on to more immediate concerns, namely assessing his injuries. Both legs were ok; his left shoulder hurt, but didn’t appear fractured; however, there was no doubt his right wrist was broken.
He could hear Sven moaning. He rummaged around the plane looking for something to splint his wrist. He wound an instruction manual and around it, and after much fumbling, he managed to secure the splint with his belt. He called out to Sven, but there was no response. Michael saw him moving and hoped he was regaining consciousness. A million questions reeled in Michael’s head. Sabotage was the most likely answer for this crash. Of course, it could have been purely accidental, a mechanical problem perhaps. How bad off was Sven, and how far were they from civilization? Was there an emergency pack somewhere in the wreckage? Priority wise, Sven was first, then locating the emergency pack. There had to be one. Once more, he called out to Sven. “Hey Sven, can you hear me?”
“Michael!”
Michael watched Sven slowly lift his head. “Listen to me, Sven; I have EMT training; please do as I say. I will ask you questions and wait for your answers. Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“Not sure.”
“Do you have pain anywhere?”
“Nothing major.”
“Try not to move your head in case you have a spinal injury. Wipe your face with your hands and see if there is any blood, then slowly move each leg and arm—do you have any chest or stomach pain when you take a deep breath?”
Sven responded favorably to Michael’s questions, which was a great relief to Michael.
Michael assessed the weather and scanned the horizon for any sign of trains or smoke from a chimney or smokestack—or even a church spire—but to no avail. He was hopeful they were close to civilization, as the pilot had mentioned they were getting close to their destination just before they had gone down. Sven had said they would land on a hospital roof in Zurich.
“Sven, are your legs and arms ok?”
“Yes, although, my vision seems blurry. My neck and spine do not hurt.”
“Are you getting cold?”
“Yes—very.”
Michael assumed he had a slight concussion, and he was concerned that hypothermia might become a problem if he didn’t get Sven warm. He rummaged around the cockpit for an emergency box. Yes, there it was, under the dead pilot’s seat. He reached for it with agonizing, slow movements. There was a transmitter, medical supplies, and a thermal blanket.
“I
found a blanket and supplies; I’ll slide you toward the cockpit on this blanket.”
As Michael inched toward Sven, he wondered how deep the snow was. He finally reached Sven and slowly pulled Sven back with his good arm. The snow was crusty and held their weight. It appeared very deep, as a tree nearby had no visible trunk.
“We made it! How is your vision?”
“Clearing, thank God, although I am nauseated.”
“The pilot is dead. I’ll move him onto the snow. The cockpit will provide us some shelter while we figure this out. I can only use one arm right now, so this will take some time.”
After moving the pilot, Michael covered his companion with the thermal blanket. “There is an emergency transmitter here. I wonder, was this sabotage or engine failure?”
“I think this would have ended differently if the pilot was involved. Although, this trip was last minute so it is doubtful someone tampered with the plane. I think we should see if any of our phones are working. The Kells cover! Is it still here? Have you located it?”
“I think I see my suitcase and shoulder bag out in the snow. I will try your office on my cell. The emergency transmitter may give away our location, if anyone is still following us. Let’s try our phones first.”
“Good thinking, Michael.”
Michael’s cold fingers were slow in attempting to initiate the call. The phone could not get a signal. Neither of the phones Sven had given him could get a signal. He brought out his iPhone. There was one bar, indicating a modicum of reception. Please God, let one call go through! Whom should he call? Sara or Sven’s office? What time was it? Yes, Sven’s office would still be open. “Sven, I will try my personal cell; who should I call at your office?”
“Sally—call Sally the receptionist; tell her it is an emergency, and request to speak to one of the associates. Does the GPS on your phone give you coordinates?”
“Yes, I’ll call Sally; in case I lose the reception, I’ll text our coordinates first, as an SOS.” Michael could hear the phone ringing; a woman answered after a few rings. “Sally, we have an emergency; Sven needs an associate on the line right away. Our connection is poor and may die out.”