I screamed, there was a bomb in there,” and then I followed my own advice. Perhaps 15 seconds later, an explosion appeared. There would drive no train there for the next few days.
I continued towards the exit and waved for a taxi. The crowd coming after me was too surprised to consider any escape, perhaps also curious of what would now happen, and the original carrier of the rucksack was already gone. I hope enough witnesses could later confirm that I was not the carrier of that bomb. Anyhow, when I think back, it was a very chilling feeling – I guess it always is with the first bomb you throw.
There was no point in waiting for any colleagues; the traffic jam behind me was already complete, caused by the huge amount of people suddenly running away from the terror attack. It was even worse at Nørreport where two metro trains and an S-train, one of which really contained a bomb, were emptied simultaneous, I was later told.
One after the other, we met in the old white villa in Hellerup, where we gave report of our experiences. I did not know how Mr. Smith had collected so many assistants. The task of most of them had been to stop the metros, several trains, in fact, to avoid any of them being between the stations when the bomb went off. In all cases, they were to release panic by releasing the emergency brake of the standing train, screaming “a bomb,” and in all cases, regardless of a later explosion, this sufficed to precipitate a panic reaction in the terroritis marred Danish population, and all of us managed to get away in the crowd.
At Nørreport metro station, Frederik Nielsen had a similar experience as I at Vesterport. He had identified a young man, a Mediterranean type, who carried a rucksack. He threw it in front of the train, which was damaged by the explosion. Fortunately, also the driver of the train was among the fugitives as suddenly the rucksack appeared before his eyes.
In Mr. Smith’s office, there was now a foreign-body I had never seen before: a television. I did not realize that there even was an antenna on this house, it could not be cable access, and Mr. Smith would not pay for something he never used.
The TV did not report anything for the first hour after my return and only at 11 o’clock, when we had all joined, did the word “terror” first fall, but since then repetitively. It was as a repetition of the old recognition that the larger a disaster, the longer the time for the recognition that it was a disaster – only this time, it was not. Nobody had been killed and only a few lightly injured as the big crowds headed for the exits in panic. Then around 12 the question was raised, why some trains had been stopped prematurely to the centrally guided alarm but only two bombs exploded. It was also mentioned that there had been an anonymous call, but only seconds before the explosion, so it had no influence on the occurrences.
I looked at Mr. Smith who smiled: “After all, they wanted to be absolutely certain, and that demanded the explosions. As compensation, they also stopped the traffic on undamaged stretches.”
The slow speed, in which the recognitions were presented and the endless repetition of unspectacular film clips began to bore us all and I suddenly remembered that I should go away with the girls.
“Could I borrow the Bentley and take the rest of the day off? Mrs. Dumont wants to see Elsinore.”
Mr. Smith was in a very high mood and had, for the first time in which I worked with him, forgotten that Juanita had lunch ready at 1 p.m. “You are right, it is time to break up. Thanks for your excellent work, gentlemen. Mr. Gusto will pay you the agreed fee plus 50% for a successful project. And you, Mr. Gusto, can call the Mrs. Dumont and ask her to come here. By then, you may leave and …”
The doorbell rang. Knowing that Juanita was busy with the lunch, I went to the door and looked through the door spy. I ran back and cried, “It is Erlandsson!”
“Hurry up, all in the morning room. Eric, let us get it over, let the lion in.”
From the office, there is a door directly to the dining room, baptised the morning room by a previous owner who enjoyed his breakfast with the view of the rising sun over the Swedish coast, a sight Mr. Smith never saw – even now, he arose after sunrise. The seven free-lance assistants disappeared silently while I went back to open for Mr. Erlandsson.
“I’m Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Erlandsson. Here just after 1 p.m. …”
Mr. Erlandsson was smiling over the whole face. “I won’t spent a long time, I just want to congratulate you – is the big man still in the office or shall I go to the dining room?”
“No, you can still find him in the centre of his nest.”
Mr. Erlandsson passed me and continued into the office. “Congratulations! No, I shall not want to hear any confession, I just saw Mr. Gusto throw a bomb on a surveillance video, and knowing in which company he spent the weekend, I made my deductions – privately, of course. I am fortunately not dealing with a big terror event and can therefore – again privately – allow myself to enjoy your success, putting all the James Bonds back at the wall. I shall, of course, not share my recognitions with anyone in the police. Congratulations again and thanks on behalf of all the potential victims – just in case that someone forgets to express their gratitude. But Mr. Gusto will probably have to consider what he will tell the police, because very soon the surveillance video which I saw will be made public. I have not told that I know the person, but soon somebody else will recognize him. And I believe the second bomb thrower will also be identified by a surveillance video soon, which undoubtedly will lead to a visit here in Hellerup. It is not good if they find me here, I can only leave my sympathy. Goodbye, Mr. Smith, Goodbye, Mr. Gusto, please receive my deepest respect.”
Mr. Erlandsson found his way out himself. I turned the television on and almost instantly saw my deed. Afterwards, the speaker read a petition to the public to inform the police about the identity of this person. We just saw a few seconds to see if Fred also had been photographed – which he undoubtedly had, in Big Brother’s World, everybody is filmed several times a day, but the amount of video footage is largely unseen due to a lack of censors.
Mr. Smith asked me to open the door to the morning room and let all assistants in.
“Gentlemen, I may ask you to leave. Mr. Gusto shall pay you and you will leave with small intervals. Mr. Gusto has made an explosive start as the favourite actor in TV, and the police will soon have identified him. In case you should also be questioned, never agree on any conspiracy.”
“You can pay me on another occasion,” Fred said and went out as the first. Sam said the same and went as number two but the other five, whom we only use very occasionally, got their sum in cash, before disappearing one by one.
“And now, let us get some dinner, before you call the police yourself,” Mr. Smith said as the last assistant had left. “Don’t forget to emphasize the explosion shock, which caused your late call.”
“Of course. We talked about that already. Why I was at that train, and so on. Come, let us get some decent to eat, I shall then be occupied for the rest of the day – God gracious, I forgot that I made a promise.”
“Who could guess that they were that fast. You have to call it off.”
“Too late, they are already on their way here in a taxi.”
“Then the lunch is an urgent matter. I shall ask Juanita to show them into the music room.”
I smiled. Mr. Smith hated disturbances, in particular when he was dining. “No, I shall get something to eat somewhere else. I just got a different idea. You must enjoy yourself with Juanita.” I heard a taxi arriving and ran out to stop it and the ladies.
“One moment, please. Can we use the same taxi for a short trip? I just got to make a phone call.”
“I have to start the meter again,” the driver said.
“Please do. We are anyhow only driving a short distance.” Then I went in to call someone – no, not the police. Then I ran back to the waiting taxi.
“Hellerup Hotel, please.”
“But it is less than 500 meters.”
“I am sorry, but we are in a hurry, and it is anyhow on your way back to the city
. I told you, it was a short drive.”
“I can imagine the reason for your change of plans,” Alice said. We saw it on TV. A friend called me and …”
“Please keep imagining, Alice” I said, meaning ‘not talking.’
“I am leaving Denmark tomorrow,” Jeannine said. “They have given George’s body free and even themselves arranged the back transfer on a British Airways plane – with a reservation for me, too. It was anyhow a bad time for an excursion.”
“Yes, it is a bad time for many things,” I said.
“You heard about the terror attacks?” the driver wanted to add, joining the conversation.
‘Yes, it was me who threw one of the bombs,’ I thought, but I did not say it. Instead just, “So here we are already.”
6 – Being Famous
“Hey Eric, didn’t I just see you on TV,” Simon said. Simon was receptionist at the hotel, and I had known him for years.
“Possibly. There are some people coming to see me at 3 p.m. We are going to the restaurant first, then it would be good if you had a room for us, useful for a small press conference.”
“You can stay in the restaurant. It is anyhow closed from 3 to 7 o’clock. We can push some furniture together. How many do you expect to come?”
“With the technicians between 12 and 20. Make your preparations and let us get some lunch.”
We went to the restaurant and ordered a small lunch. Considering my expectations for the evening, alone in a naked cell or even worse, under intensive interrogation, a warm meal seemed appropriate. A beer or two would have been so, too, but the coming event demanded a clear head, so I restricted myself to mineral water. The servant, Torsten, could not hide his surprise:
“I have served you often here, Eric, but I have never experienced that you stayed that sober. What is wrong with you?”
“After yesterday evening, I promised never to touch alcohol again,” I lied.
A minute later, Torsten returned with a big Fernet Branca. “It is on the house. Swallow it fast. Either you will die or you recover, but in any case, your troubles will be over.”
I could not resist the health offer. “But I shall still stay with water for the lunch. If I am still alive at 4 p.m., I shall go to the bar and get drunk again.”
“I shall not experience it then, you know, I have my free time. But tell me, are you the reason for us to rearrange the room for 3 o’clock?”
“Yes, I am giving a press conference about, how to throw a bomb, based on my personal skills.” Already Mark Twain had noted that everybody doubted him when he said the truth and all seemed to believe him when he lied. It seemed to be the same with me.
He laughed. “So it was you! Your world-famous modesty reached new heights.”
I changed the subject. “The ladies want white wine. They will share a bottle of Riesling. What can you recommend?”
“We have a dry ‘Schloss Vollrads,’ ideal for the time of the day.”
“OK, let us have that – and give me also a glass, then the ladies may have some of water in return.”
“Good old Fernet Branca,” Torsten concluded. After all, I had just caused a tremendous explosion; I had the right to appear a bit shaken.
During the lunch, I gave a brief description of, how we prevented the killing of scores of civilians, not forgetting my own role in it, and the reason for the coming confrontation with some of the media, to which I recommended them not to be present. As we finished, it was almost three o’clock. Without definite agreement about a fee, Jeannine gave me a fat envelop for Mr. Smith.
“I thought the job ended abruptly with George’s death?” I said.
“It was a strange way, but at least we found out that George was the positive exception among the gang who met at Shepherd’s. That is