than in December, what humidity and temperature was concerned.
It was really a short walk to the hotel. I remembered how insulted the taxi driver had reacted two days ago as I had used his vehicle for the short jump. Mr. Maier seemed to enjoy the fresh air. In the hotel, they had expecting the guest and this was a low off-season, he could take possession of his room instantly.
“I’ll be in the bar,” I told him. “Just take your time.”
The bar was completely empty but Torsten came soon. “What can I offer you?”
“Just a glass of orange juice.”
“Now again!” and he grasped after the Fernet Branca bottle.
“No, honestly, I did not have a single drop of alcohol yesterday. I simply changed my habits.”
He opened the bottle but did not pour anything from it. “Shocking news for our balance. Many of the staff may lose their jobs – and that just before Christmas.”
“OK, for social reasons, give me a Fernet Branca.”
“On the room?”
“I don’t have any.”
“But your boss pays for one.”
“Right, put it on the room, but write my name with this order, I don’t want to ruin the reputation of Mr. Maier on the first day.”
“Don’t worry, we shall take care of that.”
In this moment, Mr. Maier already returned. “What do you think, shall I eat here or there?”
“It’s the same food, they deliver it, but in your place, Mr. Maier, I should go away at 8 p.m. and eat here. Twelve hours a day suffices. Mr. Smith pays for it anyhow.”
“Please call me Kurt. A butler is called by his first name.”
“All right, I am Eric, a sort of colleague. One moment, I shall just regulate the dinner item, so that they only deliver for two – a small and a big one.”
Then we went back.
9 – Christmas Visitors
We had spent the preceding (Juanita-free) week getting closer to Kurt and slowly getting more confidence in his presence. Already the second day, Mr. Smith suggested that he ate together with us, meaning dining really together, not just serving the food. He was very shy in accepting this suggestion, he still considered that his position was that of a butler, but the meal was delivered from the restaurant ready to serve and was put on the table as it arrived in a hot condition, with vessels and thermostatic covering picked up next day shortly before noon.
But also Kurt got increasingly confident in his new employer. On Sunday evening, two days before Denmark celebrated Christmas (on evening the 24th), he claimed to have received an alarming report of which – at least he claimed so – he was not prepared. How could he have said otherwise, if he was now considering exchanging the fronts?
“I received a call in the hotel last evening,” he started. “A person, whom I know from Germany, wanted to know something about your customary habits in the evening. At first, I told him that I anyhow do not spend much of the evening here. He then asked me if we had particular plans for Christmas evening and then I considered this all again. I decided that if he was planning something evil, I’d better not interrupt the contact. I asked him to call again this evening in the hotel. What shall I tell him?”
“What is the name of this mysterious person,” I asked. In the meantime, I could see that Mr. Smith was thinking, how to reply to Mr. Maier’s question.
“Hans Schulz.”
The answer was received with icy coolness. “One of the agents at Shepherd’s,” I commented. Mr. Smith only nodded. He was thinking.
“Under which circumstances do you know Mr. Schulz,” I asked.
“Actually only recently, he visited the baron shortly before his death,” he started.
“How shortly?” Mr. Smith interrupted.
“Maybe a week. Then the baron fell ill the day after, a strange disease. But Mr. Schulz came to the funeral and remembered that I was now unemployed, so he called me two days before I started here.”
“Keep acquainted with Mr. Schulz, then you may get more such jobs, unfortunately all short-term,” I suggested.
Even Mr. Smith smiled, but Kurt frowned. “You mean …”
“That if we don’t take certain precautions, he may also visit us like a black angel toward the end of our lives,” my boss said. “But if he remains unprepared, we shall do our best to trick him out. Try to recall all details of that call, it is of vital importance.”
Kurt tried his best, but he was not used to repeat a conversation verbatim.
Mr: Smith summarized. “Mr. Schulz recommended that you are absent the day after tomorrow late afternoon and evening. Excellent, then we know when we can expect visitors. I suggest that you are free from after lunch, then you go to a Christmas service in some church in the inner Copenhagen. Ask also in the hotel how to spend Christmas Eve – there must be some festive arrangement somewhere. Be certain that there are witnesses until midnight and don’t retire prematurely to your room – but Mr. Schulz may tell you that, too. In that case, sound surprised but do not ask too much. Now you better return to the hotel and get ready for the call.”
The butler raised but Mr. Smith halted him again. “Kurt.”
“Yes sir.”
“Danke!”
He bowed his head, you could almost not hear his reply, and then he went. We heard the entrance door go, and immediately afterwards, as every evening since Juanita left, I checked with drawn handgun, that nobody had sneaked in on that occasion. Negative – I mean, I was positive that nobody had used the opportunity, and that was not bad. The day after, I would start following Kurt to the door.
“Call Sam and Fred and ask them to come here tomorrow morning – and be at disposition the following day’s evening; it is vitally important,” Mr. Smith said as I returned to the dining room.
“Would you then feel free to eat my desert, since I started working and that, as you say, is incompatible to a dinner?”
“I shall sacrifice myself. Your ice cocktail is in the best hands and soon in the most trained mouth in a wide area.”
Thus comforted, I went to the inner office to call the two. “Fred, please turn out here tomorrow morning at 10. It has something to do with our previous action. And keep the following day’s evening free.”
“But it is Christmas!” he sighed.
“Yes. Take care of old men with a long beard and red dressing. In any case, don’t open any of their packages – it may be a nasty surprise.”
My talk to Sam went off similarly, except that he was strangely relieved that finally something was happening on the 24th. He was one of the mature men who were left alone and made no initiative to see other of the society’s victims in a similar situation – like Mr. Smith under normal circumstances. Maybe my boss was also looking forward to being attacked? It was many years ago last time, just before I started here. My predecessor was killed on that occasion – he was paid for it, as Mr. Smith once said – and the house severely damaged – enough damaged to make this strange architecture possible, where Mr. Smith spent most of his few wake hours in a windowless room.
One thing disturbed me: I had indicated that something might happen on Christmas’ eve. If these people were in the position to tap our telephone – and a cooperation with their colleagues, the Danish civil servants, would make such a measure easy, - our advantage of knowing the approximate time was lost; more seriously, Kurt would be in acute danger. There was, of course, the American NSA, who can tap all email-, fax- and telephone conversations, but they are drowned in their tasks. I decided that the agents were not good in cooperation and anyhow, what I had done could not be changed.
As he had finished the delicacies, Mr. Smith rolled through the door from the dining room and changed to his throne chair on the wall, a drama in itself involving the appearance of a gallow otherwise invisible; his legs were paralyzed but he had strong forces in his arms, with which he swung his extremely heavy body from one chair to the other as Tarzan in the jungle. Fortunately, he refused any help for this gymnastic – how
could I have helped this giant? – So I went to make him his coffee, without which he claimed he could not sleep. For the opposite reason, I did not drink any myself so late. Since we did not expect any visitors so late, I left the wheelchair beside the throne.
“So we need a strategy,” the athlete said, once seated with the coffee in front of him. “First it would be good to know the victim: you, the bomb thrower, or me, the mastermind?” His modesty was marvellous.
“I think that you, the mastermind, is first in rank, your honour. Not only because a bigger target is better to get hold on, but also while the previous measures were directed against you, with Mr. Maier replacing Ms. Petrovic. That he defected is still unknown to the assaulters but will be obvious when we show up being prepared. At latest then, we should care about his security as well. Personally, I was scheduled to be in Norway on a ski holiday together with Ms, Jorgensen. The visit in Shepherd’s is probably the reason for me still be able to call me her friend.”
The genius accepted my arguing. “Can you also tell me, what is the purpose of it all?”
“No, that demands a criminal brain, or at least someone, who can adapt to it by a yearlong experience.” I did not want to steal the show.
“Thanks for the introduction. The criminal part of my brain tells me that the most important part of the coming showdown is a signal to other agents or possibly agencies that recognise the combined metro- and S-train-assault as a failure, thanks to our initiative. Our slaughter – or maybe just mine – shall be a signal to them, that we have been punished. To the Danish public, it shall be a terror attack for which the civil servants are paid to prevent, as usual in vain.”
So how do you plan to meet the enemy?” I asked.
“We do not know how they will proceed. I do not believe in poison, because they do not want to be discrete. Shooting or bombs is most likely, and they might attribute some links to Arab participation, as they use to do in their false-flag attacks. They can approach from the street, from the back through Mrs. Clausen’s garden and – very improbable – from the beachside which, you know, consists of very rough stones. I shall exclude the possibility of an attack from the seaside – after all, in spite of the relatively warm weather, the sea is too cold to make such a mission plausible.”
“I would feel safer if also an implausible approach is taken care of” I said.
“All right, get hold of Ivan Petrov, too. It is anyhow no mistake to have a third gun.”
“Did you forget my gun?” I asked.
“Let me speak out: ‘… outside the house.’ Fred will take position in Mrs. Clausen’s garden with a view to the beachside, Sam in our garden and Mr. Ivan across the street in the last garden with a view to the sea, as you required, and a glance to the street. If no assault has occurred by 02 a.m., they can retire to the house and guard it through various windows. I would expect the attack in the early evening. The mission starts at 4 p.m.”
The 24th of December started as planned. After lunch, Kurt parted – he was celebrating church service in the centre and somehow had succeeded to be invited to private evening nearby, so he was taken care of for the evening. Shortly before 6 p.m., some people in our street left for the traditional services, the day of the year all priests were looking forward to, when the church benches were full. Two hours later, they were all back again, if they were not celebrating outside.
At 9 p.m., Santa Claus arrived with a sack of his back. I was standing by the window in the dark music room. Strange, I thought, why did he come so far by foot? No car and no reindeer sledge to see anywhere. He went into the house across the street where more families lived. He was hardly gone as a second Santa Claus also appeared at the end of the street. “Watch out for the two Santas,” I whispered to the assistants in the walkie talkie. Not only