The Next Stop

by Dimitris Politis

  “Goodnight, detective.” Keith trudged wearily to the door. “Three painful deaths rocked my life and in the end it all came down to a bureaucratic document, a rubber stamp and a frayed, mouldy folder locked forever in an obscure cabinet, left to relentless oblivion and the merciless passage of time...” his mind wandered as he crossed the threshold of the glass door of Sallins Garda station that Friday, All Souls Day, 2006.

  The image of Maeve’s father, whom he had never known as anything but a stream of tears came to his mind. He could imagine him and his daughter together now and comforting each other. If he had outraged God and the Church, Maeve would understand – and forgive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Fourth Stop: Joséphine-Charlotte – Giovanni

  Glorious morning scents. The freshly roasted coffee was filling the room with the Jamaica Blue Mountain distinctive aroma. The toaster by the counter hurled two ruddy slices of toast into the air, ready for plenty of fresh butter and homemade jam, adding their fragrance to the kitchen atmosphere. Breakfast for two was more than ready. Giovanni caught the hot toast with the tips of his fingers and flipped it onto a glass plate, then blew on his fingers to cool them. Then he hurried to spin juicy oranges and pink grapefruit in the electric fruit-squeezer to contribute their strong aroma to the morning feast.

  Sébastien burst into the kitchen. His long tawny hair, still dark and wet from his morning shower, dripped on the shoulders of his dressing gown, leaving tiny dark spots. He grabbed Giovanni by the waist and gave him an absent-minded kiss behind the ear. Giovanni raised startled eyebrows as a huge smile of happiness escaped him. “You can’t imagine how I adore these mornings we wake up together,” he said shyly, filling two tall glasses with the juice which was overflowing the rim of the fruit-squeezer. “Only that... I'd so like it to happen a little more often...” he added plaintively, looking Sébastien straight in his bright blue eyes.

  “We’ve already discussed that, darling. You know the situation... There’s the wife and children. I have obligations towards them. Right or wrong, that’s how I’ve created my life. My family before everyone else in my life, no matter how much I love and appreciate you, Giovanni, baby,” replied Sébastien, tenderly stroking the cheek of his friend and lover with his long fingers. Then he turned to the coffee machine, filled two cups with the fresh coffee and carried them to the table where Giovanni had already sat down. “I explained that I can’t offer you more, at least not right now. I think you accept it. Which I highly appreciate as you know damn well!” Sébastien bent and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. His own were sticky with jam. He pulled back and began to lick his lips, pulling comic faces at Giovanni.

  “I know, I know, you always manage to come back at me with that stuff!” Giovanni rolled his eyes at the ceiling with exaggerated disgust. And then he began to stuff his mouth with more toast, piled with a butter mountain and a heap of scarlet strawberry jam. “I just want things to be different...” he dared to say in mid-swallow. “But we can’t always have what we want,” he concluded to himself with a bitter smile. They looked at one another silently for a moment. Then Giovanni's eye fell on the square metal clock hanging on the green tiles of the bright, ultramodern kitchen.

  “I say! It’s already past eight!” said Giovanni, hastily changing the subject. He inhaled the last drop of his coffee and hopped up. “Shower-shave-run! I should be at the Council of Ministers by nine – big day today! I’ll be interpreting for speakers of la mia bellissima lingua into French and English for the meeting of European Agriculture Ministers, with the Agricultural Commissioner of the European Commission, no less! We’re short of interpreters so I have to cover two languages instead of one! I mean – three instead of just two – oh well, you know what I mean!” He laughed and glanced at Sébastien. “This is really a big thing, all public relations and noise.” His voice grew more serious. “It is important, actually. Very important politically, decisions to be taken, even more important for the future of agricultural policy in the European Union. They’ll decide the fate of millions of European farmers for years to come, which will have a hell of an impact all over the world. I'm dead sure the Italian Minister will have a lot to say about his farmers! If I can keep up with his usual personal style, that is! And I must be at my best!” He dashed out of the kitchen tossing robe and briefs to either side of the hallway, as he headed for the bathroom.

  Sébastien remained alone in the kitchen frowning at the cup of coffee still steaming before him. He got up and began to nervously search the kitchen drawer. After a while he found what he wanted: a pack of yellow Post-it notes and a pen. Peeling off the first piece of paper, he sat for a while at the kitchen table and scribbled hastily:

  Must see you later tonight and talk.

  I have something very important to announce to you. Seb.

  He stuck the little paper with the message in Giovanni’s open briefcase. Then he headed for the bedroom, slipped into his clothes and went quietly to the door, blindly knotting his tie.

  Inside the flat, the running water of the shower almost drowned out the voice of Giovanni skillfully rendering a Caruso aria at full volume.

  An hour later, Giovanni was in place in the interpreters’ enclosure at the side of the Council of EU Ministers’ meeting room, awaiting the important figures of the conference. Of course, he had found the yellow note in his briefcase and could not get the message out of his mind. What was so serious that they must discuss it? And why hadn’t he spoken up that morning when they were taking breakfast? Although he had managed to arrive half an hour before the meeting started, the circular hall was already filled. Many of the ministers were there early, which only went to confirm the importance of the meeting. Some were frowning in concentration over their papers, others had left their seats and were enjoying casual chats with colleagues and other delegates.

  From his window, Giovanni watched the Lithuanian Commissioner enter the room accompanied by a young woman with unnaturally blonde hair and wearing a sexy mini-skirt, as well as a clean-cut, fit-looking fortyish man with a shaved head in a grey suit. He didn’t attach much significance to them and turned his attention to the stack of documents to be discussed that morning. The meeting began on time, and Giovanni realised from the first moment that he had a very busy and demanding day ahead, as the Italian Minister, who seemed to be in fine fettle that morning, began to intervene early with long perorations on almost every topic on the day’s agenda. The discussion continued with undiminished interest and the time passed quickly until midday when the chairman of the meeting, the Agriculture Minister of Finland performing the president's duties, announced a break in the marathon meeting for about an hour. It was already past two in the afternoon and they all flew on springs from their posts and escaped from their enclosure with the relief of freed prisoners.

  At this first opportunity, Giovanni made a dash for the canteen of the building two floors below in search of a quick sandwich. On the way, Sébastien’s message blazed in his mind. He had been struck by how the handwriting was very hasty, as if written under stress. The thought of this brought him to a halt. He made a sharp left turn and went into one of the empty halls just down the hallway on the same floor. Having made sure that it was completely empty, he locked himself in one of the empty cells reserved for interpreters, closing the door tightly behind him. He wanted to try to communicate with Seb in peace, away from prying eyes and ears, and ask him where they could meet again that evening. He was a little worried about what Seb wanted to discuss. He knew that the wife was missing on a three day business trip to London and hoped that the previous wonderful night they had shared could be repeated, this time with a rather more relaxed breakfast the next day. His schedule for tomorrow was much easier, interpreting for a meeting that didn’t start until ten a.m. He pulled out the crumpled yellow note and took another look at it, took his mobile phone from his pocket and quickly tapped the familiar number. With great disappointment, he heard the call being transferred to Seb’s
voicemail. Well, he could hope that Sébastien would see the missed call and call him back. With a sigh, he pocketed the phone and prepared to continue on to the cafeteria.

  But just then he heard a rustle and a click and realised that someone else had entered the deserted conference room. He peered curiously through the dark glass of the enclosure, which almost perfectly protected him from eyes in the room. Despite the important work done by interpreters in Brussels, the prevailing mentality decreed that they should be invisible. And while they could easily see who was in the hall and monitor the speakers, it was near impossible to see in and observe who and how many were interpreting the meetings, so perfectly concealed behind dark glass. Especially when the interpreter cabin lights were switched off. Now he could see who had caused the noise and was about to talk on his own mobile phone. Giovanni recognised him immediately. He was the escort of the Lithuanian Commissioner, the chap with the shaved head. The fellow glanced hastily around the empty room to make sure there was nobody else there. Giovanni was sure he had not been noticed. His strange, almost conspiratorial manner intrigued Giovanni. At the same time, he found to his surprise that he could hear perfectly what was happening inside the room. The speakers had been left open as they were when the interpreters were on duty, by technical or human error, and the microphones had been forgotten from a previous meeting. Or perhaps one of the morning cleaners had accidentally pressed a button. What mattered was that the sound reached the interpreters’ enclosure with crystal clarity.

  The stranger was speaking on his mobile phone in English. Giovanni listened with avid interest, moving as far back as he could behind the tinted glass. At first he thought it was very rude to listen to someone else’s personal conversation, but when the name of Italian Agriculture Minister Benedetto came into it, curiosity prevailed and all his misgivings were dissolved in a moment. He put on the headphones to hear better.

  “... the meeting went on and on because everyone was asking for the sun and moon for the farmers of the country. And that idiot, Benedetto, never shuts up; he has an opinion on everything! He loves to hear himself talk!” continued the stranger with contempt. There followed a few seconds of silence as the guy on the phone listened carefully to whomever was on the line. Now and then he silently shook his head.

  “The Paulauskas game is progressing very well,” he continued after a while. “Fortunately, we have a very important collaborator from within who has helped us so far – for a fee, of course. We promise that we will soon have important developments. We expect to see... The scandal is so great that when it breaks, Paulauskas won’t know where to hide... Ha ha ha! Yes, we’ll finally be able to shake the dust of this place off our feet and go back home once and for all. The fallout will wipe him out completely – and not only here. Who knows, with a little luck I might land his job myself! When it all comes out, his political career in Lithuania is up the spout. And without him and the leadership, the Socialists will have no chance of winning the next presidential election. So the road will be left wide open for us!”

  A few more seconds of silence intervened before the stranger responded, “Yes, yes... Everything is arranged to a ‘T’. The leak in the press is already discounted. And when the noise subsides a little later, the easiest thing will be for me to become the next Lithuanian Commissioner! Yes, of course... Everything has its price! You should of course reward our collaborator handsomely as promised, but that’s simple enough. The thirst of this lady for more power and money is incredible. Moret’s the name! She’s already a deputy director general in the European Commission. We could make her a Director General in Agriculture or somewhere and would have her completely in our pockets… Yes, yes... such a position would fit her perfectly... Yes, she’s a real watchdog, I tell you! Seems rather dynamic individual and a bitch at work. Of course, many people and especially all her subordinates detest her but that’s another story, need not concern us… No, not at all, her ruthless and sadistic instincts should help us organise the Directorate-General and to promote our own. When it’s all over and we give her such a high-ranking post, we’ll have her wrapped around our little fingers. For whatever we need, I repeat! … Okay, okay, we’re in constant communication. As soon as I have developments, I’ll inform you immediately. We’ll meet again soon.”

  The stranger snapped his phone closed. With a sudden movement, he looked around to satisfy himself that the room was empty and that no one had overheard him. Then he turned and went out, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Giovanni stayed transfixed. “Phew! Something very weird is going on here!” he thought. Already adrift among his personal problems and the long morning meeting, he was now even more bewildered. What should he do now? The answer flashed into his mind as if by divine inspiration. “Anna! Anna has to hear about this as soon as possible!” His temples ached with stress. “Damn! This day is not going well at all and there’s still the whole afternoon to go!”

  He had to be wide awake and alert during the afternoon meetings to avoid any unforgivable errors interpreting serious issues, while that overheard telephone conversation kept running through his mind. And above all, the perplexing message from Seb. He looked at his right hand, still tightly clutching the yellow note in a sweaty palm. He made an effort to concentrate. He waited a few seconds to be absolutely sure that Shaved Head had left the room for good, crept cautiously out of the enclosure, and fled from the room without seeing a soul.

  Instead of going to the canteen, he returned to his place in the conference room. His appetite had vanished and his stomach felt queasy. All he wanted at that moment was a glass of water. Shaved Head was already back, whispering in the ear of the Lithuanian Commissioner. Paulauskas appeared to be listening attentively and finally burst into thunderous laughter. The stranger smiled and went on whispering.

  “Who is that chap with no hair speaking to the Lithuanian Commissioner?” he asked as casually as he could of his compatriot, Monica Verardi, sitting beside him. They would share the Italian interpretation of the meeting that afternoon.

  “The Director of the Commissioner’s private Office. He’s called Paulinus Kulikauskas,” replied Monica indifferently, without raising her head. She seemed completely absorbed in the stack of documents in front of her containing all the proposals on the topics to be discussed after the meeting. Giovanni watched her inspecting the papers assiduously, then opened the bottle of water that stood before him, took a few sips and decided that the most prudent thing to do was exactly the same as Monica. There was a lot of hard work for the rest of the meeting. He watched the few bystanders who had remained in the meeting room, focusing on a small chap with a shaven head, and then returned to the stack of documents that stood before him.

  His mind was spinning. Whatever was going on here was very serious and clearly dirty. “Anna should know what… I must get to her as soon as…” but he must check his phone. There might be a message from Seb. Alas, nothing. The stack of paperwork loomed before him. “I won’t call him back. If he wants me, he knows how to find me!” But he was far too edgy to sit still and study documents.

  Finally, he stood up and headed for that sandwich, though none too sure his stomach would be able to deal with it. He strode distractedly to the canteen and ordered also strong coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar. Maybe that would clear his head and provide enough energy to get him through ’til six when the meeting was supposed to break up. With the sandwich in one hand and coffee in the other, he sprinted for his post. There were only ten minutes until the resumption of the meeting and the mountain of documents had to be skimmed before he returned to his interpreting. “Everything is topsy-turvy… what a strange day... this whole day has been crazy… and it’s not over yet,” he thought as he scurried through the endless corridors of the Pharaonic building, trying not to spill the hot coffee from the over-filled cup.

  He returned to his booth where all the documents regarding the next discussion were waiting in ambush. There were only a few minutes left
. The room was already filled with high-ranking and less high-ranking delegates and entourages returning to overwhelm the space, scattering like worker ants under the strong lighting of the boardroom projectors.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Third Stop: Gribaumont – Kasja

  Kasja paused for a moment in front of the closed door of the manager’s office, with a blue folder in her hands, trying to make as little noise as possible. She tapped twice and listened for an answer from within. She was not sure if she heard him responding to her knock, or something else. An indeterminate noise, something between humming and speech, made her hesitate shyly at the door. She let a few seconds pass, then grasped and turned the doorknob decisively. Her boss had turned his chair towards the window and was speaking on the phone. As soon as he heard the door opening, he turned his chair back to face her, smiled and waved her to the chair on the other side of his desk.

  Before she could approach and sit down, Gerald Palmer had completed his telephone conversation. As he hung up the receiver, he beamed at her encouragingly. He had good reason to smile; he was very pleased with her. He had promoted Kasja to the post of his assistant eight months earlier over the intense competition of no less than thirty-two fellow candidates. So far, her performance in the Anti-Fraud Service was more than perfect. She quickly became his right hand. Her sober, steady manner and hard work continued to confirm his decision to offer her the position. Her previous experience in the Polish Ministry of Finance and the Polish Tax Office had given her invaluable and highly effective skills. After four years in the Netherlands after her dramatic reunion with David, Kasja’s English had significantly improved, she had even learned some Dutch, and when David was offered a promotion to the head office in Brussels, she had taken the opportunity to study French and German. Her knowledge of languages and previous experience, but above all her persistent character and indomitable will, had carried her through one of the EU open recruitment competitions to Palmer’s office in the European Union assigned to fight against internal fraud.