The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel

by Michael Yudov

  He was referring to the fact that the Chef was the master of his domain, and pretty snarky about it at times. The fact that he was one of the best Chefs in Europe had something to do with his ability to get away with throwing tantrums when and where he chose. Personally, I would have kicked his ass into the back alley and then stuffed him into the garbage bins the first time he pulled any of that shit with me, but I don’t own the hotel.

  “I know that, Romero.” I checked my watch. It was still early. “I don’t think that Chef DeMarco will be in the kitchen just now. If he is, tell him it’s for me, but only if you have to, tell him we’ll be gone in a few minutes, now get going.” I gave him the bills, and an encouraging slap on the shoulder. At that he sprang into action. We both entered the suite.

  I rounded up the girls and we headed for the stairs, while Romero headed for the elevator with the luggage cart.

  Westwood was in front with me, and she asked me straight on, “We’re taking the stairs because it’s that dangerous here right now?” A fair question deserved a fair answer.

  “Yes. The elevator arrives at the ground floor; they don’t even have to shoot us. A cyanide canister through the window in the elevator door, and nobody even has a chance to say a last prayer. Same with a grenade. A bit noisier and messier, but just as effective.” We’d been talking as we went down, and now we were at the fourth floor.

  “I see.” She reached behind her, under the blue silk blouse, coming up with her H&K .45, and putting it into a two-handed ‘barrel to the sky’ hold. She went by the book a lot. Maybe I’d get the chance to break her of some of those habits before we got home.

  “Why don’t you pull rear guard, and I’ll clear the front as we get to the ground floor.” She didn’t stop to question anything, just agreed with me and paused while Therese and Godsen passed her in line and then dropped into the rear guard slot. Evie was turning out to be pretty dependable. We’d have to see how that went after Godsen and I had discussed the probable data block and/or leak. She was going to have to suspect everyone and everything, until it was nailed down, with the exception of outside help that had no forehand knowledge of the operation. Which was me, essentially, and George. Thinking of George reminded me that I’d better give him a ring as soon as I could. With what was going down at this side of the mission, it would be prudent to let George know, just so he could keep his head down when it looked iffy, or if something didn’t feel right. George was good at cussing out a flaky situation. Always had been. That’s how he got to be the man in charge. He always got the collar, and he never walked into a rat-trap, at least not unknowingly.

  As we got to the landing just above the ground floor, and just below the second, the stairs split into two sections. The main one, carpeted, and leading to the lobby, curving into view just as it hit ground level right next to the front desk. The other section led off to the left of the landing for about five metres then narrowed into a bare wood stairway, headed down towards the back of the hotel and the utilities area. This included the laundry room, the technical workshop, and the kitchen area by far the largest of the three. We headed left towards the wooden staircase going down to the utilities area. So far we hadn’t spotted a single staff member or a hotel guest. That was about to change.

  I motioned to Evie, using my hand as a gun, to put it behind her back and leave one hand free. She got it first try and obliged. I nodded once, and we went down the stairs towards the kitchen.

  The laundry room was in full swing with all the machines operating, but with only one staff member attending them, and she was too busy pressing and folding to look up as we passed by the open doorway. The tech shop door was shut, and someone was working away inside, listening to some kind of Euro-Pop music with a dance oriented beat. So far, so good. Then we were in the kitchen. It was a large one, because the dining room of the hotel served more than just the hotel guests. The ovens and refrigerators were all made of gleaming stainless steel. Pots and saucepans hung from every possible location overhead. The staff had been prepared well by Romero and were all busy two rows away across the room peeling vegetables or washing them or maybe just pretending to. The bottom line was that they didn’t even look up as we trooped through towards the back door, where Romero was waiting with the luggage cart, which was now empty.

  Romero came up to me as we approached, and said quietly, with a conspiratorial grin, “Herr Schuler is here, waiting, and the luggage has been loaded into the car Mister Claxton.”

  “Very good Romero. Tell the Big Boss I’ll be in touch shortly, and give him this.” I pulled a sealed envelope out of my back pocket with no writing on it, and handed it to him. The cheque was one I had made Godsen write, and it would make up for changing our booking, and all the commotion we had caused. He stood at attention and answered with a crisp “Yes, sir.” The Swiss were different than North Americans in many ways. One of them was shunning sites of dubious notoriety. Where, in Toronto, people would drive by to take a look-see, in L.A. they would be lining up for dinner reservations that same night. There was no doubt about it. People were strange.

  After I opened the kitchen door, just like when I was a kid, I looked both ways before crossing the threshold. Schuler was there and waiting, as planned, when he saw it was me he made to get out of the car and greet me, like an old friend would. I motioned him back, stepped out into the alley and waved the troops on ahead. Westwood had them into the cabin about thirty seconds, with me right behind. I sat up front with Schuler, and the rest of the crew sat in the back. We were all quite comfortable, as Schuler traded his Mercedes station-wagon in every two years for a new one.

  Therese was sitting comfortably in the back between Godsen and Westwood. I quickly explained to Schuler that we had to get to the Bahnhof ASAP, and he took me at my word. We were on the main road into Zurich within about two minutes. Between Schuler, Westwood, and myself, I was assured that we had no tail. Again, so far, so good. Schuler was about sixty now and had added a bit to his paunch since I’d last seen him, but he was still the excellent driver he’d always been. We hit speeds that made one think of things like Formula One, and Grand Prix, but we were never in any danger from a driver’s mistake.

  Traffic was light with everyone already at work, and the cars that were on the road now weren’t in much of a hurry. Schuler managed to pass everyone we came across all the way to the Bahnhof. We got there in record time and had a porter waiting for the luggage when we arrived. Schuler had used his cellular to call ahead. As we all tumbled out and regrouped, I took Schuler’s card, with his number on it. He’d also written his home number on the back. He’d known better than to ask questions except for ones like “This is an emergency?” To which I’d answered, “Yes.”

  His response to that was to hand me his card and say only, “Call me if you need me.”, as we disembarked and trundled off into the train station. Probably the most famous train station in the world, it having appeared in more movies than I could count. Most people found it eerily familiar the first time they saw it in person. That déjà vu thing, simply because they’ve already seen it so many times in the movies.

  I left Westwood to watch over our little gang, and our pile of luggage, standing at the head of track number twelve, while I went to get the tickets. The Bahnhof in Zurich is unlike any other train station you’ve seen. If your destination was straightforward and particularly within the Swiss borders, you could buy your tickets from a vending machine, which usually had little or no queue. That’s the route I took buying four first-class tickets to Berne.

  When I rejoined our party, the train was right there on track twelve, where it was supposed to be, and mostly unloaded, getting ready for the return trip to Berne. The track to Berne was laid through some of the most beautiful and scenic areas of the country, but I had a suspicion we wouldn’t get much of a chance to enjoy the view. First class was being boarded already, and that was us. Our porter took care of all the luggage and one of the train masters led us to our compartment.<
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  I was keeping my eyes open for some kind of contact, which left me a bit preoccupied. Westwood was walking around looking for shooters, doing the occasional three-sixty scan, and generally just itching to whip out her H&K, which she was keeping her right hand free for. Just in case.

  It was a bit overdone, but as a wise man once said to me, ‘A little paranoia is a healthy thing.’, and so far she looked Okay. Paranoia-wise. That wise man is now about seventy-five years old, and as far as I knew, when he walked his dog, which was a very large Mastiff, he still packed enough heat for a decent fire fight. Funny world, huh?

  The compartment was roomy, had great seats, sort of like airline first class, and came with a great window. The window ran the length of the compartment, about fifteen feet. The view would be panoramic if we went far enough to enjoy it. Everybody settled in, Therese on the window side with me near the door, Godsen near the window and Westwood near the door on the other side. There were fold-down tables built into each of the seats in case you chose to partake of the available menu, which was fairly short, but covered the key areas nicely. Menus were supplied in clear plastic holding pockets at shoulder height on either side of the sliding door. The rail car we were in couldn’t have been more than a few years old, and was definitely built by one of the big suppliers to the aircraft industry, because that’s what it felt like being in a new aircraft, first class. Of course, there was no door except the one leading to the hallway running the length of the car. Those old movies with the door to the compartment on the outside as well as on the inside were based on train cars older than the movies they appeared in. I was pleased to see that our luggage had managed to fit nicely into the overhead compartments, which closed with top-hinged doors. There was also a small closet for items that were a bit bulky as well as long. That was right next to the door to the W/C, or water closet, a British term for ‘toilet’ that had been adopted by Europe long before time began. I stood up and went to the doorway window, which was the only one looking out into the train. I couldn’t see any activity, which meant that there probably weren’t too many first class passengers booked to Berne on this run. Fine with me. I pulled down the shade, closing off the hallway view, and locked the door. All of this was in preparation to my utilizing the W/C. I motioned to Godsen to get her attention, and she looked my way. I could tell she was still trying to get herself under control. She definitely had a strong tendency to lead, and giving that over to me hadn’t been easy even though it was temporary.

  “Ronnie, while we’re in the station I think it would be best if we pulled the shade.” She was seated next to a pull rod, but so was Therese. I was just letting her know what I was doing trying not to let her feel like she’d been relegated to the back seat. Then I turned to Therese asking her to pull down the shade. She looked at the pull rod, reached over to it and did as I asked.

  I gave a nod to Westwood. Sort of a ‘hold the fort’ nod. She nodded back, showing that we were on the same wavelength.

  “Now ladies, if you’ll all pardon me for a minute or two, I must use the facilities.” I opened the door to the toilet and squeezed myself in. I just fit. Luckily. As I entered, the light came on automatically, showing a very modern but even smaller version of an aircraft style washroom. I pulled out my cellular and checked the charge. It was still good for about a half hour of talk time before I’d have to switch to my fully charged backup battery.

  ~

  Chapter Sixteen

  T

  he train was starting to pull out of the station as I sat down in the W/C. There was just enough background noise and commotion in general to make my call fairly private. The signal strength of the cellular was dampened a bit, with us being inside the Bahnhof itself, but we’d be out in the clear within a couple of minutes. It was time to try to contact Walter and find out how he’d been faring at his end.

  The call was picked up on the second ring by Walter himself, an unusual occurrence, at best. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for verbal jousting or banter of any sort.

  “Talk.”

  “Walter, it’s Jeff.”

  “Good. I have some strong advice for you, and I’ve been waiting for you to call. Did you get my second e-mail?”

  “No, I’ve had a busy morning, I’ll tell you about it someday when we have more time to talk. What’s in it?”

  “You’ll have to decrypt it my friend. I won’t speak about this over an open line, but I do have some serious advice for you.” I was getting intrigued now.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the advice?”

  “Get on the first plane home, and don’t contact any of these people you’re involved with on this ‘case’ of yours. This is deep water, Jeff. And I repeat, deep. Get it?”

  “Walter, after the morning I’ve had, believe me, I get it.” Walter knew me well enough to catch the drift of what I was saying. Put together with whatever it was he thought he’d found, and he was definitely starting to worry about me.

  “Let me ask you one question, Jeff.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “That’s it exactly. You’re still breathing, obviously, or we wouldn’t be talking. Have you been forced to return to your old ways yet today?” I began to get a cold feeling in my back. I didn’t like it, either.

  “Yes.” That was all I said.

  “Fine. Oh, just excellent. That means you’ve already…” He let it hang there in the ether between us. I told. Walter and I went back too far to lie, or pretend.

  “Yeah, two. No choice” There was a classic ‘pregnant pause’, before he came back from that.

  “Let me guess.” Now his voice and mood had changed. He was heavy with his own correctness, mixed with a healthy dash of sarcasm. “Neither of these two spoke one significant word, and neither of them carried any identification. They approached under the guise of legitimacy, somehow, and the main target was the one you’ve been authorized to protect at all costs. Stop me if any of this is going off the rails, please.” Again there was a pause. And not much I could say, because he was right on target. This conversation was telling me an awful lot about the state of affairs I’d found myself in the last few days, without even saying anything, really.

  “Okay, Walter. You’ve nailed it, and I get the message. The problem is, that…” There was a burst of static and I almost lost the connection. I was watching the signal strength meter on the LCD panel of my cellular, and it dipped to the last notch, but didn’t disappear completely, so I knew I still had the line. The train was starting to pick up speed going from a lazy walk to a good run. There was crosstalk on the line too. Swiss German voices interspersed with static. I waited it out, for about three quarters of a minute. I was amazed that Walter had stayed on the line as well. Normally he wouldn’t waste his time. He had the mind of a genius, and time seemed to flow differently for him, making every second count. All of a sudden the connection cleared totally.

  “Walter, you still there?”

  “Yes, and that was very irritating. Now listen up good. My advice is this. Get on the first commercial Swiss-Air jet returning to Toronto. They leave twice a day, just in case you were wondering, and leave all this crap behind you. Get out now, and don’t look back. Is it possible for you to do that? I don’t mean will you follow my advice; I mean can you without complicating your life beyond the point of no return?”

  I thought about what he was saying, and I thought about George in Beirut, Therese in the compartment just outside the door, Ted Dawson, maybe alive, maybe not, but if he was, he could have a key to this puzzle. I thought about Godsen. She would have been wrung dry and dumped in a glacial crevasse by now if not for me. She couldn’t do this alone, and I was already in too deep. My count was two. Maybe the other side wasn’t keeping score, but I doubted it. I really doubted it. They always kept score.

  “I’ve already passed the point of no return Walter. I can’t just walk away. It wouldn’t be allowed. I need your help more than ever now, man. Tell me you’ll do it.” He sigh
ed and capitulated.

  “Fine. Check the one you have in your inbox, and then check again in,” He checked something on his system that wasn’t the time. Walter always knew what time it was without checking. “four hours, give or take a minute or two. Then call me direct at the new number that’s in the current file. I won’t be at this location for more than another ten minutes after we say our goodbyes.”

  “Thanks Walter, I owe you one for this.”

  “You have no idea just how much that will be yet. Talk later, Jeff, and one last thing, very serious, alright?” Walter was famous for his weird sense of humour, so this was completely out of character for him.

  “Alright, what?”

  “Watch your back, and don’t trust anyone more than you have to Jeff. I mean it.” Then the line was dead air.

  I turned off the cellular to conserve the battery, and opened the door off my little sardine can, stepping out into the relative roominess of the compartment. The first thing that caught my attention was the fact that Godsen hadn’t lowered her blind all the way down. It was still a good four inches from the window sill.

  That old feeling had washed over me like a tidal wave earlier this morning, and try as I might, containment was negligible. The Djinn was always hard to put back in the bottle once he’d been released. The anger was just under the surface of my skin, ready to burst out in a flash like the light from a not-so-distant A-Bomb.

  I could see through the opening that we were well out of the Bahnhof, but still rolling towards the outskirts of Zurich. Godsen was looking over a set of files, never one to waste an opportunity for administrative work.