The Professor looked at him in astonishment, and then at the two envelopes now in his hands. With an inquisitive look behind his thick eyeglasses, the red seals—one with the letter ‘B’ and the other with the letters ‘BB’—made him wonder for a moment. His mind seemed agitated, pulsing with perceptive familiarity.
Without a word, he looked at Paul then at the envelopes, opened them up, and read slowly. After a moment, his eyes widened, as if trying to understand what had been written. He put the envelopes back on the bar and looked away.
“You should get out of Montreux, at once,” Professor Lampson suggested in a stern voice, too serious for Paul to make out the gravity of the situation he was in. “I will help you out!” he declared impassively, as if the matter concerned him as well.
Paul looked at him, managing a subtle smile, and then at his watch, shuddering. It marked 11:31 PM. He made the calculation in his mind once, twice, just to make sure the tension was not betraying his mental capacity.
“How much time is left, Paul?” the Professor inquired.
“3 hours and 24 minutes.”
“Don’t worry, Paul. We’ll find a way out!” he whispered, close to his ear. “Go up to your room, and pack your things. I have some phone calls to make,” he ended.
Paul was amazed by the calmness Thomas displayed, and the certainty of obtaining some help for him; this man he had just met. He smiled back at him, as he took his first steps away from the bar.
“Thanks, Thomas.”
“Go now. I’ll call you as soon as possible. What number is your room?”
“Room 404”
Minutes later, Paul walked back and forth across the room like a bee in its hive, assembling his clothes, shaving set, and shoes; putting everything in his garment bag. He placed his laptop inside its black case, and his passport in his jacket’s inner pocket. He checked his wallet; cash and credit cards were all there.
Everything was set. He was ready to leave the country, even though he hadn’t truly had the chance to enjoy his stay at his own leisure. His life was at stake now, a matter of life and death.
Seconds passed like the words of a prayer spoken in times of fear, the minutes weighing on him like an eternity trapped in earthly matter. Sitting on one of the chairs around the breakfast table, and looking through the open door to the cold night marching through the balcony, Paul smoked his cigarette much faster than he normally would. He was really stressed.
It was 12:07 AM when the phone by his bedside table rang. Although frightened by the scant 2 hours and 48 minutes left, before the strange men in black would pursue him, Paul gave a sigh of relief when he heard the Professor’s voice greeting him.
“I have made several telephone calls to some of my acquaintances, which may have been of help, with no result unfortunately,” Mr. Lampson imparted the bad news to Paul, who remained silent.
“Are you there, Paul?”
“Yes, I am, Professor,” the historian replied in a trembling voice.
“Don’t worry, Paul. I promised to help you, and I will. In fact, I had just remembered that two of my best students, who came from Germany to attend the seminar, are staying here in this hotel. I tried to contact them but couldn’t reach them. They might be out, you know, being Saturday night, so I left them an urgent message to call me back as soon as they got here.”
Paul didn’t really know how to change the course of events to his advantage in this crooked situation without making a mess of things in a country he didn’t know well, so he could and goad the shadowy chasers. Nonetheless he sensed a note of brotherly affection in the Professor’s voice.
“Thank you, Thomas. I trust you can help me,” said Paul, feeling slightly uncertain now of whether this man could really help him.
“I know time is running out, and I know you might be scared about what could happen in case they get you, but rest assured that I’ll get you out of here, before they get their chance. Wait for me,” he said, and hung up.
Knowing that he couldn’t do anything but rely trustfully and faithfully on the erudite man, who swore he would offer help, Paul walked out into the balcony. With his elbows on the banister, a glass of whisky in his left hand, and a cigarette in his right, he looked down.
In the darkness, he could just make out the shape of people, walking back and forth along the track, one level beneath the outside terrace of the Hotel. Time was passing quickly, and as his mind started to labor on this frequency; tension and fear grew inside of him. Images of men in black, wearing white gloves, and chanting the letters ‘BB’, while walking along the same track he had seen from his balcony, began to soar up from the depths of his imaginative mind.
It was not the whisky, but the gravity of the life or death game that took a firm grip on his senses. Paul had just realized how vulnerable he really was in the face of horror and death threats. After all, who wasn’t? He had often believed he could stand strong against any storm, against any kind of provocation. Perhaps his heroism could be measured in proportion to his ability of free motion. Here, he was paralyzed, completely trapped.
Sunk deeper in his thoughts than before, he heard a cyclic sound coming from inside, a sound he had been waiting to hear for over an hour. The phone was ringing too loudly. He hurried and picked up, while looking at his watch. It marked 01:11 AM.
1 hour and 44 minutes left. He made the math in his nervous mind. His heart beat faster, quickly as a metronome. Free at last! he thought.
“Get yourself ready,” said the Professor in a tone more akin to a General than to that of a rescue missionary. “You’re leaving in…” the voice halted, causing Paul to sweat more profusely, “45 minutes. Meet me at the restaurant, as soon as you’re ready, Paul.”
“Thanks a lot, Professor. I’m all set right now.”
“Very well then, I’ll see you in ten.”
As soon as Paul hung up the phone, he picked up his garment bag, placed his laptop bag over his shoulder, and checked for his passport in his jacket’s inner pocket and his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. Everything was set; he was ready to leave the country. He turned off the lights. “Farewell, Montreux,” he uttered, and closed the door.
Seated on a small table of this semi-packed restaurant, edging the glass windows, the Professor elucidated to Paul the rescue plan he had set forth. He was to leave Montreux en route to Munich, Germany, by car, accompanied by two of his leading students. A German Historian and an Archaeologist. Mr. Lukas Steiner and Ms. Alycia Schiffer had come to attend the seminar, strictly for Academic research purposes, concerning a book they were working on.
“Mr. Lukas will be driving from Montreux, crossing the Austrian borders, and then all the way up to Munich. No need to worry! You’re in good hands,” Thomas reassured the confused man with a smile on his face. Somehow, Paul felt a sense of victory in the Professor’s eyes, as if it was his own rescue being executed, or as if he had shared the same fate once upon a time in his own life.
“This is great… and how long from Montreux to the borders?”
“Around 2 hours and 45 minutes.”
“2 hours and 45 minutes?” Paul snapped. Mr. Lampson lifted an eyebrow, as if demanding an explanation. “There is 1 hour and 32 minutes left. They have plenty of time to follow us, and kill me before we ever set wheels in Austria.”
“Right, but how would they know in which car you travelled, if you left 1 hour before their deadline?” the Professor replied smoothly, comforting his anxious mood. “Relax now… relax.”
Twenty minutes later, the two Germans hadn’t yet arrived, and Paul was unable to ease his nerves anymore. His adrenaline was soaring. He looked at the Professor in a way that implied he should call them as soon as possible. However, Mr. Lampson explained that they would be there in no more than 15 minutes.
“They had a hot Saturday night,” he added. “You know how it is with Germans and beer.” The professor smiled. “Anyway, coffee and a hot shower will get them alert for the road. Be a little bit
more patient, my friend.”
Paul kept silent, resolute to advance towards safety, by setting a firm foot, first in Austria and then in Munich. He had never been there, and had always wanted to visit the two adjacent countries one day. He smiled at the man who had given him a hand and waited.
Minutes later, while Paul was looking through the window to the outside terrace, he thought he saw two men in black, wearing white gloves, traversing the floor of the patio, and stopping under one of the trees for a smoke. Paul stood up, and focused outside. The Professor followed him with his eyes. “Could they be the hunters?” Paul muttered to himself.
“What did you say?” Thomas asked, worried.
“The two men, under the tree… I think they are the killers,” Paul uttered loudly. “And… they are… moving now…” he added in a spasmodic voice, swirling away from the window, away from the table, and into the darkest area of the restaurant. Many people stared at him, astonished by his acrobatic move.
The Professor came close to him. Paul wondered why the two men had been here earlier than he had expected and calculated. He took a quick look at his watch. It marked 01:55 AM.
“Why? Why, now? I mean, I think I still have 1 hour and 5 minutes left, to comply with their demands,” he reasoned, before it suddenly dawned on him like a thunderbolt an instant later. He recalled Fiona, informing him that the envelope had arrived roughly an hour ago prior to receiving it from her. That would be one hour before he read it. He said as much to the Professor, who stood motionless like a statue.
“If the time on the black paper, marking 5 hours and 59 minutes left, actually began to tick when the envelope was placed at the reception desk, then…” Paul gawked at his friend.
“Then, the time left is 5 minutes,” he looked back at Paul. “It’s time to move, and move quickly,” Thomas concluded urgently.
Amongst the multitude of people getting ready to leave the restaurant towards their rooms, the Professor and Paul managed to walk out towards the Hotel’s lobby. They suddenly halted behind one of the granite pillars, as they noticed the two bald sturdy men in black already in the lobby, standing at the reception desk, inquiring—no doubt—about his room, Paul thought.
Then, a minute later, the two men moved in the direction of the elevator, just as a blonde couple had opened its doors and stepped into the lobby, speaking a fluent German as they passed by them. Mr. Lampson saw them heading for the restaurant, but abstained from calling them out, afraid to catch the others’ attention.
The instant the hairless men stepped into the elevator, Thomas, assured they were gone, dashed for Lukas and Alycia. Still static in the dimness behind the pillar, Paul waited for them anxiously. He saw Thomas pointing at him before they all walked together towards him.
They met, and he immediately recognized them as the couple he had seen at the terrace earlier that evening. Lukas had long, curly blond hair, while Alycia’s was soft, long and straight, cascading like a river down her back. Dressed in casual outfits with bags on their shoulders, they were ready to depart. Paul didn’t waste another moment to thank Thomas for his immense help.
“Stay in touch,” said the Professor.
Paul nodded in confirmation. Along with his two new acquaintances, and somewhat relaxed now, he walked towards the exit. As they were stepping out, the two men in black were unbolting the elevator door with similar angry expressions on their faces. Their features changed, however, as soon as they noticed Mr. Lampson, looking at the exit. Recognizing him, they followed his gaze, and were able to see Paul, or what was left of his figure, waving goodbye to the Professor through the glass door.
They immediately ran after him. Instantly, Thomas yelled out to Lukas, warning him.
“Run now… run fast,” Lukas shouted in turn, as he firmly held Alycia’s left hand in his right and ran. Paul sprinted after them.
“Where’s the car?” he asked.
“Two blocks from here,” Lukas responded, trying to catch his breath. “It’s a red hatchback Volkswagen.”
“There they are,” one of the two bald-headed men snapped aloud, loud enough for the three frightened scholars to hear.
They scurried from one street to the next at an alarming rate of speed. They never imagined they had it in them, or was it fear that made them run so fast? Followed by the two men, roughly 100 meters behind them, they made it to the block where the car was parked.
“50 meters left and we’re out of here… just a bit more,” bellowed Lukas, in an attempt to encourage his academic partner, and the man they were about to save.
A scream of pain echoed from behind them. Paul halted for a second, swerved on his feet, and noticed one of the men had stumbled upon a rock on the sidewalk. His friend stopped to check on him, but the man on the ground cried out, “Don’t stop now, you idiot, just get the bastard…”
Paul’s sprint, off the spot he had stopped at, was faster than the man’s gallop behind him. From his current location, Paul was able to see the Germans, getting inside the car. While Lukas turned the ignition on, Alycia opened the back door for Paul to jump inside.
20 meters left, he calculated, between his present point and the car moving out of the walkway. With a strange bodily movement, and an ability not known to him, or so he thought, he turned his head to look behind him. The killer, who had just been about 100 meters away, an instant before, was now only about 25 meters away. How did he do it? Paul thought.
And as fast as the speed of light, Paul approached the moving car, threw his garment bag and his laptop in, and then, like an African leopard, his whole body was propelled into the car, which took off instantly, too fast for the man to reach it, some 10 meters behind them. He took his gun though and fired at the racing car. Hearing the gunshots, Alycia screamed, and lowered her head in a spontaneous auto-defensive motion, and so did both men: Lukas and Paul. Three bullets hit the car. The first one cracked the right taillight, the second destroyed the right mirror on Alycia’s side, and the third hit the rear-window, shattering it into hundreds of little pieces, scattering on the backseat where Paul had just sat and all over the interior of the car.
The shooter failed to kill them. A curse of fury reverberated across the alley.
Breathing profoundly in a relief he longed to feel at last, Paul looked at his watch. It marked 02:07 AM. The escape to Munich had just begun…
.9.
Evangelical Lutheran Church, Munich
Sunday, 07:35 AM
Taking the first right onto Avenue du Casino, and following Route 9, a few meters away, Paul felt a twinge in his hand. He lifted it up, and realized that a small piece of the window glass had penetrated it, causing a slight injury of the skin. He was surprised he hadn’t felt it at once, when the shattered glass fell on the backseat, perhaps because of the rising adrenaline in his brain. He asked Alycia for a sterilized bandage to cover the wound, after plucking it out.
“Are you bleeding?” she inquired, a bit worried, after finding the bandage in the car’s first aid kit.
“Just a minor scratch,” he answered calmly.
Driving on Route 9 was pleasant and smooth. The full moon projected its daring light, amidst total darkness, on the quiet surface of the Geneva Lake floating to their left, lending a relaxing mood to Paul and his two companions. Thinking they had truly escaped the life and death game, they began to talk.
“The Professor told me that you are both working on a book. If I may ask, what it is about?” Paul finally managed to speak.
“The Exile from Babylon,” Lukas imparted, gazing at Paul through the rear-view mirror.
“We’re trying to separate reality from myth, regarding that specific event in history,” Ms. Schiffer continued. “It’s really hard work, but quite challenging,” she added, grinning.
“I bet it is,” Paul avowed all too seriously. “Anything avant-garde in your findings?” The glow in Steiner’s eyes was reflected in the rear-view mirror.
Mr. Steiner gave a slight turn of the h
ead towards Alycia and grinned to her. She smiled back. There was no answer to his question from either of them, yet the smirks they avidly shared made Paul understand that they had probably found something important, which they didn’t want to reveal for reasons he believed he knew very well, being a Historian himself. Out of respect for their choice and a sense of Academic confidentiality, he remained silent.
Almost fifteen minutes passed, before the small red car turned right on Rue Gambetta, to continue onto Route de Chailly a few minutes later. Alycia turned her head towards Paul, who had his eyes semi-closed, and kept staring at him. Her conversation in German with Lukas made Paul open his eyes thoroughly, to find her smiling at him, as was Lukas through the rear-view mirror.
Paul thought they might have been talking about how he had fallen asleep for a few moments. With a slight grin to them, he fixed his body on the backseat, trying not to fall asleep again, though it was a bit hard. The watch in his wrist read 2:34 AM, his habitual time to go to bed.
“How long have you known the Professor?” Lukas inquired excitedly.
“We met at the Seminar,” he replied. “Then, we had a cup of coffee on Friday morning at the hotel. I guess that was it until tonight.”
It seemed that both Lukas and Alycia were quite surprised by the answer. They had most likely assumed that the two men had known each other for quite some time. They knew the Professor very well. He was not a man to trust people so quickly. Somehow, his affinity to Mr. Khoury had played a major role in creating a sense of trust so suddenly.
Silence prevailed for some time, under the blanket of that October night. A soft breeze seeped inside the car from the smashed rear-window. It revived all of them, and awakened Paul completely from the drowsiness he had felt before. Tonight, he was not meant to sleep in any way. Complying with the twist of fate, he did not.
“The Professor told me that both of you were his students,” said Paul. “He made it clear that you were not like any other apprentices he has had before. You are two of his top scholars; he was delighted to tell me.”
The Phoenician Code Page 8