by PAUL BENNETT
‘Good question,’ I said.
15
And then we got the breakthrough.
Scout’s mobile sounded just as the boat was about to depart on its next leg of the trip. She answered it and said ‘yes’ a few times with a puzzled look before her expression became earnest.
‘That was the hospital,’ she said. ‘They have my father. He’s in a pretty bad way. They searched through his phone memory and my number came up as the most frequent that he had called.’ She suddenly looked very vulnerable – a side of her that I had never seen before. ‘We need to leave right now, Johnny.’
The three of us pushed our way through the last few straggling passengers to board and stepped on to the pavement. Scout hailed a taxi and, after we had climbed inside, spoke to the driver in Dutch. He lost no time in pulling away and speeding up the road. We headed south-west in the general direction of the airport before turning south. Soon a hospital complex came into view. I had been here before. It was the place that Alfredo had spent so much time in recovering from the gunshot wound.
The place had changed over the years. And so had the ownership. A large sign outside proudly proclaimed that the hospital was part of the Almas group – them again, I was beginning to feel haunted by Almas. In addition to the main H-shaped building of yesteryear there were now three others, all in pale-coloured bricks: a one-storey rectangular building, a second H and what looked like a smaller version of the Coliseum in Rome. Signs directed us to the visitors’ reception in the rotunda.
As we walked alongside the green lawns, Bull hung back. Too close to home for him, I suspected.
‘Mind if I give this a miss?’ he said.
‘Save it for another time,’ I said. ‘Do a reconnaissance. See what you can find out.’
He nodded, grateful to be let off the hook. His time would come – hopefully.
Scout and I went through the automatic doors into a land of plenty – plenty of black leather chairs, white marble coffee tables and chintzy curtains around the wide windows. A woman, dark-brown hair scraped back off her expertly made-up face, tailored light-blue uniform of skirt and jacket with a crisp white blouse, looked up from behind the reception desk and smiled a practised smile. Scout introduced herself and stated our business. The woman dialled a number and spoke in Dutch. She waved, more instruction than invitation, at the chairs where we should wait.
Scout sat on the edge of a chair, looking nervous and concerned. I wondered how long her patience would last. Not long, I guessed, as an unmistakable administrator trip-trapped on high heels towards us. She was wearing the same light-blue uniform and carrying a clipboard. What Scout wanted to see was someone in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. The woman introduced herself as Sondra and sat down opposite Scout. Her skirt rose up a little too far on legs that didn’t justify it.
‘Most unusual,’ she said, looking at the clipboard. ‘We are a private hospital and not used to this.’
‘To what?’ Scout asked with a hint of irritation.
‘Your father,’ the woman said, ‘if indeed he is your father, was found outside our gates early this morning. He was unconscious and, according to the doctor who examined him, was in a bad way. We couldn’t just leave him there so he was admitted. You realize we will have to call the police and report the incident?’
Scout nodded. ‘Can we see him now?’
‘I don’t like to have to talk about money,’ the woman said, ‘but … you must understand that there will be charges to pay. It would set a bad precedent if we catered for anyone who turns up on our doorstep.’
I took my Silvers card from my wallet and handed it to her before Scout could explode at the lack of sensitivity. ‘Debit that,’ I said. ‘Now can we see him?’
The woman was more used to dishing out brusque rather than receiving it. She blinked at me and then looked down at the card and noted its number on the top sheet on her clipboard.
‘Follow me,’ she said, rising out of the chair like she was climbing out of a Ferrari.
She led us out of the building and across to the nearer of the two H-shaped blocks. Once inside, she led us off to the wing on the right and down a long corridor painted a pastel yellow and with deep-pile blue carpet on the floor. She stopped outside a set of double doors and punched in a code on the keypad. On the other side of the doors was a nurses’ station, behind which stood two nurses in starched white uniforms and a doctor, in answer to Scout’s prayers, in a white coat with a stethoscope in his top pocket. The doctor refrained from shaking our hands and gestured that we should follow him. We went past a number of rooms with clear glass panels in their doors until the doctor stopped at one, peered through the glass and turned the handle.
‘You should prepare yourself,’ he said. ‘He’s in pretty bad shape.’
We followed him inside. The room was more five-star hotel than hospital, nothing having been spared on the decor or furnishings – deeply upholstered chairs in light brown, a rosewood dressing table-cum-desk, a matching wardrobe with mirrored doors and subtle lighting from spots on the ceiling. There was even a tall vase of flowers on the bedside cabinet. No trouser press though: probably an army of support staff to handle all the domestic necessities. And on the adjustable bed up against an apple-white wall was Scout’s father. That was obvious the way she rushed to his side and cradled him in her arms. He didn’t stir.
What I could see of him didn’t look good. His face was badly bruised, one eye closed tight by swelling, one arm encased in plaster, one leg, the same, sticking out of the bed. There was a drip feeding into his left arm and one feeding out to a bag hung on the bedside.
‘It is your father then,’ the doctor said.
Scout nodded, her eyes fixed on her father.
‘He’s not in pain,’ the doctor said. ‘From what we can tell he seems to have been given a large dose of sedatives, accounting for his unconscious state, and that’s probably for the best. He’s taken a very bad beating. There’s heavy bruising all over his body, including the soles of his feet and there’s a large burn on his back. The police will want some sort of explanation, but that can wait – his recovery is our first priority. We’ve patched him up the best we can so far. Once he regains consciousness we’ll know more about any other problems.’
‘What can you tell us about the burn?’ I asked, knowing the answer.
‘It looks like it was made with an old-fashioned flat iron, but I can’t be sure.’
If he wasn’t sure, I was. Russians. Can’t resist playing with a flat iron when they’re after answers.
‘How long before he regains consciousness?’ Scout said.
‘Could be as much as a day,’ the doctor answered. ‘Hard to tell when we don’t know what drug he was given and how long ago that was. It’s best that he sleeps though. Sleep is a great healer. If you’ll excuse me, I need to be making my rounds. Press the red button’ – he handed her a remote device – ‘if you need anything.’
Scout watched him leave and then pulled up a chair and settled herself so that she was close enough to still hold her father’s hand. I felt without function – apart from an arm around her, there didn’t seem much I could do. For something to do I stepped across to the window and looked out over the manicured lawns. That took up about ten seconds. I bent down to the vase of the flowers and smelt a white flower that looked like it might be an orchid – but, bearing in mind how little I know about flowers, it could have been virtually anything. It had no smell, hot-housed until it was only good for decoration. There was a black mark on its stem. I put out my right hand to remove it and then stopped.
‘Scout,’ I said. ‘Let’s go find some coffee before you settle down for your vigil. It’ll do you good.’
‘I could just press the button,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure in this place they would send some.’
‘I need some air,’ I said. ‘And to stretch my legs. Come on. You won’t be missing anything.’
Reluctantly she followed m
e from the room and through the maze of corridors until we were outside. Bull was sitting on a bench, smiling.
‘You look a changed man,’ I said, as Scout and I sat down.
‘Just been talking to an old lady catching a few rays in a wheelchair. Had a liver transplant two weeks ago. Two weeks ago! You should have seen her. You’d never have guessed. Maybe it will go like that for Michael once we’ve found a donor. Kind of gives you hope. This lady said she couldn’t wait to get back on the booze – got the liver of a twenty-year-old and she was gonna show it a good time. What a character.’ He came out of his optimistic reverie and said to Scout. ‘Sorry. Should have asked before. How’s your father?’
‘Hard to tell,’ she said. ‘Still unconscious. But he’s in the best place, I suppose.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘It seems to have every facility he could wish for.’
‘Every modern gadget,’ I said. ‘Including a bug in the vase of flowers.’
‘That’s nature for you,’ Bull said.
‘Not that kind of bug, Bull. A listening device.’
‘Are you sure?’ Scout asked. I nodded. ‘But why?’
‘Whoever is behind this – and my money is on Almas – tried to beat some information out of your father and that didn’t work. They tried to kidnap you to put some pressure on him to talk and that didn’t work either. So now they try the sneaky approach. Wait for your father to tell you whatever it is they want to know and bingo, they know it too.’
‘And what do they want to know?’ Scout said.
‘It’s got to be connected with Carlo, so it’s either where’s Carlo, or where are the bearer bonds, or both. I’ll settle for both. Your father must have got further than we thought on Carlo’s trail.’
‘So what do we do?’ Bull asked.
‘Wait,’ I said, ‘and whisper.’
16
Stanislav – Stan the Pole, Stan the Man, Steady Stan, Stan the Rock – was the first to answer the summons. He was calling from Warsaw. I got the details of his bank, asked him to rent a large car and then gave him a shopping list. If he was surprised, he hid it well. But he said he had the necessary connections and would see us in three days.
Next came Red. The Texan was in his home state and would fly out in a couple of days. Last of the three was Pieter. He was in Cape Town and needed a day to sort out things at his end – women to placate, I guessed – and then would fly out.
I’d left Scout at the hospital with Bull standing guard over her and was now back at the hotel, lounging in a moth-eaten armchair, thinking. Nothing was adding up. We’d missed something. It seemed logical to assume that Scout’s father had located the whereabouts of Carlo – that must be the information that Almas was after – and yet he had taken matters no further. What could have made him take that course of action? A hard luck story that touched his heart? Maybe. Money? A share of €10 million in bearer bonds could be a big incentive to turn your back on a contract. I settled on money.
But how had Scout’s father located Carlo? He’d started out with the same information as us, probably even less since he hadn’t found the gold chip. Yet he had solved the puzzle and we had not. What had we missed?
It was then that my mobile rang. It was Anna. She had some news and wanted me to come to the casino at nine o’clock. I was to buy a golden chip and seek her out. She was due to deal at the blackjack table. I was to act cool. Hey, what else did I do?
By a quarter to eight there was still no sign of Scout and Bull. I changed into the smart suit and set off in search of a taxi. Scout had told me that she was one of the few people in Amsterdam who had cars. They were officially discouraged and only a small number of car-parking facilities were provided – parking, Scout had told me, was a nightmare that the majority of the citizens of Amsterdam avoided like the plague. The argument of the authorities was that cars would snarl up the city and pollute it, and that they had an excellent public transport system of trams, buses and trains. No one should need a car.
Once I had arrived at El Dorado I bought the necessary chips – the precious gold one and a few ten-euro chips to make it look like I was going to gamble – and headed straight for the blackjack table. I didn’t want anyone beating me to Anna. She had looked so sophisticated, so beautiful that I didn’t want that image spoiled by thoughts of what she might have just been doing. And then it struck me. What right had I to get moralistic or judgemental? There wasn’t any difference between Anna and me. We both prostituted ourselves by selling our talents, Anna in the conventional sense and with me it was fighting and killing. We were professional soulmates.
Anna was wearing the standard black and white uniform, but this time with a black choker with a large diamond set in the middle. Her long blonde hair had been scooped back at the sides to reveal a pair of diamond ear-rings. As soon as she saw me she must have pressed the button to call the next dealer for a brunette was walking to the blackjack table as I was arriving there. Anna led me to her room and pointed at the bar with its assortment of bottles.
‘Vodka and ice?’ I checked.
She nodded. I fixed her a vodka and one for myself. I handed her the drink and she downed it in one. ‘Another,’ she said.
She sat down on the bed and kicked off those red heels as if it had been a long day rather than her session just starting.
‘I’m getting too old for this,’ she said, watching me pour the refill.
I picked up the two glasses and the bottle for good measure and joined her on the bed.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re a gentleman. Not like some of the men I meet. They treat me like dirt. It’s a job, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m not human.’
‘If anyone mistreats you in the future, you get hold of me. They won’t do it again. I’ll teach them some manners.’
‘Thank you. You’re sweet. I will remember that.’
She reached out and held my hand. Squeezed it. Leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I hoped she didn’t need my help, but if she called I’d come running.
‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this,’ she said. ‘Can I trust you to be discreet with the information?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ I said. ‘I have only the best interests of Carlo, and now it seems Natasha too, at heart.’ I sipped the vodka while she pondered.
‘Natasha phoned me,’ she said, still with an air of reluctance.
I was going to have to tease this from her. ‘When was this?’ I said.
‘A few hours ago.’
‘And what did she want, Anna?’
‘She wanted to know if any new girls had arrived. I told her just one – a replacement for her named Martina. Then she said I was to get in touch if a young girl called Irina showed up. She said it was important. I should ring her straightaway. I told her I would do what I could while I’m still here.’
‘How were you to get in touch?’
‘She gave me a mobile number. I suppose you want it.’
She didn’t wait for an answer. I nodded in any case. She padded across the room to a chair where her handbag sat. Took out a small notepad and pen.
‘This is where I keep my accounts of how much I have earned,’ she said. ‘So they can’t cheat me.’
‘The choker,’ I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity, ‘gift from a grateful client?’
‘And the ear-rings too. There are some times when the job is good to me. Not all men are bad. I can tell the good from the bad. You, Johnny, you are a good man. I trust you with the information.’
She tore off a sheet of paper, took out her mobile and pressed some buttons. Finding what she wanted she wrote down the number and passed it to me. I glanced at it – it wasn’t going to tell me anything, not yet at any rate – and put it away safely in my jacket pocket.
‘Did Natasha say where she was phoning from?’
‘She said she was close to the German border. That Carlo was try
ing to get her a false passport. He hadn’t had much luck so far. But they were happy to be together.’
‘Just close to the German border? Nothing more definite than that?’ If Carlo was smart, and I wasn’t sure of that, he would move around, not staying in a place for longer than a day.
‘Nothing more,’ said Anna, shaking her head. She seemed tired tonight, maybe if she napped for a while she could more easily get through the evening.
‘How did you get here? How did you get into this position? You know, doing the job you’re doing, illegal alien and all?’
‘We come in trucks, people from all over Chechnya. The trucks have a secret compartment – it can take ten people at a time. Then we gather at – how do you say? – a transit camp. Here they check us out. Full medical. They will not take anyone who is sick and cannot work. And the girls like me, have to be clean, you understand?’
I nodded. I understood too well. Let’s not go there.
‘Then from the camp it is back in trucks to Holland. After we have earned enough money for them they let us go. They look after us good. Get us false papers, help us find work and a place to stay. Then it’s up to us. We disappear in the system. We are free.’
‘When did the last girl go?’
‘A month or two back. She had served three years.’
‘And how is she now? Has life turned out good for her?’
‘I haven’t heard from her. They say that we should not be in contact. It is dangerous for the ones who have left. They must break the links with their friends.’
Could be a lonely time for them, I thought. Still, freedom comes with a price. I checked my watch – enough time had passed so that it wouldn’t look suspicious if I left.
‘I’ll go now, Anna. Take care of yourself.’
I rose from the bed, kissing her on the cheek this time. I was at the door when the thought struck me.
‘You said you’d help Natasha while you can. What did you mean by that?’