by John Schou
Mr. Smith wanted to know.
“I preferred to tell you directly, it is just two minutes run from here.”
Mr. Smith and I probably both thought about the last time, the fat man had been running.
“He has been taken to the Central police station in Copenhagen, not the local one in Gentofte,” she continued.
“Was he arrested by policemen in uniform?” Mr. Smith wanted to know.
“Yes, but there were two English-speaking plain-cloth men along with them.”
“I shall immediately take care of that. My son is so close and still I could not see him,” Mr. Wilson cried in an exalted mood.
“You shall do nothing of the kind,” Mr. Smith bluntly responded. “If you claim him to be your son, you have destroyed the possibility we have to negotiate his freedom. It is already dangerous to show early interest in the case towards the authorities. I shall take care of that, and don’t be afraid that I should keep the expenses hidden to you.“After all, your country is known to have the best justice, money can buy.”
“Sounds logical, Bill,” Mrs. Wilson seconded.
“Eric, get me Mr. Bjørn-Hansen on the phone,” Mr. Smith demanded. This is our lawyer, and I knew the number by heart. He spoke fluently English while Mr. Smith, an Irishman, never really learned Danish, which he also did not miss since most Danes speak English and his clients were anyhow mostly international.
Of course, I could not get the lawyer directly, and due to the stress of the current situation, Mr. Smith accepted to talk to the secretary, who was making herself appear as important on behalf of her boss as I usually was on behalf of mine.
“Mr. Bjørn-Hansen, I want you to act at my expense in the case of a young man, who has just minutes ago been taken to the central police station from Hellerup ... no, according to one my assistants not the local station ... I do not know under which pretence he was arrested and as long he is in their custody, he appears safe, but he is hunted by the CIA and his life is in extreme danger if he is deported, wherever that may be to ... no, he is called Jack Stewart and he is a Honduran citizen, originally American until 2001. Please go there right away and make sure that he receives maximal protection ... You cannot go now? Have you any, you can send, or shall I call somebody else? ... In an hour? Well, I guess that will suffice, but please call now and make them aware that you are representing Mr. Stewart ... Yes, you can state that he is here on my behalf and that I am guaranteeing the costs – which will eventually be paid by the Danish state ... Thanks, and please keep me informed.” He hang up without marking the conversation ended, a bad habit, in particular because he did not always do so. It depended on, whom he was talking to, and that condemned him in my eyes as a snob.
Mr. Smith was in a high mood now. I had not seen him so active for a long time, and that even on my case. “Eric, get me the American ambassador – no, the private number.”
It took a bit longer, but finally he was there and I connected to Mr. Smith. “Hello, Bartholomew, it is Theodore speaking ... Yes, I am personally fine but my client has just been jailed by intervention of some of your youngsters ... No, it is very secret, indeed threatening to your government if the case was made public ... You have to see for yourself, at best tonight ... then come a little later, it is really very urgent .... You won’t regret that I gave you the chance to solve the case before damage was done ... Yes, I shall limit it to 30 minutes ... See you later, Bartholomew.”
“Dear me, you managed to cite the ambassador this very evening,” Mr. Wilson admiringly said.
“For that reason, you must excuse Mr. Gusto now. He must type down your son’s story and copy the tape immediately. The ambassador should not leave empty-handed.”
The Wilsons understood that also for them, the audience was finished. Juanita helped them out.
Susanne went back to the hotel to rescue what might have been left from Jack’s belongings and I was going to my bureau, officially to type the story. Mr. Smith had never heard about a word-processor.
6 – End of the Journey
He came at 8 p.m. and was in a hurry. Juanita let him in since I was not allowed to meet him. However, I heard every word of their conversation from my office, where a tape-recorder was running.
“Hello, Theodore, nice to see you again.”
“Welcome, Bartholomew, I hope this meeting will stay in a nice memory, in spite of its ugly background. But first have a glass of the old whisky, you appreciate so much, as I have registered.”
“No thanks, I have a densely packed evening programme. It was, in fact, wrong of me to come here.”
“I don’t think so, we two can solve a big calamity to your government. And please remember, Bartholomew, that although my client can be regarded an opponent, we should do anything we can to avoid the case coming up to the surface. In front of you, you find a disc with his witness statement and a transcript of the same, but you can hear that later; I shall provide a summary of the case, since I know you are in a hurry. A young man boarded the plane UA93 on Sept. 11, 2001. Officially, he was killed. In reality, he survived by a miraculous escape in Cleveland ...”
“And now he want a compensation to keep silent,” the ambassador interrupted in a tone as had he heard the problem before.
“No, the problem is a different one. He has changed identity and lived in different countries outside the USA. He has never attempted to sell his story.”
“Where, then, is the problem?”
“He was spotted by the CIA who wanted to receive him in the airport this morning and, as I managed to prevent that, got him arrested by the Danish police this afternoon. By showing this interest in his person, the agents kind of confirmed his story. Now we want him free, and free for good. He offers a guarantee that he shall keep his story secret, provided that we – you and me – guarantee that he will not be pursued.”
“I think I will have a small glass of that Whiskey. Do you mind that I serve myself?”
“Please go ahead.”
Both men were silent, while you heard a glass being filled. If that was a small glass, I shall never have enjoyed a big one.
“I hope you did not bug this room?”
“Certainly not,” Mr. Smith said.
“And your assistant did not bug it either?” The ambassador knew the small refinements of the language.
“Mr. Gusto isn’t here, otherwise we might ask him.” I decided to lock my office to prevent even that.
“And your client does not want any kind of compensation?”
“No, he doesn’t – but I shall resent you a bill for bringing the compromise into effect. Besides, I and my replacement shall guarantee that the American government will stick to its promise.”
“And who is your replacement?”
“It has not been decided yet.” The old fox knew that I was listening. “Anyhow, the document will be kept in three different places, not including yours.”
“What if we do not enter this agreement?”
“I am afraid then that I cannot prevent that the young man’s family will try to fight against your government.”
“His family is here?”
“It should be a secret, but since the CIA knows it already, and since that was how they found him, I might as well tell you now: it is Mr. and Mrs William Wilson.”
“God gracious! I know that they lost their son on 9/11. It’s him?”
“Not if you follow my suggestion. Then there is a new person taken up in the family, later adopted, and nobody shall talk about Jack Williams.”
“So what will your modest salary from the American government be?”
“A friendly price of 100,000 $. However, you haven’t gotten much time to manage the arrangement. The young man, called Jack Stewart, is in police custody in Copenhagen, as I told you. I assume that the CIA will try to get him off to another country sooner than Danish justice generally permits. Tomorrow morning, within 24 hours after the arrest, he must see a judge according to our local practise. The judge will ask que
stions and I do not know how he will react. It is better, if he will be freed before. That is where your first, most urgent task comes in: you must order the CIA to abstain from their demand immediately, then we can still talk about the agreement at a later time.”
It is to be valued as a sign of thrust between the two men that the ambassador reacted immediately, without reading my transcript of Jack Stewart’s story. He even called from here to the embassy, ordering the young man’s unconditional and immediate release. Afterwards, he stated that he would deal with the matter the day after. Then he left in less than the 30 minutes he had granted Mr. Smith.
I was amazed how my boss managed this blackmail without any threatening attitude. The ambassador really seemed grateful for being given the opportunity to solve the case without any public attention, to which Mr. Smith’s salary was a small cost. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted.
“Testing, testing, one-two-three. Come in here, Eric, we have work to do.”
“I thought about giving you a chance to avoid my dissatisfaction ...” I started.
“Tsk, tsk, your salary is more than high enough. Besides, what we earn today, shall keep us alive for many weeks to come. Now call Miss Pihl and tell her colleagues to return to the Hotel within an hour. She shall prevent any manipulation of the rooms. Afterwards, you shall go to the Police Yard and don’t return without Mr. Stewart – here! I want to speak to the young man.”
Indeed, I brought Jack back within one hour. What is impossible for normal people is made possible by specific interventions, as this case showed. I met Bjørn-Hansen there. He was surprised himself over what he believed was his success, an impression I did not destroy. I brought Jack back to Hellerup where he met his benefactor – that is, Mr. Smith was enjoying his evening meal, so in the meantime I showed the pictures, I had collected in connection with my studies of 9/11. He looked with interest but could not contribute further, except giving some details about Cleveland, the fourth scene of the crime.
Finally, Juanita stood in the door and called for our attention. I was disturbed by Mr. Smith’s arrogance and decided now to let him wait 10 minutes for us.
“We shall come soon, we are just in the middle of something important. Please tell him that.”
Two minutes later, Juanita returned. “Mr. Smith asks you to come immediately. He needs something cleared before it is too late,” probably meaning ‘before it is too late for him.’ I decided that he had waited long enough since two minutes waiting for him is like two hours.
Mr. Smith did not speak a single word with me, initially; he was obviously sour. To Jack he described the situation: how vainful it would certainly be for an individual to fight an over mighty enemy, how a solution could look like, how far he had reached such a solution, resulting in Jack’s release, but a final answer to his suggestion could at earliest be expected the following day and he had not had any occasion actually to ask Jack, if he agreed to such a solution.
“Would I then be free?”
“Yes, though not as Jack Wilson, who died on 9/11, but as Jack Stewart, not related but possibly adopted by the Wilsons on a later occasion.”
“In that case, I agree. And now, I would like to see my father ... and mother.”
“Of course, you did not see him for many years. Eric, connect me.”
“Please!”
“What do you mean?”
“’Would you please connect me to Mr. Wilson?’”
Mr. Smith looked at Jack. “Mr. Gusto has decided to fill out certain deficits in my language. We are happily able to resume this sport now, when nothing more pressing is confiscating our attention.” During this speech, I established the desired connection without waiting for a word that anyhow never came.
“Mr. Wilson, I have a pleasant surprise: your son is here by me ... No, not quite, but I believe the ambassador