by John Schou
stay in Shepherd’s might be quite an experience, now that money doesn’t matter. But can you advice a hotel of similar quality …” I could hear him swallow.
“It doesn’t exist. But if money doesn’t matter, I guess that room 2543, neighbouring Mr. Osborne, is free – that is, it has been reserved by you then four weeks ago. And a small fee for the cashing office would appropriate.”
“Shall we say 100 $ in cash in my passport? No receipt needed!”
“OK. My name is Robert. When and how do you intend to arrive?”
“In a little more than three hours, around noon; and in an olive-green Bentley Cornice, which I drive myself. Registration number …”
“No need for that, it is definitely the only olive-green Bentley coming to our hotel today. But to get it parked will demand for extra 20 $ a day.”
“There’ll be 150 $ in my passport, which you’ll get immediately when we check in.”
“Please be here at latest 12:30. My colleagues don’t know about our agreement, and I shall appreciate if it will stay that way – except old Harald, who is guiding the traffic. If he stops you, just say ‘Robert said so.’ And if the police stops you, just refer to Harald and say you are living here.”
“Understand. See you soon, Robert.”
“Mr. Gusto!” and I believe I heard his heels clash. Not bad for 150 $, plus three nights stay, whatever that might cost. But I hope that Mr. Smith and Mrs. Dumont would maintain that money doesn’t matter. It is what you have, not what you talk about. My alibi, Alice, saw it the same way, although she obviously knew that money was not prospering on my own account.
At nine a.m. I went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee while Mr. Smith, according to his never changing routine, came down with the elevator for breakfast.
“I hope it doesn’t disturb you that I do not eat anything, but I want to keep some appetite for today’s lunch.”
“And I hope it does not disturb you that I eat both for breakfast and lunch – but even if it does …” he answered.
“Certainly not. I have got customized to your appetite long ago.” My intention to have only one cup of coffee was, however, broken by this greedy company; Juanita later told that she had counted five, of which I can recall only three cups.
In the office, at ten, I was expected to give a brief report, both of our mail and the news in general. “… a bill for the last operas you ordered. In football, FC København was boated 8:1 by Tårbæk, the United States declared war on Russia and Israel is ready to give up all settlements.”
“Eric, stop that rubbish, I am completely awake. May I conclude that nothing special has happened?”
“That was a correct formulation, Sir!”
“I hope your report on Monday will be more interesting and less inventive. Will you please put the new Rimsky-Korsakov opera on before you leave?”
“Do you really want to hear ‘May Nights’ in the daytime of a December day?”
He did not answer but just pointed at the CD-player. With the first tunes of the overture, he pointed at the door. My presence was no longer required.
I took the majestic car out of the garage and drove to Alice’s apartment at Østerbro. She did not expect me that early but I found it necessary to give a thorough instruction of her important role in this action, that we were not simply there for dinner and part of the success could be ascribed to her.
“You have been one year at school in Lausanne,” I began.
“That is the truth so far,” she answered.
“And you still speak French fluently?”
“Bien sure, Monsieur.”
“Let us then assume that you knew another girl there, let us call her Jeannine Dumont.”
“How did you know, Eric? We were really good friends. I even corresponded with Jeannine in New York for maybe two years, but she changed her surname. Is she here in town?”
“She is our client, but it is a great secret. Anyhow, it suits our purposes enormously if you’ll ‘incidentally’ gain contact with her. But don’t cut me off then, you must enable that I, too, am given the possibility to enter parts of the hotel where I would otherwise be excluded.”
“Then tell me, what it is all about.”
I did so, and no details were left out. “And don’t forget, I have never met Mrs. Dumont before, so you must introduce me, at best in front of her husband. And do not speak really confidentially there with her or me. We must assume that the most modern spy devices are monitoring our activity there all the time. You must even warn Mrs. Dumont about it, at best in writing. Let us prepare that here on a small piece of paper, that you must afterwards swallow or throw out at the toilet.”
“You can swallow it, if you please, paranoiac. Otherwise, I shall throw it out in the toilet.”
“But we are probably at a scene where officials from interior ministries of Western Europe and North America meet for obscure reasons – the exact reason we shall have to disclose. They are in charge of their so-called intelligence organisations, which are probably testing out the most sophisticated spy devices.”
“And what is not so intelligent about these organisations that you use the word ‘so-called’?”
“Their means and purposes. Never join any of these organisations, there is nothing romantic about them, and there is no exit, no way to stop working for them, except death or jail. But perhaps our job shall illustrate that?”
My prophesy turned out to be very precise on that issue.
It was close to twelve as we went off again, but our Target was just five minutes away. The entrance was, however, obliterated by two persons, a hotel servant in a peculiar uniform and a policeman, I happened to know by name. He approached me with the words, “Sorry, Mr. Gusto, there is no place for you here. What do you really want?”
“But I live here. Call upon Harald, he can confirm it.”
He did so, but he came back with him. I needed to pack the agreed words in a sentence. “Room 2543, I think it was. Robert said so.”
The old man saluted. “Welcome to Shepherd’s, Mr. and Mrs. Gusto”
“That was not part of the deal,” Alice silently said.
“Please shut up, darling. Don’t forget that Big Brother is watching. Keep smiling.” And so we did, both of us, as winners are expected to do.
We drove down into the garage, which covered two cellar floors of the new building. Strange, I thought, it was nearly empty, but so was the majority of the hotel, and their guests had mostly arrived by plane and taxi.
The lift brought us up to the lobby. I gave Robert our passports, mine with the agreed enrichment, emptied upon return. My credit card was screened and that was all for now. A piccolo was called upon and given the electronic key. He took us to the lift and we ascended rapidly to the 25th floor.
As we went out of the elevator, another couple wanted to come in, but they stopped as Alice exclaimed, “Mais quelle surprise, n’est-il pas Jeannine Dumont?”
“Alice,” she answered, “Tu est en Copenhague?”
“Ahem,” I coughed. “Would you mind to introduce us?”
“Of course,” Alice answered. “This is Jeannine, with whom I went to school in Lausanne. And that is my friend Eric Gusto, of Canadian-Danish heritage.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gusto,” Mrs. Dumont said, as if it was our first encounter. “And this is my girlfriend Alice, with whom I shared many secrets in Lausanne – they are still secrets, Alice.” Both of the girls laughed.
“Mine too,” Alice added. What did she mean? Did she want to make me jealous?
“And this is my friend, George Osborne. Which room do you have?
The piccolo showed me the number on the key. “2543,” I said.
“It is just next to ours – 2541. What a coincidence!” Jeannine exclaimed.
Unlucky words, I thought. Secret services produce coincidences, otherwise they do not believe in their occurrence.
“Let us continue over lunch in Restaurant ‘Four Seasons’. We are just going th
ere,” Jeannine suggested.
“But darling, it is a closed arrangement,” George objected.
“Never mind. The other restaurants in this ghost hotel are closed without any arrangements. They cannot refuse their guests from eating somewhere? I shall wait for you outside the restaurant,” Jeannine said.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Alice said. I did not believe my ears – so fast?
Indeed, she did not use long and we were down by the restaurant in the second stock, in time to experience the end of an excited discussion. As we approached, everybody immediately calmed down. The chief waiter escorted us into a corner of the restaurant, far away from a big lunch party where Mr. Osborne – or George, as the friend of my girlfriend had now been promoted – under other circumstances had participated. I had the feeling that all of the perhaps a hundred guests send us an unsatisfied glance. However, as soon we had been seated, waiters came in to separate the large room, at least optically, with some large coloured screens. A loud murmur resulted, from which no details could be differentiated. Then a bell was sounded and a short speech announced that the lunch was served and it was emphasized that the participants concentrate on the culinary qualities in topics for discussion.
“Against previous intentions,” George muttered. “Excuse me my bad mood, but if you had not turned up, I would have taken part in the company, an exceptional international scenery of greatest implication for my career. Instead, I can arrange for my home flight tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?” Jeannine asked. “We are now in Copenhagen, I have met my girlfriend for the first time in nine years, I have certainly no intention of leaving this city. Don’t make any decision of departure without consulting me about it.”
I decided to make a test: “Why is it so important for your career, George?” After all, it would be rather suspicious not to ask.
The answer was as expected: “I can’t tell you.” Then he made an error, adding, “Not yet.” Later, I wondered if it was this remark which could have been of crucial importance.
“Let us also concentrate on the culinary qualities,” Alice suggested. “After all, a lunch at Shepherd’s Copenhagen is acknowledged as a rare experience. But if you boys are fed up with miserable thoughts, please allow us girls to continue in our language.”
Grown up in Canada, I understand French, but George did not. Nevertheless, he did not miss anything important in the following hour, and neither shall the reader suffer. Instead, I tried to keep a conversation with him running, but it proved extremely difficult. I just spoke a few words in French in the girls’ conversation, and then George realized his complete isolation and started giving answer to my previous question.
“What is your occupation,” he suddenly wanted to know.
“Secret – as secret as yours. Next question?”
It came rapidly. “Do you like playing golf?” It was symbolic for the remaining conversation in Restaurant ‘Four Seasons’.
Instead, the lunch was really exceptional. I should better not give any details, since it included various animals, which are not considered eatable by other people.
After we had been there for almost one hour, a waiter announced that our coffee would be served in the bar at 26th stock, from where we could enjoy a wonderful panorama over Copenhagen and the surrounding sea over to Sweden. It was a nice way to tell us, that our time in this place had run out and they finally had mobilised additional staff (who had been given free) for the unforeseen intruders.
The coloured screens were put aside as we rose and followed the invitation. Immediately, the conversation at the big table muted and sour glances followed our exit. George went away with a bent back as a dog which had been beaten, I with a smile of having been able to cause so many disturbances, and the girls completely ignoring the situation, talking French – the beautiful language which invites to endless talking – without