When Civil Servants Fail

by John Schou

was this a perfect disguise on that very day, also nobody want to harm a saint.

  “There is a boat approaching,” warned Ivan.

  “It is a small one and there is only one person in it,” added Fred.

  The second Santa neared the end of the street and suddenly changed over to our side. Simultaneously, the first one came out and also crossed the street. Instead of his sack, he carried an automatical weapon in the hand. We had agreed not to use any means of communication till the enemy was near. They should be allowed to open the hostilities as a signal for us only then to respond to them.

  Santa 2 revealed one of his presents from the sack and also threw a machine gun over his back. The present was an explosive device, which he attached to the main entrance door. He ran back and detonated the device. Shortly afterwards there was an even more terrific noise, and that was the end of my conscious participation. Sam explained to me later what had happened.

  “It almost went wrong. If just one of the Santas had entered the house, we could hardly have protected you. Immediately after they had knocked on the door and opened it, they fired a hypersonoric grenade in the entrance, the one that made you groggy. Fortunately, I had just placed both earpieces from the walkie-talkie in the ears, and that protected me from its effects. Ivan was too far away to be influenced. Then we understood that the ball had opened and fired at the two intruders, wounding both of them. It must have been traumatic for the children of the street to witness how Santa Claus was shot. They were both able to flee in the boat – Fred had taken care of the third man by a warning shot. So much for the evening”

  “Not quite. The noise, which knocked me out, woke up the police, ambulance and fire men.” A lot of mission cars approached, but bending into the small street from both directions, the first two of them collided, preventing the others in approaching. It took some time until the policemen understood that they should approach on foot, and in this time, Mr. Smith had collected us in the office.

  “We only have seconds so please just listen. Mr. Petrov and Fred shall disappear in the cellar. We were attacked by Al Qaeda, but fortunately some unknown persons helped us. That is what they will instantly believe. Fred and Mr. Petrov, off through the morning room; Sam, we celebrated Christmas together, the meal will appear soon, we shall only get rid of the police first.”

  I did not know the policemen who now arrived. Erlandsson was in Northern Sweden, anyhow the crime inspectors came with a certain delay.

  “They were suddenly there and as suddenly they were gone,” I stated, not quite in conflict with the truth. “And then, there were two men who intervened and saved us.”

  Later, Mr. Olsen appeared, the assistant to Mr. Erlandsson, appeared. “Mr. Smith had suggested that it was perhaps Al Qaeda. Indeed, various items in the two sacks left point toward an Arab origin of the assaulters.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Olsen, and please transfer our gratitude to the two helpers, if you see them – probably secret agents. Now, if you will please excuse us, the goose has just arrived and we want to digest it hot. Afterwards, we shall consider a temporary closure of the front door.”

  “But what about the assaulters?”

  “They disappeared by sea, sharply followed by the agents,” Sam added.

  “Please come back tomorrow between 10 and 11 for our witness statements, and Sam, please also be here at that time,” Mr. Smith concluded.

  Olsen understood that further exploration should be done outside the house.

  “What will happen when the two agents and there ferry-man comes ashore?” I asked.

  “I do not feel so sure that they will be very talkative when they get ashore,” Sam said. “Fred had fired a warning shot on the boat.”

  “And then?”

  “Under the waterline. If the three survives a leaking boat at the most lonely time of the year at sea, and when the water temperature does not permit survival for more than about 10 hours? I doubt it, but let us see what happens.”

  After an hour, Fred and Ivan left the cellar and disappeared through Mrs. Clausen’s garden.

  10 – Finally Snow

  Sam’s forecast proved to be correct. The next day, three bodies were washed up on the beach by Klampenborg, 3 km further north. There was yet no trace of boat or Santa Claus wardrobes. The three men were rapidly identified as the missing agents from Shepherd’s hotel. I was asked to identify, if any of them had participated in the drama yesterday. Of course, I had not even seen the beard of any Santa, but I had seen two of them at the hotel: Hans Schulz, the dark-haired whom I suspected as murderer of George Osborne; and Harry Jones, the man with the high-pitched voice. Their name had been given by their colleagues. Ironically, I identified them as the brave supporters in our brief fight against Al Qaeda, and I behaved as if I was very sad of their fate, not betraying that I felt relieved.

  The third man was an Italian, whom I neither knew by name nor by face. Probably he was the one sailing the boat, so there was no harm in not having seen him. Fortunately, Sam was questioned together with me, so he made the same remarks. Mr. Smith had seen nothing and was, fortunately, not questioned any further. Mr. Olsen had avoided his invitation for the first part of the day but then, when the three men were washed up on the beach, commanded that Sam and I also saw them as their identity had been determined.

  If Mr. Olsen had raised some more questions or questioned Sam and me separately, it is not foreseeable what had happened. Our story with Al Qaeda was what they wanted to hear. The rest of the story, they invented themselves: Two Arab types wanted to revenge on me that I had disturbed their plot – Fred and Ivan had not been identified. The assaulters had neared themselves dressed as Santa Claus, of whom there are thousands in Copenhagen towards Christmas. After their misdeed, they planned to escape by boat. The clever agents, prepared for everything, had followed this escape-boat up north but were then attacked by the terrorists. Witnesses from the house across the street have seen that they had been wounded but had not noticed who had shot at them. The terrorists had escaped but our heroes had followed them. Unfortunately, the agents, to whom also the Italian victim was counted, were killed; the fate of the terrorists was unknown but an extensive search had started. Curtain, please, and instead of applause, please increase the budget for our never-tired anti-terrorist agents.

  Someday, I might even tell Jeannine that the probable killer of her lover had also met his death by our bullets. The poison had been identified by de Boers in Amsterdam, but I forgot the complex name. Anyhow, she had paid a magnificent fee and I did not trust any phone or letter for confidential communication. Alice had not my scruples, so I did not tell her either.

  Kurt did not change his habits for the last two weeks, then he flew back to Munich and I have not heard from him since. His service was excellent, but Mr. Smith and I were still relieved as Juanita returned, and also she had had enough from her family.

  Mr. Smith was disappointed that his front-door had been so easily opened. He thought that his nest had been made secure many years ago. Given that it was not the case, every security aspect was revised and certain consequences taken – but fortunately, these were carried out during my ski holiday with Alice in Norway. I can enjoy snow only when I travel for it – the little which falls at home is just a bother, as Erlandsson said, and I was satisfied that it did not snow for the rest of that winter in Copenhagen. Therefore, it was great finally to have snow under the skis in Jotunheim, and may the rest of the World succumb under it. I later learned that Mr. Smith had called several times, but I only opened my mobile after I came back to Copenhagen.

  Fortunately, our heroic civil servants were all foreigners. Accordingly, they were ‘exported’ for their respective funeral in native soil, so I was freed of participating at any of them. Perhaps that would also have demanded too much hypocrisy.

  What a Waste

  1 – A Sour Introduction

  We had enough customers lately but that was not the problem. What we needed was challenges. What co
stumers experienced of personal crises was enough for a living but not what my chief needed to nourish his brain. In consequence, Mr. Smith was being more sour and unjust than usually and he was already basically the sourest and most unjust person, one could imagine. He was even intolerable towards Juanita, who confidentially told me that she was considering a new job. I knew that she received a very good salary, as I made myself all the burocracy of the house. That should include compensation for both of us being treated sourly and criticized unjustified, and it would definitely imply a solid loss of income to her if she would really quit. Moreover, it would be difficult for me to find replacement, to find anyone who for whatever salary could adapt to Mr. Smith’s peculiarities, produce an acceptable cooking for his craving taste and deal with his medical demands, keeping this extremely fat walrus clean and helping various unspoken demands.

  On the morning of her confession, I therefore decided to let in the first, the best client, in order to let Mr. Smith utilize his brain for other purposes than persecuting his most loyal servants. So it happened that Mr. Cordone was given the occasion to join us in the Central Room, undoubtedly the most lousily dressed person ever given audience to His Excellency. Moreover, there was no indication that there was anything to gain in having Mr. Cordone as our client. Under other circumstances, I would never have let such a person meet Mr. Smith or even enter his house. Call me a snob, if you want, but I would prefer that such people would even be prevented from entering our small street in Hellerup, North of Copenhagen, and I had definitely no illusion that he might be our client. I simply wanted to give Mr. Smith the chance to see other humans, thereby regaining appreciation of those, who was his daily surroundings.

  When Mr. Cordone first rang the doorbell at 8:30 a.m., I had just heard Juanita’s complaints in the kitchen while Mr. Smith was still in bed. I listened patiently to his problem at the door but did not invite him in. I felt the occasion had come for an unusual plot, in which Mr. Cordone would rather himself be the victim, and asked him to come back at 10 a.m. sharp. With a satiric grin, I instructed Juanita to let this dubious person into the music room when he returned.

  The breakfast was held in a tense atmosphere, as usual in the last weeks. Mr. Smith insists of not discussing business matters but found enough to criticize on the two persons present and the menu of the last two days. A quarter past nine already, the doorbell rang and Juanita hurried to answer it, utilizing the occasion then to stay away. Mr. Smith’s speech focused on my incompetence, stimulating my planning. As usual, we moved to the office at this time, whereby the ban of business-talk was removed.

  Since we had no cases running, the mail was soon presented. “We expect a new customer at ten – he is probably already waiting in the music-room. It is a man with links to the Underworld, and as I have understood, two fractions are fighting there,” I began.

  “I am not dealing with the mafia, whatever fraction may be concerned,” the fat man concluded.

  “I know, but this may be an occasion to do something useful and simultaneously earn a fee.” I knew, of course, that only the fee was of his interest.

  “OK, let him in,” he snored. Did I sense a fraction of energy in his grunt, as if he was longing to start ‘working’ again? If so, then only because I had been in this position so long that I noted even the tiniest differences – or maybe I was just fooling myself. As I went to the music-room to get hold of the stranger, I was almost regretting the game I now played with my chief.

  Mr. Cordone was unsatisfied with that we (since recently) did not offer