Circle Around the Sun

by M. D. Johnson

  “Tall, skinny, dark haired with very penetrating light eyes, maybe grey but startling. Everything about him was ‘ganze klasse’, even his cologne. Actually he doesn’t look German, well, he could be Bavarian, they tend to be dark. He could pass for an Arab,” then it hit her, “Oh verdammnt noch eine mal, what have I done?” Ulla stared at Emily, He’s not on her side is he?”

  “Ulla, I really don’t know. But I do know who he is.”

  “Where in Holland is she again?”

  “I told you. Hoorn. It’s on the coast. It’s the largest harbor in Holland. She’s renting a cottage on a private estate. It’s full of small cottages and condominiums, a massive concern near a tulip farm in a place called ‘Spanbroek’. It’s owned by an arms dealer, a friend of Julian’s. Jesus Christ, Emily. Please don’t tell anyone I’ve told you. He’ll kill me. I hear them talking you know. They have no idea how much I remember.”

  “Ulla, listen to me. Can you contact her? Tell her I’m coming to get her. I’ll explain everything when I see her. But tell her to pack a bag and be ready to leave. Tell her she is in great danger and, one more thing Ulla, as far as I am concerned, we have never discussed her. She worked here and I asked how she was doing, OK? I’ll call you when I get back.”

  Twenty-four hours later Emily was in Frankfurt with Archie Beresford. He had as a result of her phone call prepared documentation, including a “rush job” passport complete with a Netherlands entry stamp dated two weeks earlier with a fairly good likeness to Verena Stoltz, and a British driver’s license which, although fake would pass muster if Verena was asked to show alternative identification. There were two credit cards, a fake Barclay’s Bank book and some Thomas Cook Travelers Cheques in British Pounds Sterling. Everything was in the name of Vera Stone, which would make her signature easier to write. He had also arranged a fake passport for Emily in the name of Anna Meyer, along with Dutch currency and Travelers Cheques.

  A flight to Amsterdam was arranged for Tuesday, the following day with a return for both women on Wednesday evening, allowing Emily sufficient time to overnight in Amsterdam and set up contact with Verena, pick her up Wednesday morning to leave for London with one overnight stop at the British Embassy in Frankfurt for debriefing.

  Emily arrived in Amsterdam on Tuesday afternoon. She drove a rental car from Amsterdam to Zaanstad then followed the motorway to Enkhuisen, looking for the signs to Opmeer. Taking the first left at the roundabout, she followed the road until it merged into a magnificent country lane with a spectacular array of wild flowers. This was the area known as West Friesland, which was famous for its tulip farms and dried flower production. She checked into the small “Pension Alkmeer”, a bed and breakfast which was, according to the map drawn by Beresford, five miles away from the cottage Verena was renting.

  The cozy room was more than accommodating. The owner sent up sweet, milky coffee and currant bread, and Emily made some telephone calls to Frankfurt before finally dialing the number she had been given by Ulla for Verena’s cottage. Verena answered on the third ring.

  “I can pick you up right now if you are ready.”

  “I’m not ready, I have to make arrangements for someone to take my cat and puppy. I can’t just leave them here and my landlord won’t be in until late tonight. Just pick me up at around eight thirty tomorrow.”

  “As you like. I’ll call first,” Emily replied.

  Bloody amazing, a contract assassin worried about her cat and puppy. Emily couldn’t imagine it. Human life evidently meant nothing to this girl but the welfare of animals was an altogether different matter. Emily tried not to be too judgmental, but she wondered how long it would take Wilfred de Crecy, Wolfgang von Roehle or whatever he called himself to track Verena down. Better yet, why would he be interested now? Their relationship was passé, it didn’t make sense. She went downstairs to find a good place to eat. Luckily there was a restaurant next door that was open for evening meals. Ever hungry, Emily settled for a hearty lamb stew with potato dumplings. Over her second glass of wine she became less agitated about meeting Verena tomorrow. If all went according to plan they would be in Frankfurt by noon and Verena would be dispatched to London the following night. Emily wondered what would happen to Verena once she told them what they wanted. Would she get into some sort of permanent new identity, like the American Witness Protection Program she’d heard about and live in a safe house in some lousy place in England for the rest of her life? Did such places exist for permanent residents? She mulled over the alternatives, maybe Australia, always a good place for the criminal element, she thought to herself, as were all the colonies in her opinion. Maybe they’d send her to America on some sort of exchange. Emily downed her wine and went back upstairs to her room where she telephoned Frau Blatz and the children, promising that she’d bring them presents.

  At seven in the morning, Emily awakened to a light tap on the door. She heard someone say that there was coffee and rolls on a tray outside. She quickly opened the door to find a small vase with fresh flowers on a tray laden with warm freshly baked rolls and honey along with a small carafe of steaming coffee. Emily breakfasted quickly, took a shower in the bathroom down the hall and dressed casually in slacks and a cotton sweater. She put a scarf on her head and donned her oversized sunglasses. Checking her appearance in the mirror one more time, she opened her coach bag and loaded her Tokagypt pistol. She placed the gun in her shoulder holster and put on her trench coat as she looked out of the window. It was raining. Emily whispered a quick prayer to Isis that the rain would detract from the slight bulkiness of the gun now neatly placed under her left arm. Putting on her driving gloves, she took the small coach bag she had packed the night before and locked up her room, saying a brief “good morning” to everyone in the lobby as she checked out.

  “You are leaving Fraulein Meyer? We are sorry. We thought you would spend another day with us, particularly after that nice gentleman left a message for you.”

  She looked up almost forgetting the assumed name she had used when she checked in. “Message? What message?” she asked in surprise.

  “With the flowers we sent up this morning. A handsome young man brought them in himself. I left the note on the tray. He said he would be back at midday.”

  “I must have overlooked it,” she said as she doubled backed to the stairs and her room.

  Once outside the door, she checked the tray she had left on the floor. There was a piece of paper neatly folded with the familiar scrawl which read simply, “Good luck, Amina.” Only one person would do this. He was here, lurking in the background as usual, the Iraqi version of James Bond. Tony bloody Shallal, agent double-O-useless!

  Once back in the lobby, she paid her bill and told the owner she would be at the restaurant for lunch, should the gentleman return. Like hell I will, she muttered to herself as she got into the rented Opel Admiral sedan.

  It took perhaps fifteen minutes to find the cottage, as it was an unusually dreary day with drizzle and patches of pale sunshine occasionally daring to break through the clouds. There were hardly any other motorists on the road. The large private estate was as picturesque as Ulla had described it. Despite the small distance between each dwelling, Emily was struck by the overall peacefulness as she drove up the path leading to a small ivy covered cottage with the red door. Like the rest of the countryside it was a mass of glorious wild flowers in purple, burgundy and gold interspersed with blue Echinacea, blood red poppies, and orange daylilies. The cultivated fields where the tulips were farmed in the early spring were now sparse in the heat of the late summer. Parked alone and in contrast to the blaze of color behind it was a small black Renault. Emily looked in as she walked passed it noticing nothing unusual inside the car. The door of the cottage, oddly enough was open, and Emily heard the whimpering of a small animal coming from the inside.

  Emily knocked, calling Verena’s name. She knocked again before opening the door. An acrid stench caused Emily to gag violently. She felt sour bile in her throat
as she looked down. Emily’s head was now spinning. There, sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood was the twisted rag doll that had once been Verena Stoltz. Most of her upper body had been blasted away. The girl had not simply been shot, pellets had ripped away her face, throat and shoulders. Not even a crime scene; this was a war zone!

  The room looked as though a shotgun had blasted hundreds of pellets through the walls, peppering the cabinets, the doors and the back windows. In the center of this macabre tableaux was a fat Siamese cat licking the blood from what was left of Verena’s head while a puppy resembling a young wolf cub shivered and whined softly. A large, almost empty shopping bag was on the couch. Scooping up the cat into the bag and grabbing the puppy in her free hand, Emily fled outside. She looked carefully from side to side, dropped both animals in back seat of her car, put the key in the ignition and sped down the road at break neck speed. She passed nothing traveling in either direction and did not stop until she reached the Stadhouderskade near the Museum Square in the heart of the city of Amsterdam. Parking her car, she walked over to the nearest telephone booth and rang Colonel Beresford’s private number.

  She explained her situation, gave him details of what she had discovered and requested that he contact the Amsterdam Park Hotel and book a suite for that night. She told him she was leaving the rental car where it was and that he should arrange for its return to the Amsterdam Airport. She would get another rental and drive home to Heidelberg in the morning. He should meet her at her home. She returned to her car. She forced the very unhappy cat, scratching and yowling back into the shopping bag, closing the zipper three quarters of the way. She placed her purse inside her coach bag and holding the puppy in her free arm once again, walked very quickly towards back of Bijenkorf and Magna Plaza where there was a large supermarket. As luck would have it there was a travel agency next door where Emily exchanged forty pounds sterling. Entering the supermarket with the puppy barely hidden and squirming under her coat, she searched out two leashes, several cans of cat food, some dog food, a cat box and cat litter as well as several newspapers. What she wanted most was a cat carrier or some type of small crate that could be safely hidden on the floor of whatever car she would be driving home. She would also need papers for the animals, some sort of medical records just in case.

  After finishing her shopping, she walked back to the Amsterdam Park Hotel where she checked in with no problem. No one noticed the wriggling bags she carried and she declined any assistance to her room, saying simply that she was there only for a shopping trip and that she had very little luggage. The suite was fabulous and Emily, now feeling somewhat caustic due to her lack of sleep felt that the addition of a cat box in the bathroom gave it a homey feeling. At least she had not forgotten several boxes of baking soda to add to the litter just in case. She had no reason to worry, the Siamese cat was overweight and lazy but was able to leap onto the bed and settle down to sleep without a problem. The puppy shook and shivered and Emily, who adored animals was very concerned. Holding the sad little creature closely, she decided that she would name the dog Yuri and the cat Sasha. After a while the puppy looked around, gaining confidence with each step until she placed him on the bed with the cat, whom he snuggled, burrowing down into her fur until he too finally, with an exhausted sigh fell asleep.

  After a fruitless half-hour telephone search, Emily finally enlisted help of the British Consulate in Amsterdam, and found a reliable vet who promised to examine the animals and issue the necessary shots and paperwork for them to cross the German border. She would of course take the animals back to Heidelberg. It was the least she could do. Their owner had died a horrible death. She wouldn’t leave the animals there to starve or worse. But try as she could, Emily could not erase the memory of the cat vampirishly lapping the blood of its owner, the need to survive strangely stronger with the cat than the dog. Somewhere, she thought, there’s a lesson in that, but in the meantime she would have to block the memory of it all before the night was over and rest. It would be a long drive home tomorrow. She called room service, ordered dinner then looked into the bar in her suite for a couple of scotches.

  After breakfast the following morning she arranged a for a rental car in the name of Vera Stone, having first contacted the front desk several times to see if Miss Stone had arrived. Emily had specifically requested the usual Opel Admiral sedan or failing that, a Mercedes and began preparing for her trip to Germany. Despite her training, she always felt that looking affluent was a key factor to being left alone. She used the term “unfuckability” to describe it. After making sure the car had arrived she checked out, looking about to determine that no one was surveilling her. She walked slowly and purposefully through the side door and took the long way round to the front entrance, signaling an imaginary person to hurry the hell up. Using the paperwork she had brought for Verena, which was what the rental had been booked under, she presented the fake passport. Starting the car, she quite casually pulled up to a young woman on the street and quietly asked for directions. When the woman replied, Emily looked her square in the eye and shouted, “All right, I’ll catch up with you later,” for everyone around to hear. The woman crossed the street hurriedly, trying to get away from Emily, assuming she must be totally mad. While Emily, now armed with directions, headed for the animal hospital which was just three blocks away from Museum Square.

  The veterinarian was far more helpful than Emily could have imagined. Not only did she have a carry case for both animals, she also gave Emily some capsules that would calm them down before the journey home began. The dog was not, as Emily had thought, a Schaeffer Hund or a purebred Alsatian, the vet said it was clearly a wolf hybrid of some percentage, probably Czech or Russian in origin. Such dogs were used by Border patrols or as protection and could be quite ferocious. There was a breed in the Netherlands, she explained, called the Saarloofwolfhond and while they were not yet registered as a legitimate Dutch breed, this puppy looked sufficiently like one to pass for travel purposes. The vet kindly noted the paperwork as being for a Saarloof-Shaefferhund and as the breed did not formally exist there was no breach of ethics. The animals were tested for worms and given the rabies vaccinations necessary to meet international standards for travel. The vet reminded Emily that such dogs did not fare well in cities or around children. Emily took her comments in good faith and left, somewhat downhearted at the news.

  Emily had ordered a box lunch at the hotel for the trip which included currant bread, assorted cheeses, fruit, mineral water and wine, along with some cold chicken and a thermos of coffee. Half and hour before she reached the German border she stopped to ease her cramped legs, to walk around and check on the animals. She was feeling somewhat calmer now that she was almost home. There was something about Germany, maybe their passion for order and tidiness that always gave her a feeling of security. Unlike England, always strike bound with trash and pollution enveloping all the big cities, Germany sparkled. It seemed that there was always a contest going on for the shiniest windows, the best flower boxes, the neatest gardens or the best hiking trails. There was excellent country food, little waste and the services were seldom if ever incapacitated by unions. The public transportation was always clean, more than functional and precisely on time. Germany worked for her and Emily loved it as she was orderly by nature. She took the puppy out, attached its leash and gave it a very slow trip around the parked car. The dog returned wagging its tail and licking her hand as she put him back in his travel pack. The cat was still asleep. Emily stroked its soft fur and thought what a great pet this large feline would make for her children. The dog, she thought, just to be on the safe side was essentially hers!

  She crossed the border quickly with the usual German efficiency. The border guard, on seeing her vehicle smiled at her and hardly bothered to look at her passport, simply admiring the good looking woman immaculately dressed in a very pricey car. She was memorable, in a very positive way, but as the passport and paperwork for the animals were all in the name of
Meyer, she had nothing to worry about.

  Emily arrived in Heidelberg several hours later. When she opened her front door, she was greeted by two children, jumping, squealing, and running around her. “What did you bring us? You said you had presents!” her son shouted. She put down the bag and called for order while she explained very carefully to two wide eyed children that this was Sasha the Cat and Yuri the Dog. Emily went on to say that Sasha would be their cat, although she would be responsible for cleaning up after it until they were old enough to do the job themselves. Yuri the Puppy however was a guard dog and would be professionally trained. He was her dog and would travel with her when she left for work. She would, she added, later in the year be buying another puppy, a female German Shepherd who would be his partner and that dog would belong to the children.

  Frau Blatz was delighted to see her and while heading into the kitchen to prepare coffee, a large glass of scotch and some sandwiches, she gave Emily her accumulated messages. The one she was most interested in was from Tony Shallal. It said simply, “Glad you’re back safely.”

  “Just before you came in there was a call from a Colonel Beresford, who said he would be at his usual guesthouse with Wils, and could they drop by after dinner this evening?” Frau Blatz picked up the large cat and gently stroked its soft fur. The cat obviously loved to be held and petted and when she was put down she continued to nuzzle everyone’s ankles, purring loudly.

  “No rest for the wicked, Frau Blatz. Let me play with the children for a bit and then I’ll take a nap. Hopefully they will too. Will you join us for an early dinner in the village, maybe at the ‘Hotel Ziegelhausen’?”

  “Only if I can order Wienerschnitzel and a bottle of Westhofener Steingrube for putting up with this horrible little boy,” Frau Blatz said, laughing as she picked up Mason with both hands and held him high in the air. Emily’s son giggled and for the first time she noticed he had his father’s smile.