My news evidently sounded weary and unprofitable, I thought; I went on anyway. ‘She told me a lot of things about Criminale’s political past,’ I said, ‘His links with the Hungarian regime and so on.’ ‘It’s interesting?’ asked Bruckner. ‘It’s dynamite for his – reputation, that is, if it’s true,’ I said, ‘The trouble is I don’t know whether to believe a word of it.’ ‘You called but you think it is not true?’ ‘I think it needs checking carefully,’ I said, ‘That’s why I called. I thought if you ever came to London I could take you out for a bite to eat and we could compare notes. I’m in no hurry to print it.’ ‘You think you will print it?’ ‘She wants me to print it,’ I said. There was a pause, and then Cosima Bruckner said, ‘Listen carefully please. Here are your instructions. Go now to the airport and take the first flight here to Brussels.’ ‘I can’t, I have a job to do,’ I said. ‘Europe will pay,’ said Bruckner, taking no notice, ‘Do not tell anyone what you are doing. Mention Riviero to no one. Go to the Grand’ Place in the centre. In the corner is a restaurant, La Rochette. Everyone knows it from the outside. Meet me at eight. I will expect you. Once again you have done very well, my friend.’ It was curious how, when Cosima instructed, one always obeyed.
*
That same afternoon, then, I found myself once again in Heathrow’s packed, vile Terminal 2, caught a Sabena flight to Brussels, walked out through the controls at Zaventem, and took a taxi down tram-tracked streets into the grey city centre. There was hardly time to inspect the chocolate shops and pâtisseries before the city clocks were ringing eight. A row of black limousines waited outside La Rochette, their chauffeurs buffing them up to perfection. I made my way through the obscure, dignified entrance: the maître d’ pounced in the doorway. ‘I regret very much, m’sieu, but we take only guests with reservations,’ he said. ‘There’s a guest here from the European Commission,’ I said. ‘Yes, m’sieu, they are all from the European Commission,’ he said, ‘Only they can afford La Rochette.’ ‘I’m joining Miss Bruckner,’ I said. ‘Ah oui, Miss Bruckner! She likes always the quiet table by the window,’ said the maître d’, relieving me, with evident distaste, of my anorak and rucksack, and offering a tie from an extensive rack.
He presented me with a house aperitif; Miss Bruckner had not yet arrived. I sat at the table looking at the prices on the finely printed menu, and quickly realized why the citizens of Brussels knew La Rochette only from the outside. A few moments later, Cosima Bruckner walked in. I saw at once she looked different. She had abandoned her usual leatherized motorcycle gear, and was wearing a soft, expensive dove-grey dress. I have to confess that, to my: Nineties post-punk fabric-loving eyes, she looked suddenly much more attractive. The maître d’ seated her: ‘Armand, this is my special guest from London,’ she said, ‘Look after him nicely.’ ‘Enchante, m’sieu, welcome to La Rochette,’ Armand said, ‘The best champagne, perhaps?’ ‘Please,’ said Bruckner, ‘And how is the lobster this evening?’ ‘Ah! Parfait!’ cried Armand. ‘Do you like some?’ Bruckner asked me. I glanced at the prices on the menu, and must have turned starch white. ‘Oh, please do not worry,’ said Cosima Bruckner, ‘Europe is willing to pay.’
The chandeliers tinkled and twinkled over our heads; the quiet waiters flitted, the champagne buckets clanked. I glanced round the room, and realized it was a murmur of ministers, a parley of parliamentarians, a babel of bureaucrats, a chatter of commissioners, a lobbying of lawyers, an argument of advisers. ‘Who are all these?’ I asked, ‘Why so many people here from the European Commission?’ ‘Remember, this New Europe is a very strange place,’ said Cosima, ‘A great and complicated mega-country. And these are the élite of Brussels how, the new class, the people from the Berlaymont.’ ‘The Berlaymont?’ I asked. ‘That is the great four-legged building in the Rue de la Loi, with all the flags, you know?’ said Cosima, That is the Commission, where I work. I and about fifteen hundred other bureaucrats.’
That’s where you work,’ I said, ‘What do you do there?’ ‘I think you know,’ said Cosima. ‘Not exactly,’ I said, ‘I only know you chase people and spy on them all the time.’ ‘You also, I think,’ said Cosima. ‘For different reasons,’ I said. ‘No need to tell your reasons, I know almost everything about you,’ said Cosima. I looked up. ‘You’ve been checking on me?’ ‘Naturally, it was necessary to check on everyone,’ said Cosima. ‘You probably know more about me than I do,’ I said uncomfortably. This is possible,’ said Cosima Bruckner. ‘Well, as Professor Codicil would say, who is the man who can entirely explain himself?’ ‘He said this?’ asked Cosima, ‘You were right about him, of course.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘It was as you said, he was the centre of it,’ said Cosima. The centre of what?’ I asked. ‘Naturally I cannot tell you,’ said Cosima, the eternal enigma.
‘So you know about me,’ I said, ‘Now tell me a bit more about you.’ ‘Why should I do this?’ asked Cosima. ‘Because I can’t see what this Criminale business has to do with the people of the Berlaymont.’ ‘Please, my friend, you do not know what riffraff might be listening,’ said Cosima, glancing round. ‘Riffraff?’ I asked, glancing myself round the room. Nothing could have seemed in better order. I saw the King of the Belgians, the European Foreign Ministers (I recognized Hurd and Genscher), the Sheikhs of Araby, the Deputy-President of the European Commission, closeted in a quiet corner. ‘Of course,’ said Cosima. They look like a very high class of riffraff to me,’ I said. ‘Many of these people are not what they seem,’ said Cosima, ‘I see you do not really understand our New Europe.’ ‘I probably don’t,’ I said.
‘If you like to understand it, think of Switzerland,’ she said, ‘You remember Switzerland, where we last met?’ ‘I shall never forget it, Cosima,’ I said. ‘Both have many things in common,’ said Cosima, They are confederations, they have complicated government, they are rich. That is why tonight you eat lobster.’ ‘At moments like this I’m all for the New Europe,’ I said. ‘Both have many different cultures, many different languages. In Europe nine official ones, and then Euro-speak.’ ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘It is mostly acronyms, like when the ERM of the EMS leads to the EMU and the ECU,’ said Cosima, ‘And both are very pretty countries, no? The fields are full of cows and grain and vines, all supported by subsidies. Both have wonderful lakes and mountains. You know our nice lakes, I hope? The Wine Lakes, the Milk Lakes, the Olive Oil Lakes? Then our wonderful mountains.’ ‘Yes, the Beef Mountain, the Wheat Mountain, the Butter Mountain,’ I said.
‘You really know our country quite well,’ said Cosima admiringly, ‘But do you understand how hard it is to govern? Three hundred million people, a quarter of world resources. And who is in charge?’ The Parliament,’ I suggested. ‘Oh, you know where it is?’ asked Cosima, ‘No one else can find it. It meets only four days a month. Mostly it is lost on a train between Strasbourg and Brussels.’ The European Heads of State, then,’ I said. ‘You are joking, of course,’ said Cosima, They cannot agree on anything, especially now you British are in. No, it is governed by the Commission.’ ‘Oh yes, Jacques Delors,’ I said, fondly remembering (I often did) Ildiko’s shapely tee-shirt. ‘Except he likes to be President of France for a change,’ said Cosima, ‘So the important one is the one I showed you, Jean-Luc Villeneuve. But the Commission has problems too. We have created a great bureaucracy that would drive even Franz Kafka crazy.’
‘Frankly I thought he was a little crazy,’ I said. ‘Oh, no, he is alive and well and living in the Berlaymont,’ said Cosima, ‘You know, in a few months they will pull the building down. Why, because it does not meet the asbestos regulations invented by the people who like to work inside it.’ ‘Franz would admire that,’ I admitted. Then in fifty offices are fifty officials working to design the perfect Euro-pig.’ That too,’ I agreed. ‘Also now we have a Europe completely filled with paper crops and paper animals,’ said Cosima, ‘Paper olives which never grow, but still the farmers make a fortune. Paper cows nobody sees, but they walk across borders and doubl
e their value in one minute. Paper pigs climb in trucks in Ireland and arrive in Romania with an export refund. And think of a system where people spend all day in meetings making budgets and subsidies, then come out at night to restaurants like this and plan how to defraud them. Perhaps now you understand better what my job is.’
‘Yes,’ I said, as the best champagne was replaced by a very fine Sauvignon, ‘Your job is to sit at night in very expensive restaurants like this, working out how your colleagues fix things so they can sit at night in very expensive restaurants like this.’ That is it exactly,’ said Cosima, with an unexpected hint of a giggle, ‘You see, where there is a great budget, usually there is also a great fraud. So maybe there are some riffraff here, after all.’ ‘But that doesn’t explain why you came to Barolo, what you were doing in Lausanne,’ I said. ‘We had our suspicions,’ said Cosima. ‘Or why you were checking up on me,’ I said. ‘We checked on you of course because we thought you were a part of it.’ ‘A part of what?’ I asked. ‘Please,’ said Cosima. ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘Let’s start again. What made you think I was a part of whatever it was you thought I was a part of?’ ‘Of course,’ said Cosima, ‘Because you were travelling with the Hungarian agent.’
‘I do wish you wouldn’t keep calling Ildiko the Hungarian agent,’ I said, nervously, ‘She’s just a charming little publisher from Budapest who has an unfortunate taste for luxury goods.’ ‘You think so?’ asked Cosima, ‘I thought you knew her very well.’ ‘I did too, but I’d have to admit in the end it was hard to know Ildiko very well,’ I said, ‘She has a, well, Hungarian mentality.’ ‘So you didn’t know her quite so well?’ asked I Cosima. ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘And yet when you left Lausanne so suddenly, we found you had stayed in that brothel hotel with this Hungarian agent.’ ‘We didn’t have the same room,’ I said. ‘And then we discovered that she was the one who drew the Criminale money from the Bruger Zugerbank,’ said Cosima, looking at me. ‘You have been busy,’ I said, drinking my Sauvignon uncomfortably.
‘So you didn’t know this?’ asked Cosima. ‘I just thought she’d gone out for another day’s heavy shopping,’ I said. ‘And you did not see her again after?’ ‘I never saw her again after that,’ I said truthfully. ‘And you do not know what happened?’ ‘No,’ I said, as innocently as I was able, ‘Do you?’ ‘Yes, your friend had quite a busy day in Lausanne,’ said Cosima, ‘The Bruger Zugerbank was not the only bank she liked to visit. There was also the Crédit Suisse, the Banque Cantonal, the Crédit Vaudois, the Zürcher Volkshandlung, the Hamburger Kommerzfinanzgesellschaft, the Bedouin Trust of Abu Dhabi, the Yamahoto Bank of Japan and the Helsinki Pankii.’ I stopped drinking and stared in surprise at Bruckner. ‘A lot of banks,’ I said, ‘And Criminale had accounts in all of them?’ ‘All of them,’ said Cosima Bruckner. ‘He must have sold a hell of a lot of books,’ I said. ‘If you really think that is where the money came from,’ said Cosima.
‘So Ildiko went round the whole lot and stripped the cupboard bare?’ I asked. ‘All of them,’ said Cosima. ‘She must have got away with a hell of a lot of money,’ I said. ‘I think so,’ said Cosima, ‘This surprises you?’ ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘Really I knew nothing about it. And it’s not at all like her. She really is a very nice person.’ ‘Very charming, I am sure,’ said Cosima, ‘And you know what happened next, after she did this?’ ‘They didn’t catch her?’ I asked, nervously. ‘No,’ said Cosima. ‘She went off and cleared out the stores of Lausanne?’ I suggested. ‘No, there was no more time for shopping that day,’ said Cosima, ‘Early that evening your friend left the country by the Austrian frontier and was driven full-speed back to Hungary.’ ‘You’re sure?’ I asked. ‘Of course, this was observed,’ said Cosima, ‘Her time of departure was logged precisely. Unfortunately none of these countries detained her, and all of them are just now outside EC jurisdiction.’ ‘Ah, so she got away,’ I said. I must have shown too much relief, because Cosima Bruckner looked at me sharply.
‘As for you,’ she said, ‘you left the next day. The twelve o’clock flight from Geneva to London.’ ‘I see, that was logged precisely too, was it?’ ‘Criminale left for India the same evening, and is now in California,’ said Cosima. ‘Really?’ I said, ‘Well, the TV programme was cancelled, so . . .’ ‘Before you left Geneva you too visited a bank, I think,’ said Cosima. ‘Did I?’ I asked, ‘I can’t remember.’ ‘You like to be reminded?’ said Cosima, dipping down into a handbag and coming out with a photograph. There was no doubt about who the young man was, walking there with his luggage out of the Credit Mauvais. ‘I must have gone to change money,’ I said. ‘You like to see some more?’ asked Cosima, handing me photos, ‘One on the lake steamer, talking to Criminale.’ ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘Notice the false name, see the badge, Dr Ignatieff,’ said Cosima, ‘One in the basement of Chillon castle, discussing your plans with the Hungarian agent.’ ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘Hans de Graef from Ghent. He was one of yours.’ ‘As I told you in Lausanne, names are not necessary,’ said Cosima.
A fine terrine, doubtless made from the best wild game the Forest of Soignes could offer, came before us, but I could hardly touch it. ‘So you do think I’m a part of it,’ I said. ‘A part of what?’ asked Cosima. ‘How do I know?’ I said, ‘I thought you were going to tell me. I just went there to make a film about Bazlo Criminale.’ ‘Yet you met some strange people,’ said Cosima, ‘We thought perhaps you could help us find the real accomplice.’ ‘What real accomplice?’ ‘I think I told you she was driven at speed from the country,’ said Cosima, ‘A young man was waiting her in the Boulevard Edward Gibbon, and she got into his red BMW. Maybe if you look at these photographs you can identify him.’ Cosima looked in her bag again. ‘Don’t bother,’ I said, as a great many things fell suddenly into place, ‘His name’s Sandor Hollo, Hollo Sandor. He’s a Hungarian fixer.’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Cosima, ‘And so you do know him?’ ‘Yes, I know him,’ I said, ‘He used to be a philosopher. I met him in Budapest. In fact he probably fixed me up. He fixed up my meeting with Ildiko. He probably fixed her entire trip too. Barolo, Lausanne, the whole thing.’ ‘Perhaps he is a member of the state security,’ said Cosima. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think he’s right in the forefront of the free market. You ought to give him a subsidy. He’s a juppie, he makes deals.’ ‘So you say you were his dupe?’ asked Cosima. ‘You know, one of the wonderful things about talking to you is I hear words I haven’t heard for years,’ I said, ‘But you’re right. His dupe was exactly what I was.’ ‘And you know this man very well?’ ‘I had lunch with him once,’ I said, ‘That was when he introduced me to Ildiko.’ ‘I am sorry, but I think this girl was perhaps not such a good friend for you,’ said Cosima. ‘She was,’ I said, ‘A very good friend. But maybe I wasn’t the only very good friend she had.’ ‘Criminale also?’ asked Cosima. ‘Exactly,’ I said, ‘So why would she join up with Hollo and steal his royalties?’
‘Maybe that was not exactly the point of it,’ said Cosima, ‘Those Swiss accounts were interesting to very many people. Why?’ ‘Because they had a lot of cash in them?’ I suggested. ‘But also because perhaps they were not quite what they seemed,’ said Cosima. ‘Like the people in this restaurant,’ I said. ‘Think, a man like Criminale,’ said Cosima, ‘With a Hungarian address, an Austrian passport, a Swiss bank account. A great philosopher, a man everywhere trusted. He can travel everywhere, go between East and West. He is a friend of the great, he can go even where diplomats cannot. He is not observed, no one suspects him. The ideal cover, don’t you think?’ ‘Probably,’ I said, ‘But cover for what?’ ‘You don’t know, really?’ asked Cosima. ‘Of course I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I don’t know anything.’ ‘Why do the Hungarian authorities let him hold such accounts in the West?’ asked Cosima, ‘Of course, because they can be used for other things. Putting in Party funds. Making big secret deals. Buying technologies. Other people could use them.’
‘Like Ildiko,’ I said. ‘We think she wa
s probably a bag lady,’ said Cosima. ‘I don’t think so, unless the bags came from Harrods or Gucci,’ I said. ‘You understand, a female bagman,’ said Cosima, ‘Europe is an equal opportunity employer. She was the one who could bring it in, also take it out. We think that is why she came to Lausanne. Perhaps those two did not think it was Criminale money at all.’ ‘Missing millions,’ I said, ‘That’s what you thought I was a part of.’ ‘You must admit your actions were most suspicious,’ said Cosima. ‘And now?’ I asked. ‘Now we think you probably are almost but not quite what you say you are,’ said Cosima. ‘From you that’s a terrific compliment,’ I said. ‘You must understand, in my job this is highly unusual,’ said Cosima, ‘Look, here is the lobster.’ ‘Good,’ I said, relieved. Because frankly I was now beginning to realize there was no end to the trouble you could get yourself into, once you had entered the complex world of Bazlo Criminale.
15
There are many reasons why I will not forget that evening . . .
There are a good many reasons why I shall not forget the evening I spent in that luxurious restaurant in the Grand’ Place, head to head with Cosima Bruckner. Beyond its windows the Belgian people went about their usual lives: eating chocolates, crashing their fine cars, and wondering whether Belgium was really a country at all. Inside the splendid Eurocrats ate and pondered the future of us all. To the side of our quiet table in the window, a silver cart laden with huge pink crustaceans was rolled. Skilled deferential surgeons appeared with complex instruments and reduced the creatures to rubble. Other black-coated minions came, handed us silver weaponry, and tied plastic bibs around our necks. The surgeons stacked the crustaceous flesh on crested plates and capped them with silver covers. Then Armand, the maître d’, one hand behind his back, put the plates reverently before us, and, with a flourish, lifted off the covers – to reveal, like some failed magician, that what was underneath was exactly what we had seen was underneath. ‘Wunderbar,’ said Cosima Bruckner.
Doctor Criminale Page 33
