Ghosts of the Past

by Mark H. Downer

  Allen laughed to himself. Samantha? No, that’s not it. Serena? No, it was Sabrina. That’s right, Sabrina, obviously per Uncle Guillermo’s recommendation. The recollection could not help but conjure up memories of Ginger, who had been nothing short of spectacular.

  The black Mercedes sedan pulled over to the curb a good one hundred kilometers down Haldenstrasse from the Palace Hotel. The driver and three passengers waited patiently as a fourth man stood up from a wood bench located in the public green space adjacent to the Palace’s Le Maritime restaurant, and walked down the tree lined sidewalk to the rear passenger door.

  Rudi Koch climbed into the back seat next to Paul Knabel who was holding a Leica SLR camera to his eye, busily adjusting the focus on the long telephoto lens.

  “Gentlemen!” Rudi exclaimed with enthusiasm in German. “A pleasure to see you all!”

  “The same!” replied Alden in English, as Marshall and Knabel greeted Koch in unison seconds later. “Paul’s German is a little weak, so we might as well keep it to English.”

  “No problem,” replied Koch. “They’re actually on the terrace restaurant, around the corner facing the lake. They were just seated. They have checked in and their car is in the garage below. The signal is a little weak through the concrete, but it is strong enough to know if they are here or not. Here are two receivers, in case one craps out on you.” He handed them both to Alden over the headrest of the front passenger seat.

  “Which room?” Alden inquired.

  “Suite 203. They got comped a suite for regular room deal. The place is pretty full.”

  “Damn. We’ll need to get Horst and Paul a room. I’ll go somewhere else. They are sure to recognize me if I get within eyesight. Do both of you have enough currency to make sure the desk clerk comes up with a room?” Alden directed his gaze at Marshall behind the wheel.

  “Plenty. The boss fattened me up pretty good before we came for you.” Marshall spoke for the two of them.

  “Excellent.” Alden reached into his pocket for an envelope and handed it back over the seat to Koch, who eagerly accepted it. “Thanks for your help Rudi. Nice work.”

  “My pleasure! Do you need me for anything else?”

  “Not right now. Are you going to be around the area?”

  “I’m working on an infidelity case, and I’ll be down in the south of France for the next few days taking pictures. Koch gestured to the camera Knabel was still perusing. “It’s a nasty one. It will cost the guy millions when my client gets her greedy little hands on the stuff this guy’s into. She will bust his chops good when she hits him with a divorce decree. His little forays make the hardest porno movies look tame.”

  “Excellent, I’ll call you on your mobile if we need you for anything else.”

  With that, Koch tucked the envelope into the pocket of his field jacket and exited the car walking the opposite direction from the hotel.

  “Capable man?” Knabel finally spoke.

  “Very. He is one of the best detectives in Munich, and very busy. He does quite well financially.” Alden said.

  “And I’ll bet we just fattened his account a little more.” Marshall laughed.

  “Substantially, but he’s worth it. He has a steel trap for a mouth.” Alden stared at the Palace Hotel. “Enough of Rudi, we need to get you two into the hotel and find you a room. Paul I will leave that up to you. I’ll drop you and your luggage at the front and take Paul with me down the street to the National. He can walk down later. He’ll know the phone number and my room.”

  “You want me to try to bug their room? I have some basic stuff with me.” Marshall turned over the engine and pulled away from the curb and onto the street, heading for the front door of the Palace.

  “No, let’s just keep an eye on them for the time being. I am going to assume they’ll be headed into the backcountry sometime tomorrow or the next day. Maybe one of us can stay behind and rig up their room then.” Alden slouched down in his front seat and replaced his sunglasses as they reached the hotel entrance.

  Marshall put the car in park and left it running as he hopped out of the driver seat and retrieved two sets of luggage from the open trunk. Knabel emerged from the back seat, closed the trunk, and replaced Marshall in the driver’s seat. They gently pulled away from the temporary parking area as Marshall dropped the luggage onto a cart, and began negotiating with the bellhop who was eagerly assisting him as the Mercedes sped away.

  An hour earlier the same bellhop had also been most accommodating in handling Courtney’s and Ferguson’s luggage, while the valet driver ticketed the rental car and keys, and removed it to the parking garage beneath the six story, “Art Nouveau”, century old structure.

  They entered the hotel on the western end of the building, highlighted by marble statues and a shaded glass portico that protected the entrance, up a flight of marble stairs, and into a large open-air, luxurious lobby. Courtney and Ferguson made their way over to the traditional wood and brass reservation desk, with Courtney again preparing to test her German on the young man that visually greeted them as they drew near.

  “Guten tag mein herren, sprechen sie English?”

  “Pretty well, but I could always improve,” said the young reservation clerk with a pleasant smile, and a French accent.

  Relieved once again, Ferguson started to initiate the request for rooms, but this time Courtney beat him to the punch.

  “Ausgetsichtnet! My German, I am sure, is worse than your English, and my French is even worse. We need a room please. Two beds.” Courtney looked at Ferguson. “How many nights?”

  “I’m not real sure… let’s make it for two nights at least.” Ferguson shrugged his shoulders.

  The clerk interjected. “We are very full. The only room we have available, with sleeping accommodations for two, this evening is a Corner Suite.”

  “Ouch.” Ferguson muttered softly, envisioning the price tag. “Can you give us any suggestions on other hotels close by?”

  The clerk was quick to continue, recognizing an opportunity for an open-ended stay. “Yes, but however, please let me inquire with management to see if we can provide at our deluxe room price, if that’s of interest.” He didn’t wait for a reply and was already dialing the desk phone and turning his back away from them as he spoke softly and nodded his head profusely to the mystery manager on the other end.

  “What prompted that?” Ferguson asked Courtney, who was gazing admiringly around the lobby.

  “Beats me, maybe he’s taking pity on us. I haven’t had a shower in sometime, and I look like the cat just drug me in.”

  Ferguson laughed obligingly. “Speak for yourself, I feel, and I’m certain, I look like a million bucks.” He could not help but think how incredibly beautiful she looked regardless of her assessment. “Figment of your imagination.” Courtney responded with a hint of sarcasm.

  The clerk turned back to the two of them and winked as he began to peck at the computer keyboard in front of him. “We can give you the Suite at our Deluxe room rate of 345 francs per evening. We can book you for two nights, and you may renew indefinitely for each day thereafter.”

  “The exchange rate at the airport was .75 francs to the dollar.” Courtney added.

  “Sold.” Ferguson pointed his finger at the clerk.

  “Excuse me?” Questioned the startled clerk.

  “He means will take it.” Courtney said.

  “Very good. And the name?”

  Ferguson handed him an American Express card.

  The clerk began typing. “Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Ferguson. And your address?”

  Courtney looked at Ferguson as the two of them burst out in laughter.

  “If we plan on cohabitating in the same room, I might as well have the respect of being your wife.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure.” Fergus
on turned to the clerk and proceeded to answer all of the questions posed to him in registering the Ferguson’s in the Palace Hotel.

  Le Maritime restaurant, an outdoor cafe on the lakefront side of the hotel, was crowded for lunch. It was understandable given the incredible spring day in the Swiss Alps. The sun was shining brightly in a virtually cloudless sky, and the temperature had risen to 18 degrees Celsius by early afternoon.

  Courtney had finally been able to utilize her newly developed skill in languages. The waitress was fluent in French, and spoke a respectable amount of German, but her English left a lot to be desired. They settled on German.

  Over a plate of cheese, fruit and homemade French bread for Courtney, and Ferguson’s corned beef sandwich on identical bread, they shared a bottle of St. Veran Caves des Grand Blance white wine.

  “When we finish lunch, I need you to go shopping… sightseeing.” Ferguson announced, acting as if evaluating the wine as he swirled his third glass directly in front of his face.

  “Okay. I can do that. Am I looking for something in particular?”

  “No, but I want you to use your credit cards. Nice choice on the wine, this is really good.”

  “Thanks. What’s with the credit cards?”

  Ferguson held up his hand and paused to finish chewing the last bite of his sandwich. “Everything we’ve done to get here has been on credit cards. Airline tickets, rental car, hotel room, everything is traceable. I have no doubt that the police have traced our credit cards and know exactly where we are. Maybe not the hotel yet, but as soon as the transaction goes through for the room, they’ll clue in.

  “The same goes for the bad guys, whoever it is that’s still after us. They may not be as close as the police, but I’m going to assume that they have the ways or means to track us down, and if I were in their shoes I’d start with personal history, which includes credit cards.”

  “So why did we do that… the credit cards I mean? You could have warned me.”

  “Well,” he finished off his glass, “because by tomorrow we won’t be here. And where we’re headed, hopefully, no one will know for a while.”

  “Let me guess,” Courtney sighed and pushed herself back from her plate, “We’re not even close. At the very least we’re headed in the wrong direction.”

  “Let’s just say we’re in the right country, and leave it at that.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not for now.” Ferguson poured out the balance of the bottle of wine, moving from glass to glass measuring out even amounts in both.

  “Oh ye of little faith.”

  “Oh ye of scared to death, particularly if the bad guys find out where we are. My feeling is the less you know the better and safer for you.” Ferguson spoke the truth, but with not enough conviction.

  “Bullshit. You don’t trust me.”

  “Not true. You’ll know soon enough.”

  “Yeah, as long as you take me along and don’t leave me behind, especially if you had planned on using me as some decoy.”

  “Damnit Courtney, I’m not going to use you and I’m certainly not going to leave you behind. You’re in this with me to the bitter end, unless you want out on your own.” The anger in Ferguson’s voice was more convincing.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Courtney suddenly felt badly for the spontaneous doubt that had overcome her sensibilities. “You’re stuck with me. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Forget it.” Ferguson fought the urge to tell her that he actually was beginning to feel more than a sense of camaraderie. His feelings were starting to run deeper, but he knew now was not the time to go there.

  “I’ll be happy to go out and spend some credit somewhere. That’s one of the things I do best.” Courtney attempted to lighten the mood.

  “Good. It sounds to me like we are stuck with each other. This whole affair may not be pretty, and it may not be all that fun, but I’ll guarantee that there will be no lack of excitement.”

  “Let me be the judge on the fun part.” Courtney saluted him with a raise of her wine glass and polished off the remainder of her wine in one large gulp. She continued to stare at Ferguson as he looked off at a placid Lake Lucerne. There was something about this man that she already found exciting.

  Chapter 14

  May 22, 2001. Zurich, Switzerland.

  Detective Toby Shutt was escorted into a plush conference room on the second floor of the Kantonpolizei Zurich building in Zurich Switzerland. His trip over the Atlantic had been surprisingly comfortable, but it should have been, compared to the last time Shutt had been overseas. That was 17 years ago when he had shipped out in a miserably uncomfortable C-130 as a very young lance corporal in the United States Army, on his way to a six-month tour in Stuttgart, Germany.

  Jean-Luc Daniel had met him at the airport, and with an outstanding command of the English language, had made the trek from the airport to a downtown coffee shop a lively and informative one. After a light breakfast and three cups of coffee that Shutt was convinced may have been the best coffee he had ever had, Daniel provided a short tour of downtown Zurich and the lakefront before they arrived the local police office. Shutt had learned more in three hours about the Swiss law enforcement establishment, than he could have in days or weeks back home. He also had found about thirty minutes to brief Daniel on the two material witnesses he was searching for in Switzerland.

  Daniel was middle-aged, tall and thin with a refined air about him. He was handsome, and very polished in a tailored navy wool suit, a starched, white, French cuffed shirt and silk regimental stripe tie. His full head of blond hair was slicked and combed back. He was soft-spoken, but very affable, with a demeanor that exuded professionalism. There was no doubt in Shutt’s mind that Jean-Luc Daniel, was someone of importance in the hierarchy of the Swiss Federal Police, or at the very least possessing the intelligence and political savvy to help with a representative of the United States’ law enforcement community. In reality, he was right on both counts.

  Daniel was head of the Coordination Division of the Federal Criminal Police Division, which manages all inter-cantonal and international investigations and the police liaison offices abroad. The CD also functions as a center for the exchange of information with Interpol offices outside the country. At his age, he was on the fast track to the head of the FCP, and Shutt should have been flattered to have Daniel personally overseeing his visit, if he only knew of his stature.

  They had spent the last hour going through the pleasantries of meeting with the officers of the local canton office before being guided to the unoccupied second floor conference room. Daniel excused himself from the room to locate something to drink, leaving Shutt alone to use the new mobile phone that had been requisitioned to him. He glanced at his watch, which he had yet to reset to the correct local time, and read the time at home as 9:37am. He dialed up Steve Stewart’s office phone, which was promptly answered before the second ring.

  “Steve, it’s Toby. Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear boss. Are you on the T-Mobile?”

  “I am. I am also in Zurich at the local canton police office. By the way, thanks for coming up with Jean-Luc, the guy’s a godsend.”

  “Glad to hear it, he sounded pretty professional over the phone.”

  “Very much so. Have you had any luck while I was buzzin’ the Atlantic?”

  “Actually, we have.” Stewart grabbed his notepad from in front of his computer, and swiveled his seat around to kick his feet up on the edge of his desk. “They’re headed to Lucerne, which is south of Zurich. Not too far away, according to the map I have up on the computer. They booked a rental car for a one way drop-off in Lucerne.”

  “Very good. Hold on just a second.” Shutt reacted to Daniel returning with two cold bottled waters. “Thanks Jean
-Luc. Hang on just a minute, I’m talking to my office back in Louisville, and I may need your input.” Daniel removed his coat, tossed it over the back of one of the ten cushioned armchairs surrounding the long mahogany conference table, and selected a second chair to sit in.

  “Sorry Steve, go ahead,” Shutt, returned his conversation to the mobile phone.

  “That’s all we know at this point. We are getting a list of all the hotels in Lucerne, and Shawna and I will get started on calling those to look for any Ferguson or Lewis that might have registered. If the names don’t come up we’ll go with descriptions, and if it’s anything close, we will fax pictures. We pulled photos from DMV. Both of their credit cards are being monitored, but nothing has hit the screen. We did find out Courtney Lewis’ cell phone is also a T-Mobile, and she had a very recent conversation with a Chicago number that we’re tracking down now.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Somebody better be. It seems you’re on vacation.”

  “Amusing,” Shutt deadpanned. As soon as I finish with my sauna and swim, I’ll call you from the massage table to get an update. Better yet, if you get a hit on any hotels call me back ASAP and I’ll get the locals to help me here. Jean-Luc seems to think we should be able to get any help we want to bring them in for questioning. In the meantime, give me Miss Lewis’ mobile number again, and I’ll give her a little jingle to see if she’s around.”

  Stewart read off the number as Shutt scribbled it down in his leather-bound notepad, passed on his farewell, and hung up.

  Shutt turned his attention back to Daniel. “It appears my friends are in Lucerne. Is that close?”

  “Quite. Just south of here on A4, no more than an hour by car.”