“We’re trying all the hotels. We don’t know if they’ve gone underground or traveling under their own I.D.”
“What can we do here to assist you detective?”
“Please, I’ve already told you, call me Toby,” Shutt reminded him of an earlier request. As for the help, nothing significant right now. As I mentioned earlier, I do not believe these two are dangerous. They are basically running scared from some bad folks. If you don’t mind, I could use you, and your ability to call for some backup if we run into a situation that calls for surrounding them. I really don’t anticipate it coming to that.”
“As I said before, I’m at your disposal. I can call the Lucerne office to let them know we’ll be headed their way and to be ready to provide us assistance if requested,” Daniel couched it as much as a question as a statement.
“That would perfect, Thank you very much,” Shutt responded in his most politically correct tone.
Daniel glanced at the large round clock on the wall above the door, pursed his lips and touched them lightly with the barrel of his right forefinger as he wandered briefly into thought. In immediate recognition, Shutt cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, looking directly at Daniel waiting for an inevitable proclamation of something important.
It came quickly. “It’s almost five o’clock. Since we are unaware of the whereabouts of your runaways, why don’t we get checked into a hotel here in Zurich. That will give you time to catch your breath from your flight, and we can arrange to have a nice meal. If anything comes up from your research back home, and they are fortunate enough to locate them, I will have the local office attach some officers to keep an eye on their location until we get there. We can be in Lucerne first thing in the morning, and you will be able to catch up on some sleep.”
“I had always heard the Swiss were loaded with hospitality, but if you keep this up, I’m going to have to agree with my partner back home.”
“And what would you be agreeing to?”
“He’s accused me of being on vacation.”
“No one ever said you couldn’t mix work with pleasure. This evening we will work on the pleasure.”
“I’m at your disposal,” Shutt mocked, extending his right arm to the opened door.
It was late and the Le Artistes restaurant had extinguished most of its guests. Nevertheless, there was still a hand full of tables of die-hard diners unwilling to relinquish the night. The beautifully lit Belle-Epoque architecture of the dining room, the breathtaking view of Lake Lucerne at night eclipsing the entire south wall of exterior facing windows, and the outstanding Mediterranean cuisine mad their decision to leave a difficult one. The cocktails and wine had only served to enhance the exceptional white tablecloth experience for those still relishing the evening.
Courtney and Ferguson were still enthusiastically ensconced at a table for two by the same windows overlooking the torch lights and large canvass umbrellas of the Le Maritime restaurant outside. Adjacent was the tree-lined sidewalk bordering the Lake, where the small ornamental lights strung in the branches reflected off the black water as if mirroring the stars in the dark sky above. It had been a delightful evening for both of them. The faint aroma of garlic and curry still lingered from their shrimp and chicken pasta entrees, battling for olfactory supremacy over the scent left by the apricot flambé’ that neither claimed they had room to finish, but had left nary a crumb on the plate.
“Picasso could have painted this scene to perfection,” Courtney observed. “Or Degas. Any of the impressionists for that matter would have loved the mix of light, color and reflection to blend into a nebulous replica.”
“It sounds to me you’ve been artistically inspired by your trek today. Either that or it’s the second bottle of wine talking,” Ferguson mirrored her stare out the window.
Courtney had taken Ferguson’s advice earlier in the day and had walked by foot along the lakeside quays, across several of Lucerne’s old squares, and through the streets of old town. She had shopped successfully along Kapellgasse and visited Altes Rathaus, an impressive masonry Renaissance building and tower from 1602, which served as the old town hall. Just left of the town hall on Furrengasse is the A-Rhyn-Haus, a 17th-century building housing a small but choice collection of the works of Pablo Picasso. Courtney was familiar with its existence, and was mindful to make that her top priority while sightseeing the city.
The collection had been a gift from Siegfried and Angela Rosengart, who presented the city of Lucerne on it’s 800th anniversary with eight masterpieces by the famous artist, one for each century. The outstanding works include Woman and Dog Playing (1953), Woman Dressing Her Hair (1954), The Studio (1955), Rembrandtesque Figure and Cupid (1969), and a sculpture, Woman with a Hat (1961). There were additional paintings and sculptures, as well as drawings, original prints and ceramics from the last 20 years of the artist’s life displayed on three levels of the museum.
“I’d say it’s a little of both.” Courtney cocked her head and stared at Ferguson. “Add to that an incredibly delicious evening, and lastly, the quality of the company.”
I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s true.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Ferguson extended his wine glass toward her and received the slight touch of the glass as Courtney reciprocated the movement.
“It actually has been an awesome day. I had heard some wonderful things about the Rosengart collection, and I wasn’t disappointed… and the city is gorgeous. I can’t believe I never took the time to get over here when I was working in Europe. What in the world did you do this afternoon, besides take a nap?”
“I needed to rest, get my thoughts together. Organize some sort of strategy on what we do next. Everything we’ve done to date has been somewhat by the seat of our pants. Now comes the fun part to see if we can find what we came for.”
“And were you successful?”
“I think I might’ve come up with a plan or two.”
“Why don’t you tell me all about ’em while you escort this lady on a walk by the lakefront. It’s a wonderful night outside, and I’m dying for a moonlit stroll.”
“I would be honored.” Ferguson signaled the waiter, who had been patiently waiting out their table and a boisterous group of six, for a check.
Courtney was right about the evening outdoors. The temperature had cooled to a brisk six degrees Celsius, but still warm for May. They huddled against each other as they strolled through the maze of trees and lights, up to the wrought iron fence guarding the edge of the lake and the small pier and series of individual boat docks that lined the adjacent waterfront area of the hotel.
The three quarter moon reflected against the water, along with the unobstructed stars and the city lights of the medieval, but still modern little fishing village. There was just enough light in the sky to pick up the blackened and imposing outline of the Alps to the south. They walked in silence for nearly ten minutes up and back Haldenstrasse, until the cold started to set in.
“It’s beautiful.” Courtney wrapped her arms tighter around Ferguson for warmth.
“Not quite as beautiful as you.” Ferguson heard himself say in disbelief.
It was all Courtney needed to stop and pull herself around to face him. “Really?”
That was all that both of them needed. They embraced, kissed each other briefly and then continued kissing each other, oblivious of the cold surrounding them, for another five minutes.
“I think it may be time to go in,” Courtney finally interrupted.
The statement was not lost on either of them. They walked quickly arm in arm up the large stone staircase that entered on the lake side of the hotel, and through the large brass doors that deposited them into the warmth of the restaurant and lobby level. After a brief conversation with the concierge, they helped themselves to an empty elevator, and reached the
hotel room, again in silence, both comfortably wrapped to one another.
“You’re not going to like me very much, after you hear what I’m about to say.” Ferguson fumbled for the room key.
“What do you mean?” Courtney replied as they entered the room together. She immediately noticed his luggage stacked inside by the door and turned to face him with a look that in Ferguson’s mind actually raised fear for his safety.
Earlier in the afternoon, Ferguson had been busy. Once Courtney had left to tour the town, he had taken the stairs to the lower level garage, found their car, and promptly disabled it by xxx. He then returned to the room and called the local Hertz office. After several minutes of an interesting conversation that neither he, nor the agent on the other end, had any clue of what the other said, he was able to speak to someone that knew enough English to understand that the car they currently had rented was not working and that he needed a replacement auto, no later than this evening. It could be delivered to the hotel and the keys given to the concierge, who would have the keys to the other vehicle that was not starting.
The next call was to the front desk. He spoke to the same man that had so kindly booked them the suite, and unfortunately informed him that due to an emergency back in the states they would be leaving early the next morning to return to the Zurich airport. He was willing to pay the full price for the room, but the man at the front desk would not hear of it, and was sorry to hear about their misfortune and politely invited them to stay with the hotel again if they should ever return to Lucerne. Ferguson thanked him profusely, and indicated that the Palace would be their destination as soon as they could return to the area. Deep down he sincerely meant it.
After the phone calls, he rode the elevator to the lobby, and met with the concierge, who thankfully spoke fluent English. After determining that he would be on duty through the late evening hours, Ferguson handed the young man a $100 bill and instructed him as to his role in obtaining a new rental car to be delivered later that evening. If the car did not show up by 7:00 pm, he was to track him down immediately. If it arrived, Ferguson asked that it be taken to the garage and have it available to leave anytime after 11:00. He would call to have their luggage transferred from the room to the car. He handed over the keys to the Mercury Sable that was no longer operational, and left a description of the problem he had encountered with the car, and asked that the same information be passed on to the service people that Hertz indicated would be at the hotel in the morning.
Finally, he returned to his room, took a long hot shower, made himself comfortable in bed with a glass of wine from the bar and picked up the new Jack Higgins book he had started on the flight over. The combination of jet lag, the shower, alcohol, and the book eventually worked their magic. He had nodded off an hour later and slept for three, awakening in plenty of time to meet Courtney as she returned for a shower and dinner. He was grateful for the nap, he knew he would need it.
The concierge received the new rental car early that evening, and therefore never had a need to contact Ferguson. However, as Courtney and Ferguson waltzed through the lobby on the way back to their room from their incredible evening, Ferguson noticed the young man as he went out of his way to signal affirmatively with a circled thumb and forefinger as they approached the elevators.
“Give me just a second,” Ferguson said to Courtney, as they released each other, and she watched as he walked over to the concierge.
Ferguson reached into his pocket and retrieved several Swiss Francs, which immediately were transferred to the open palm of the concierge. Along with the compensation, Ferguson proceeded to tell him that the young lady he was with, motioning to Courtney who waved back at the two of them, was a famous model who was about to be inundated with paparazzi in the morning, when they discovered her whereabouts.
Unfortunately, they would need to leave the hotel this evening, and thus the secrecy with the car. He would need their luggage to be transferred from their room to the new rental car within the next thirty minutes, but to be very secretive about doing so. He also instructed him that once loaded with luggage to have the car brought to the interior door of the parking garage, and to ring their room when it was ready.
“Any questions?” Ferguson asked the concierge.
“No,” he replied shaking his head. “I’ll have you ready to go in thirty minutes. Is your luggage ready?”
“Mine is, hers is not. Give us about twenty minutes, and you can come on up.”
“Yes sir,” he said smiling, winking his understanding of Ferguson’s desire.
Ferguson turned and walked back to Courtney, who was holding an open elevator for them. I only wish. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill me.
Once inside the room, and the door closed, Ferguson recognized the rage, and reading her mind he quickly interjected. “We’re leaving tonight, and I do mean ‘we’. Both of us. I need you to pack, they’ll be here to get our luggage soon. I’ll explain in the car.”
“Excuse my French, but what in the fuck is going on?” Courtney said, going from a subtle tone to loud anger by the end of the sentence.
“I told ya, you weren’t going to like me very much.”
“You’re damn right! A minute ago, I thought I might be developing some rather strong feelings for you, and God forbid I even had conjugal thoughts in mind, but now I want to punch you in the mouth. Why are we leaving now? You just ruined one of the better evenings I have ever had. You might want to explain before we get to the car. That’s if I go to the car with you!”
“Fair enough.” Ferguson knew he would not get her calmed down enough to get her downstairs without some sort of explanation. He opened the door slightly, peeked into the hallway to find it clear, and closed the door again behind them.
“Please listen to me for just a minute,” he continued. “I’ve got a hunch, or call it a bad feeling, that we’re already being watched. I did the math on the time we have been here, and how long it would take either the police, or anybody else with the capabilities to locate us in Zurich, to reach us from the U.S. or closer. They could be here by now, easily. Hell, I don’t know if they are. I haven’t noticed anybody, but I doubt anyone is advertising themselves either. But if my plan to throw them off for a while, by leading them here and them disappearing without a trace, has a chance to succeed, we had better not do it in broad daylight. As far as I can tell, if anybody has been watching us tonight, my guess is they don’t think we’re going anywhere but back to our room for…”
“A conjugal visit?” Courtney loudly interrupted.
“Exactly. If we can sneak out of here in the next hour, without being seen, we have a good chance of getting lost for a good while.”
Courtney was silent. She still could not mask her anger, but she was at least succumbing to the logic. “So tonight was all an act!” She said emphatically, storming off to the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
Ferguson walked to the door and thought about opening it, but decided talking through it was the better choice. “Yes and no,” he said.
“Yes, I wanted to put on a display that would appear as if we were staying comfortably put for a while. No, I didn’t plan on having such a good time in the process. That was probably the nicest evening I have ever had with a woman in my life, and the comments I made about you were from the heart, honest. I have a hard enough time speaking like a normal human being around women, much less one as beautiful and as smart as you are. Believe me, my feelings for you run deeper than you damn well know.”
Silence.
As Ferguson turned to walk away, the door to the bathroom cracked open, and Courtney stuck her nose and mouth out and spoke quietly. “Give me five minutes. I’ll be packed and ready in five minutes.”
“Take your time, I’m going to call the concierge and he’s going to run our luggage in shifts. You have at least 20 or 30 minutes,” Ferguson r
eplied calmly, overcoming the urge to go back to the open door and take her back into his arms.
Chapter 15
May 23, 2001. Lucerne, Switzerland
Julio Bolivar was blowing the steam away from his recently refilled cup of coffee, and surveying the breakfast menu at the Le Maritime restaurant when Terry Sullivan approached and sat down opposite him.
Sullivan was clean shaven and looked refreshed, which was a significant improvement compared to Bolivar, and Keitel who was around the front of the Palace Hotel still seated in his BMW. The two of them had been alternating shifts in the vehicle throughout the evening, one napping while the other held vigil on the hotel lobby and garage. The lucky one of the three, which in this case turned out to be Sullivan, mainly for the obvious reason that he was as green as grass when it came to surveillance and detective work, got to bed down in the National Hotel for the evening.
Keitel and Bolivar had dropped Sullivan off at the hotel early the previous evening after Keitel had decided to meet the train they had taken in from Zurich. He had Bolivar’s cell number on his cell phone from the incoming call Bolivar had placed from the airport. It had been easy to talk them out of the train station and to his waiting car on Bahnhofplatz.
They could see the Palace and National Hotels from across the lake and made it over to both in less than ten minutes. With Keitel already having determined the lack of vacancy at the Palace, he had promptly secured a room at the National down the street. Sullivan was deposited at the National, while Keitel and Bolivar visited the Palace Bar, confirmed the registration of the Ferguson’s, and grew more acquainted with each other over dinner in Jaspers and another eleven hours of partnered vigilance.
“Morning Julio,” Sullivan said cheerfully. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Good morning. Not yet, I’m still trying to wake up. I trust you slept well.”
“Very well. Thanks for giving me the night off.”
Ghosts of the Past Page 19
