Gateway To Heaven

by Maggy Diak

  ***

  Guests began to arrive at the internet corner, interrupting us so we grabbed our sheets of paper and returned to my room.

  “Many people predict all kinds of things," said Kate, “worse things than Peter and nothing happens to them. I remember that Nostradamus predicted the fall of America and Europe already. Peter is only confirming his predictions. And he even moves the year of the falls further into the future. Nostradamus predicts the end of the world very soon, in a few years; Peter says the end will not come until … until when? I have forgotten.”

  I searched for the data in Peter's notes and found it: “In the year 349295.”

  “You see,” exclaimed Kate, “Peter is more merciful to mankind than Nostradamus. And as far as Bush is concerned, he doesn't say anything bad about him! Bush can be honored to be compared with Abraham! And if I remember correctly, Lot was quite a nice person, which means that Blair as well has no reason to be angry if he is compared with him, neither has Laden. I personally do not see any reason at all why Peter would, on the basis of his writing, present any danger to anybody.”

  I had to agree with her. Nevertheless, this was our way of looking at things. Our way of understanding things. The others might have quite a different one.

  “Look, look,” I remarked laughingly, rummaging through additional pages of Otrin’s notes. “Bush had a chance to be elected the president for the third time because Abraham had three wives!”

  “Who says that?” asked Kate, looking over at me with a grin.

  “Your clairvoyant husband.”

  “Bush had the chance because Abraham had three wives?” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “Why wasn’t he elected the third time, then?”

  “That’s the question for your husband, not me,” I answered.

  “Who knows,” she said seriously, “if Bush had heard about Peter's predictions before, he might have directed or influenced his fate towards the third presidency.”

  “On the other hand,” I added, “somebody might have become curious what conditions would bring Bush to the third presidency. Curious enough, to kidnap your husband to get more information out of him.”

  “Conditions?”

  “Yes, Kate. Your husband says that Bush jr. could have won the third presidency under certain conditions, but he does not reveal them. Somebody, most probably the National security, might be interested in those conditions.”

  The cell phone in my pocket started to ring. It was Frank, my source of information.

  “Any news?” I asked him.

  “I found the address of Marija Doval's friend in Paris whom she probably visited,” he said.

  I jotted down the address into my notebook, thanked him and asked him to continue with his research. I needed his help for the French Police were not very cooperative.

  He promised to do the best of his abilities.

 

  9.

  In a rented car Kate and I drove to the suburbs of Paris, to a little town named St. Cloud. I remembered it for the Grand Prix Horse racing. The town is about ten kilometers outside Paris and we visited it because the supposed friend of Marija Doval resided there. We did not try to contact her beforehand. Intentionally. Some people are afraid of detectives and police and do everything to avoid them, hide despite the fact that they are innocent. It's better to surprise them.

  I was, of course, sure, Marija Doval did not possess Peter's suitcase, but it was my duty not to neglect that possibility either. The duty of a police officer, even though a former one, is to take all options seriously. Being a police officer means that your personal beliefs must be suppressed. Facts and nothing but facts matter. I sincerely hoped to learn more about Peter's most frequently mentioned book PROPHECIES, besides Marija might have noticed if anybody was eavesdropping on their conversation. Or maybe showing interest in Peter. Or maybe, if somebody was secretly watching him. Women, especially communicative, talkative, curious women like Marija Doval, that’s how she was described to me, are good observers without being aware of that. If you put the right questions to them they might be a treasure of information. She might have noticed something suspicious at the baggage transfer belt. She arrived there among the first, so she must have been there when somebody stole Peter's suitcase. I was looking forward to meeting her. I was expecting the mysterious story of the disappearance of the suitcase to unravel. Finally, I had the feeling that things started to move from the standstill.

  “It seems this is no place for the poor,” stated Kate as soon as we entered the city of St. Cloud.

  I agreed. Luxurious houses, half hidden behind high garden fences gave the feeling of wealth. We were looking for the number twenty-two and after we had found it, I parked on the pavement and then we got out of the car.

  The garden gate was locked.

  “It opens electronically,” I said. “With the remote control from the car or the house.” I kept pressing my finger on the bell.

  Nobody answered the bell.

  “They are not at home,” said Kate. At that moment a red sports car came rushing from around the corner, stopping so jerkily at our side that the brakes gave an odd squeaking noise. Frightened that he might run us over, we jumped back. A bald man stepped out of the car, average height, quite slim, yelling at us:

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Nothing makes me angrier than disrespect. Disrespect out of the blue!

  I returned the blow: “And who are you to yell at us?”

  He took something from his wallet and waved it in front of my eyes. It was a police badge! I read the name: J.E. So that's the fearful J.E., of whom I have heard so much since I arrived in Paris and whom everybody seems to be afraid of, I thought. I started to observe him with interest. He was not old. My estimation was about thirty-five. With his gray eyes, he looked daggers at me. He was waiting for my explanation and I offered it to him! As proudly and haughtily as he did before, I took out of my wallet my badge and waved it under his nose.

  He frowned, unbelievingly looked at my badge, and then asked disgustedly, while putting his badge back into his wallet: “And what does that mean? Why are you here? Who sent you?”

  “I was hired by this woman,” I answered pointing at Kate, “to find her husband who came to lecture to the Sorbonne and then disappeared nobody knows where.”

  He grimaced. “Oh, yes, I've heard something.” Then he said coldly: “The best thing for you two to do is to return home. I am already investigating the case and I don't need any intruders! I'll let you know about the results.”

  “I don't have the slightest intention to do that! Our government sent me and I intend to stay as long as it takes to find the man!”

  We were furiously eyeing each other from head to toe.

  “Due to the fact that the Foreigner disappeared in France, the case falls within the exclusive competence of the French authorities,” he said roughly. “And you have no business here.”

  “That's what you think!”

  After having quarreled for some time, he finally understood that he would not get rid of me and that we would obviously have to work together here and there. Nevertheless, he arrogantly added: “Don't expect me to tell you what I've discovered!”

  After that, he flung himself into the seat of his car and drove off before I had time to warn him to expect the same from me.

  “What a conceited person! “said Kate crossly. “Who does he think he is?”

  In the window of the nearby house, I noticed an older woman staring at us. I stepped nearer, shouting up to her: “Excuse me, madam, do you happen to know where your neighbor is? She seems not to be at home.”

  “She went on a journey,” she answered after a short hesitation. “Do you, by chance, know where?”

  She shook her head.

  “Has she had any visitors lately?”

  Anger showed on her face when she retorted: “I have already told everything to the police officer who was here
a few minutes ago! You met him! Why do you have to ask again?”

  “Because we aren't police,” I answered. “We came from Slovenia to find the husband of that woman …”

  I explained the whole situation and said that we hoped to get some information from the woman who presumably visited her neighbor.

  The woman was obviously weighing my story for a few seconds then her head disappeared from the window.

  “She's afraid,” said Kate. “Everybody is afraid of J.E. We'll get no information anywhere!”

  However, the door of the house opened and the woman came out. “Yes, “she said when she joined us, looking sympathetically at Kate, “a woman did come to Anne. “It was last Monday. However, yesterday they went away.”

  “And you don't know where?” I repeated.

  “No. Anne had, in fact, told me that she expected a visit from her friend who was looking for her half-brother or half-sister.”

  “Half-brother or half-sister? Here in France?”

  “I don't know. You know, I am not the nosy kind of a person. I know only what people tell me. I don't push them.”

  “And she didn't tell you anything?” I insisted, having a strong feeling that she was far from not being nosy. All women are. Especially the elder ones.

  “Well,” she answered hesitatingly, “the father of Anne's friend presumably met a woman in one of the German camps during the Second World War. They fell in love but soon the war was over and each of them returned to their own country. They never heard of each other again. The father of Anne's friend, her name is Marija, not Mary or Marie, Marija, never told his wife about the woman he had met in the camp. However, he did tell Marija on his deathbed. He told her that the woman was pregnant when they parted and Marija had to give him a promise that she would find her half-brother or half-sister. Therefore, she came to Anne who promised her to help. That's all I know.”

  “A woman looking for her brother or sister in a foreign country does not steal suitcases!” said Kate thoughtfully when we sat in the car again and immediately added: “I can't get that … that J.E out of my head. What a disagreeable man.”

  I was hardly listening to her. I was asking myself if we got any useful information. No, I decided. Marija's search for her brother or sister definitely had nothing to do with Peter's disappearance. Looking sideways at Kate I noticed she was in poor spirits, too. We had both expected to find Peter the moment we arrived in Paris yet we were more and more getting lost in the darkness.

  After coming back to Paris, I parked in front of a restaurant and Kate looked at me in surprise.

  “I invite you to dinner,” I said and switched off the engine. “But we have it in the hotel!” she protested.

  “Kate, we need a change of the scene after all this,” I explained.

  “We need to forget Peter's disappearance for a few hours. We need to relax, otherwise we won't be able to go on.”

  She accepted my explanation without any comment.

  The restaurant was nice. Good food and wine and the young, wonderful female dancers, almost naked, helped to my relaxation. As well as to Kate's as I could see. We made jokes and laughed.

  “You know, Kate,” I heard myself saying, “I feel so comfortable with you this evening that I wish it would never end.”

  “Never?” she laughed.

  “Never ever!” I confirmed. “Besides, “I continued, “what would we lack?”

  She looked around the place and then lowered her look at our table laden with good food and drinks and answered still laughing: “Nothing, I suppose.” In a somewhat teasing manner, she raised the glass to her lips. I noticed that smile made her younger. Almost attractive. Suddenly, I recognized that she was the woman I had been looking for all of my life. I felt as if I saw her for the first time. Saw her with completely different eyes. I could not believe that this was the same woman who a few hours ago still went on my nerves! Was I blind or what? At this moment, the most beautiful woman was sitting opposite me. And all I wished was to spend the rest of my life with her. I sighed longingly: “Kate, let's stay in Paris. Just the two of us.”

  Again a sparkle of tease showed in her eyes.” And how are we going to explain that to Peter and your wife?”

  “Who cares about them! They'll be fine without us, believe me.”

  I had to struggle against the wish to jump from my seat, run to her and take her into my arms.

  She was amused. “Tibor, Tibor, what a naughty man you are.”

  “Kate, I’m dead serious! Answer me, don’t lie, tell the truth: Have you ever been tempted by a wish to leave everything and go somewhere where nobody knows you? To start anew?”

  The teasing smile vanished from her face and eyes. All of a sudden, she became serious too. “Do you think things would be any different?”

  Her answer was the proof that she was not happy with her life. If she where she would immediately say so. She would say that she did not want things to be different!

  “Of course they would!” I exclaimed. “Everything would be different. Life would be different. Better. With all the experiences we have we would …”

  “… we would be making the same mistakes if not even bigger,” she finished my sentence.

  I stretched my arm to the other side of the table, grabbed her hand and pressed it between my palms. She did not withdraw it. Not immediately.

  “We would not make any mistakes,” I whispered excitedly. “We are too clever for that. We would enjoy life. Nothing but enjoy.”

  Now she withdrew her hand, looking down at the tablecloth to avoid my eyes. Yet something in her poise showed me that she liked my feverish, caressing look. She wanted to hide it. Was ashamed of it, but she couldn't. Not from me. I was, I still am, one of the greatest experts on women in the world!

  I glanced at the watch. It was late.

  “Shall we return to our hotel?” I asked. She agreed immediately. When we were outside, she stretched out her hand: “Give me the keys, Tibor, I'll drive.”

  “Why? Do you think I am drunk?”

  A small laugh escaped her mouth. “No, Tibor, but because of the police on the road it would be better if you didn't drive.”

  “My dear Kate,” murmured, intoxicated by the good wine and new love, “I can't refuse you anything. I am nothing but a helpless sparrow in your hands. You can do with me whatever you want. You bewitched me!”

  She laughed, sat on the driver's seat, I sat next to her and we drove off.

  When we were standing in front of the door of her room, I lost my self-control, grabbed her and kissed her violently. She pushed me away. Not rudely, yet determinedly.

  “Kate,” I whispered faintly, “I like you. I'd like to spend the night with you. I know you feel the same, Kate …”

  “Go into your room, Tibor, and get a good sleep,” she said, vanished inside and slammed the door.

  Disappointed and angry I went into my room. I felt too restless to sit or lie down, so I started to pace up and down not knowing what to do. Suddenly such an unbearable longing for my wife overcame me that I reached for the phone and called her. She answered it with a sleepy, scared voice.

  I exclaimed in surprise: “For God's sake, are you already sleeping?”

  “Of course I am,” she said out of breath, “it is two in the morning!”

  “Two?” I murmured, surprised that it was so late or better, so early.

  “Has something happened, Tibor? Something bad?”

  “No, no,” I hurried. “I just wanted to tell you that I am fine and you needn’t worry …”

  She raised her voice. “You want to tell me that you are fine at two in the morning? Where were you the whole day? I was waiting for your call! And yes, I was worried!”

  “Jenny, you know I can’t call when I’m working!”

  “Well, now that you are fine, we can both go to sleep! Good night!” And she hung up.

  Not bothering to take my clothes off, I threw myself all dressed on the bed. I was offende
d. You would expect from your wife to tell you how she missed you, how she felt lonely without you, wouldn’t you? She didn't care a damn about where I was and how I was! She yawned and went back to sleep. Just like that! If she really went to sleep, of course. Women are never to be trusted. Who knows what was going on in my home when I was away. What was going on in my own bedroom! In my bed!

  The thought catapulted me out of bed again. I must immediately go home! This time, I’ll catch her in the act! For forty years I had been suspecting that she was cheating on me. No, no, in fact, there was absolutely no doubt about that. I knew she was having an affair when I was off. Working. Making money for both of us. I knew it! Each cell in my body knew it. The problem was that I could not prove it. She was as cunning as a fox. All women are! Most than anything in the world, I wished to get the proof. That's why I often unexpectedly returned home from my business travel. To get her in the act! But my wife must have the sixth sense or something because I always found her alone, innocently (I never believed her innocence, of course) cooking or ironing or sitting in her armchair with knitting in her lap. Or sleeping. She always accepted me with a broad smile on her face, which made me furious. She was making a fool of me! Yet, despite all my detective skills, she never admitted her adultery. Of course, she was lying!

  Ask whoever you wish and he will confirm you that I have always been a good husband to her. So there is no need, no need at all to flirt with other men. In fact, it’s a shame she does. She has never lacked anything! We have sex frequently, even at our age, not because I want it so much, but because I want to prove to her that I am better at it than her lover. I don’t blame her for having one or more lovers. Not at all! All I want from her is the truth. Confession. If she told me who her lover was, I would forgive her everything. I would understand. What hurts are lies. It hurts so much that I often think of divorce. But I know myself. I would have no peace if I didn't come to the bottom of her adultery first. That's why I am staying with her. I am waiting for the moment of truth.

  I felt my anger rising. I lay down on my bed again to calm down before packing my bag and going to the airport. Of course, I must go home! This time, this time … My eyelids became heavy. I closed my eyes. For a minute, I told myself, I’ll rest just for a minute, then …