Facelift

by Ernest Olson

  Chapter 11

  A vacation is an experience that takes a person who is usually

  Just merely tired and exhausts him.

  Lisa was employed by a private foundation that served the needs of children in third world countries. Vienna is the European headquarters for the UN, and she was in Vienna for a meeting focusing on the needs of children left orphaned by the Balkan wars. At least, that is what she told me. She would be in Vienna for a week, and we promised to get together at least once again before she had to leave for New York.

  My trip wasn't entirely a vacation. I had chosen Vienna because it was the site for an annual conference that I had an interest in attending. So, in addition to adventure, I would do a little work, network some, and have a social setting in which to meet other people. Plus, there was always a tax advantage in combining work and pleasure.

  I had a preconceived image of Vienna when I arrived. I fully expected to stay in a hotel that looked like Hapsburg palace located somewhere near the heart of the city. I expected to be able to walk out of my hotel to streets filled with tall Austrian women in platform shoes and old women in furs. I expected to see high baroque churches in every neighborhood and a never ending parade of little shops and stalls. I expected to see white horses prancing along the main thoroughfare while people danced to the music of polka bands. My hotel was convenient to nothing like that. The conference hotel was a pretty decent, but it wasn't convenient to the city center or the sights most people seek when they visit Vienna. What it was convenient to was a topography of wheat fields, a huge health and fitness complex and a massive park. When I looked from out my hotel window, as far as the eye could see, all I saw were wheat fields--miles and miles of wheat fields. I wasn't in Vienna...I was in Kansas.

  Trying to stay awake during the first few days of any European vacation is essential if you are going to get your circadian rhythms in sync with the local clock. This means drinking lots of coffee and taking long walks. You have to keep telling yourself to keep moving, to keep your eyes open. You have to keep reminding yourself that if you stop moving you will freeze and die. And, so with that in mind, my second day in Vienna was spent moving. First I took a walk and investigated the little village that was located just over a small hill immediately south of our hotel. There I immediately found a coffee shop and loaded up on caffeine. Moving somewhat like a zombie I returned to the hotel and had a light lunch and more coffee. Then I slipped into my jogging clothes and headed out for a run in the fields. The hotel was the only tall structure in the area, and so I didn't think there was any possible way to get lost. All I had to get back was to aim for the hotel. Nothing to it. I was wrong.

  The temperature was pleasantly warm and so I took of my tee-shirt and proceeded to run down a one-lane road that headed out into the fields. The air was clean and the fields were green and well cared for. Along the roadway were numerous plants that I rarely got to see in California, and the sky was cerulean blue, something else I rarely got to see in California. In spite of being exhausted, I plodded along. I came to a Y-intersection and took the road to the right. After about a mile, I came to another intersection and took a left. Occasionally I would check for the hotel, and as I had predicted it stood tall on the horizon. I ran for about an hour and then decided to head back. Unfortunately, there was no direct path back to the hotel, and I had taken to many turns that I wasn't exactly sure how to retrace my steps. In fact after running for another hour it was clear to me that I was lost in a maze of small country roads. It was then I started to wake up. Panic can do that.

  I continued to jog until I came to a large farmhouse. Several cars were parked in the driveway and along the roadway. Music was coming from the house. As I got closer I could see that a pool party was in progress. Men and women in swimming suits could be seen milling about, drinks in hand. I was desperate and dressed appropriately for a pool party so I joined the party. I was terribly thirsty and so I headed for the buffet table and helped myself to a Pepsi. No one seemed to mind. I scanned the group until I saw a large suntanned man whose demeanor told me he was the homeowner. I finished my Pepsi and then waited for an appropriate moment to introduce myself to the man I believed to be the host and then ask for directions. I was more than gratified to find that the large man was indeed the host. In perfect British English, shaded with an Austrian accent, he welcomed me to the party, invited me to have some food and drink, and then proceeded to give me directions on how to navigate the country roads that led back to the hotel. I sat down in one of the lawn chairs, had an additional Pepsi and then promptly went to sleep.

  My host was exceedingly kind. He let me sleep until sunset. When I awakened, I was alone by the pool, the party having ended hours earlier. It was odd, when I first awakened I had no idea where I was. I struggled to make my surroundings fit my recollection of my apartment back in Sacramento. Fortunately my host came to my rescue. A booming voice came rolling across the farmland, "Ah, I see you have awakened. You needed your rest, my friend."

  As I tried to sort through the mist that surrounded my brain, I also tried to respond to the gracious Austrian farmer, "I am so sorry to have dozed off, that was awfully rude of me."

  "Not at all, you have been on a long run, and you no doubt needed some rest. We were glad to accommodate you."

  I remembered the party and all of the handsome people milling about the pool. "Your guests must have found me an interesting exhibit, " I said with a chuckle.

  "There was some speculation as to who you were and were you are from. I assured them you were not an alien."

  I slipped my tee-shirt on, "Uh, by the way was I snoring?"

  He laughed, "Well, at first we thought it was thunder...no, I'm just joking. You were fine."

  "Well thanks for the hospitality, but I think I need to jog back to the hotel..."

  The big Austrian cut in, "I'm going to give you a ride...it's too complicated and too late to have you running around lost in the fields." He laughed a booming laugh and then said, "You can tell me about California as we drive--Beverly Hills, movie stars, the Beach Boys."

  The drive took about twenty-minutes. In spite of my efforts to tell my new friend, his name was Kurt, about California, I kept dozing. By the time I got to the hotel, all I could do was collect my key from the desk clerk and stumble to my room. I took a quick shower, dozed off there too, and then collapsed into bed. The conference was scheduled to begin the next morning at 8:30 a.m.

  The conference, like all conferences, was filled with a number of workshops and speeches, presented by people whose work required they present. Some of the topics actually interested me, but after my evening of dining and dancing with Lisa Marie, I must say I was hard pressed to be enthusiastic about listening to professors and pontificators ramble on about chi square analysis. I'd close my eyes and the lioness would appear. I needed to do something to keep from letting my emotions run away. It's one thing to be a dashing older man, and quite another to be the old fool.

  I don't know whether it was the exhilaration I found in meeting Lisa Marie, or the excitement of being in Vienna, or the good rest that followed my run through the fields that gave me an energy boost. Whatever it was, something had pushed me past my jet lag in record time. I was feeling great, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit around in meetings. I wasn't alone in that sentiment. One of my Israeli colleagues was just as interested in getting out of the hotel and into the city as I was. His name was Hillel Savan, and among his credentials was a stint in the Mossad. Now, at least so he claimed, he was wholly committed to his work as a professor of botany. He was no longer an intelligence officer.

  Our hotel was about 10 kilometers from the center of the city. By subway that translated to about 20 minutes. As we were about to board the subway, Hillel said to me, "If you don't mind, I'd like to give a call on my handiphone to some friends in the city. They might want to join us."

  "
No problem, the more the merrier," I quickly responded.

  His friends, it turned out, were theater people from Tel Aviv. Sarah, Atara, Ben, and Cosell were attending a conference on theater and were just as bored with their conference as we were with ours. It didn't take me long to conclude that none of these people were what they claimed. Their only slip was in how they walked--fast and direct. They walked like they were on maneuvers. Hillel was at the head calling out directions, everyone else followed in line. Instead of military objectives, we were looking for restaurants, bars, or places to dance. It was at one of the nosier restaurants in the Karlsplatz that Hillel took me aside and said, "Don't look around, laugh when you hear what I have to say and then answer. Are you aware that we are being followed by someone?"

  I resisted the impulse to turn and look around the room. I followed his directions and laughed in a superficial sort of way. "No, I didn't know..."

  "I'm not certain who the target is, but I think it is you, my friend. Are you more than you appear?"

  "I don't know what you are talking about...." I stuttered.

  "I am going to ask you to leave the bar and walk around the block. If it is you that they are following...then we will know."

  I felt a momentary sense of panic, why would anyone want to follow me? Surely it was the Israelis that were being followed. They have all kinds of enemies. I struggled to remain calm, "You, you want me to walk out of here by myself...."

  "Don't worry. If they follow you, we will follow them...you will be okay. Were you in danger, they had plenty of opportunities to get you when we were walking."

  I took a deep breath, acted as though I were saying goodbye to my Israeli friends and proceeded out of the bar. I could see the headlines, "American Mysteriously Slain in Vienna,” or "He Died Without Having a Facelift." I suppose that would be better than "American Dies Getting Facelift." There was a gentle rain that night and the streets glistened. The streets were busy, not like American streets after dark. As I walked down the street, I was keenly aware of eyes watching me, people following me, although I hadn't seen any suspicious characters following me. I tried to dismiss the whole thing as a fabrication in the mind of an aging and overly imaginative Israeli ex-spy. Nevertheless, as I "nonchalantly" strolled around the block, it was easy to believe that the Israelis were right.

  I love the way neon lights are mirrored by wet pavement. The glowing illumination from the neon reflects from off the shiny, wet black background as high contrast abstractions. It is the same the world over. Rain feels the same in Vienna and as it does in San Francisco, and fear is equally universal, although, I couldn't remember of ever being as afraid as I was that night. I rounded the corner and looked down a dark quiet street. I halted momentarily but motivated by the fear that someone was after me, immediately picked up my pace and briskly walked into the dark. I looked over my shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of two dark figures rounding the corner. I walked even faster. I could see the end of the block, and made getting there my immediate goal. As I rounded the corner I heard Hillel's voice, "CB, this way, quickly."

  He grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me into a waiting taxi, "Get a new hotel, don't go back to your old hotel. Call me." He then joined his theater friends and began to sing an Israeli song as they rounded the corner into the surprised faces of the two men following me. The driver gunned the cab and we sped down a side street. I anxiously looked back toward where my friends had been just moments ago. The street was quiet.

  I told the driver, that I was in need of lodging and to take me to a moderate priced hotel. As I sat in the back of the cab, a relatively new Mercedes, I tried to sort things out. I remembered my mother once saying, "Be careful of what you wish for, it just might come true." Yeah, I wanted some adventure, and it looked like I had found it. Israeli spies, an exotic Asian woman, a beautiful mysterious city, and strangers following me. The driver pulled in front of a Hotel near the West Banhoff Subway Station. I walked into the hotel, but had no intention of taking a room there. I walked directly to the elevator and rode to the 6th floor. I waited a few minutes, rode to the ground floor and walked, hopefully unnoticed, out into the night. I walked briskly past the station and crossed the street. Hotel Furstenhoff stood directly in front of me. Like most of the small hotels in this district it reeked of character. It was no doubt filled with history, and as I walked up the stairs to the lobby I half expected to see WWII German Officers in the foyer. I took a room.