Part Four:
Liechtenstein and Austria, Saturday Afternoon
Chapter 12
Locke found getting to Liechtenstein a more difficult chore than he had expected. Burgess’s itinerary got him to Geneva right on schedule but the train he boarded there, the Arlberg Express, made no stops in the small country. So Chris took it as far as the border station at St. Gallen, where he found a taxi for the fifteen minute trip to Vaduz, Liechtenstein’s capital. He was surprised to find there were no checks at the border and also relieved. The less he had to expose himself, the better.
Still, Locke could not help but be taken in by the country’s beauty. The thin road taken by the driver curved comfortably through the fertile flatlands of the Rhine Valley, which was just beginning to show its spring blossoms. He could see mountains in the north layered with snow and the temperature barely broke fifty. Locke longed for a warmer coat but the sights kept his mind off the cold.
The taxi deposited him in the storybook town of Vaduz in front of the Sonnenhof Hotel at two thirty. Locke paid the driver with some of the Swiss francs he had obtained in Geneva and included a generous tip. A doorman came over and grabbed his suitcase, beckoning him toward the hotel entrance. Locke hesitated a moment to look up beyond the hotel at the sprawling, majestic structure of Castle Vaduz. Directly below it he made out a dark shape nestled amidst the lush greenery — the Hauser restaurant, where his meeting with Felderberg would take place in just over an hour. The tram leading up to the restaurant from ground level would be hidden by the trees from this angle. There would be plenty of time to locate it later.
Finally he moved toward the entrance of the Sonnenhof. The same doorman who had taken his suitcase held the door for him, and Locke tipped him handsomely as well. He had to play his role to the fullest by passing sums of money and being noticed for it. Felderberg would be asking about him, perhaps even had people watching. Any reservations the financier entertained about Sam Babbit had to be laid to rest.
Locke stopped at the front desk, flinching just for an instant when he registered under his assumed name. There had been no time for Burgess to obtain a credit card for him, so he left a deposit in cash. The clerk was friendly but methodical, finally handing Chris his key and signaling for a bellboy. Five minutes later, after another exorbitant tip, he was inspecting his room to find it tastefully and elegantly appointed in light colors corresponding to the lavish grounds beyond. There was a terrace off his bedroom, and Locke collapsed there on a chair facing the sun. The wind chilled him but after the long, confined journey he needed the open air and space. It was almost three o’clock now; an hour to go until his meeting with Felderberg.
Chris suddenly found himself uncomfortable. First he passed it off to the long, sleepless trip, but there was more. He was in a foreign country registered under an assumed name about to meet with a man who was somehow part of a monstrous conspiracy. It might have been comic if someone else had put it to him that way, and he found himself more distressed than ever. Lubeck had seen Felderberg … and Lubeck had died.
Chris moved back inside his room, closed and bolted the sliding door behind him. He picked up the phone and had the hotel operator connect him with the number Burgess had provided. He had last checked in hours earlier in Geneva.
Uncle Colin has gone fishing….
Please don’t let it be those words, Locke prayed.
“Hello,” came the friendly female voice with the sharp British accent.
“I want to speak with Uncle Colin.”
“Your number, please.”
Chris gave it to her.
“Stay put, sir. Be right back with you.”
Locke hung up. The phone rang three minutes later.
“Yes?” the girl said.
“I have another message for your uncle.”
“Go on.”
“Tell him I’ve arrived at Vaduz and all seems to be well. I’ll be meeting with Fel—”
“Please mention no names,” the girl interrupted.
“The meeting will go on as scheduled.” Locke hesitated. “Is there any way I can reach Colin directly?”
“I could have him call you at this number but it’ll take a while.”
Locke knew he’d have to leave for his meeting with Felderberg in a half hour at most. “No, it’s all right. I’ll call again after the meeting?” Then: “He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“Fine, sir, and taking all necessary precautions.”
“Good.”
Chris replaced the receiver as soon as the conversation ended. Something was nagging at him. What precautions had the girl been talking about? Did Burgess know someone was on to him? Locke couldn’t bear the thought of being totally alone again. Burgess was his only hope now. If something happened to the big Brit …
Locke stretched out on the bed and forced his mind to other considerations. London had taught him that hotels could not always be regarded as safe refuges. Unexpected happenings on the mountain could conceivably make a return to the Sonnenhof impossible. So he needed a safe locale for some fresh clothes and other basic necessities, including his passport. He wasn’t comfortable carrying it on his person, nor did he want to leave it in the hotel room. He reached deep down into his memory for an effective strategy. It had been covered in the training, repeated over and over again.
Use a public place, somewhere crowded, as a stash. A train or bus station, perhaps an airport, would be best. Use a locker.
There was a good-sized rail station on the outskirts of Vaduz. Certainly there would be lockers inside.
It took him ten minutes to change into a new suit and another five to pack a tote bag with two changes of clothes, a razor, and other toilet articles, along with his passport. In addition there were several implements Burgess had obtained in the event a disguise might be needed. Locke had the doorman get him a cab forty minutes before his appointment with Felderberg and headed for Vaduz Station. Then he told the driver to wait outside for him.
As it turned out, there were indeed lockers inside the station, a whole bank of them. But keys had to be obtained and deposits left at a central desk, which meant exposing himself to more attention. Locke weighed the situation only briefly before determining that obtaining the locker was worth the risk. The clerk was courteous, had thick glasses, and spoke very poor English. The cost of a locker was fifteen francs per day. Locke received one key. A master that was also required to open the lockers was always present at the desk, available once the customer had paid up his account as noted on the card Locke was issued. It all seemed far more complicated than a simple coin system, but he went along with it because he had to.
The driver dropped him at the tram at the base of Vaduz Mountain fifteen minutes before his meeting was scheduled to begin. The ski season had ended, so there was little activity about. A lift operator sold tickets to the few tourists who wished to take in Vaduz from an aerial angle. Another helped seat them in the small enclosed cars that looked like miniature diving bells. Chris straightened his tie, purchased a ticket, and was ushered into one of the green compartments. The door closed tight. The lift began to pull him up the mountain, taking him farther and farther from the ground. The cable squeaked and trembled every time a connecting tower station was passed. Halfway up the tram, Locke could clearly make out the Hauser restaurant, a small but stately building that seemed to be a small imitation of the castle standing above. It might once have been a carriage house by the look of it, or a guest lodging for visitors of Liechtenstein’s royalty in days of old. It was simply a restaurant, though, constructed in the sixties to capitalize on the tourist trade.