Dimitrescu, his dignity deeply offended, started abusing the freight dispatcher and the fellow responded with a stream of invective. Jardine and Vince were witness to an example of Rumanian democracy in action as they indulged in a furious and expletive-splattered exchange, with Vince gleefully translating what he was sure were the swear words.
Back at the Athenee Palace, Dimitrescu got out of the car and, having given over the address of the bank in Constanta, shook hands with firm resolve. ‘We will meet there, say at ten of the clock. Till the day after tomorrow.’
Jardine waved him off and went inside, but only long enough for him to get out of sight, fretting when Vince said he needed a pee. That taken care of it was off to the cafe and the phone, back on to Goldfarbeen and the double-taxi ride again. He had one very important question to ask the Jew and, security be damned, he would have to ring him at the hotel with the response.
When he returned, he ran straight into ‘Reisner’ by the reception desk and apologised for the need to turn him down for dinner; Vince, following him in, was sharp enough to walk straight past the pair as though Jardine was a stranger.
‘I am departing very early in the morning, Herr Reisner, for Kladno. Some business has presented itself and I must prepare my proposals.’ Then he called to the desk clerk. ‘Please make up my bill for the morning and I will require an early taxi to take me to the Gara de Nord.’
‘Such a pity, I looking forward to trying more English.’
‘Then let us hope there is another time, Herr Reisner.’
The smile was not in the eyes, they were narrow and had a trace of a glint, it was just the teeth. ‘Perhaps, Herr Jardine, perhaps.’
By standing still, Jardine almost forced the German to go towards the lift, and as soon as he disappeared he went to talk to the concierge. In a first-class hotel he is a very important man and a well-paid one — it is another job you buy, not one you are given. He has to be the soul of discretion and the provider of goods and services of all natures to the well-heeled clients. He is also a fellow accustomed to strange requests; his job not to question but to provide, and often, even if what is requested might be on the borders of illegality, he will merely smile, accept the request and pocket the excessive payment he expects for compliance.
Back in his suite Jardine was all business. ‘Vince, I am going to pack my bags and you do the same. Then go down, check out and clear your bill. I will come to your room later with my bags. You’d better eat, and phone Lanchester and tell him to do the same, so he’s ready to check out too. When my call comes from Goldfarbeen you will take both your luggage and mine out of here and collect him. I will go to the car and meet you there.’
When Vince departed he called down to reception for a local road map and asked the time of the Prague train. The city, being built late in the last century, was dissected with long, straight roads, very much like Berlin, so working out his route was easier than expected. To keep up appearances he dressed for an early dinner and went down to the restaurant, making straight for the table of ‘Reisner’, who was eating at a German, not a Rumanian hour.
‘You have decided not to dine out after all, Herr Reisner? That gives you one last chance to test your English.’
‘You are your tasks finished so soon?’
‘I have some time in the morning, having got the time of the train wrong.’
‘I wondered when you said you leaving early morning, to go to Kladno you must Prague pass through, which is, of course, on the line to Berlin.’
‘Silly of me; now, why don’t I buy us a very good bottle of Sekt?’
‘Is something to celebrate?’
‘I am sure, when I get to my destination, I am going to do some very good and profitable business.’
A signal brought over the sommelier and the wine was ordered. They had only just looked, sniffed and sipped, when the German said, ‘Is that boy calling your name?’
‘So he is; excuse me, I am expecting a telephone call.’
That he took at reception and Goldfarbeen supplied the answer to the question he had asked, which made perfect sense. Next, he called Vince on the internal phone and told him to be prepared to get moving, ran up to his room, grabbed his cases and took them to Vince’s room, before dashing back to join his SS man, smiling broadly.
‘Matters are proceeding splendidly, Herr Reisner. Now, shall we order some food?’
The man’s expression was so stiff it was waxwork-like. Cal Jardine then played a game he enjoyed; he loved nothing more than to take the rise out of an opponent. The way he talked to the German was such fun, for the SS man had to play along with his string of invention, he had no choice.
‘Time for my slumbers, I think. You know the word “slumber”, Herr Reisner?’
‘No.’
‘Another word for sleep; busy day tomorrow, so I must bid you gute Nacht.’
The grin was rigid stilclass="underline" he knew he was being guyed. ‘Perhaps, Herr Jardine, we should say auf Wiedersehen.’
The reply was cheery. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’
Out of sight of the dining room, at reception, he paid his bill, then went back to the concierge desk to collect the package of items he had requested and to ask the man who ran it to take care of the tips he would not have time to disburse in the morning: chambermaids, the floor manager and the maitre d’ in the restaurant. Naturally, the concierge was included, and generously, his discretion being essential. It was bad form to do otherwise, just as it was bad form to leave such an establishment without taking care of various staff, those who had seen to his needs.
There was one other task: a pair of stamped and addressed envelopes, which were handed over, with instructions that they should be posted the following evening.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The only items left in his suite were his trench coat, his trilby and Colt Automatic. Those gathered, he slipped out and along to the service stairs, the door to which was opened and closed silently given there was always someone present on the floor of such prestigious accommodation, housing the really wealthy clients, who, when they desired attention, wanted it in seconds.
The stairs took him down to the basement and out onto a loading bay, quiet at this time of night, staffed only by a single bored individual in a small bothy of an office. Jardine gave him a wave and put his finger to his lips, hoping the fellow would assume, seeing him dressed for dinner, he was perhaps an errant husband sneaking out, not an unknown event in such establishments.
The alleyway was full of refuse bins, stinking in the warm weather, and he stayed close to those as he made his way to the junction with the well-lit boulevard that led into the vast plaza on which the hotel stood. He was not stupid enough to assume that ‘Reisner’ believed him; it was best to operate on the reverse and take precautions accordingly. His coat he put over one shoulder, which with his hat tipped to one side hid most of his face, then he went straight across the wide road, careful to avoid any screech of car brakes, it being a busy thoroughfare, and once on the opposite pavement he made his way round the counter corner to the other side of the plaza, where he hailed a trasura.
That he paid off a street away. Lanchester and Vince were sitting in the car, puffing away, so it was full of smoke. Jardine’s first act was to open the door and leave it so, letting the fug escape, as Peter Lanchester made what he thought was an important announcement. ‘I have just realised, old boy, seeing where the steering wheel is, that these blighters drive on the wrong side of the road.’