'He hasn't hesitated to kill,' Iversen pointed out. 'Or so we believe.'
Katherina looked worried as she stood there, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Jon nodded towards her.
'You'll be there to look out for me,' he said.
'Yes, outside,' Iversen emphasized. 'I'm not so sure we can rule out the possibility of him resorting to good old-fashioned physical violence. What's to keep him from bringing along a gun?'
Jon looked at this man who was usually so cheerful and amiable. Of course he was right, but the methods used so far by the Shadow Organization made it hard to imagine the group turning to conventional weapons. Jon fixed his eyes on the new carpet. In fact, they didn't really know. Maybe physical violencehad been used. Jon and the others had focused solely on those situations when transmitter powers might have been involved. They had assumed that it was a gentlemanly contest, one group's powers versus another's – but why stop there?
'There will be witnesses present,' said Jon. 'I don't think Remer will try anything.'
Iversen nodded, but he still didn't seem convinced.
There were four customers in the Clean Glass pub. They were all sitting at the bar and didn't even turn round when Jon pushed open the door, letting a little fresh air slip into the tobacco haze. He ordered a draught beer and sat down at one of the tables farthest away from the bar but facing the door. In his inside pocket he had a mobile that he'd borrowed from Henning. The microphone of the attached hands-free set was fastened to the underside of his jacket collar so that Katherina and Henning would be able to hear what was going on when he rang them.
Jon took a gulp of his beer. He'd arrived in plenty of time. Remer wasn't due to show up for another ten minutes, provided that he had taken the bait. Enough time for Jon to speculate about what might happen. The most important thing was that Remer made an appearance, or rather that he drove off from the pub so the others could tail him. Jon hadn't given much thought to the actual meeting, to what he might say or whether he'd be able to control his anger at the role Remer had played in the loss of his job, and maybe even in Luca's murder.
The door opened, and a man in a light trenchcoat came in. Seeing the man's short grey hair, Jon recognized Remer at once. His former client looked around the room and fixed his gaze on Jon for a moment. Then he went over to the bar and placed his order as he cast a cool glance at the four regular customers. Jon used the opportunity to reach into his pocket and press the call button on his mobile.
The bartender set a glass of golden liquid in front of Remer. He paid for the drink, picked up the glass and calmly strolled over to the table where Jon was sitting. Jon's heart started pounding faster and he sensed his anger growing.
'Campelli,' said Remer, nodding at Jon. He turned his chair as he sat down so he would be sitting sideways to the door.
'Remer,' said Jon in greeting.
Remer studied Jon as he took a sip of his drink. He grimaced and cast a slightly offended look at the glass, which he proceeded to swirl, making small circular movements.
'Not exactly a high quality whisky they serve here,' he said, setting his glass on the table. 'I prefer single malt, not these blends.'
'Then you should try the house speciality instead,' said Jon, raising his beer and taking a drink.
Remer smiled briefly. 'I understand you're insisting on becoming a bookseller after all,' he said in a tone of voice that made it sound as if the conversation already bored him.
'You might say that I was given a shove in that direction,' replied Jon. 'But I seem to have a flair for it. My talents in that area have proven to be quite surprising.'
Remer nodded as he examined Jon intently. 'So I've heard,' he said. 'Maybe a man with that kind of talent shouldn't limit himself to a bookshop.'
Jon tried to hide his surprise as best he could. How could Remer already know that Jon had been activated and what the results had been? Was he bluffing?
A small, superior smile spread over Remer's face. 'That sort of skill could be used much better in a larger context.'
'Such as a chain of shops?' asked Jon.
'For instance, yes,' said Remer, taking just a sip of the whisky and swallowing it with lips tight. 'A man with such unique abilities could be useful in many different situations.'
'As a consultant?'
'Problem-solver.'
'He would be expensive,' said Jon.
'It's all relative. If he's worth the cost, it's not expensive. But it would require, of course, that he proved how skilful he really was.'
'A test?'
'Or a check-up,' Remer suggested. 'It just so happens that I have access to facilities that can measure this sort of thing.'
'I wasn't aware that such talents could be measured,' said Jon.
Remer smiled secretively. 'Oh, yes indeed. If someone has the will and the curiosity to achieve the best results, he has to tackle the matter scientifically. Exactly like serious athletes today. Elite sports are not for people who have romantic notions about going for a run out in nature, eating healthy food and getting a good night's sleep. It involves the optimization and total utilization of an individual's potential, and a bit more.'
'And some people are born with a greater potential than others.'
'Precisely,' said Remer firmly, jabbing his finger at the table. 'And those few have an obligation to use their full potential instead of pissing it away on amateur foolishness and trivialities.'
'Such as promoting a good reading experience?'
'Perhaps. Literature has acquired a much too romantic glow these days. Reading has become a kind of distinguished pastime for intellectuals. But it really is nothing more than a means of distributing information, or even a form of entertainment, but first and foremost the transmission of knowledge, attitudes and opinions.'
'That sounds a little cynical to me,' said Jon. 'There are plenty of people who enjoy reading.'
'There are also plenty who play sports for fun,' Remer acknowledged. 'But they'll never be anything but amateurs. If you want to be a professional, you have to have a professional attitude towards the tools in your possession.'
They both took a sip of their drinks.
'Well, Jon?' Remer began after a brief pause. 'Do you want to be an amateur or a professional?'
Jon studied the bubbles rising to the surface in his glass. He'd once heard that beer foamed more in a dirty glass than in a clean one. That didn't bode well for the reputation of this pub, but he presumed it wouldn't make much of an impression on the customers seated at the bar, the professional guests. The conversation had taken a different turn from what he was expecting. He hadn't counted on finding out thathe was the bargaining chip and not Libri di Luca. That meant, of course, that he wasn't in any imminent danger, but that could also quickly change if he didn't join forces with Remer.
'You don't have to give me an answer now,' said Remer. 'Think it over when you can find some time alone.' His gaze shifted from Jon's face to his jacket, where the mobile was inside his pocket. 'But you should know that we have answers to many of your questions, and we're in possession of facilities that could help you to utilize your potential to the fullest. With us you'll find explanations and the opportunity to use your powers for something substantial.'
Jon nodded. 'I need to give this a little more thought,' he said.
'Of course. But don't wait too long. We can easily become impatient.' Remer gulped down the rest of his whisky and stood up. 'Shall we say three days?'
'Okay, you'll hear from me in three days.'
'Excellent. Talk to you soon, Jon.'
He didn't wait for a response but headed straight for the door and walked out of the Clean Glass without looking back.
Jon pulled up the collar of his jacket and bent his head.
'He's outside now,' he said into the microphone.
'We can see him,' said Katherina's voice on the other end. The sound of a car engine was audible in the background. 'I'll ring when we know where he's going.'