Ghosts of the Past (23 page)

The food had been superb, and far superior to the casual, but weary conversation, dominated by Allen’s attempt at making his persona larger than it truly was. To ease the boredom, Enstrada had excused himself to the restroom once, and stepped away to the bar to answer a phone call and place two others.

Enstrada grew weary of Allen’s collective portrayal of himself as a talented starving artist turned master art critic, with an insatiable desire for wine, women and money, of which he claimed to have no problems fulfilling at any time. Enstrada recognized his feeble attempt at self-importance, hoping to command respect from one of Rocca’s employees. If only he knew. Actually, it was time he knew.

“Let’s get to the point of my visit Jason. I need your assistance on a very important matter for my Uncle.”

Allen slumped back in his chair and tried to disguise his shock and embarrassment. His sales job on himself had probably fallen on deaf ears.

“Please, no one gave me any particulars on the message I received about your visit.” Allen replied in a confident manner, trying his best to recover.

“You provided some important information that has actually progressed to the point of potentially coming to fruition.”

“They found the works?”

“Let me finish, please.” Enstrada said admonishingly.

A brief, uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Once again, as I was saying, you have been of some enormous help, and you will be rewarded for your loyalty and discretion, but the outcome is still doubt. We need another favor from you. And it will certainly up the ante on the monetary return as far as you’re concerned.”

Allen’s pulse quickened, sensing a larger payday than he had imagined. He wondered to himself if he should start a bargaining process to determine the exact amount of compensation, but he was cognizant of Rocca’s reputation for ruthlessness, and he quickly extinguished that thought, particularly given the bowling ball of muscle that sat across the table from him.

“You will need to consider me an emissary of my Uncle, representing his interests, specifically his art collection. We may have an interest in placing his collection in exhibit, and because of his fondness for Chicago, we are seriously considering the Art Institute as one, or possibly the only location.”

Allen’s curiosity engaged. He instinctively was having doubts about the overture. Rocca’s collection was well known, but as many experts suspected, was reputed to have a number of illegal works. Consequently, he had never expressed an interest in exhibiting his collection. Even if he exhibited his legitimate works, the exposure was sure to touch off a firestorm of accusations and negative publicity that might raise questions and inquiries that Rocca would have no interest in dealing with.

“Would that be of interest to you and Mr. Lewis?”

“I’m sure Grayson would love to have some discussion regarding Mr. Rocca’s collection.” Allen replied without hesitation or a hint of the apprehension that was setting in.

“Fabulous, can you make those discussions a reality? Can you put me in front of Mr. Lewis?”

“Sure. I think that part would be easy.”

“And you think what would be difficult?”

“Nothing… actually, just putting the whole thing together.” Allen stuttered in reply. He unwittingly had just divulged his concerns in his confirmation of arranging a meeting with Grayson Lewis. He was struggling mightily with the whole direction of the request. Something else was happening here, but he was not sure what.

Enstrada recognized the insecurity in Allen’s voice and realized that he was probably surprised by the idea advanced for exhibiting Rocca’s collection, and why he was involved in setting up a meeting with Grayson Lewis. Nevertheless, he could care less about the imaginations of one Jason Allen. He was certain that Allen would never figure out what was about to transpire.

“Can you speak with Mr. Lewis and get back to me in the next 24 hours?”

“Sure, I’ll see him this afternoon and can call you at your hotel this evening. Is there a time you had in mind?”

“I would be happy to meet with him tomorrow or the next day, whichever is convenient. Lunch… dinner, either one, my treat.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Excellent.” Enstrada took a long last puff on the Cuban and extinguished it into the glass ashtray. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

With that, Enstrada stood, signaled to Allen to remain seated, pulled a money clip from his pocket, peeled off a one hundred dollar bill, and placed it on the table.

“Can I give you a lift back to the hotel?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

As if on cue, a black Mercedes limousine pulled to the curb outside the front entrance on Rush Street. Enstrada, exited the dining room, walked out onto the sidewalk as the black suited chauffeur opened the back door to let out a long legged blond in a peach colored tube dress that appeared painted on the more than ample figure. She emerged just in time to give Entstrada a hug and kiss a returning soldier would be proud of. They crawled into the back seat still entangled. The door closed… and they were gone.

Allen laughed to himself.
Samantha?
No,
that’s
not
it.
Serena?
No,
it
was
Sabrina.
That’s
right,
Sabrina,
obviously
per
Uncle
Guillermo’s
recommendation
. The recollection could not help but conjure up memories of Ginger, who had been nothing short of spectacular.

The black Mercedes sedan pulled over to the curb a good one hundred kilometers down Haldenstrasse from the Palace Hotel. The driver and three passengers waited patiently as a fourth man stood up from a wood bench located in the public green space adjacent to the Palace’s Le Maritime restaurant, and walked down the tree lined sidewalk to the rear passenger door.

Rudi Koch climbed into the back seat next to Paul Knabel who was holding a Leica SLR camera to his eye, busily adjusting the focus on the long telephoto lens.

“Gentlemen!” Rudi exclaimed with enthusiasm in German. “A pleasure to see you all!”

“The same!” replied Alden in English, as Marshall and Knabel greeted Koch in unison seconds later. “Paul’s German is a little weak, so we might as well keep it to English.”

“No problem,” replied Koch. “They’re actually on the terrace restaurant, around the corner facing the lake. They were just seated. They have checked in and their car is in the garage below. The signal is a little weak through the concrete, but it is strong enough to know if they are here or not. Here are two receivers, in case one craps out on you.” He handed them both to Alden over the headrest of the front passenger seat.

“Which room?” Alden inquired.

“Suite 203. They got comped a suite for regular room deal. The place is pretty full.”

“Damn. We’ll need to get Horst and Paul a room. I’ll go somewhere else. They are sure to recognize me if I get within eyesight. Do both of you have enough currency to make sure the desk clerk comes up with a room?” Alden directed his gaze at Marshall behind the wheel.

“Plenty. The boss fattened me up pretty good before we came for you.” Marshall spoke for the two of them.

“Excellent.” Alden reached into his pocket for an envelope and handed it back over the seat to Koch, who eagerly accepted it. “Thanks for your help Rudi. Nice work.”

“My pleasure! Do you need me for anything else?”

“Not right now. Are you going to be around the area?”

“I’m working on an infidelity case, and I’ll be down in the south of France for the next few days taking pictures. Koch gestured to the camera Knabel was still perusing. “It’s a nasty one. It will cost the guy millions when my client gets her greedy little hands on the stuff this guy’s into. She will bust his chops good when she hits him with a divorce decree. His little forays make the hardest porno movies look tame.”

“Excellent, I’ll call you on your mobile if we need you for anything else.”

With that, Koch tucked the envelope into the pocket of his field jacket and exited the car walking the opposite direction from the hotel.

“Capable man?” Knabel finally spoke.

“Very. He is one of the best detectives in Munich, and very busy. He does quite well financially.” Alden said.

“And I’ll bet we just fattened his account a little more.” Marshall laughed.

“Substantially, but he’s worth it. He has a steel trap for a mouth.” Alden stared at the Palace Hotel. “Enough of Rudi, we need to get you two into the hotel and find you a room. Paul I will leave that up to you. I’ll drop you and your luggage at the front and take Paul with me down the street to the National. He can walk down later. He’ll know the phone number and my room.”

“You want me to try to bug their room? I have some basic stuff with me.” Marshall turned over the engine and pulled away from the curb and onto the street, heading for the front door of the Palace.

“No, let’s just keep an eye on them for the time being. I am going to assume they’ll be headed into the backcountry sometime tomorrow or the next day. Maybe one of us can stay behind and rig up their room then.” Alden slouched down in his front seat and replaced his sunglasses as they reached the hotel entrance.

Marshall put the car in park and left it running as he hopped out of the driver seat and retrieved two sets of luggage from the open trunk. Knabel emerged from the back seat, closed the trunk, and replaced Marshall in the driver’s seat. They gently pulled away from the temporary parking area as Marshall dropped the luggage onto a cart, and began negotiating with the bellhop who was eagerly assisting him as the Mercedes sped away.

An hour earlier the same bellhop had also been most accommodating in handling Courtney’s and Ferguson’s luggage, while the valet driver ticketed the rental car and keys, and removed it to the parking garage beneath the six story, “Art Nouveau”, century old structure.

They entered the hotel on the western end of the building, highlighted by marble statues and a shaded glass portico that protected the entrance, up a flight of marble stairs, and into a large open-air, luxurious lobby. Courtney and Ferguson made their way over to the traditional wood and brass reservation desk, with Courtney again preparing to test her German on the young man that visually greeted them as they drew near.

“Guten
tag
mein
herren,
sprechen
sie
English?”

“Pretty well, but I could always improve,” said the young reservation clerk with a pleasant smile, and a French accent.

Relieved once again, Ferguson started to initiate the request for rooms, but this time Courtney beat him to the punch.

“Ausgetsichtnet!
My German, I am sure, is worse than your English, and my French is even worse. We need a room please. Two beds.” Courtney looked at Ferguson. “How many nights?”

“I’m not real sure… let’s make it for two nights at least.” Ferguson shrugged his shoulders.

The clerk interjected. “We are very full. The only room we have available, with sleeping accommodations for two, this evening is a Corner Suite.”

“Ouch.” Ferguson muttered softly, envisioning the price tag. “Can you give us any suggestions on other hotels close by?”

The clerk was quick to continue, recognizing an opportunity for an open-ended stay. “Yes, but however, please let me inquire with management to see if we can provide at our deluxe room price, if that’s of interest.” He didn’t wait for a reply and was already dialing the desk phone and turning his back away from them as he spoke softly and nodded his head profusely to the mystery manager on the other end.

“What prompted that?” Ferguson asked Courtney, who was gazing admiringly around the lobby.

“Beats me, maybe he’s taking pity on us. I haven’t had a shower in sometime, and I look like the cat just drug me in.”

Ferguson laughed obligingly. “Speak for yourself, I feel, and I’m certain, I look like a million bucks.” He could not help but think how incredibly beautiful she looked regardless of her assessment. “Figment of your imagination.” Courtney responded with a hint of sarcasm.

The clerk turned back to the two of them and winked as he began to peck at the computer keyboard in front of him. “We can give you the Suite at our Deluxe room rate of 345 francs per evening. We can book you for two nights, and you may renew indefinitely for each day thereafter.”

“The exchange rate at the airport was .75 francs to the dollar.” Courtney added.

“Sold.” Ferguson pointed his finger at the clerk.

“Excuse me?” Questioned the startled clerk.

“He means will take it.” Courtney said.

“Very good. And the name?”

Ferguson handed him an American Express card.

The clerk began typing. “Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Ferguson. And your address?”

Courtney looked at Ferguson as the two of them burst out in laughter.

“If we plan on cohabitating in the same room, I might as well have the respect of being your wife.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” Ferguson turned to the clerk and proceeded to answer all of the questions posed to him in registering the Ferguson’s in the Palace Hotel.

Le Maritime restaurant, an outdoor cafe on the lakefront side of the hotel, was crowded for lunch. It was understandable given the incredible spring day in the Swiss Alps. The sun was shining brightly in a virtually cloudless sky, and the temperature had risen to 18 degrees Celsius by early afternoon.

Courtney had finally been able to utilize her newly developed skill in languages. The waitress was fluent in French, and spoke a respectable amount of German, but her English left a lot to be desired. They settled on German.

Over a plate of cheese, fruit and homemade French bread for Courtney, and Ferguson’s corned beef sandwich on identical bread, they shared a bottle of St. Veran Caves des Grand Blance white wine.