The citizens of Visby, the town in which the house stood, were vocal in their dislike of it; it was such a harsh contrast to the walls of the ancient fortress nearby. The house seemed a reproach to the proud history of Gutland.
A reclusive tinkerer in mechanics and in medical science for most of his adult life, Miklos opted not to care whether his fellow townspeople liked his house or not. As is the case with vain persons, he blamed the criticism on jealousy. The house resembled stacks of dishes with misaligned margins; rows and rows of windows and narrow balconies, each a different color; rooms on various split levels, reached by exquisite staircases, the interior nicely warmed in the winter by heating ducts and skylights. But when, just five months ago, he suddenly became a man about town, donating to charities and showing up at all the important social events, he told everyone that, yes, the house was an eye-sore in comparison to the majestic old fortress. He promised that when his latest project was complete and marketed he would have the house totally redesigned.
Miklos' father, from whom he had inherited a modest fortune, had dealt in limestone mines, concrete, and freight lines. Miklos' years as a bachelor recluse had kept the inheritance, for the most part, intact, as had his safe investments. He was a hunchback, bald as a melon, who lived with his two widowed sisters, Angela and Annike, both in their seventies. Miklos was 61, spry for his otheopathic condition, and, unknown to all except his favorite sister, Annike, entirely unscrupulous.
A reclusive tinkerer in mechanics and in medical science for most of his adult life, Miklos opted not to care whether his fellow townspeople liked his house or not. As is the case with vain persons, he blamed the criticism on jealousy. The house resembled stacks of dishes with misaligned margins; rows and rows of windows and narrow balconies, each a different color; rooms on various split levels, reached by exquisite staircases, the interior nicely warmed in the winter by heating ducts and skylights. But when, just five months ago, he suddenly became a man about town, donating to charities and showing up at all the important social events, he told everyone that, yes, the house was an eye-sore in comparison to the majestic old fortress. He promised that when his latest project was complete and marketed he would have the house totally redesigned.
Miklos' father, from whom he had inherited a modest fortune, had dealt in limestone mines, concrete, and freight lines. Miklos' years as a bachelor recluse had kept the inheritance, for the most part, intact, as had his safe investments. He was a hunchback, bald as a melon, who lived with his two widowed sisters, Angela and Annike, both in their seventies. Miklos was 61, spry for his otheopathic condition, and, unknown to all except his favorite sister, Annike, entirely unscrupulous.
It was not certain whose idea it was, his or Annike's, to associate with Juris Souder and his wife, Dr Helena Souder, as a means of potentially increasing the family wealth; but associate he did, stealing every secret he could uncover concerning the Souder experiments in diagnostic innovation. He was confident that, before the thaw set in, his project would have produced a working model for incredibly accurate neuropathological diagnoses.
But the project's details and aim were not to be made public. He was aware, of course, that the Souders knew of his pirated work, but the medical journals were quite in the dark about it, as they were about the Souder work as well. It was ironic that just when Miklos DeGroot was debating whether the Souders should meet their end in a fabricated accident, a Whitestone Security agent informed him that a price had been put on his head.
"Telegraphed their sucker punch, have they?" was Miklos's response in his meeting with the agent at the house; specifically, on a balcony that boasted a view of the fortress and beach. "What should be done? Shall we call in the law?"
"In this case, no," said the agent, a brawny fellow with strawy hair and a jutting chin. "We know the identity of the go-between, an American woman with ties to organized crime specializing in art thefts, but we don't know who's behind her. We suppose an underworld figure or syndicate. Calling in the police will not protect you. Whitestone is prepared to remove the source of the threat. That would be Juris Souder. With the loss of the source, the contract will be nullified."
Miklos readily agreed to the hit. He left it all up to the agent, this in-your-face type with the unusual name of Heathcliffe Samson. It was a curious fact, by the way, that neither Whitestone nor Red Rum knew of the other's existence.
And so the hit was duly carried out. It was Heathcliffe's romantic interest, Volanda Jorgenssen, who pulled the trigger; who now sat drinking coffee on the terrace of her other lover's residence, just as dawn was breaking, watching a Scandinavian Airlines jumbo jet slanting down towards the Copenhagen airport. It gave her a queasy feeling, the flashing red and white lights on the belly and wings of the plane, its tardy thunder and the slight see-saw motion as it angled for the landing.
But the project's details and aim were not to be made public. He was aware, of course, that the Souders knew of his pirated work, but the medical journals were quite in the dark about it, as they were about the Souder work as well. It was ironic that just when Miklos DeGroot was debating whether the Souders should meet their end in a fabricated accident, a Whitestone Security agent informed him that a price had been put on his head.
"Telegraphed their sucker punch, have they?" was Miklos's response in his meeting with the agent at the house; specifically, on a balcony that boasted a view of the fortress and beach. "What should be done? Shall we call in the law?"
"In this case, no," said the agent, a brawny fellow with strawy hair and a jutting chin. "We know the identity of the go-between, an American woman with ties to organized crime specializing in art thefts, but we don't know who's behind her. We suppose an underworld figure or syndicate. Calling in the police will not protect you. Whitestone is prepared to remove the source of the threat. That would be Juris Souder. With the loss of the source, the contract will be nullified."
Miklos readily agreed to the hit. He left it all up to the agent, this in-your-face type with the unusual name of Heathcliffe Samson. It was a curious fact, by the way, that neither Whitestone nor Red Rum knew of the other's existence.
And so the hit was duly carried out. It was Heathcliffe's romantic interest, Volanda Jorgenssen, who pulled the trigger; who now sat drinking coffee on the terrace of her other lover's residence, just as dawn was breaking, watching a Scandinavian Airlines jumbo jet slanting down towards the Copenhagen airport. It gave her a queasy feeling, the flashing red and white lights on the belly and wings of the plane, its tardy thunder and the slight see-saw motion as it angled for the landing.
Volanda was an amateur astrologist. Anything in the heavens was a portent. This was confirmed when her cell phone played a slow funeral march.
It was a text message that read: 'You are required at Room 1513 of the Radisson Blu this afternoon at 4. We have a member of your immediate family in our custody. Be prompt, and alone, or this family member, and yourself, will be liquidated. Cooperate and your safety is assured. Confidentiality is demanded.'
Volanda's first thought was to have the caller I.D. checked out. But if this was a professional in the business, the I.D. would certainly be a dead end.
It was a text message that read: 'You are required at Room 1513 of the Radisson Blu this afternoon at 4. We have a member of your immediate family in our custody. Be prompt, and alone, or this family member, and yourself, will be liquidated. Cooperate and your safety is assured. Confidentiality is demanded.'
Volanda's first thought was to have the caller I.D. checked out. But if this was a professional in the business, the I.D. would certainly be a dead end.
She sighed and took a sip of her cafe au lait. This development was one of the hazards built into her line of work, like an embedded app that you would kill to get rid of, but can not.
She wondered who the family member was who had presumably been taken hostage. Taken by whom? Well, she would find out, hopefully, and be none the worse for it. Cooperate. Yes, cooperate. That was the cardinal rule, on whichever side you found yourself. Be subservient to the upper hand until the situation changed, if it was going to. She had not been in this situation before, and thought it odd that instead of being frightened by it, she was rather pleasantly excited. Or so she told herself.
While wondering about the identity of the texter she looked at her face in a compact mirror. She had large hazel eyes and a snubbish nose tilted at just the sort of angle that suggested a stuck-up personality; an erroneous impression, really. She was friendly and approachable to anyone whom she had not been hired to kill.
Despite the overnight flight and the jet lag that accompanied it, Sanguineus met with Professor Rolgo at his hotel suite, with a drowsy Hyacinth in tow.
She wondered who the family member was who had presumably been taken hostage. Taken by whom? Well, she would find out, hopefully, and be none the worse for it. Cooperate. Yes, cooperate. That was the cardinal rule, on whichever side you found yourself. Be subservient to the upper hand until the situation changed, if it was going to. She had not been in this situation before, and thought it odd that instead of being frightened by it, she was rather pleasantly excited. Or so she told herself.
While wondering about the identity of the texter she looked at her face in a compact mirror. She had large hazel eyes and a snubbish nose tilted at just the sort of angle that suggested a stuck-up personality; an erroneous impression, really. She was friendly and approachable to anyone whom she had not been hired to kill.
Despite the overnight flight and the jet lag that accompanied it, Sanguineus met with Professor Rolgo at his hotel suite, with a drowsy Hyacinth in tow.
Rolgo was so surprised to see her that he took off his horn rim glasses for a better look; the narrowed eyes in his vulturish face gleaming with a guarded interest. He 'invited' her to get some sleep in the back bedroom.
Taking the hint, Hyacinth left demurely, as though feeling a need to appear sweet and innocent.
Sanguineus was intrigued. He sat in the breakfast nook where a pot of coffee stood beside a tray of danishes. He lit a thin cheroot and unbuttoned his black coat and the collar of his dark blue dress shirt. Through the drifting smoke he watched Rolgo pour the coffee while tapping a folder on the table between them.
"We know the identities of the killers and who it it is who may have outed the negotiator," said Rolgo. "It would seem that our snitch is an employee of Red Rum."
Rolgo took a still from the folder, one of a series of stills provided by the video. It showed the young lady who had dodged into the cafe when the recorder of the scene knelt by the bodies. "Who does this girl resemble?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He could tell that Sanguineus understood the import of the question.
"We know the identities of the killers and who it it is who may have outed the negotiator," said Rolgo. "It would seem that our snitch is an employee of Red Rum."
Rolgo took a still from the folder, one of a series of stills provided by the video. It showed the young lady who had dodged into the cafe when the recorder of the scene knelt by the bodies. "Who does this girl resemble?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He could tell that Sanguineus understood the import of the question.
Rolgo continued: "She was sent to our safe house in Florida, on probation, not far from the town where she grew up. But she was not seen there for the three days that coincide with the killing of Susan Turphy and her client. How fortuitous that you chose her for your assistant. It is entirely possible that Hyacinth Furies is the snitch, and that she flew to and from Copenhagen in the space of those three days, in some way involved in the killings, though clearly enough she was not the trigger person. That person we have contacted. We expect her at the Radisson Blu later today."
Sanguineus blew smoke from his nostrils as he brought the steaming cup to his lips. "You are about to tell me," he said, "that the trigger person is Volanda Jurgenssen, Hyacinth's older sister."
Rolgo arched a brow, reaching for a danish. "You always surprise me, One Dash Zero One."
"I assume I am here because Souder's widow wants the hit on DeGroot to be carried out."
"Yes, but she also wants revenge for the killing of her husband."
"Are you saying that I am to snuff my assistant operative's sister?"
"You may, but you will not be paid for it," said Rolgo with a wry smile. "It would be less trouble for you if we simply inform Helena Souder that the killer of her husband has been removed. We have not been contracted to satisfy her desire for vengeance. So, we will satisfy it with a little white lie. As for the killer in question, do you wish to meet with her at the Radisson Blu? That will be at four this afternoon."
Sanguineus nodded. "I have an idea how to handle that. The situation is similar to the assignment in Instanbul, you may recall."
"That should work, if indeed Volanda Jurgenssen does not come alone to the hotel. But let us first discuss her sister, Hyacinth Furies. Was she the mystery girl at the Hard Rock Cafe?"
[Continued in the following post.]
Sanguineus blew smoke from his nostrils as he brought the steaming cup to his lips. "You are about to tell me," he said, "that the trigger person is Volanda Jurgenssen, Hyacinth's older sister."
Rolgo arched a brow, reaching for a danish. "You always surprise me, One Dash Zero One."
"I assume I am here because Souder's widow wants the hit on DeGroot to be carried out."
"Yes, but she also wants revenge for the killing of her husband."
"Are you saying that I am to snuff my assistant operative's sister?"
"You may, but you will not be paid for it," said Rolgo with a wry smile. "It would be less trouble for you if we simply inform Helena Souder that the killer of her husband has been removed. We have not been contracted to satisfy her desire for vengeance. So, we will satisfy it with a little white lie. As for the killer in question, do you wish to meet with her at the Radisson Blu? That will be at four this afternoon."
Sanguineus nodded. "I have an idea how to handle that. The situation is similar to the assignment in Instanbul, you may recall."
"That should work, if indeed Volanda Jurgenssen does not come alone to the hotel. But let us first discuss her sister, Hyacinth Furies. Was she the mystery girl at the Hard Rock Cafe?"
[Continued in the following post.]
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