Sanguineus went to the far right aisle, his phone to his ear, and as he walked toward the lobby he said, just above the beginning of the symphony's second movement, "I'm sending Miss Paladin to your office. She will explain an unexpected twist in our sales strategy. Don't be too trusting of her. She might be leaning in favor of our competition."
Rolgo replied after a moment's pause, "Has the meeting been disrupted in any way?"
"No, the principles are unaware of the problem, or so I suppose."
"Do you require assistance?"
"Not at present."
Monica stood by the foot of the staircase. Sanguineus noted the taut lines of her expression as he came up to her.
She did not look at him, but was roving her eyes over the splendid Baroque architecture of the lobby, its rich cavernous dimensions and the impeccably dressed patrons within it, the pristine brilliance, the shy echoes, the articulate comments in softly brash German, the faint waves of music mixing with the tap of heels.
"There were no witnesses," she said abruptly. "Not much blood. A little. No one in the corridor."
Sanguineus turned sideways to her and said: "If you're hiding something from us it's just a matter of time before we find out about it, and you know the punishment."
"What the fuck, I was attacked and I defended myself. I have no idea who the bastard was."
"Who sent him?"
"How the hell do I know who sent him? I sent him to hell, that's all I know."
"Rolgo's at the Hofbrau, just down the street. In the Blue Room. He's expecting you."
"Fine."
Sanguineus went up the carpeted staircase to the burgundy red corridor.
Miniature chandeliers lighted his way to the first door on his right. He opened the door and looked in. The body lay spread-eagled on its back. A slim opal knife-handle protruded from the center of the chest, partly hidden by the stuffed bosom. He saw no blood pool.
He looked across at the opposite boxes. The arrangement of the box angles was fortuitous, as it was not very likely that anyone would be inclined to lean over the box rail and crane their necks to look back at the isolated box where Sanguineus stood; where Monica had cut short a man's life and deservedly so.
Who had reserved this secluded box for her? Had it been Sorgensen? Was it selected because he knew she would rather be further, than closer, to the orchestra? Or had he a darker motive?
"Sir, kann ich ihnen helfen?"
It was a security man in a plain unobtrusive suit of blue with gold epaulets, a thin man with a twisted Daliesque mustache and a hooked nose. He came walking slowly down the corridor with a smile, with eyes of a clear grey that measured Sanguineus warily.
"Ja," Sanguineus said. He took out a billfold and held it open so the man could see a card that had no particular meaning beyond its rather sinister, intimidating logo: a hooded black-winged angel holding a sword.
The security man stood in his tracks, staring at the card, then at the tall figure who put the billfold back into an inside coat pocket.
Sanguineus said, "Tu was ich sage oder ich werde you toten," which means, 'Do as I say or I will kill you.'
He drew his Glock from under his coat and motioned with it at the open doorway. In German he said to the stunned man, "Pick up that body, or drag it, to the elevator. Jetzt goddammit!"
One glance into Sanguineus' eyes and the man did as he was directed. He had difficulty picking the body up and twice lost his hold on it, squeamish about the knife handle touching him.
A sharp kick in his shin by Sanguineus empowered him. Slinging the body upon a shoulder, bent forward and grunting, he followed Sanguineus the few feet down the corridor to the gilded iron grille of the lift. It opened at the press of a lighted button in the stainless steel panel.
"Drop in den korper," Sanguineus demanded.
Without hesitation the security man tipped the body off his shoulder. He meant to do it tenderly, but ended up dropping the corpse on its head.
"Gott vergib," he groaned.
Sanguineus closed the lift doors, and, taking the man by the arm, he led him back into the balcony box.
A thought occurred to him. "Sprechen sie Englisch?" he asked the man.
"Yes, sir."
"Fuck. You are not to tell a soul where the body was found. We have ears everywhere. If the police learn of this, you will be killed. Do you understand me?"
"Ja!" said the security man fervently.
"There is a bit of blood on the carpet. Clean it off as best you can. Your life depends on it."
Sanguineus went back down to the lobby. Going outside he walked across to the lawns where he sat on a bench and lit a Sultan.
The evening traffic was pleasant. It was like the hum of ninth-month bees. The prostitutes walked in pairs, their bare legs shining, their pimp strolling along behind them, his phone out and his head turning in every direction. Sanguineus sat there smoking. He took in the sights like a tonic. He breathed deeply for a minute. Then after a last inhale, and watching the smoke flee like the spirit of misfortune, he called Rolgo.
"The competition will be aware of the problem before the meeting concludes," he said. "I have to cancel my talk with the Principal. The commotion will be too... distracting. We will just have to rely on Monica, on her sales pitch to him. Oh, and tell her that the man in drag who fell into a dreamless sleep was Harrison Welles."
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