Sanguineus changed his personal residence every thirty to sixty days. These were New York City hotels with daily rates of less than a hundred dollars. He had his favorites: the Royal Park, New World, the Nomad Suites, and the Bowery Grand. He would have preferred the more prestigious addresses, but Red Rum paid only 50% of the residence cost for its 1-dash operatives. On occasion Sanguineus chose to luxuriate at one of the Hiltons, but these choices were practical only when a successful assignment netted him a sum that was beyond the usual.
At present the costlier choice was not practical.
On this morning he woke in his rental at the City Rooms, a hostel in the Chelsea district. It was only his fourth day there and already he was thinking of throwing practicality to the devil and opting for anyplace that even remotely resembled the good life. It would be a step up. Even a week at Mrs Crimshaw's boarding house in the lower west side would be an improvement.
With this attitude Sanguineus got up, showered, dressed, and took a taxi to the Cafe Horcrux for a leisurely breakfast.
He had no premonition that this was to be a momentous day.
Fredrico Rolgo met Maria Volk in a park near the Mercedes Benz facilities in Stuttgart the day before, on a mild autumn afternoon. They sat a little apart on a wrought-iron bench near a geyser-like fountain that seems to be everywhere in Germany, a sort of default ornament.
Rolgo knew that Maria Volk was not the pretty blonde's real name. In fact, he knew more about her and her pedigree that she knew herself. He would not have been meeting with her if he didn't.
"Pretty" needs to be qualified. Maria Volk was tall, and she was stout in a svelte, voluptuous way, having broad shoulders and strong shapely legs, large breasts and sturdy rounded hips that accentuated the slender curve of her waist. She wore a rather mannish business outfit that included a tie and vest. The suit's greyish blue color fit well with her long golden hair gathered up in a loose pile, and with her bluish grey eyes. Her face had beautiful contours and she wore, at least on this occasion, minimal make-up.
"I assume that I am an acceptable client," she said in carefully modulated English.
"Yes, quite," said Rolgo. "As you know, in the initial contact the prospective client gives the name of the intended target and the vital facts of this person, without giving any explanation for why the target is a subject of prejudice."
Maria nodded. "So that your investigation into the target will be objective."
"Yes, exactly. You may smoke, if you like."
"Thank you. And what is your assessment of Gottfried Goethe?"
"Apparently as fine as citizen as one could expect. Widower, has a grown daughter. He was an executive in the highest echelon of Mercedes-Benz until he resigned and began negotiating with Chrysler regarding the design of a new luxury car. There was a legal squabble over who owned the rights to the design, but the courts ruled in Herr Goethe's favor. His talks with Chrysler are going in the right direction for him. He enjoys water sports. Co-owner of an art gallery in Greenwich Village, where he exhibits his own paintings. Holds his liquor well. Does not engage in recreational drugs. A moderately high-profile society figure who has no enemies. With one exception."
Rolgo smiled at her. She returned the smile tentatively.
"I grant you that Gottfried is a talented designer with a nose for what the consumer likes," said Maria while staring at the fountain. "In the beginning we worked well together. It was when I spoke of his plagiarism to an aide for the CEO that our working relationship made a turn for the worst."
"I expect it would."
"He cut me, then. Little cuts. And he intends, I think, to kill my career and my social life with a thousand little snips. He is clever and ruthless. I was wrong to accuse him. I apologized to him, and to his daughter Hildegard. But every day I count the cuts. Every day I lose a little more blood. He will not stop until I am ruined in every respect. Or until..."
Her face softened. It was not what Rolgo had expected. He took off his round hornrim glasses and wiped them with his coat pocket handkerchief. His thin sharp features glistened in the saffron rays of a sun that shone through a stand of elms. The breeze took a handful of mist from the fountain and sprinkled his face as if in sympathy.
Maria lit a beige cigarette. "I don't want him killed," she said. "I want him stopped."
"But you've already tried that," said Rolgo, settling his glasses on his beakish nose. "the law firm of Koch and Wagner. They could find no evidence against Herr Goethe that would hold up in cross examinations. Basically, they have your word, your anecdotes. They have a deposition from Goethe that has been thoroughly analyzed, with every fact investigated, and the result... " He shrugged.
Maria took a deep breath. "But you say I am an acceptable client!" She flicked ash with a violent gesture.
"You have sufficient funds," Rolgo said drolly. "But you would be misusing them if Gottfried Goethe is your subject of prejudice. We have nothing on him."
"I know what I know! I believe in my sources, our mutual acquaintances, and who else could it be if not Goethe?"
"Your sources have not convinced your lawyers. These sources are busybodies and gossip mongers. It's not that they suspect Goethe or dislike him, it's that they care nothing for you, and, possibly, they are the unwitting pawns of someone other than Gottfried Goethe."
Maria blew a slow plume of smoke that circled the fountain. "There can be no 'someone other.' True, I am losing the trust of everyone thanks to what Gottfried has been doing in his malicious and vindictive campaign against me. Even my husband is beginning to doubt me."
She looked at Rolgo and her eyes widened in surprise. "What? What are you thinking?"
"Your husband Brad has leased an apartment in Hamburg. Do you know this?"
Her expression was answer enough.
"We know that Brad Frey, your husband, does biochemistry for a drug company in Bonn," said Rolgo in an off-handed manner, as though making light of it. "We know he meets with a colleague in Hamburg once a month, a colleague who was a post-grad classmate of his at the University of London. Well, that much you know. We're having an ICS investigator look into the apartment angle. We think-- no, we're positive, that Brad has a mistress who stays there once a month. We're pretty sure she's an English woman. We should know whether that's true in a week or so."
Maria's face hardened. She flung her cigarette at the fountain. "What are you thinking? That my husband is behind these cuts? That he wants me to think it's Gottfried?"
"That's a domestic issue, Marie. Red Rum is focused on a broader issue."
She laughed harshly. "Kill the mistress then! I'll pay handsomely for it!"
Rolgo watched the elm leaves flicker on the sun's face. "We suggest that your subject of prejudice be your husband. Not for domestic reasons, but for his involvement, along with his Hamburg colleague, in drug experiments on Syrian and Somalian refugees. It is quite illegal. And Red Rum must decide if the proper authorities should be informed, or if we should end the experiments ourself," adding with a wry look at Maria, "with your financial backing. You will get your 'justice,' and save a few innocent lives into the bargain."
Sanguineus set aside his breakfast dish and picked up his Nordic smartphone. A notification sent him to the Google Plus social media site. Here he read a post by "Estelle Ohell," the username of a Red Rum secretary.
+Rick Hartley.
Thanks for your query about my posts on the Crusades. Yes, the ramifications of the late 12th century crusades included an intrigue between rival claimants to the throne of the Holy Roman Empire after the death of Henry VI, the rivals being Philip of Swabia and Otto of Brunswick. I'll be posting an article on a crucial battle that took place near present-day Hamburg. This will be the centerpiece in response to your query. Should have it done in three days.
Sanguineus checked in to the Hotel Brunswick in Hamburg three days later.
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