Emerald (10 page)

Hans scrubbed his face clean of the night’s passion and dressed quickly.
If she wakes, I’ll have to kill her
, he thought. Quietly he walked across the room and let himself out of the apartment. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the dark and fresh night air.

Later in the week Hans chose this bar carefully. He thought it was ironic that it was touted as
One Night of Passion
in the gaudy, red, neon letters above the door. He entered the large, dark room that smelled like every other cheap bar in the world. Smoke swirled in eddies below the yellowing fluorescent lights. From somewhere in the grim interior, he heard a brief outburst of laughter, and the click of pool balls, the only acknowledgment there was another person here. Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, pants and watch cap, he could have been be mistaken for any worker escaping from a dull evening at home.

His well-developed sense of self-preservation had served him well over the years. His actions were carefully rehearsed; his disguises impeccable. His goal: never to be remembered anywhere he went.

Choosing a booth along the rear wall between the restrooms and a door leading, he found out, through a dirty kitchen into a back alley, he sat with his back against the wall. He always tried to sit where he had at least two escape routes or he just found another establishment.

As he sat, pain stabbed through his being as he thought about that night, three years ago when he first returned from Argentina. He had been half drunk celebrating his return, with friends from the Baader-Meinhof, and had wandered into that out-of-the-way bar in Berlin to finish off the night. They had only been there a short time when he noticed the other patrons moving away from them one by one. Paranoia flared; bells went off. He slipped into the men’s room quietly. While he was prying open the window to the alley, staccato blasts of Uzi fire ripped through the night. He dove head first out the window, landing in a pile of garbage and ran off, escaping into the protection of the anonymous night.

He learned a few hours later that all seven of his companions had been murdered by the police in that raid. But for his sense of danger, his paranoia, he would be resting beside his friends in a Berlin cemetery this very minute. No more companions ever again. They just get killed, or worse. He was sure it was a friend that had betrayed them that night. With a maniacal vengeance he pursued all who might have been involved. But he couldn’t isolate the exact origin of that betrayal even with his special brand of torture. He was never certain if he had found the person responsible. No more friends. Friends only cause pain.

The flash-back faded as he saw Emily walk into the bar and look around. He remained seated and, after a few moments, she finally spotted him, quickly walked back and sat opposite.

“Hello Klaus.”

“Emily, my cherub, how are you tonight? You look luscious enough to eat. Maybe I will later.” Emily blushed, burying her head in one of the dirty menus. “Please don’t say things like that in public, Klaus. I have a hard time concentrating.” “Well, my hefty tart, that is just what you’re supposed to concentrate on: the rocking and rolling of your bed tonight.” Hans leered at her and asked, “Wine? Or a beer? No, how about an aperitif? That should cool you down for a bit. But not for too long! Waiter!”

“Klaus, why are we meeting in this dirty bar? I don’t like this place and I almost didn’t come in when the cab driver stopped here. This doesn’t seem like a place you’d like.”

“I know Emily. I wouldn’t normally come to a place like this, but it is owned by an old friend of mine and I wanted to see him and give him a little trade. We won’t stay long, and believe me, you’re perfectly safe here with me.”

After their orders were taken, Hans, his shoeless foot rubbing the inside of her leg under the table, leaned over and whispered “What have you found to share with Pa-Pa tonight? Did you find out anything about auctioning that special emerald I spoke to you about?”
My
emerald he meant, but did not say it.

Emily looked around nervously, and said quietly, “I’m not sure yet, Klaus”

“What do you mean, I’m not sure yet?”

“Well, I did happen to overhear a telephone conversation between Mr. Brunstein, from the bank and Dr. Franz. Mr. Brunstein said that they would not be able to release that emerald for an auction until the heirs of the owners had been contacted. I had to quickly hang up the phone then because someone came into the office. That’s all I got to hear.”

“That’s really all you know then.”

Hans was forcing Emily’s leg against the edge of the table leg, hoping a little pain might help her remember a few more details.

“Honestly Klaus, that’s all I know right now. Ouch, Klaus you’re hurting my leg.”

The waiter reappeared with their drinks and left. Hans was quiet staring into space.

“What’s wrong, Klaus? I’ll let you know when the auction is scheduled for that stone, and besides I’ll check our coming auctions to see if there are any other jewels you might be interested in. Why is this one so important to you?”

“You wouldn’t understand. I’ve wanted this one for such a long time now.”

Emily hadn’t touched her wine yet and touched Hans hand and asked, “Can’t we leave this awful place and go to somewhere a little nicer?”

Angrily, Hans glanced at his Rolex and said, “No, if you’re so disgusted with my friend’s establishment, why don’t I get you a cab and just send you home?”

A
fter going through customs Tam leaned against the terminal wall in the Munich airport and took out the letter of instructions from White Paper Fan. He was tired after the long flight from Hong Kong and couldn’t remember the name of the hotel where he was supposed to stay. He unfolded the letter and saw the name: Maritim Hotel, Goethe Strasse 7, Munich. Putting the letter back in the inside pocket of his jacket and walked over to the luggage area and found his bag still circulating on the near empty carousel. Bag in hand he exited the terminal, found a taxi, threw his bag into the back seat and got in. He asked the driver if he knew Maritim Hotel on Goethe Strasse. The driver nodded and drove off. Tam began to watch the city flash by, but his lack of sleep caught up and he closed his eyes, and his head drooped.

The cab stopped suddenly. Tam’s head lifted and he saw that they were in the portico of a large, opulent, hotel. The driver turned to Tam and said, “Hotel Maritim, Herr.” Tam took some of the German money out of the envelope in his pocket and handed it to the driver. “Take what I owe you. I don’t know about German money.” The driver took some bills and gave the rest back. Suddenly the rear taxi door was opened by a very large man dressed in a bright red uniform covered with so much gold braid and gold buttons that Tam didn’t whether he should salute him or what. “Welcome to Hotel Maritim, Sir.”

Tam climbed out of the taxi and the red uniform reached for his bag. Tam said, “No, no, I will carry that myself, please.” The door-man nodded, smiled and led him through double glass doors which rose at least four feet above his head, and ushered him into an elegant hotel lobby. Tam looked around amazed at the polished, brown marble floors, the dozens of potted trees and flowers and huge golden chandelier overhead. Confused by the contrast of his run down apartment in Hong Kong he was used to, he wondered if he had read the hotel name correctly in his instructions. At the registration desk a well dressed clerk said, “Good evening, Sir, may I have your passport, please.”

He flipped open the passport and said, “Ah, Mr. Stratton, if you would please fill out this registration card, I’ll be right back.”

As he turned to leave the desk and walk toward a closed door, Tam responded, “Hey, don’t take my passport away,” but the clerk kept going and disappeared through the door. Concerned, Tam looked around to see if there were any security people hovering near by paying attention to him. Seeing none, he wondered if he should climb over the counter and try to get his passport back, but then the door behind the counter opened again and another man, with a white carnation in his buttonhole, followed by the first clerk, approached the desk. The man with the passport in his hand looked at Tam and said, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Stratton, I am Tony Sadler, the manager of this establishment.” His English was excellent, with a slight trace of German. “We are so glad to have you with us and please let me know, personally, if we can do anything for you. Here is your passport, the key to you suite and a brochure of our hotel and one about Munich. I hope you have a pleasant stay in our lovely city. Oh, I almost forgot. This envelope is from Dr. Yang.” Turning toward the lobby he punched a brass bell on the counter and in a loud voice said “bell-man!”

“Just give your luggage to the bell-boy. He will show you to your suite, and thank you again for staying with us.”

His head whirling with the fancy surroundings and the courtesy of the manager, Tam rather meekly allowed the bell-man to take his battered bag and lead him to the elevator.

Waking up slowly Tam wasn’t sure where he was for a moment. Getting up, he sat on the edge of the bed and worked on getting his bearings.
Let’s see, I am in Munich, Germany, in a fancy hotel, with free Gin in a mini-bar, and the note from Dr. Yang said that there would be someone in a black BMW outside the hotel entrance to pick me up at 10:00 this morning
. Looking at the bedside clock he saw that it was almost eight o’clock. Temped to crawl back into the bed like he’d never slept in before, he decided rather to take a shower and perhaps go down to the lobby and see if he could find something to eat before he went to see this Dr. Yang.

A few minutes after eight, Tam pushed open the huge glass doors of the hotel and saw a large black BMW under the portico, engine running and a tall slender Asian man pacing back and forth beside the car. The man looked at Tam, raised his arms in a gesture that clearly said, it’s about time, and walked around to the driver’s side and got in. Tam hurried to the car and got in the passengers side. Tires squealed and the driver, without looking at Tam, said in broken English, “Dr. Yang no like wait,” and they rushed out of the hotel drive. Silence was sound of choice on the twenty minute drive through the city, until they stopped in front of a large, multi-storied building marked München Gemeinschaft Krankenhaus. The driver, still looking straight ahead said, “Go front desk, ask where Dr. Yang, hurry.”

Tam left the BMW with the non-conversive driver, slammed the car door, and walked laughing into the hospital.

The antiseptic building smelled and looked like every hospital Tam had even been in, even though he had usually been in them smelling and looking from the bed of a gurney. At a counter marked
Informationen
he asked where he could find Dr. Yang. Following the direction given to him he walked on the worn linoleum through the dull green corridors until the back letters on the glass panel of a door said, Chen Yang, M.D., PhD. - - - Director of the Yang Life Institute. Tam knocked lightly.

A high pitched voice from within loudly responded to the knocking, “Come in Mr. Tam. You are late!”