The Magician's Accomplice Page 5

  Jana’s new “home” had its own section in the folder. The explanation of the organization’s purpose, and particularly its cross-border rights of investigation, piqued Jana’s interest. Europe was a web of competing law-enforcement agencies, all of them jealous of their own national prerogatives. Those prerogatives collided on a regular basis, preventing timely cooperation. Anything that could put an end to that would be an improvement, Jana thought. Except, to be successful, competing agencies also had to be politic, and police officers were far from politic. Not a good portent for success.

  Jana looked up from her reading. The man immediately across the aisle from her was watching her. He was an older man, perhaps in his seventies, with a white, bushy moustache and a head of wildly rampant gray hair. He smiled at Jana.

  “Lots of papers to read.” The man spoke in Slovak.

  Jana nodded, trying to be neighborly. The man nodded back. He pulled out a miniature deck of cards, shuffled them, and suddenly one of the cards popped out and flipped to the floor.

  “I always have trouble with the three of clubs. It won’t behave. You’re a bad boy,” he scolded the card, waving his finger at it in warning. “You will be lonely there. Come back to the other cards.”

  The card picked itself up, stood on its edge, swaying, then floated back up to the man, who, with an elaborate gesture, showed it to Jana, then slipped it back in the deck. As advertised, it had been the three of clubs.

  “What are you supposed to do with a bad-boy card? You can’t spank it. I know he’ll run away again. One can never tell just what he’ll do.” The man abruptly coughed, put his hands to his throat as if he was choking, made a gagging sound, then reached into his mouth and slowly pulled out the three of clubs. With a sly look on his face, he showed it to Jana.

  “I told you we couldn’t trust the three of clubs.”

  Jana laughed and applauded. “A wonderful performance.”

  “Thank you, madam. I am grateful for your appreciation. At this stage in my act, if I were on the street, I would pass the hat around and urge the audience to make a small contribution.” He held up his hand to stop her from giving him anything in case she was of a mind to. “No money, thank you. The applause was sufficient. I’m in semi-retirement, so I don’t have to make that effort any more. I try not to even read the newspapers these days. You read them, the next day there are more to read, and the day after that. It never stops. I’ve determined, from the lofty position I occupy as a senior citizen, that from now on I’ll only read on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. This means, if I haven’t finished what I’ve received by Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, I merely chuck what’s left into the garbage bin. Besides, for the last few years I’ve realized reading newspapers doesn’t make me any better informed. It just gives me eyestrain.” The man smiled. “You may call me Professor. I’m used to that title by now. If anyone were to call me by my given name, I’d think they were talking to another person.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  He laughed. “No one would ever confuse me with a teacher. But over the years I grew into the title. And what’s your name?”

  “Jana Matinova.”

  He looked surprised. “The famous Jana Matinova?”

  Jana’s eyebrows went up. “There’s nothing famous about me. Infamous, perhaps,” she joked.

  He studied her more closely. “But I know the name. I have a remarkable memory for names. No, you’re not an actress.” He thought for a second, then smiled again.

  “Yes, now I remember. The police officer. You’re forever in the news.”

  “Only sometimes,” Jana admitted, a little embarrassed. “It’s not good for a policeman to be in the news. Public visibility can hinder you from doing your job.”

  He looked at the papers she had been studying. “Important work?”

  Jana shrugged. “Just briefing materials.”

  “And here I was hoping to get the inside story of a famous case.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Just a minor disappointment.”

  Their conversation brought to Jana’s mind a childhood event. “When I was a very little girl, I thought I wanted to be a magician.”

  “Instead, you became a police officer.”

  “I found out that magic isn’t real.” She thought about Peter. “It’s an illusion.”

  “It’s always real if you trust in it.”

  “I’m a realist, Professor. I have very little trust left.”

  “Apprentice to a good magician, and you would accept it.”

  “Apprentice? Accomplice is a better word. I’d be aiding and abetting a lie.”

  “Giving pleasure to people isn’t a lie.” He yawned. “Goodness, plane rides always make me sleepy.” He looked contrite. “I’m sorry I interrupted your reading. I once read in those newspapers that I’ve just disparaged that older men always look for ways to meet younger women. Now that I’m older, I find out that it’s true.”

  Jana smiled. “I liked the conversation. It isn’t a problem.”

  “Nevertheless, I am penitent about my conduct. My advice is to ignore me. Besides, I need a nap. Please, go back to your vital work.”

  He smiled again, then tilted his seat further back, adjusted a pillow, closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep almost immediately. Jana returned to her papers, the most important of which was the file on Martin Kroslak, the officer who had disappeared.

  She knew Kroslak, having dealt with him on a number of occasions. He’d been very voluble when they’d worked together in Slovakia, chattering all the time, generally getting on Jana’s nerves if she was in his company for very long. But Jana had also found him to be fairly competent, so she’d made the effort to ignore her irritation at his garrulousness. His other bad habit had been poking about in people’s private lives. Some years back, he’d been reprimanded for electronically eavesdropping on employee personnel files. The man’s special interest was information retrieval systems, and when he was caught tuning in on other people’s electronic lives, he’d claimed he was just trying to perfect his skills. Kroslak had been contrite, apologizing to everyone he’d intruded on. After he was disciplined, he had stopped.

  When he’d been selected as Slovakia’s representative for Europol, Jana had thought that despite his prior problem, he was a decent choice. He’d never be more than an average investigator, but he’d developed a specialty which would be of use in an organization that focused on criminal information networking, one of Europol’s prime missions. Except now he had gone missing.

  Martin Kroslak’s personnel file gave her some minor bits of information. No siblings. Not married. He loved fooling with electronics as a hobby; his other primary amusement was biking, and other than the one event when he’d been caught snooping he’d received good personnel evaluations. But for the commentary about his occasionally talking too much, and his excellent work with the Slovak Police on developing their own criminal information system, there wasn’t much to distinguish him from any other cop. He’d given up his flat in Bratislava when he’d been sent to Europol; its address was crossed out and an apartment in a building in The Hague inked in. There was also a cell-phone number.

  Jana closed the folder. There was nothing there that would explain his disappearance. Hopefully, the people at Europol might have some more current information that could lead her to him. Enough for now, she decided. Jana put the rest of the briefing papers aside and began her own nap. The next thing she knew, they had landed at Schiphol.

  Before she claimed her baggage, Jana went to the airline’s main counter, showed them her credentials, told them that she was now with Europol, and requested a passenger list from the flight she’d just been on. The content of the list confirmed her suspicion. She went to the baggage pick-up area and got her suitcases off the ramp. The professor waved at her from across the moving conveyer belt as she walked toward the exit and tried to determine how to get to the hotel room that had been reserved for her. She scann
ed the area for a bus, which would be substantially cheaper than a taxi. The home office always questioned cab fares when she turned in her expense report. Unexpectedly, she found the professor at her shoulder, panting a little as he pushed his bags on an airport trolley cart.

  “I hope you don’t think this is too forward of me, but I have a suspicion that you are going to The Hague. Getting there is much pleasanter by taxi, so I was going to suggest that you and I might split the cab fare and go together. Faster, more comfortable, and actually less expensive. It will take us maybe thirty minutes to get there if we go by cab. How about it?”

  The suggestion made sense. “Why not?”

  They stepped into the waiting line for taxis.

  “A nice airport, don’t you think? It used to be much less busy, but they keep stuffing international offices, businesses, and large high-rises into Amsterdam and The Hague. There are more and more visitors. Most of them go on to Amsterdam proper, but The Hague gets its share.”

  “You come here often, Professor?”

  “Once in a while. The European Patent Office is in The Hague. I come to complain. This is not the first time. They have been slow in approving a patent application of mine. I’ve invented a few devices. And I sometimes do work for other people who have designs, and such. Things they’ve invented for their acts. European bureaucracy has to be pushed, you know.”

  “All bureaucracy has to be pushed.” She reflected on what the professor had just said. It didn’t quite jibe with one of the facts in the briefing papers she’d been reading. “The EPO is in Rijswijk, not The Hague.”

  The professor looked slightly nonplussed, then nodded vigorously. “Rijswijk it is. But Rijswijk is adjacent to The Hague, and I prefer to stay in The Hague because it’s so much more active.” His voice took on a confidential tone. “No one in his right mind would spend the evening in Rijswijk. It doesn’t even have a good movie house.”

  They reached the head of the line. A cab drove into the pick-up area; the cab driver got out of the car, opened the trunk, and loaded their baggage. Very gallantly, the professor held the passenger-side door of the vehicle open for Jana, then trotted around the rear of the car and got into the seat behind the driver.

  “What’s your hotel?” he asked.

  “The Novotel at City Centre,” Jana told the professor, who in turn relayed the information to the driver in English. “All the Dutch speak English. I’ve heard one confess that he speaks so much English, he’s forgetting how to speak Dutch.” He giggled. “Can you imagine forgetting how to speak your native tongue?”

  “Disgraceful,” agreed the cab driver, pulling away from the terminal. “Everyone is forgetting their heritage.” The driver was Indonesian.

  They drove through flat country, country like some pleasant rural area in any part of Europe just outside some large city, with the addition of a great deal of water slowly moving through canals—and if the water wasn’t in canals, it was in ponds or small lakes. Jana could feel the soft touch of moisture on her face.

  The light was also different, a delicate light without glare, as if a diaphanous veil filtered all the harsh qualities from the air. Perhaps it was because of the closeness of the sea, perhaps just a bit of mist in the air blurred the light. Every place, no matter where, thought Jana, had its own atmosphere. This one gave the countryside an ephemeral feel, making the passage through the area the Dutch had recovered from the sea a little otherworldly. It felt like they were passing through an imaginary landscape.

  The professor fell silent after they had gone a few kilometers, withdrawing into himself, his face and body posture sagging, as if he had suddenly remembered some sadness. Jana watched him, wondering what experience he was remembering, what event he was reliving, which threatened to engulf him with depression. Jana had a strong feeling that she knew part of it: the plane’s passenger list had the professor’s true name listed. It was the same as that of the student murdered at the Carleton Savoy; he had to be the dead student’s uncle, the one Maria had told her about.

  The professor didn’t communicate with Jana until they were well within the outskirts of The Hague.

  “We’re here,” he announced.

  The city center, at first glance, seemed like a place in transition with tall buildings going up, as well as a number of high-rises already looming over downtown. However, it was sparkling clean, unlike other urban areas, and there was still a feeling of comfort in the city, a sedate, calm prosperity that pervaded the streets despite the many construction projects in progress.

  As promised, they reached the hotel in less than thirty minutes. As soon as they arrived, the professor seemed to completely recover his former good cheer, offering to get together while they were both still there, perhaps for dinner or to visit a museum. Jana tried to pay half the fare, but the professor refused, telling the driver to go on; then he waved madly out of the car window to Jana as the vehicle drove off.

  Jana waved back, amused by the man, all the while knowing he was really in The Hague to see her. Jana walked into the Novotel.

  It was a well-kept hotel, rating four stars according to the brochures. Jana was impressed. Given the cheap daily rate that Jana was informed of when she checked in, the Slovaks had made a very good deal. It was positively luxurious in comparison to the usual frugal lodgings Jana had to endure whenever she was sent anywhere by the government. Unfortunately, Jana was also aware that she wasn’t going to be spending many nights here. Europol was supposed to help her find permanent accommodations which, if she knew the way bureaucracies worked, was going to be old, creaky, and barely habitable.

  The deskman went into his usual patter for a first-time guest. He gave Jana a map of the city, informed her that the hotel was in the huge Haagse Passage shopping arcade, and if she wanted anything, toiletries, clothing, gifts, it would only be a few short steps to the arcade proper. For any other matters, all she had to do was consult the concierge or the desk and they would be glad to assist her. And, he joked, if she had any inclination to take part in parliamentary debates, across the street was the Dutch parliament. Jana dutifully smiled at his attempt at humor, then followed the bellman to the elevator.

  Her room was well furnished, with a touch, here and there, of the luxurious. There was even a welcoming basket of cheese, fruit, and crackers and a small bottle of wine. Perhaps the ministry had decided to be nice to her since they had hustled her out of Slovakia in such a rush. The bellman opened a window, turned on the air conditioning to fan, and then paused long enough for Jana to give him a euro for his work. As he left, Jana began munching on an apple she plucked from the basket, settled in an easy chair, and wondered if she would have time to acclimate herself to the area by taking a walk before she had to report to Europol. The decision was made for her when the phone rang.

  An hour later, she was standing outside the building housing Europol. It was an older structure, three stories high at street level, displaying the architecture of an earlier century, without any touch of flamboyance, although much of its brick work had been covered with ivy in an effort to soften its appearance. Despite the touch of greenery, the building, like so many other buildings housing police, had a hulking look, as if it were a live, brooding creature.

  After passing security clearance, within a short ten minutes, Jana was sitting on a chair outside the Department of Serious Crime’s deputy director’s office.

  Chapter 7

  Jana would have to wait, the secretary informed her in a tone of self-importance. The woman’s expression and posture had become militant, a martinet enjoying her power. Europol was hosting a conference for senior law-enforcement and immigration officials, she explained, to combat illegal immigration, and the assistant director was giving the welcoming speech. The woman peremptorily nodded Jana to a seat along the wall, then went back to her work with a finality that brooked no further intrusion.

  Jana sat for thirty minutes but finally became impatient.

  “I haven’t had a cha
nce to unpack. I’m going back to my hotel. Have him call when he’s ready to see me.”

  The secretary looked shocked, gabbled something about the assistant director wanting to interview her, and insisted that she wait. Jana opened the door to the outer corridor just as Assistant Director Mazur came through it. He looked flustered when he almost ran into her.

  “I assume you’re Commander Matinova?” His secretary handed him telephone message slips. “Come in, please.” He gestured a welcome to Jana while he checked the messages, then opened the door to his inner office, pausing to make sure she followed him.

  “I’m happy to see you, Commander. Sorry I had to step away from my desk. My schedule is more appropriate for a man who competes in track and field events. I have to run from one place to the next without the help of periodic doses of oxygen.” He focused on Jana. “There’s been no one from Slovakia to fill the vacancy left by your compatriot when he walked off the job.” He gestured her to a seat. “Not very professional of him.”

  “I assume you’ve investigated to determine if Kroslak informed anyone he was leaving?”

  “I certainly did. No one had the vaguest idea that he was going, or where he is.”

  “Kroslak was not the type to run off without telling anyone. Normally, if he’d planned to go somewhere, he would have volunteered his destination to anyone within earshot, and beyond.”

  “He didn’t, at least not to our people.”

  “Where did he work?”

  “The same area you’ll be assigned to. We have a total of 581 people on our staff,” he boasted; then his voice took on a peevish tone. “Originally, Slovakia was supposed to supply four. Now we just have you.” He paused to surmount his frustration. “Work, work, work. There are seven criminal investigation teams under my supervision. You’ve been assigned, naturally, to this department, and to… .” He consulted a desk schedule, “… to SC 4, Financial and Property Crime.”