A Matter of Honour (20 page)

“No, no, Monsieur Rosenbaum. The colonel
died quite recently and left the contents of the box to his son, Adam Scott.
Monsieur Neffe and I checked all the documents including the death certificate
and the will, and we were left in no doubt that they were both authentic and
that everything was in order. He was also in possession of your receipt.” The
young banker hesitated. “I do hope we did the right thing, Monsieur Rosenbaum?”

“You certainly did,” said the old man. “I
came only to check that my wishes had been carried out.”

M. Roget smiled in relief. “I feel I ought
also to mention that your account had run into a small deficit.”

“How much do I owe you?” asked the old man,
fumbling in his breast
pocket.

“Nothing,” said M. Roget.
“Nothing
at all.
Monsieur Scott dealt with it.”

“I am in debt to Mr Scott. Are you able to
tell me the amount?”

“One hundred and twenty francs,” said M.
Roget.

“Then I must repay the sum immediately,”
said the old man. “Do you by any chance have an address at which I can contact
him?”

“No, I’m sorry I am unable to help you
there,” said M. Roget. “I have no idea where he is staying in Geneva.” A hand
touched M. Roget’s elbow, and M. Neffe bent down and whispered in his ear.

“It appears,” said M. Roget, “that Mr Scott
was planning to return to England shortly because he had to check in at Geneva
airport by five.”

The old man lifted himself up. “You have been
most helpful, gentlemen, and I will not take up any more of your time.”

“
It’s
flight BE 171
and your seats are 14A and B,” the man behind the check-in counter told them. “The
plane’s on time so you should be boarding at gate Number Nine in about twenty
minutes.”

“Thank you,” said Adam.

“Do you haye any luggage that needs checking
in?”

“No,” said Adam. “We only spent the day in
Geneva.”

“Then have a good flight, sir,” said the
man, handing over their boarding passes. Adam and Heidi started walking towards
the escalator that would take them to the departure lounge.

“I have seven hundred and seventy Swiss
francs left,” said Adam, thumbing through some notes, “and while we’re here I
must get my mother a box of decent liqueur chocolates. When I was a boy I used
to give her a minute box every Christmas. I swore when I grew up if I ever got
to Switzerland I would find her the finest box available.” Heidi pointed to a
counter that displayed row upon row of ornate boxes. Adam walked over and
selected a large, gold-wrapped box of Lindt chocolates which the girl behind
the counter gift-wrapped and placed in a carrier bag.

“Why are you frowning?” asked Adam after
collecting his change.

“She’s just reminded me that I have to be
back behind a till tomorrow morning,” said Heidi.

“Well, at least we’ve got the Coq d’Or to
look forward to tonight,” said Adam. He checked his watch. “Not much else we
can do now except perhaps pick up some wine in the duty free.”

“I’d like to find a copy of
Der Spiegel
before we go through
customs.”

“Fine,” said Adam. “Why don’t we try the
paper shop over in the corner?”

“A call for Mr Adam Scott.
Will Adam Scott please return to the BEA
desk on the ground floor,” came booming out over the public address system.

Adam and Heidi stared at each other. “Must
have given us the wrong seat allocation, I suppose,” said Adam, shrugging. “Let’s
go back and find out.”

They returned downstairs and walked over to
the man who had handed them their boarding passes. “I think you put a call out
for me,” said Adam. “My name is Scott.”

“Oh, yes,” said the man. “There’s an urgent
message for you,” he said, reading from a pad in front of him. “Please call
Monsieur Roget at Roget et Cie on Geneva 271279.” He ripped off the piece of
paper and handed it over. “The phones are over there in the far corner behind
the KLM desk, and you’ll need twenty centimes.”

“Thank you,” said Adam, studying the
message, but it gave no clue as to why M. Roget should need to speak to him.

“I wonder what he can want,” said Heidi. “It’s
a bit late to ask for the icon back.”

“Well, there’s only one way I’m going to
find out,” said Adam, passing over the bag to her. “Hang on to that and I’ll be
back in a moment.”

“I’ll try and pick up my magazine at the
same time, if I can find a newspaper shop on this floor,” said Heidi as she
gripped the brightly coloured bag which contained the chocolates.

“Right,” said Adam. “Meet you here in a
couple of minutes.”

“Roget et Cie. Est-ce-que
je peux vous aider?”

“I am returning Monsieur Roget’s call,” said
Adam, making no attempt to answer in French.

“Yes, sir.
Whom shall I say is calling?” asked the
telephonist, immediately switching to English.

“Adam Scott.”

“I’ll find out if he’s available, sir.”

Adam swung round to see if Heidi had
returned to the BEA counter, but as there was no sign of her he assumed she
must still be looking for a newspaper. Then he noticed an old man shuffling
across the hall. He could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before.

“Mr Scott?” Adam leaned back into the box.

“Yes, Monsieur Roget, I am returning your
call.”

“Returning my call?” said the banker,
sounding puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“There was a message left at the BEA counter
asking me to phone you. Urgent.”

“There must be some mistake, I didn’t leave
any message. But now that you have rung, it might interest you to know that
just as you were leaving Mr Emmanuel Rosenbaum paid us a visit.”

“Emmanuel Rosenbaum?” said Adam, “but I
assumed he was...”

“Could you assist me, please, young lady?”
Heidi looked up at the old man who had addressed her in English, but with such
a strong mid-European accent. She wondered why he had taken for granted that she
spoke English but decided it must be the only language he felt confident
conversing in.

“I am trying to find a taxi and I am already
late, but I fear my eyesight is not what it used to be.”

Heidi replaced the copy of
Der Spiegel
on the shelf and said, “They’re
just through the double doors in the centre. Let me show you.”

“How kind,” he said. “But I do hope I am not
putting you to too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” said Heidi, taking the old man
by the arm and guiding him back towards the door marked ‘Taxi et Autobus’.

“Are you sure it was Rosenbaum?” said Adam
anxiously.

“I’m certain,” replied the banker.

“And he seemed happy about me keeping the
icon?”

“Oh, yes. That was not the problem. His only
concern was to return your 120 francs. I think he may try and get in touch with
you.”

“BEA announce the departure of their flight
BE 171 to London Heathrow from gate Number Nine.”

“I must leave,” said Adam. “My plane takes
off in a few minutes.”

“Have a good flight,” said the banker.

“Thank you, Monsieur Roget,” said Adam and
replaced the receiver. He turned towards the BEA counter and was surprised to
find that Heidi had not yet returned. His eyes began to search the ground floor
for a paper shop as he feared she might well not have heard the departure
announcement. Then he spotted her walking out through the double door, helping
the old man he had noticed earlier.

Adam called out and quickened his pace.
Something didn’t feel quite right. When he reached the automatic door he had to
check his stride to allow it to slide back. He could now see Heidi standing on
the pavement in front of him, opening a taxi door for the old man.

“Heidi,” he shouted. The old gentleman
suddenly turned and once again Adam found himself staring at the man he could
have sworn he had seen at the bank. “Mr Rosenbaum?” he questioned. Then with a
movement of his arm that was so fast and powerful it took Adam by surprise, the
old man threw Heidi into the back of the taxi, jumped in beside her, and
pulling the taxi door closed, hollered at the top of his voice,
“Allez vite.”

For a moment Adam was stunned but then he
dashed to the side of the taxi and only just managed to touch the handle as it
accelerated away from the kerb. The car’s sudden momentum knocked Adam
backwards on the pavement, but not before he saw the petrified look on Heidi’s
face. He stared at the number plate of the departing car: GE-7-1-2 – was all he
could catch, but at least he recognised it was a blue Mercedes. Desperately he
looked around for another taxi but the only one in sight was already being
filled up with luggage.

A Volkswagen Beetle drew up on the far side
of the concourse. A woman stepped out of the driver’s seat and walked to the
front to open the boot. A man joined her from the passenger’s side and lifted
out a suitcase, before she slammed the boot lid back into place.

On the kerb, the two of them embraced. As
they did so, Adam sprinted across the road and opening the passenger door of
the Volkswagen, leapt inside and slid into the driver’s seat. The key was still
in the ignition. He turned it on, threw the car into gear, slammed his foot on
the accelerator and shot backwards. The embracing couple stared at him in
disbelief. Adam jerked the gear lever out of reverse into what he hoped was
first. The engine turned over slowly, but just fast enough for him to escape
the pursuing man. It must be third, he thought, and changed down as he began to
follow the signs to the centre of Geneva.

By the time he reached the first junction he
had mastered the gears, but had to concentrate hard on remaining on the
right-hand side of the road. “GE712... GE712,” he repeated to himself again and
again, to be sure it was fixed in his memory. He checked the number plate and
the passengers of every blue taxi he passed. After a dozen or so, he began to
wonder if Heidi’s taxi might have left the motorway for a minor road. He
pressed the accelerator even harder- 90, 100, 110, 120 kilometres an hour. He
passed three more taxis but there was still no sign of Heidi.

Then he saw a Mercedes in the outside lane
some considerable distance ahead of him, its lights full on and travelling well
above the speed limit. He felt confident that the Volkswagen was powerful
enough to catch the Mercedes, especially if it had a diesel engine. Metre by
metre he began to narrow the gap as he tried to fathom out why the old man
would want to kidnap Heidi in the first place. Could it be Rosenbaum? But he
had wanted him to keep the icon, or so the banker had assured him. None of it
made sense, and he drove on wondering if at any moment he was going to wake up.

When they reached the outskirts of the city
Adam hadn’t woken up as he followed carefully the taxi’s chosen route. By the
next intersection only three cars divided them. “A red light, I need a red
light,” Adam shouted, but the first three traffic lights into the city remained
stubbornly green. And when one finally turned red, a van suddenly pulled in
front of him, lengthening the gap between them. Adam cursed as he leaped out of
the car and started running towards the taxi, but the light changed back to
green just before he could reach it and the Mercedes sped away. Adam sprinted back
to the Volkswagen and only just managed to drive the car across the junction as
the light turned red. His decision to get out of the car had lost him several
crucial seconds and when he looked anxiously ahead he could only just spot the
taxi in the distance.

When they reached the Avenue de France,
running parallel with the west side of the lake, both cars weaved in and out of
the traffic, until the Mercedes suddenly turned left and climbed up a slight
hill. Adam threw his steering wheel over to follow it, and for several yards
careered up the wrong side of the road, narrowly missing a post van meandering
down towards him. He watched carefully as the taxi turned left again, and in
order to keep in contact he veered in front of a bus so sharply that it was
forced to slam on its brakes. Several passengers, thrown from their seats,
waved their fists at him as the bus’s horn blared.

The taxi was now only a couple of hundred
yards ahead. Once again Adam began to pick up some ground when suddenly it
swerved into the kerbside and screeched to a halt. Nothing seemed to happen for
the next few seconds as Adam weaved his way towards the stationary taxi,
skidding to a halt directly behind the Mercedes. He then leaped out of the car
and ran towards the parked vehicle. But, without warning, the old man jumped
out of the taxi on the far side of the car and sprinted off up a side-street
carrying with him Heidi’s airport shopping bag and a small suitcase.

Adam pulled the back door open and stared at
the beautiful girl who sat motionless. “Are you all right, are you all right?”
he shouted, suddenly realising how much she meant to him. Heidi did not move a
muscle and made no reply. Adam put his arms on her shoulders and looked into
her eyes but they showed no response. He began to stroke her hair and then
without warning her head fell limply on to his shoulder like a rag doll and a
small trickle of blood started to run from the corner of her mouth. Adam felt
cold and sick and began to tremble uncontrollably. He looked up at the
taxi-driver. His arms were loose by his side and his body slumped over the
wheel. There was no sign of life in the middle-aged man.