I knock on the door of suite 2409. No reaction. I open the door and look inside. It's empty. I scan the room for papers, laptops, or phones. Nothing. I'm wasting my time. I go back to the reception, hoping Sabina can help me, and perhaps give me another one of her smiles…
"Hi, Sabina. You told us about that Englishman who was at the dinner party. We just tried his room, but there's nobody there. Do you have any idea where we can find him?"
"Mister Parker? I saw him go to the terrace, to have his breakfast, about ten minutes ago. It's a tall, pale man with glasses. He's at the wrong end of fifty, light blond hair, but hardly enough to cover his skull. If I remember it well, he's wearing a grey tie and a white jacket."
"Thanks, again. You're a dear.", I smile. I walk through the lobby and the bar to the back entrance, take a quick glance at the terrace, get an idea that might grow into a plan and I hurry back to my room where I left Rostov: "The name of our Englishman is Mister Parker. What else do you remember about him?"
Rostov frowns: "Mister Camponelli called him Jack… The Frenchman made a joke about the terrible weather in Liverpool that forced all those poor CEOs taking regular trips to the sun. Does it mean he's from Liverpool?"
"It means he's a CEO from Liverpool with the name Jack Parker, which might be enough for The Nerd, I mean, for my colleague #2, to give us some extra info."
I alert my spiPhone and tell it: "Lovely Sweet Dear." (That's how I activate my spiPhone: the first letters of the password stand for LSD and the phone checks the sound of my voice to identify me). "Record Message. To. #2, The Nerd. Start Message. Request social report. Subject: Mister Jack Parker, CEO, probably of a major bank that has its main office in Liverpool, U.K. Urgent. Stop Message. Send Message." The voice recorder changes my spoken orders into electronic commands and sends the message.
Quickly, I give myself a little fake tan on the face and the hands, not as dark as Rostov, just coffee with lots of cream. I change my clothes into Casual Friday, a grey suit with a grey tie and grey shoes, glasses with a steel frame, a tiny Mexican moustache and a wig that gives me short, black hair. Meanwhile, my spiPhone announces the receipt of the requested info. I put it on the speaker to hear what the LSD-files have about our English friend.
"Mister Jack Parker. Born on the 22 of November 1963. Length: 1 metre 90. Married to Susan Parker-Boyles in 1986. Three children: Charles, born in 1989; Emma, born in 1992; Margaret, born in 1994. Lives in Liverpool. Profession: CEO and shareholder of the First English Bank since July 2013. Occupied important positions in lots of other companies, usually less than two years. Switched employers when another company offered a higher financial reward for his services. This job-hopping countenance gave him the nickname of Jumping Jack. He votes conservative. He supports Liverpool FC. He plays golf. He bets on the horses. He reads English detective stories."
"Cool… Do you have information about everyone? Do you have a file about me too?", Rostov asks.
"It's nothing special, Rostov. We have small pieces of software, robot programs; they scan the Internet, gather information and add it to our database. Mister Parker will probably have a Linked-In-account, perhaps an account on an online gambling website, he might be found in the local library or in bookshops. Also, we scan his credit card and get info from his bank accounts. We filter what's interesting. Google does it, Facebook does it, WhatsApp does it, and every government and secret service does it. When you get a client who wants a loan, don't you check his data first to find out if he's trustworthy? This is the twenty-first century. If you want to be sure about something, you check the Internet, his bank, his employer, his school…
» Imagine I need to contact you, to fulfil a mission. What's the best trick to become friends? I make you laugh. Imagine I tell you a joke about eternally drunk Russians, without knowing you're Russian and you're an alcoholic… I better do my homework and read your social report first. That's why spies collect information: to use it as a weapon of mass instruction."
I look in the mirror: perfect. If I would present myself at the counter and tell Sabina that I'm an accountant from the Tax Office who wants to inspect the books, she would call the Administration Department right away.
I give Rostov one final warning: "Just sit and wait here until I'm back. Don't touch ANYTHING, you hear?"
"Hey, don't worry. I'm not a child anymore, you know."
"That's exactly what worries me. Grown-ups do a lot more damage to this world than children."
I close the door behind me and take the lift down. My watch tells me the whole masquerade took less than ten minutes, not a new personal record, but coming close. I watch myself in the lift's mirror and try a few different body languages. The timid servant? No, not for this occasion. The confident leader? That will not give the desired effect either. The weasel? The weasel, it will be. Nervous movements, a treacherous little smile, sneaky eyes looking around with suspicion, shoulders hanging, my back slightly bend, and a slick, hoarse whisper-voice to make the character complete.
Our man is still on the terrace, in the same spot where I spotted him before: enjoying tea and toast at his table near the lakeside. The August sunshine encouraged him to remove his jacket and place it on the back of the chair next to his. Skittish like a horse, I look around on the terrace while I approach Mister Parker's table. My opening sentence is of crucial importance now.
I bend over and whisper in his ear: "I know what you did yesterday."
He looks up, hardly surprised: "I also know what I did yesterday, although I was under the impression that I had a monopoly on that information."
I sit down on the chair with the jacket, look around, conspiratorial, smile like we're old friends sharing a secret, and say: "I have bad news and I have worse news. The bad news is that I know you're a thief. You should give your artefact to me."
Now Mister Parker does look surprised: "Me? A thief? Certainly not. I have contracts for everything I stole from my clients. In my company, we prefer to speak of earnings without counterclaim, to avoid that members of the board have to spend time in a correctional facility. And who do you think you are, Mister…?"
I keep up the amusement and add triumph to it: "The worse news is: if you're not the thief, you are a dead man. I win. I always win. I'm good at this game."
My nervous movements are having a contagious effect on Mister Parker. British and Chinese people rather die instead of showing fear, but his voice sounds less convincing when he asks: "Are you threatening me? Are you a banker? Or are you a killer?"
"HA! That's what I wanted you to think. You've made a mistake. The truth is: I'm the Russian, but I have both the killer and the banker in my pocket. You should give me the artefact. You agreed to play by the rules and you should accept the consequences: you lose, I win."
I invite myself for English breakfast; I take a piece of Jack's toast, cover it with the creamy butter the Swiss are famous for, and gesticulate to the waiter that I would like a cup of coffee.
"Are you the Russian? But… we sold it to the Russian yesterday… Are you suggesting that we've been deceived?"
"I suggest you give me the artefact, then we'll have a pleasant chat about the weather and perhaps, if I like your company, I'll invite you for dinner tomorrow night, but anyway, your game is over. I know what you did yesterday. You're a dead man."
"Well, this is not just inconvenient, but even rather embarrassing. I don't have the suitcase. I sold it to the Frenchman a year ago, and yesterday, the Frenchman sold it to a man who claimed he was the Russian banker we made the deal with. He paid the agreed price too. So if you come here and tell me you're the Russian… Perhaps we should contact Mister Camponelli at the First Swiss International and explain to him there's been a mistake."
Mister Parker swallowed the bait: he thinks I'm talking about the suitcase nobody was supposed to know about, and now he gives me the information I was after, or, in fact, the information that I'm fishing in the wrong pond: he doesn't have the suitcase and he doesn't know where Mister Nikolai is. Now I have to get myself out of this situation, implementing the rest of my plan. My first step towards my strategic withdrawal is to show surprise: "Suitcase? Frenchman? Mister Camponelli? Are you sure we speak the same language, Mister?"
"I'm sure that I don't have the suitcase, I'm sure that I'm not a thief and that I don't want to be a dead man either. I'm just an honest banker who closed an interesting deal yesterday. Now, I want to enjoy my well-deserved holiday for the rest of this week. So if you, please, can explain why you're sitting here, sharing my breakfast, uninvited, I would very much appreciate it, Mister…"
"Breitner. Paul Breitner is my name, and I guess you're right: there was a little misunderstanding here. You're not a player of the detective game «I Know What You Did Yesterday»? Is this your first stay in the Prestigio International?"
Mister Parker is British. The British have invented games like football, rugby, bridge, squash and darts. One of Jack Parker's hobbies is betting on the horses. This man has games in his DNA, and he likes to read detective stories too. All I have to do is give his instincts a wake-up call.
"A game?"
"Yes, a detective game for guests of the hotel. So you're not a player. I'm sorry. You gave me the impression, and you gave the correct answers too. I'm sure that you'd like the game, though. Do you want me to tell you about it?"
"Yes, please. A detective game, that sounds rather interesting. My name is Parker, by the way. Jack Parker. Pleased to meet you."
We shake hands. Mister Parker hangs on my lips while he drinks his Earl Grey tea.
"Oh, you will love this, Mister Parker. Businessmen like you and me spend lots of time in hotels, alone. We have breakfast alone, we eat lunch alone and dine alone, we drink alone at night in the bar, and all the hotel offers for entertainment is a small TV-set in the corner of our room. There are thousands of guests in thousands of hotels who are interested in having company, but nobody takes any initiative to talk to anyone else. That's why I like this hotel: it's different. The people who run it are interested in their clients and they make sure we have a great time during our stay; they organize a detective game, called «I Know What You Did Yesterday». It's a role-play Sherlock Holmes game and the reward for both winners and losers is… company. Are you still interested or am I boring you?"
"No. No. You're not boring me at all. You're colourful company, if I may say so. I'm very interested. I was not aware of the existence of such jolly entertainment, that's all."
"When you check in at the reception, you can ask if there is an open place in the game. If there is, you can choose one of the available characters. You pay 100 Swiss francs for joining the game. In return, you'll get an envelope with an artefact and a description of the characteristics that you should follow. The artefacts symbolise each unique character: the killer has a little pocket knife, the dead man has a cross, the banker has a key… Look. I'm the Russian. My artefact is a little empty bottle of vodka."
I put my hand in my inner pocket and show the Englishman the little bottle that I found on the floor in Mister Nikolai's room. He flashes a look of interest and smiles to encourage me to go on.
"When you discover the secret identity of another player, she gives you hor artefact, so you can register your win at the reception. There are twelve unique characters, divided into three groups: clothes, consumption and conversation, four characters per group. Each character can be recognised by how she dresses, what she orders or how she talks."
"She? Hor?"
"The game is open for both men and women. «Hor» means «his-or-her» in modern sexist-free English, and we also prefer to use the word «she» when we talk about anyone in general without being of any specific gender. «She» includes «he» and «he» is less than «she». It's also a compensation for the second-class treatment men gave women in earlier ages. Modern sexist-free English solves those issues."
"I see. Where I come from, we still prefer conservative speech. But you were telling me about the twelve characters."
"The four characters of the clothes-group are the Thief, the Banker, the Joker and the Maestro. The Thief is not allowed to wear colours, just black, white and grey. You're dressed in black trousers, a white jacket and a grey tie. That's why I thought at first that you were the Thief. The banker has to dress all in one colour. That's why I'm wearing a grey suit, grey shoes and a grey tie, but if you look closely, I'm also wearing red socks, to put other players on the wrong track. The Joker is not allowed to wear black, white or grey, just colours, and at least three different ones. The Maestro has to wear one colour in combination with both black and white."
Mister Parker starts to understand the game and doesn't hide his enthusiasm: "So when you're having breakfast or lunch, you're invited to a discreet visual examination of the other single guests, to find out if they're playing the game too."
"But if you look around too obviously, you'll draw the attention of other players…"
"… and enhance the possibility of your own discovery. This requires the typical British qualities of friendly interest and gentleman's behaviour. Jolly entertaining, I might say."
"Exactly. Didn't I tell you? You'll love this game. You will probably be good at it too. When you find another player, you can make contact with the sentence «I know what you did yesterday». If the other person is also a player, hor repetition of the line is your invitation to join hor company during the meal. When the other answers «I know what you will do tomorrow», it indicates that you will be welcome later, but the other person has different priorities right now; you say that, for instance, when you're waiting for a business appointment or when you are at the point of leaving. Playing the game is an elegant way to meet other people, it's an exciting way to make your stay more interesting and… if you discover five other players and guess their character, you win a free five-course dinner for two. You can invite one of the other players and, of course, you will invite someone who gave you a good time, so everyone is highly motivated to be the best company ever."
"And you already discovered other players?"
"I'm good at this game. At least three times a year, I visit Geneva, and always book this hotel because here I can play «I Know What You Did Yesterday». I told you I have The Killer in my pocket, which is, in fact, the artefact I got from another guest who I recognised as The Killer yesterday. We had lunch together, she was very pleasant to talk to, and when she found out that I'm an accountant and also a specialist in revenue enhancers (that's how we call Panama tax-constructions in modern English), she even became an interested business contact."
"You can even look at this game business-wise…"
"If you want to, you can, but mainly we play for fun. If you take the initiative to unmask another player, you're allowed to make two guesses. Only when both your assumptions are wrong, the other is allowed to make two guesses to unmask you; it's an advantage to make the first contact.
» The characters of the Consumption group, the Killer, the Dead Man, the Russian and the Bad Driver, can be recognised by the food and drinks they order. The Dead Man is not allowed to drink alcohol or eat meat, therefore (tea and toast with marmalade), I thought that you might be the Dead Man. You could not be the Killer, who has to drink alcohol and eat meat at every meal, you couldn't be the Russian either who doesn't drink anything without alcohol, and if you would be the Bad Driver (who only drinks water, coffee and tea, but has to eat meat at every meal), your breakfast would include bacon and sausages."
The coffee arrives. Between the talking, I do my best to make Captain Jack of Industry's toast disappear. Mister Parker is not interested in what happens with his toast. He wants to hear more about the game. I make a mental note to give a short message to Sabina, to avoid that her ignorance might blow my cover when Mister Parker decides to participate in this non-existing game I just invented. If Mister Parker gets suspicious, he might complicate our investigation of the other guests at yesterday's dinner party.
I finish my story: "The third group, Conversation, is the most difficult one. You have the Steward(ess), the Priest, the President and the Prisoner. They can only be discovered when you talk to them. The Prisoner is not allowed to say sentences longer than five words, the Priest is only allowed to speak monosyllables, the President can not say sentences that contain less than twelve words and the Steward or the Stewardess has to speak another language with every next person he speaks with. So that's why I tried to have you do some talking before I made my second guess."
"Why didn't the receptionist tell me about this game? I would be interested in joining."
"You booked a room with a double bed, right?"
Mister Parker confirms with a nod. He frowns at the crumbs and the crust of bread that used to be his breakfast.
"If you book a double room, the receptionist thinks you're having company. Next time, book a single room. She will put it on the invoice as a double room and raise the price with the 100 Swiss francs for the game, so it will be tax deductible and it will not cost your company any extra money. I always book a single room. I'm a married man, I have three fantastic children and I'm not interested in any one-night female company. If you know what I mean."
"I understand. I'm married too and happy since the first day we've met, I can tell you that. I never understood why out-of-town adult entertainment is so popular between middle age travelling businessmen."
"Those men are bored. They should play «I Know What You Did Yesterday» like I do. It's a shame you're not playing, Mister Parker… Jack… You're pleasant company. You know what? I'll go to the reception right now and arrange an entrance for you. Costs are on me, to thank you for the breakfast and the conversation. That is, if you're interested, of course."
"Oh, that would be nice. Yes, I'm looking forward to playing this game, but… I hope you won't guess my character from the start and kick me out again."
"Gentlemen like us would never cheat on foreknowledge, do we? I hope this understanding is mutual because you know that I'm the Russian and I wouldn't like you to kick me out of the game either. One minute. I'll be right back."
I stand up and walk towards the entrance doors of the terrace. At that moment, I hear an explosion behind my back. I turn around, just in time to see a fountain of water in the lake, close to the table where Mister Parker now gets a free refill of his teacup and a refreshing shower.
The idea of terrorists inside the Prestigio International Hotel is unthinkable. Terrorists come from economically deprived countries: they can never afford a room here. My second thought is the KGB, but when I see how a growing shiny oil-blue stain on the surface of the lake gets interrupted by floating plastic remains with Russian letters and a red star, I can't imagine why the KGB would torpedo their own mini-submarine. That leaves only one conclusion:
"Rostov!"
Somehow I wish it would have been terrorists. I hurry back to my room, open the door and shout: "Didn't I tell you not to touch anything? That includes the hand grenade that I have in my luggage, Rostov."
Rostov doesn't even try to look innocent: "I'm sorry, Lux. I thought it was a toy. I never thought you would have real working explosives in your suitcase. The waiting took so long and I was a little bored so I checked your luggage for a book or something else for me to do, and I found all your butcher knives and the C4 with the timer and the steel handcuffs and the bottles with poison and I thought «Of course… A plumber would never go to his job with just one spanner, and if killing is your job, you don't have just one handgun like me.» And then I found the grenade, which reminded me of that movie «The Dirty Dozen», where they throw grenades in the shafts of the underground shelter, so I played that scene, took out the pin… and couldn't get it in again, and then I got nervous and I tried harder and the pin broke, so all I could think of was to open the window and throw the grenade away, as far as I could, into the water where it would not harm anyone."
"Great acting, Rostov. I'm sure you'll get an Oscar for it. Next time, listen to what I say and don't start World War Three without my help."
I start up my laptop and plug the USB flash drive in that I found in the inside pocket of Jack's jacket. If a man has a flash drive in his inside pocket, it usually contains files he doesn't want anyone else to read.
The flash drive has a password. Six characters. I try «PARKER». Wrong answer. I try «221163», his birthday. Wrong answer. With a beep, the computer tells me that I have one more chance. If I make a third mistake, the data on the drive will be deleted for security reasons.
My disappointment becomes audible in the form of a swearword: "Rostov! Mister Parker's flash drive with interesting information has a password. I tried PARKER and his date of birth, but both are wrong. We have one last chance. Six letters or numbers. The name of his wife is Susan, five letters, and his children don't have six-character names either. Do you have any idea?"
"B-flat. That's six characters."
"What kind of password is that?"
"Don't you watch movies? What's the nickname of Mister Parker? Jumping Jack, right? And what do you have there? A flash drive, right? And what's the password of Jumping Jack's Flash? B-flat. It's obvious."
I can't follow the logic here. I can't follow it at all. My puzzled look behind my steel frame glasses and my tiny Mexican moustache is enough to convince Rostov to add some further explanation: "Haven't you seen the movie «Jumping Jack Flash», with Whoopi Goldberg and Jonathan Pryce? Come on, Lux. That movie is a classic. One of the key scenes shows how Whoopi Goldberg tries to find out the password to contact secret agent Jack, codename Jumping Jack Flash, and the password is B-flat. Mister Parker is British. He loves the Stones, he loves Jonathan Pryce, and he loves Whoopi because everybody loves Whoopi. That's how I would do it… Try it. You'll see I'm right."
I don't know what to do. This is perhaps not the strangest story I've heard in my life, but it's definitely in the top ten. My computer screen tells me the name of the flash drive: JJFLASH.
"B-flat? Is that with an underscore or with a minus sign?"
"With a minus sign, of course. It's a musical note, the one that in French is called si-bémol."
"Are you sure? If you're wrong, we might lose the only clue we've got to solve this case."
"Trust me."
Somehow, that makes me even more insecure, but… I have no better option. We have no time. I cross my heart for good luck, type 'B-FLAT' and hit Enter…
It works.
"Rostov! It works. We're in! You were right!"
"Of course I'm right. If you watch lots of movies, you always know what comes next."
I select all the files and copy them to the hard-drive of my laptop. No time to look at what we have because I have to return to the terrace and slip the flash drive back into Mister Parker's pocket.
"Don't touch ANYTHING, Rostov. I'll be right back. If you want to make yourself useful: I just copied a PVR (=Permanent Voice Recorder, standard issue on a spiPhone) text-file from my phone to my laptop. It contains my conversation with Mister Parker of the last fifteen minutes. I explain a game to him. We'll need the description of that game, printed and clear, to give it to Sabina at the reception, so she can cover the story I told Mister Parker. Can you do that for me?"
Rostov gives me a confident smile: "It's my job to do cover-ups for Mister Nikolai. Don't worry, Lux. It will be ready before you can count to three."
Count to three and duck. That reminds me of the hand grenade. I hurry back to the terrace where waiters and towels clean up the collateral damage of Rostov's war movie. The guests are delighted with the spectacular fountain and the staff is all confident smiles while explaining that this hotel is not only best at beds and breakfasts but also on entertainment, and tonight there will be fireworks too.
I take my place next to Mister Parker and ask: "What happened here?"
It dawns upon me that manners, appearances and a stiff upper lip are more important for an Englishman than life itself. The only real emergency was just solved by the waiter, who put a fresh cup of Earl Grey on the table. For a real blue-blood British gentleman, a cup of hot water with the taste of tropical herbs is an efficient recipe to survive any crisis. Mister Parker explains with an educated smile that it needs more than an exploding grenade at five metres distance to make him nervous: "It's just a local shower. If you're British, like me, a little water is nothing to worry about. I was born in a cross-fire hurricane and I howled at my mum in the driving rain. In Liverpool, it rains every day. What did the receptionist say? Can I join the game?"
I look at my watch and say: "She said that right now all the characters are taken, but this round ends on Sunday evening, so you can contact them Monday morning to participate next week. You should ask Sabina, the red-haired girl at the reception. I already paid your fee. I have to go now. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Thanks for the breakfast. I hope to see you again."
I slip the flash drive back into the pocket where I found it, shake hands with my new best friend and hurry back to my room to get out of my weasel skin. Rostov is working on the computer, doing his best to be helpful.
"Anything interesting on the flash drive?", I ask.
"All I found were files from clients with hidden accounts, sneaky deals, and non-standard contracts. Most of them are illegal, but nothing looks strange. I wonder why he doesn't keep them on the network of his bank."
"Perhaps he's afraid that hackers will find out what he's doing."
"At my bank, we aren't afraid of hackers."
"That's because you are Russian. You are the hackers. Did you notice any files with the name Camponelli in the title?"
"Yes, there's one. It was the first file I opened, but it just contains info about the secret accounts that Mister Parker has at the First Swiss International, the bank where Mister Camponelli is the president. Nothing about a suitcase. Have a look at the text of the game, please. Should I print it?"
I read the text from the screen and suggest one or two minor changes. Rostov did an excellent job in hardly any time: "Well done. You can select the printer at the reception, but wait until I've spoken with Sabina, please."
I take the phone in the room, call reception, ask for Sabina, and tell her I spoke with Mister Parker. He was very pleased that we've found his cufflink. He also told me an interesting story about a game he used to play in some other five-star hotel, a game with the name «I Know What You Did Yesterday». I explained to Sabina that he sent me the rules of the game, which I'll forward to the printer next to her, with the request to speak with the manager and ask him if we could do this client the favour of organizing this game in the Prestigio International Hotel. He will come next Monday for an answer. Sabina promises she'll take care of it. I thank her and put the phone down.
Rostov hits the print button and closes the laptop. "And now what?", he asks.
"Now we have to make an appointment with Mister Camponelli. He seems to be the spider in the centre of the web, so we're going to create a big fat fly for him."
"And how are we going to do that?"
"First, we go shopping. You can stay like you are, but I have to put on a different disguise for the occasion. I will be a white South African banker, and you can be Steven, my coloured aide, who will do the heavy work."
"Oh, yeah, Massa, of course. Massa will play the Bossie and poor Mesut will do all the work. I thought I was the banker in this story."
"Oh, don't worry, Rostov. You will still handle the money, but I will do the talking. I have the impression that Mister Camponelli is not yet ready for a black South African banker like you, who has a white servant like me, and it's also my plan, so I have to do the difficult part.
» Don't worry, Rostov. Your time will come."