Click. Click.
The strongbox opens.
No poisonous gas, no explosion, no happy birthday song, no laughing clown jumps out of the box, just three pieces of paper. I take my phone, take a photo of every sheet, front and back, put the documents back like we've found them, and close the metal container. Three moves of my thumb save a copy of the photos at my secure backup space in the cloud. With three more moves and a password, I access that space, zip the photo's, scramble the file, and protect it with a password (the code we've just found, but backwards: 205 635). Safety first.
I put the strongbox and the paper with the code back in the suitcase, close it and, with a sigh of relief, I say: "Now, we're ready to go back to your room. While we have a cup of tea, we can read the documents."
* * *
In room 404, we decide to keep the suitcase closed. My spiPhone translates the images to text files, which are easy to read without leaving fingerprints on the original papers.
The first document is the membership list of the club. It starts with the president of the American bank Marx Brothers Ltd. All the CIA's suspects are there, and a few more. Interesting, but not as fascinating as the second document. I read it aloud for Rostov:
"Welcome to the Pleasuredome,
» Thanks to your contribution of 100 million Swiss francs, you are now one of the Gods who live on the Mons Olympus of the twenty-first century. The rest of your life will be filled with women, wine and song, and all those special pleasures of doing something wrong.
» Every history book tells us stories about the nobles, the Kings and Czars and Emperors, who owned the world. Every history book made one mistake: it's okay if you own the right to receive taxes and do nothing, but it's not enough. The real leaders of the world were the ones who dominated the thinking of the masses. The Highest Power has always been in the hands of Religion. Priests told people how to behave, how many children they should have, and which enemy to kill first. Religion organized the worshipping of the Gods, who decided about life and death. Even Kings and Czars dedicated holy wars to the Highest Power of Religion. From now on, you're part of that Highest Power. Our Religion is called: Economy.
» The working class used to go to church one hour every Sunday, but for Economy, they sacrifice 40 hours per week (and some even work two jobs). Religious people donate some coins to the church, but Consumers, who firmly believe in Neo-Liberal Free-Market Religion, sacrifice their entire income and donate all their credit, up to the limit of their Holy Credit Card, during the Spectacular Summer Sale, in the Sacred Shopping Mall, celebrating Spending as heavenly pleasure on earth. They worship money and the Gods who own everything.
» The Lord gave every banker two strong hands, so he could grab as much as he could. When The Lord lost his grip on society, bankers took over His position: Economy is the leading Religion of the twenty-first century; Bankers are its priests who decide between mortgage or death; Money is the new Heaven; Shopping guarantees all the happiness and freedom one can buy.
» We invented Contracts to make stealing legal, and we released all the lawyers from Hell to help us. Unfortunately, we must share a small tax percentage of our profit with our allies, the governments, but we'll get it back: they pay us interest on the outrageous national debts we forced them into. We truly believe in the power of Economy and all the glory of More. Economy is the new Religion and we, the Monopoly Of Bankers, are the new Gods.
» All ancient Religions warned us of the Seven Deadly Sins: Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, Sloth, Wrath and Envy. Those extreme, selfish vices would lead to Hell. The highest goal of every ancient Religion was Paradise, where life was perfect and priceless, no prices on anything, without anyone making a profit on the necessity of others. The ancient Religions (like Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism) all tried to teach humanity Love. With Love, helping each other, sharing our blessings, everyone would become happy, they promised.
» For us, the Gods, Love and Sharing are Evil. Believers should only love us, their Gods, and themselves. Hate is great. Selfishness makes you stronger. We, the Bankers, prefer to teach and preach Monetary Assets Devotion, Necessary Extreme Selfish Success. For us, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, Sloth, Wrath and Envy are virtues. From now on, we call them the Seven Sacred Sacraments of Holy Welfare, or simply The Magnificent Seven. They are our weaponry to win the worldwide war against Love.
» Our battle plan is simple: we promote the Seven Sacred Sacraments. Nobody benefits financially from Love, but Lust leads to prostitution with financial transactions, and Hate leads to profitable divorces and double mortgages. Gluttony leads to rising turnover on food, followed by extra expenses on healthcare. Think about all those machines, from cars to washing machines, which give our believers the benefit of changing their cash for the luxury of Sloth. Extremely proud people show the world how their outside is better than the outside of others. Arrogant Pride leads to high sales of clothing and shoes, jewellery and watches, brands and fashion and image, even to expensive cosmetic treatments and beauty operations. How many expenses were made, thanks to the Envy these useless purchases would cause in the eyes of others? Thanks to the virtue of Envy, consumers never have enough; we should call them Consu-more-s. And Wrath, war and violence, is, of course, the banker's favourite sin: first, you sell them guns, and then you sell them materials and healthcare to repair the damage.
» Only one Deadly Sin gives a profit: Greed. So here's the deal: we let the rest of the world drown in Gluttony, Lust, Pride, Sloth, Wrath and Envy, while we keep the seventh sin, Greed, for ourselves. Promote overconsumption, Deadly Sins and selfishness, and earn your 100-million throne among the Gods of the Mons Olympus of Power.
» How does this work? Easy. We, the bankers, dominate the money. Money is a blessing for the rich and a curse for the poor. Money gives us power over the Consumore's mind. Buy publicity, advertisement, marketing; it won't make products better, just more expensive, which gives us a higher profit. Worldwide commercial brainwashing will remove every dirty invisible stain of Love the ancient Religions planted during the last 2.000 years. Convince everyone on this planet to respect our Holy Economic Lucrative Laws: Money = Heaven. More = Better. Rich = Success. The Best = Happiness. Not holy words, but high numbers will convince the Consumores. Lust and Gluttony and Sloth should become our client's only activities. Our customers can't live without violence and war on their TV. They can't survive without expensive brands and 24/7 advertising.
» Refuse to pay interest on savings; consumores will spend everything they have. The low interest seduces private enterprise and governments into higher loans; for a tiny percentage, they'll sell us their souls. Our loans and financing are the puppeteer's threads to play the puppets. Grant loans to commercial companies for promoting the heavenly lifestyle of More, and refuse to finance initiatives for chastity, tolerance, modesty, charity or a better environment. You'll find attached a list with profitable tactics for more detailed instructions.
» They loan, we own. They can't go to another bank. We work together. Nobody can ever stop us. If anyone tries: we fire him, so he'll lose his income, his house, his marriage, his health and his life. Competition is for the working class, and for the companies we have in our deep pockets. They do the work; we get the profit.
» We don't want you to believe we can do this. Economy isn't a religion, based on belief. This is science. We prove that banks have more power than presidents. In 2008, we caused a worldwide financial crisis. Eight years later, we were richer than ever, and not one banker went to jail. Presidents of democratic countries forced the working class to pay higher taxes, accept higher unemployment and work for lower wages, to guarantee that all the extra profit went to our side of the transaction. Democracies are ruled by public opinion; news and advertisement create those opinions; commercial companies decide what will be published and produced; money rules commercial companies; and we, the Monopoly Of Bankers, dominate the money and pull every string.
» You're now part of the elite aristocracy that rules the world. We trust you to use your power to the benefit of us all, like we use our power to your benefit. When your bank has earned back their investment, you are free to sell this precious secret for the fixed price of 100 million Swiss francs to the leading bank of any other country that's not yet on our membership list. Help our secret brotherhood grow stronger, and you'll receive a 100-million reward for your loyalty.
» For administrative purposes, please, send a message with your name, address, phone number and company name to the other members of this club, so we all know you're one of us. Add your info also to the membership list, for future members.
» Our secret Monopoly Of Bankers profits because we work together. This deal is based on trust. You can trust the other bankers of this brotherhood to be greedy. We're bankers. Greed is our middle name. Your support benefits us all, as much as our support will benefit you. Your greed is our best guarantee. That's how we trust each other to keep this secret.
» Welcome to the Club of Gods, the factual leaders of the world."
Silence.
Time to think.
Rostov is the first to react: "Wow. This is an authentic conspiracy, a worldwide palace intrigue of white-collar criminals to rule the planet. I thought this only happened in movies, but this… This is worse than any movie I ever saw. And I've seen a few."
In films, you know there's always a happy ending. The real world is worse than anyone can imagine. Reality goes from crisis to crisis, and it ends with our funeral…
I'm a spy. This is why I wanted this job. Here is my chance to save the world, but… I don't know how: "A conspiracy of bankers to rule the world… What can we do to avoid it, Rostov? I have no idea. The problem is… They are right. People do sacrifice everything for pride, lust or envy. Everybody wants to be rich and famous. Nobody pays attention to all those billions of poor people. Every magazine and every reality soap shows how well the High Society lives. The media don't give instructions on how to live in peace; they fill the newspapers and the TV news with war, scandals, disasters and fights. Even our leaders worship hate, lust, power and money: I know at least one political leader who's a millionaire and openly declares that he grabs women by the pussy. Like the Ancient Emperors of China and Rome, he wanted to build a wall, to protect his elite way of living and keep poverty out of sight. Brainwashed citizens democratically choose their worst enemy and happily dig their own grave on the free market."
"What's in the third document?"
I look at my spiPhone: "List of Profitable Tactics.
» Courage is bad. Fear is a great motivator to spend money on guns and security.
» Patience is bad. Haste leads to traffic accidents and impulsive spending.
» Generosity is bad. Economic slavery is better for business.
» Modesty is bad. Extremes, with «addiction» as the most extreme of all, will push consumores to spend everything they have, and everything they can steal. Most important is to convince consumores it's impossible to cure yourself of any addiction (a lovely lie; nothing is as easy as not doing it). First, we profit from drugs, smoking, medicines and gambling, and then we profit from expensive treatments to kick the habit. Shopaholics are our favourites; we can't thank women enough for being born with a hole in their hands.
» Chastity is bad. Horny people spend fortunes on getting laid. Solid relationships are bad for business. Unsatisfactory sex with different partners is much more profitable.
» Tolerance and humanity are bad. As long as we can find Mexicans, Muslims and other Minorities to blame, we keep the attention away from ourselves as the source of all evil. As long as racism, sexism and hate against the LGBTQIA community are topics of discussion, nobody will notice who profits from all that hate.
» Satisfaction is bad. Happy people don't spend money. Create a constant current of crises.
» Altruism is bad. When people do important things for others without asking for a fee, we can't tax it.
» Wisdom and Knowledge are bad. Stupid people are much easier to manipulate. Fear is a lack of knowledge. And if children want to study anyway: make it as expensive as possible.
» Playing is bad when it leads to learning something, and it's even worse when the players don't spend money. Hide-and-seek should be against the law. All children, and adults too, should be forced to play Zombie Killer VI or Mortal War Zone IX, so we'll have enough trained soldiers for the next invasion in the Middle East.
» Saving is bad. No need to explain why. Inflation is excellent; banks and governments profit when savings of workers lose their value, while our interest-profit on loans grows.
» Honesty is bad. Show fraud, stealing and scandals on every day's news; it gives the working class hope there's a way out of their problems. Successful thieves are our best clients.
» Leadership is important. Focus only on the leaders. Their behaviour of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll will easily convince the believers, workers and consumores, to follow their example. Meek sheep follow their shepherd, convinced he'll treat them well; only the shepherd knows they're on their way to the slaughter.
» Should I go on?"
Silence again.
A long one, this time.
We don't know what to say.
"Banks are organized crime, Rostov. You work for a criminal organization. Everything for The MOB and nothing for working the job."
Rostov shrugs: "There's nothing we can do. Banks are too big to jail and too powerful to bankrupt. Even when they caused the crisis in 2008, they received financial support from the governments. This conspiracy has no weak spot."
I finish my tea (stone cold by now) and stand up: "Yes, there is. They based entire scheme on secrecy. If you share a 100-million-francs secret with 100 million people, it loses its value. We should spread the news. We should publish this information. Do you know the story of DSB? In 2009, an insider told on national TV how this Dutch bank worked, how they robbed their clients and enriched themselves. Two weeks later, they went bankrupt because all their clients closed their accounts. That's the power of public opinion. We should publish this story and reveal the secret of The M.O.B."
"Good thinking, Lux, but… How? Governments? Those bankers call them «our allies». Politicians won't help us. Commercial companies won't help us either. It doesn't matter if it's a TV station or a newspaper or a book publisher; every large company depends on loans. Banks will cut their throat if they publish anything like this story. Nobody bites the hand that feeds them. Banks have all the power. There's nothing we can do."
I try to stay hopeful: "We can self-publish the information. The Internet is free. Everyone will love this story. The news will spread like an avalanche. Together, we can stop those greedy bankers. The truth will win, the truth about how this worldwide conspiracy makes the rich richer and the poor poorer. When the poor know what to do, they can stop the downfall."
Rostov is sceptical about my plan: "Yeah. Great. I'll tell you another truth: «Smoking is bad for you, and it costs money too, so stop smoking and you'll live happily ever after». Problem solved? Of course not. Nobody listens and nobody stops smoking. There's a billion-dollar industry on the other side of this truth, Lux. They tell us how cool smoking is; all our heroes do it; you can never be happy when you don't smoke. The bitter truth will never beat the sweet lies of fiction. Commercial advertisement reaches far more people than WikiLeaks or charity organizations or Mother Teresa. When you're poor, you can't fight the power of money. It's impossible. The world is lost, Lux."
Rostov looks even more depressed than when we met. It's good I took his Makarov.
If there's one thing I've learnt today, it's this: every team is better than its best player. Today, together, we've done something impossible. If Rostov helps me, imagine what we'll do tomorrow.
I smile with confidence: "The world is lost? It's my job to save the world. This will give me something to do. Without persistence, principles are meaningless. Do you want to give up? All we need is some money to finance the project; we'll have a dream, and we can work together to make our dream come true.
» Your dream is to marry Katja. Do you keep dreaming? Or would you do the impossible to make your dream come true? Is there space in your agenda for a secondary adventure? Would you help your friend in his hopeless attempt to save the world? Or should I call Jason Bourne instead? I don't need Jason Bourne. I need a banker I can trust. I need a friend."
Rostov is a quick thinker: "You need a man on the inside. You need…" He changes his voice, making it a perfect imitation of Mister Bernard Dietz, the President of the South African National, perfect, except for the stupid grin: "You need the gold. I havva the 100 million in gold for you. I don't trust the paper and I don't trust the electronics. I havva the gold for you in a safe Swiss safe. I wanna be your man. Do we make the deal?"
I grin back, shake his hand, and say with Steven's voice: "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." And then, in my normal voice: "Thanks, Rostov. You really are a friend."
"A sleepy friend, by the way. We should put the suitcase back in the safe, and then I go to sleep. It's almost 9:00 AM."
"Rostov! At 9:00, my shift starts. I feel like a zombie and I must look like one too."
I enter the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. For the moment, I feel better. By experience, I know the fatigue will hit me this afternoon, after lunch, but if I'm lucky, I can sneak out for a power nap.
At that moment, I hear a Brazilian samba band playing their number 1 summer hit on the door of Rostov's room. Rostov opens, and a tornado enters, shouting: "Where are you when I need you? Have you seen what they've done to my suite? Where am I supposed to sleep after a night like this? Do you still have that suitcase I gave you?"
"Mister Nikolai. How nice to see you. I've been looking for you the entire day. I was worried. Where have you been?"
Mister Nikolai. I can't see him, but I recognise him immediately. Moral bullying is his way of showing leadership. A short silence indicates body language I can't understand behind a closed bathroom door. Probably, he expresses his disapproval about so much stupidity.
After some sighing and moaning, he bawls a brief explanation for his disappearance: "You might remember. I closed a deal for 100 million Swiss francs. That's hard work. I deserved a break. I went into town. Got drunk on at least 50 different liquors. Got high on at least 50 different drugs. And screwed at least 50 different women. I work hard, I screw hard. And when we return to Moscow, I will have to screw a lot of clients even harder. To earn back last night's investment. According to my wallet, I've spent 50.000 euros. I must have had a lot of fun. Although I can't remember anything about it right now. After so much hard work, I want to take a nap. But someone started «World War Z» in my room. I'll take a nap here. Until you've arranged another suite for me. Do you still have that suitcase I gave you?"
"It stands next to my bed. According to your instructions, I've guarded it with my life."
"You can leave it with me. The content will give our bank a pretty petty profit in the upcoming years. And it will give me, personally, a 100 million Swiss francs profit. When I find a candidate to buy it from me. But that's not your business. Let me pass. I need to use your bathroom…"
Rostov!
I need a reason to explain to Mister Nikolai what I'm doing in his assistant's bathroom.
There's no time.
I can't think of anything.
I'm lost…
No.
Rostov saves me.
He stops his boss and says: "During your… little excursion… your research investigation for investment opportunities in Geneva nightlife… I've met an interesting man. He might be persuaded to buy the suitcase from you. His name is Mister Bernard Dietz. He's the President of the South African National, the most important bank in the country. He pays in cash, in gold, in Krugerrands, which already wait for you in a safe in Mister Camponelli's bank. As a matter of fact, I've just concluded long and tough negotiations with his aide, Mister Julian Weidenfeller, who's freshening up in my bathroom right now. I'm happy to announce we've reached an agreement. In return for the key to the safe with the gold, he'll be glad to receive the suitcase from you, and the code to open the strongbox. Of course, you decide when, where, and how the transaction will take place. You're the President of the First Bank of Moscow; you're in charge of this operation."
Rostov! I thought I was in charge of this operation. Rostov takes over like he's never done anything else in his life. Watching too many Jason Bourne films has a destructive effect on your personality, and it's extremely dangerous for your surroundings too. I have no choice. Quickly, I take off my jacket (the logo on the breast pocket identifies me as a chamberboy of the Prestigio International Hotel) and double it on my arm. Hopefully, my elegant shirt is good enough for the aide of Mister Bernard Dietz, President of South Africa's most important bank.
I open the door of the bathroom, show my most confident smile, send my hand forward to meet Mister Nikolai halfway, and say: "Mister Nikolai? Please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mister Weidenfeller. Like you, I'm a man of wealth and taste. It's a pleasure doing business with your assistant; I just washed my hands and sealed his fate: 100 million Swiss francs and not one penny more."
Mister Nikolai presents the confident business smile, reserved for only his most profitable victims: "Pleased to meet you. Where did you get my name?"
"I stuck around St. Petersburg. Everybody told me you were the one to do business with. Everyone there has sympathy for you. You're the leader they all take as an example. The Czar of Russian banking, they call you; the man you need to please when you want things to change. We see it is the time for a change, Mister Nikolai. We want to be like you. Compared with Russia, South Africa is a small country, and our bank is a piggy bank compared with your First Bank of Moscow, but we want to know the nature of your game, for our own benefit, so we can become as big as you. We have the 100 million in the safest place in Geneva, probably the safest place in Switzerland, and therefore the safest place on earth, according to Mister Camponelli. When you give us the suitcase and the code to open it, we'll give you the key to the safe."
Mister Nikolai is reserved: "You overheard my conversation with my assistant? You heard me say I screw my clients? Do you want to screw me? I have a bigger dick than you can imagine, Mister."
I'm a banker. I'm not impressed. I can do better than that: "The size of your dick doesn't scare me, Sir. I use my whole arm to screw my clients. The biggest assholes are the easiest to screw, if you pardon me the language. That's why, like Pilate, I wash my hands after concluding the negotiations."
Mister Nikolai is pleased with my kind words. He shakes my offered, clean hand with a broad smile, but his eyes betray him. He was already making plans on how to spend the 100 million… but suddenly, a dark cloud on his face announces trouble: "You work for the South African National, Mister Weidenfeller?"
"Yes, I do."
"And you just overheard my confidential conversation with my assistant? About my… excursion last night?"
"I hardly paid attention to your little chat, Sir. For 100-million deals, we easily forget insignificant details, as you might understand. Small print is for our clients, not for our partners."
Mister Nikolai's good mood disappears completely: "You're a liar. Your shoes are far too cheap for a banker. Your trousers look like the uniform of a chamberboy. Before you learn how to negotiate 100-million-franc deals, you learn how to dress. I don't know who you are, Mister Weidenfeller. But I do know you're lying to me. What's the nature of your game?"
When treachery and treason fail, we can always fall back on the truth. The game might be lost, but we didn't play to win, just to have a laugh while training to get better. I flash an honest smile, put on my jacket, and confess: "Nothing to worry about, Mister Nikolai. You're right: I'm a chamberboy. I work in this hotel. Your assistant and I are old friends. He enjoys acting and films, so I visited him before work, to ask him if he would be interested in a role as a zombie, in the play «Rise Of The Walking Dead», that the hotel shows for our guests tonight, on the terrace near the lake. Of course, you're invited as a guest of honour. We've reserved a table for you in the first row…"
When the lie is big enough, and crazy enough, nobody doubts for long. Mister Nikolai faces his assistant and asks: "Is that true?"
Rostov confirms: "Yes, Sir. When you surprised me and entered my room, I felt ashamed I was attending private matters with my friend Julian instead of devoting my time to my work. I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't want to lose my job. But I do like acting. The play Julian told you about is really nice. The entire hotel has been talking about it since yesterday's lunch. I hope you don't mind…"
Mister Nikolai looks at me, looks at Rostov, decides to believe our story, and mutters: "Okay. But make sure that everything is ready for my flight tomorrow morning. And arrange a new suite for me immediately. And now, leave me alone. I'm exhausted and I need to sleep."
He turns to enter the bathroom, remembers one more thing, turns again and lifts his finger almost into Rostov's nostril: "One final detail: this story about my little… excursion… remains a secret. Inside the bank and outside. In our profession, privacy is paramount. If one word of this comes out, you're fired. And the Czar of Russian banking rules. Nobody will never need your services anymore. Anywhere."
Then he threatens me with his snotty finger, to include me in his WikiLeaks program: "That goes for you too, Mister… (he looks at my nametag)… Weidenfeller. I hope you're smart enough to understand who I am. And what I'm capable of. One phone call. From me to the director of the bank that finances the debts of this hotel. And your boss will be offered the choice of firing you. Or losing the support of his financial partners. Don't trust him to close the building and join the army of jobless fortune seekers."
I'm sick and tired of this horrible man. It's not professional, and it would be much better to smile and say: «Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.», but I can't. I'm eager to teach him a lesson: "I'm not on the payroll of the Prestigio International Hotel, Sir."
"I don't care. Someone finances the company you work for. I'll call your boss and order him to fire you anyway."
"I work for Bild Miszleitung, the biggest German scandal newspaper. We're an independent agency. Financially independent. Pulp fiction pays much better than boring facts. Would such a decent enterprise fire the journalist who wrote the most interesting story of the year? Tomorrow's headlines: «Geneva nights with the Czar of Russian banking…» Does that turn your nap into a nightmare?"
Mister Nikolai is a true leader, showing all the qualities that made him the man he is. He turns to Rostov and orders: "Buy all the stocks of that newspaper. Those Germans cannot be trusted. We need to take control of the situation."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.", Rostov answers, picking up his role as South African Steven seamlessly.
I offer an alternative: "There might be a cheaper solution, Sir. Perhaps a small donation in cash for the foundation that helps my children to study? I don't want to make the wrong impression here, but… We all work for money… If you give me what I want, I might return you the favour."
In only a couple of seconds, Mister Nikolai shows an impressive set of facial expressions: annoyed for being interrupted by a punk in the suit of a servant, surprised by the offered information, cross when he realises it's going to cost him money, relieved that the First Bank of Moscow pays his expenses, and, finally, curious to know the amount of cash we're talking about.
"I thought that… 50.000 euros would be enough for me to forget everything; it was also enough for you to forget everything that happened during your little… excursion. You said it yourself: with the content of your suitcase, you can spend that amount of money every night for the rest of your life. In your profession, privacy is paramount. 50.000 euros is a tiny budget for a paramount film. Do we have a deal?"
A leader like Mister Nikolai is used to giving orders. He doesn't allow the employees of his bank to grant a mortgage to a pretty lady, just for the bright colour of her eyes; he instructs them to research first, to confirm if the papers show the correct information, to find out if this woman can be trusted to pay the interest, and if the house guarantees enough value for the collateral. Leaders always make rules for others, but never for themselves. Mister Nikolai doesn't think of calling the Bild Miszleitung head office, to ask them if they know a journalist with the name of Julian Weidenfeller, who works as an undercover in a Swiss hotel. He takes his wallet and writes a cheque. When he hands it to me, he asks: "We can trust each other, can't we? Or I'll lay your soul to waste."
"Sir, I wouldn't dare to break my promise. This world is small. We never know if we meet again, and perhaps next time, we'll need each other's help. It was nice doing business with you, Sir. Now I hope you'll excuse me; I have to arrange a suite for a respected guest of this hotel, an exhausted guest who urgently needs a nap. If you want to be so kind as to wait here in this room? I'll send your assistant to inform you when we have the suite ready. Would the Royal Suite be appropriate for the Czar of Russian banking?"
Mister Nikolai grunts: "Hm. If that's the best you've got… I guess it will do."
He enters the bathroom and starts to produce disgusting sounds. I grab my spiPhone from Rostov's nightstand and step outside. Rostov closes the door of the room behind us, and together we walk towards the lift. Rostov has one last question: "What's that with the 50.000 euros? Are you following the greedy example of the Monopoly Of Bankers? Did you sell your soul to the Devil for 50K?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rostov. Didn't we agree to share this story with the world? If you divide a 100-million secret by 100 million readers, it loses its value. Writing our story won't be enough. Money and banks rule the world of publishing companies. We have to self-publish this. Success depends on the financial capacity to advertise. At least, we'll have 50.000 euros to start with. Can you open a secret account for this money, so we can use it when we need it? Would 50K be enough to save the world?"
I take the cheque out of my pocket and give it to him.
Rostov shows his stupid grin and answers: "It's a start. I'll add the North-Korean cash too. Don't worry, Lux. I'll take care of it. You can trust me."
In front of the opening lift doors, we say goodbye.
"Will we ever meet again?", Rostov asks.
"I hope we will. You still have that mobile phone I gave you, don't you?"
Rostov takes the spiPhone out of his pocket and wants to return it, but I raise my hand and shake my head: "You can keep it. A gift from your friend, for helping me with my mission. With this phone, you and I can keep in contact. Whenever you like, type #5 as direction and send me a message. Don't lose it; only four other people in the world have my number.", I say.
Rostov is a quick thinker: "How nice. And with direction #4, I can send messages to Katja too. Thanks, Lux, for helping me with my mission. From now on, I'll text her every day and ask her if she wants to marry me. One day, she will say yes."
"Or one day she will track you and kill you. She's a spy, you know. Killing is her daily work."
"That's a risk I'll have to take. Without persistence, principles are meaningless. I won't give up until the happy ending."
"This story will not have a happy ending, and that bothers me."
Rostov doesn't understand: "With 50.000 euros, we can generate quite a bit of publicity to share the story, Lux. It's as good an end as we can wish for."
"I wasn't referring to that. The end is when Mister Nikolai opens his suitcase. You didn't notice, but when I grabbed my spiPhone, I quickly opened the strongbox and took out the original documents. I left one piece of paper inside, the one we used to write the code on, with a personal message for Mister Nikolai. I would happily pay 100 million Swiss francs to see his face when he reads that message."
"What message? What did you write?"
I smile, enter the lift, show the secret documents in the inside pocket of my jacket and, just before the doors close, I whisper:
"The biggest assholes are the easiest to screw. We've screwed you hard. We hope you liked it.
Best regards,
Mr Camponelli"