Bamboo and blood

2

"We're going to meet, Inspector." Most people might have said hello or feigned surprise at running into me, even though they had plotted the point where our paths would cross with great care. I was walking along the lake after the talks ended that afternoon. I could have turned right, but instead I was heading up toward the lady with the rump. I was getting too predictable. Jeno was waiting for me.

"We're going to meet, as opposed to what we are doing at the moment?" I didn't break stride when he stepped out from behind one of the butchered plane trees.

"This is just talk, passing the time. There must be three extra sets of eyes watching us."

"What makes you think they won't be doing the same the next time we meet?"

"Because we'll be somewhere other than where they imagine."

"I'm not going to get knocked out by Ahmet again."

"In this case, it will do no good if you are unconscious. Do you like pastry? I thought some Asians were not partial to bread."

Bread seemed to be on people's minds these days. Sohn especially had been interested when I told him what my brother had said on the phone. "Bread is fine," I said to Jeno, "as long as it's leavened."

"Good for you. You've been looking at an encyclopedia. How about you decide to get some pastry. Tomorrow, say about ten o'clock in the morning."

"How about after ten? I'm late rising these days."

"No, ten o'clock, on the dot, on the button. Tomorrow, you'll do everything on the button."

"Says who?"

"I know. You don't work for me. But you did work for Sohn."

"Wrong again." Jeno knew Sohn was dead. Why was I not surprised?

"Was I or was I not in your Hotel Koryo a few months ago, in the middle of winter, Inspector? Did Sohn not long afterward select you for this mission to Geneva? Are those all coincidence? Or are they beads in a wonderful necklace suggesting an elegant purpose and design?"

"I don't wear jewelry, of any description." Neither did Sohn, as far as I knew.

"In this case, I expect you to be where I tell you, at ten o'clock, with bells on. You'll love the pastry. What can it hurt?"

"And where is this best place for pastry?"

"On your side of the lake. Not too far from your mission."

"I'm not happy to hear that."

"Walk into town. Near Place du Pont there will be a cab with tinted windows driven by an Arab, a friend. Get in at nine fifty. Tell him you are looking for a good croissant."

"And he will reply?"

"He will glower at you in the rearview mirror. Ignore that. He's moody, but reliable. He'll take you up into the hills. Again, I'm reminding you, the place you're going is not far from your mission. Don't worry, your people never go up there. Never. This I know. It's in a section called Cologny. Very posh. The driver will drop you about twenty meters away from a fork in the road. The patisserie sits just there, aloof and alone. Go in and say politely to the nice lady you want two croissants."

"In French?"

"Don't bother. Tell her you want them to go. Nodding in a not unfriendly manner, she should ask: au beurre ou ordinaire? Never mind the translation. Just hold up one finger on each hand, thusly." Jeno demonstrated, using his two pinkie fingers. "However, if she tells you gruffly that the bakery has run out of dough for the weekend, it means everything is off. That is unlikely, but if it happens, leave quickly. Get back to the cab. If you don't have a bag of croissants, the driver will take off like a bat out of hell. There isn't another driver on earth that will be able to follow him. Once we figure out what went wrong, he'll drop you back in town. I'll be in touch, and life will resume its normal joyful rhythms."

"What if the nice lady says they don't have any croissants, but I see something else I like?"

"It will be the last thing you ever eat. If she says she has nothing, get out of there in a hurry. But I don't think anything will go wrong."

"Of course not."

"If we're on schedule, she'll put two in a bag for you."

"How much?"

Jeno handed me a fifty-franc note.

"I suppose now everyone has a picture of you passing me money."

"Fifty francs? We don't take pictures of anything less than a hundred. Don't be so suspicious."

"Oh ho!"

"You'll walk out with the croissants."

"How about a brioche?"

He handed over another fifty-franc note. "Now you are screwed."

I pocketed the money and smiled into the middle distance. "I don't like surveillance photos where the people are frowning, do you?"

"Walk out with the damned pastries and go back to the cab. Once you're inside, open the bag. There will be a note inside."

"A note! In a croissant? Something like a Chinese fortune croissant? This note, I suppose it will have instructions for the driver?"

"It might."

"It tells him where to take me next."

"Possibly."

"I'm to arrive at the next place at ten fifteen sharp. You want me on the bench closest to the Villa Diodati?"

"What?"

"Obviously, you want me at Le Pre Byron. It's the best place to meet around there, out in the open. You think you're the only one who has scouted meeting sites?"

"What?"

"If a red car drives by on the road below and stops, it means we proceed as planned. If it's a blue car, we abort. Sort of a double-check on the nice lady."

Jeno studied my face. "Not bad," was all he said before falling silent again. "Not bad," he said finally, "but we don't use blue cars. It will be white. And since you have plenty of money, get a brioche for me, too."