If someone entered the bridge behind him when he was engaged with the old man he would have to run to the far side of the bridge to escape. The river was less than a hundred and twenty meters wide at this point. But the old wooden bridge, because it ran at a diagonal across the water, was more than two hundred meters from end to end.
If someone saw him, called the police, and they closed off the two ends of the bridge, he would have nowhere to go but over the side and into the water. He was not a good swimmer. Just downstream a few hundred meters the river washed over the baffles of a small dam, and the water was swift. The Libyan wanted no part of it.
Besides, here on dry land, he had an advantage, not only darkness and surprise, but the steps leading down from the bridge. The old man would have to navigate those. In his present state he might fall and break his neck even if no one touched him.
The Libyan moved out toward the steps leading up to the wooden bridge, passed into the shadows beyond them, and huddled down low near the ground. He would wait.
Up on the roof, his partner watched the lights in the two rooms across the river through the field glasses. The lawyers were getting ready for bed. He had seen them come to the windows and close the curtains.
Earlier in the evening as the two lawyers were having dinner, his compatriot now down by the bridge stole into their rooms at the hotel and went through their luggage. As instructed, he was looking for any documents that might be important. He found nothing. Neither one of the lawyers was carrying a computer. That seemed strange. The man doing the search was young but highly efficient. When he finished the search of the first bag he casually deposited everything back inside the suitcase, zipped it closed, and put it back on the floor. Then he locked up the room and went next door.
Here he had a separate task to complete. When he finished searching the suitcase he laid out his tools and materials on the bed and went to work on the inside of the case.
He placed a sizable package wrapped in a single thin layer of plastic on the bed next to him. It was about the size of a small laptop computer and approximately one inch thick. It weighed a little more than half a kilo. He knew it wouldn’t take much to break the plastic covering. Any sharp impact or rough handling would do it.
He worked swiftly, his fingers and hands nimble. In less than three minutes he was done. He checked to make sure that everything was dry and then tossed the American’s clothes and other personal items back into the bag. He added one more little touch, then zipped the bag closed and stood it back down on the floor where he had found it. Then he exited the room and locked the door.
Now as the Libyan watched through the field glasses his compatriot scurried near the entrance to the bridge and disappeared into the darkness.
All was going well. A few seconds later the two lawyers turned out the lights in their rooms. He knew they would be tired. They had traveled much farther to get here than either of the two Libyans. Weary from their trip, within minutes the Americans would be sound asleep.
He lowered the field glasses from his eyes, pushed himself back from the parapet along the edge of the roof, and made his way toward the fire escape at the back of the building.
FORTY-ONE
Simon Korff fingered the crisp bank notes in his pocket. The three stiff one-hundred-franc bills felt as if they just came off the press. They even felt warm from the lawyer’s pocket. He hadn’t seen that much money at any one time since losing his job at the bank.
He knew that he had promised his dinner companions that he would take a taxi home. He had intended to do just that. But when he got to the hotel’s front counter the night clerk wasn’t there. He hit the bell twice but no one showed up. As he stood there waiting he considered the cost of the taxi and had second thoughts. With the money in his pocket he could buy a nice present for his son and daughter-in-law. They had been so good to him. For once he would be able to do something for them.
He turned and headed out the front door. As he navigated his way around and over the cobblestones on the street the cold night air seemed to have a sobering effect. The tingling sensation at the tip of his nose began to lessen. The walk would do him good. This way by the time he got home he could slip into the apartment without stumbling and waking everyone up.
Slowly he made his way to the bridge, up the two broad steps, and onto the old wooden concourse. He steadied himself against the railing and looked down the long straight tunnel. Under the gabled roof with its massive beamed supports, the bright overhead lights showered the entire path with a yellow incandescent brilliance.
The glare may have made him feel safe, but the pounding in his head had the old man wishing for a little less radiance. Besides, Lucerne was a tourist town. No one worried about walking at night. The crime rate here was almost nonexistent.
He trudged along under the glowing lights, stopping every so often against the railing and the solid wooden walls. A few times he wondered how he had gotten from the railing on the left side of the bridge to the railing on the right without intending to do so. At one point he stumbled into a huge curved laminated support the size of a tree trunk. He reached out and slapped the solid wood as if it had assaulted him. Then he collected himself and moved on. In the distance he could see the outline of the tower at the side of the bridge. He steeled himself and moved toward it as if it were a waypoint on GPS and he was on autopilot.
By now I am starting to get irritated with Harry. “Let it go!” I tell him. “We’ll sort it out when we get home.”
“I’m not gonna let it go. Eight hundred bucks,” he says. “We’ll pay for tonight but not for tomorrow night.” Harry has hammered on the bell at the front desk long enough to rouse the night clerk, and is now arguing with the man across the counter.
The clerk is half asleep. “Sir! I have told you. Cancellation requires forty-eight hours’ notice. That is hotel policy.”
“And, as I told you, we have an emergency. We have to leave, and we have to do it now,” says Harry. “You know as well as I do the place is full up. We had to pay a premium for the rooms to get them on short notice. You’ll rent them in the morning within an hour, and for the same price. So why don’t you just print out a cancellation form and we will leave. Unless you want to wake up the entire hotel.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot do that.”
“Then perhaps you can give me a list of the names of all the people who had a key to our rooms?” says Harry.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that somebody let themselves into our rooms during dinner and it wasn’t to turn down the covers or leave chocolate kisses.”
“Was anything taken?”
“We don’t know and we don’t have time right now to stop and find out. Tell you what, why don’t we call the police?” says Harry.
“No. No,” says the clerk. “No need for that. I’m sure we can work this out.”
“I knew you could,” says Harry.
The clerk wipes the sleep from his eyes as he shuffles his feet toward the computer to work up the form.
I look at Harry. “Please tell me you’re not gonna do the same thing for the plane tickets.”
“Let me think about it.”
It didn’t take Ana long to realize she wasn’t the only one tracking them. Her senses had been attuned to this since first setting up outside their law office in Coronado.