Chapter 13: Plans

Alfred told us of the need to be very quick about everything. He would speed up his 'processing' of the eight people involved and, at the same time, would induce a spree of notices being handed in. If this were not sufficient, he would make the top guys fire all their remaining staff in the next few weeks. The innocent ones would receive generous separation benefits out of the full corporate coffers.

"Bert, I think that you should be with us when we do make this happen, if only for your own satisfaction that all problems will be solved. How about some travelling?"

"Yes, Alfred, I would certainly like to be present when we clear up this mess. Be your companion felon, as it where. But transportation there would not do. What if I am picked up by chance? Asked for identification? I think that I should have a new identity for that. Proper documents, visa and such. The biometrics employed at your side of the ocean frighten me. I would hate for records of my travelling to exist under my real identity, as they would be a possible marker should there remain vestiges of suspicion. You did it for Wilbur, can you do it for me as well? In the fatherland? By the way, one day you just will have to tell me Wilbur's new name."

"Over my dead body," Wilbur said through clenched teeth. "Make sure you stay on the good side of this guy, his sense of revenge is acute."

Alfred just laughed it off.

"Sure, a new identity for you makes sense. We cannot ever be too careful. And, yes, I can do it for you. Your bureaucrats are the same as ours. For the photographs you would have to alter your features slightly, but otherwise it will be fairly easy since your country doesn't employ fingerprints as yet. Give me a name to use, a place and address, two weeks' time. No, Bert, don't start about the money again, I am tired of it. You will fly business class to New York, doesn't pay to be too flashy, and we will pick you up there. Wilbur's new home is quite convenient for what we have in mind and Lexa is staying there already."

So we agreed to return 'home'. Alfred and Wilbur to work on the company and on my travel documents, I to enjoy the frigid atmosphere in my humble dwelling — and not looking forward to it at all.

Home was unchanged of course. I unlocked my study and went for a cup of coffee.

A new name for me was easy. On the fringes of my larger family quite a few strange characters, nephews, far-removed cousins and such, had subsisted in semi-limbo, marginally tolerated at the odd family gathering but not likely to be mentioned in everyday conversation. Occasionally we heard of the one or other getting into trouble or even dying in some unlikely place, when the women would cluck their tongues, while the men tried to hide the wistful respect in their eyes.

I would use one of the earlier deads, quite a nice chap if you did not mind his propensity for martial arts demonstrations and his violent aversion to garrulous mindless women, the latter popping up rather often in our clan. He had been forbidden to attend any more of our sporadic gatherings after he threw a universally detested great-aunt over the garden table and into a bed of roses. Her husband, a very quiet, mild-looking fellow with a fringe of white hair, innocent blue eyes, the complexion of a country parson and a truly diabolic mind, took loud offence at this behaviour.

"Look you here. Next time you feel compelled to do a demonstration along these lines, be considerate enough to throw her clear from me. She ruined a lovely cigar with her thrashing about." Then, turning away slightly, he added quietly. "But come. I have two more. Let us enjoy them in peace while she gets herself unscrambled."

That splendid fellow, the woman thrower, would not mind lending his mantle since he died a largely unlamented and undocumented death some years back, my great-uncle and myself being the only ones to care about him. And I knew that his last legal address had long since been converted into a shopping mall. Perfect. A visit to the hairdresser was next. Brush cut. After that I cut and scratched off my beard, leaving only a rather bushy moustache to adorn my naked face, stuffed some cotton wool into my cheeks and had photographs taken.

I sent an e-mail off to Alfred, telling him that I was ready whenever he was and to meet me on the island. I was back in a flash after giving him my new personal details and enhanced photographs. Now I could not wait to get out of this happy house.

True to her word, Elise prepared meals for me, took care of all laundry, whereas I saw to all the manly tasks like tending the garden — in winter! —, washing the car occasionally, fixing things. We barely spoke to each other, though, apart from rather impersonal greetings and she never mentioned the results of her visit to the doctor. Must have been good, I suppose, since she would not tell. And if she noticed my altered appearance it wasn't worth a comment from her either.

My new papers, together with airline tickets, I picked up on the island in mid-December with Alfred advising me to pack only the barest essentials, since outfitting should better be done stateside.

"We don't want you to look like a tourist."

This gave me cause for strong misgivings, remembering Alfred's questionable sense of style and fashion. He asked about Elise and was very upset about the state of things. Yet, telling him that I thought to detect some kind of indecision in her at times cheered him up a lot.

"Bert, this can only mean that the brainwashing was not entirely successful. Take hope. Once we have cleared up the mess with CareWell there is nothing to stop us from making her whole again."

"I don't know, Alfred, if she will listen to me, if she will be prepared to have me 'messing' with her again, but the longer this goes on the more I hate the bastards who did this to her. I do want revenge, if only for her sake."

"No, Bert, for our sake too. Wilbur got very impatient while I was working on your new identity and is watching the company like a hawk. The signs are good, very good actually. Some people have been laid off, others have resigned, no new projects have been acquired. They are holding endless meetings where nothing gets decided since they are all subjected to my conflicting messages. The philosopher and the recruiter are the only ones hanging in there. The former because he has such a disciplined mind and the latter because he has none. I can hardly wait to get rid of that animal.

"Right, Bert, you go to your home now and we will see you in New York in two days. Don't miss the plane. Be very careful of what you tell Elise, though."

"I will find some plausible explanation, Alfred. Take great care too, my friend."

Packing for the trip was easy. A few toiletries, a couple of paperbacks, a change of clothing, spare underwear, done. What and how to tell Elise? In the end I decided that to just leave a note would be an abject way out. I had to talk to her.

"Elise, I have to go away for some time, a few weeks perhaps. No, not to the island, I have been there many a time trying to sort things out. This is something else. No, I can't tell you why and I can't tell you my whereabouts either. Please trust me, it's better you shouldn't know. Give my regards to the children. Don't go into my study. I will write you an e-mail now and then, but there won't be any letters. Fare well and take care."

"But..."

Her eyes were huge, full of anxiety, indecision and some emotions I could not even try to interpret.

"No, Elise, no buts. Not now. I called for a taxi to take me to the station, it will be here soon. Don't think badly of me for leaving you at this time of the year. Things will get better, you have to believe me. I still love you, you know."

Just then the taxi arrived and I left her without looking back.

Alfred's documents passed muster without any hitch. How did he do it? The flight from Frankfurt was rather boring but quite comfortable, business class at least providing me with enough space for my large frame. Apart from a very noisy family with a large number of snot-nosed, whining, screaming kids — business class? — I was left in peace. With earphones even their noise was bearable, however, even though it baffled the stewardess that I had the leads hanging unplugged in space. I read, ate their uninspired fare at regular intervals, had a few surprisingly good drinks, read some more and slept the miles away at leisure.

New York, of course, was a mess. The turmoil at JFK the first taste of things to come, with immigration and customs officials doing their utmost to make me feel thoroughly unwelcome. I spent an inordinate time of shuffling this way or that in a seemingly endless queue of smelly unwashed people, to answer asinine questions about the purpose of my visit, my suspicious lack of luggage, lack of cell phone, lack of credit cards.

"What kind of cards are these?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How much can you charge against them?"

"Oh, I understand. Sorry. No, they are not credit cards. With them I can draw money from any ATM and I can pay at shops with the right card reader. Presently there are about 12000 Euro in this account, roughly 6000 in that one."

"How much is that in money?"

I wanted to tell that ignorant uniformed arsehole that it amounted to about 500000 Polish Zloty, old style, till I remembered that that crowd is now part of the EU as well. Better to leave it unsaid.

Finally I was spewed, along with a throng of equally hapless people, into a huge, monstrously noisy hall, a nightmare Hieronymus Bosch would have been challenged to paint. I decided that to move around in this grand melee would not aid Alfred or Wilbur to find me. So I just stood my ground stoically, immune to the bumps and curses I received regularly until a couple of cops, complete with dog confronted me.

"Mister, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just arrived by plane."

"You gotta move on now. You can't stand here all day. The exits are over there. Move."

"Well, officer, I am supposed to be met by some people. Where would be the most likely place for that?"

"Any place but here. Now move."

Welcome to the USA. Their man-eater dog started growling too, birds of a feather — even if the metaphor is wrong —, so I moved. I could well do without this kind of attention in any case.

Bloody hell, but this place is big. And hectic. I have been through a few airports the world over in my time but for sheer noise and confusion this takes the crown. Few people are more egocentrically ruthless in their day-to-day dealings than the Estonians, tucked away deeply in the Baltic. But they at least practice their incivility quietly. Here most sentences directed at other people were snarled, the recipients either ignoring the ruckus completely or snarling right back. I longed for home.

"Please follow me, good sir. Your carriage waits," a figure suddenly appearing at my side spoke in the singsong voice so many Pakistanis are afflicted with. And he had a bloody pyjama wrapped around his head too, wearing some shortish coat contraption over white, bulbous pants, making his rear look much like the shrivelled behind of an old elephant cow, white of course.

"By the fiery wheels of Catherine, Wilbur. Will you ever grow up? I am almost embarrassed to be seen with you."

The splendid worthy seemed to shrink towards the ground.

"Damn you, Bert. You take all the fun out of my acting. What gave me away? I thought the dress and turban are perfect. And I practised speaking."

"Sure Wilbur, very good. But you should have removed the price tag before wrapping that towel around your head. All the Pakis do so, I hear."

"Blast. Alfred was right again. He said I would not be able to fool you for long. I wonder now, did he see the tag as well? And not tell? Some friend, eh?

"But come. It's good to see you on the home turf at last. We will take a cab over there."

"I am glad to see you too, Wilbur. You call this home? A madhouse? This place is sheer lunacy to the power of ten. Already I long for home, my home. A village with fewer than 2000 people of whom I do not have to know more than twenty.

"But you are right. Let's get out of here quick before I start snarling too."

Wilbur just laughed it off.

"You will get used to it with time. A word of warning, though. When we are amongst people, do not talk about our business at all. We still have to be careful. Let me be the tourist guide instead."

"Where are we going to, Wilbur?"

"Eventually we will arrive at my humble dwelling in Virginia, I hope. But first, we have to survive the trip to Penn Station."

We would catch a cab, after Wilbur advised me that the various public ways of moving to Midtown were fraught with risks not adequately offset by the slightly lower cost. And he would change out of these clothes before we go anywhere.

"Alfred seems to thrive in this universe. He knows all the connections on any kind of transport, were to take a detour to avoid the more unsavoury routes and stations, he hops on and off continually and laughs derisively when I point out to him that the New York commuting systems were devised by misanthropes of the highest order. He claims I just lack the necessary savoir-faire to enjoy it. Maybe he is right, I do get pissed off quickly when I have to mix with the unclean masses."

We stood in line patiently till some earnest clown in a fleet admiral's uniform allowed us to board a taxi. Wilbur tried to explain the intricacies of the metropolitan transport services to me: buses, trains, subways, shuttles, limo services but I surrendered early and unconditionally.

"Wilbur, please, my chances of understanding this compound chaos are less than grasping the theory of relativity. Just take me to wherever we need to be. I do hope they serve drinks somewhere along the way."

Wilbur was much tickled by my queasiness but told the cabbie to go to Penn Station via Manhattan Bridge, thus offering me the best view of Manhattan and giving me every opportunity to 'enjoy' New York traffic at its best.

The cabbie did look rather happy at that.

"Right, chief, it's your dollar."

I did stare about me like a country bumpkin, staggered by the unorthodox building styles and the sheer masses of unbridled humanity, but refrained from asking too many questions. They were all there, all sorts and types: bag ladies; Jamaicans with dread locks; Jews with their yarmulkes; guys looking like Cortez revisited; one chap was even fully furnished in morning coat, striped pants, beautiful white shirt, silver grey tie, bowler hat but neither socks nor shoes and I did spot some decently clothed people who did not act gay or bombed out on drugs or sloshed but seemed to be gainfully employed, and, thankfully, no lederhosen whatsoever.

When I remarked on that, Wilbur laughed at my ignorance.

"Bert, there is a place in Alphabet City called 'Zum Schneider'. Alfred took me there a few times after he met you. Told me we had to get a 'feel' for you. There you will find as many lederhosen and dirndl as you like. A mad place, really. Those litre mugs of dark beer seem to do something to us laid-back people. We just can't help ourselves after downing two or three. And they do serve some very nice pork knuckles, though not as good as that famous roasted suckling pig of Sabreena's. That pub is a riot, and a gold mine for its owners.

"But look there, way off in the distance you could almost see the Statue of Liberty if it wasn't such filthy weather, and ahead of us is Manhattan. You must have seen this view adorn a thousand leaflets. Now minus the WTC, of course."

He called out Broadway, Park Avenue, Fifth Avenue, Empire State Building and such but I was much relieved when we finally reached Penn Station. Wilbur paid off the driver, including a hefty tip, and promised to oblige when the guy admonished him to tell and show me everything that made the USA great and unique and towering over all other nations and that I should forget about disgusting old Europe as soon as possible. I solemnly promised I would, too.

"I'm totally white about this, squire. I used to shunt a cab through London ages ago. London is great you think? No way, man, this is where it all happens. Be seein' you."

I felt I had to believe him, especially as he was almost as dark as the insides of a dead cow. And I don't like London at all. Wilbur was chuckling as he hustled me into the station.

"Yes, Bert, no better way to get an education than to listen to the wisdom of cab drivers all over the world. They know it all, and better than most. But let me get my bearings ... ah yes, here we are. I picked up the tickets already, the train leaves in about three quarters of an hour, this bar looks okay for a few drinks. What do you say, Bert?"

"Let's get to it, Wilbur. For a moment you had me worried about prohibition being with us again."

Conversation was difficult since we had to avoid the topic foremost on our minds. Wilbur told me however that everybody was well and looking forward to meeting me. Sabreena and Lexa doing little else than worrying over what to cook for me. He made no mention of Alfred at all and I did not push him. He did say that the people in rural Virginia are much more friendly and relaxed and easy to live with.

Finely tuned thanks to the couple of drinks we had enjoyed, no Hennessey this time but good juice all the same, we were ready to board the train. Again I was grateful for Wilbur's able assistance. The layout of the carriages, the seat arrangement, the general commotion made me wish to be elsewhere. I was really becoming an old woman in no time at all.

But the train journey to Richmond was quite comfortable and took just a little over seven hours. Some of this time we spent chatting, Wilbur pointing out sights as we hurtled along and explaining, trying to at least, the American rail services, the multitude of operators, the near constant switching of routes, changing of train names or numbers, or just reading or dozing. However, he never mentioned our final destination, didn't say a word about his renovations on the mill and I was much surprised when, after arriving in Richmond, we debarked the train to immediately board another one, northbound.

"Couldn't we have... ?"

"Yes, Bert, but it is better this way. You will understand soon enough. But no need to worry. Everything is fine, really."

After a few hours he told me to get ready. We would get off at the next stop, Fredericksburg, if my memory does not fail me. He got us another taxi to take us to a decent motel on the outskirts. I was much thrilled to see how furtive he acted when we checked in there. He signed in quickly, turned the register over to the clerk quickly, turned away quickly. However, having been trained as a typesetter in leaden times I was able to read his precise if upside-down handwriting easily: Hyacinth Broombie and party. Two singles.

I nearly did wet myself. Alfred had his revenge. It made me wonder what kind of heavy-handed prank of Wilbur's warranted this extreme retaliation. When he told me to pick a room I deferred to him.

"You take first choice, Mr. Broombie. I am well satisfied to fit any abode, no matter how humble, to my equally humble body and name. By the way, do you prefer to be called HiAce or Cinthie?"

"Bert, it is only through my most superhuman effort at restraint that I allow you to survive this moment unscathed. But dammit, Alfred did not tell you and neither did the girls. That serf was uncouth enough not to address me by name. How the hell did you find out?"

When I told him of my minor ability he shrugged dejectedly.

"Well, it was bound to come out eventually. That Alfred. I will have to think about something special to get even. But let's have a nightcap and go to bed. We will be picked up early in the morning."

One of the more surprising side effects of my remake at the island was to turn me, a habitual late sleeper for all my previous life, into an early riser. When the call from the desk told me that our transport had arrived, I was ready and packed to join Wilbur (Cinthie? HiAce?) on the way over to the breakfast room. Alfred however had other ideas.

"Good to see you both. Let's not bother with breakfast. I paid up already, we should be on our way."

My surprise at this peculiar treatment from him must have shown, because he just shook his head minutely and led us outside to a huge double-cab pick-up, looking much the worse for wear but surprisingly well-kept on the inside. Within moments we were away, sitting comfortably three-up in front.

"Bert, sorry for being so rude, but we still have to be very careful. Things are happening fast. We will eat along the way. We got enough to feed a small army, all of it very good. Your clothes are in that suitcase in the back. You can change at the first stop we have to make."

He must have felt my hesitation and just laughed it off, as he was wont to do whenever I doubted his good taste.

"Don't worry. The stuff on the island was for recreation only. Here it is mostly business. You will look very American, your Teutonic accent being the only thing outlandish about you. Think you can lose that in a hurry?"

"No, Alfred, I won't even try. You can tell people that I am your long-lost brother, if we have to tell anybody anything. — But surely we can talk now. How are Lexa and Sabreena? Is everything ok? Where are we going? What is with the corporate front?"

Wilbur spoke up happily.

"You do this multiple-question thing extremely well, Bert. That should keep Alfred occupied for as long as my breakfast lasts. Atta boy."

"Don't you 'Atta boy' me, Wilbur, since I might just be tempted to share a few rather private titbits with Bert."

"Empty threats, Alfred. This sneaky cad found out already. He is a complete menace to all god-fearing folk with his weird skills. Now, do tell him and let me eat."

A startled Alfred complied readily.

"Sabreena and Lexa are well; they can't wait to spoil you. Everything else, which concerns us directly, is fine too. We took great care.

"We are going to one of the more remote sections of the Blue Ridge Mountains, to, eh, Wilbur's mill house, a few hours' drive. You will love it. Wilbur has worked hard to make the place not only habitable but remarkably comfortable. He used our special time to best advantage, doing all the outside renovations first to avoid too much suspicion from a few nosy neighbours. A great place in beautiful surroundings.

"The corporate front, as you called it, is the reason for all this secrecy and haste. Things are moving faster than we expected. Some of the people have obviously been quite unstable to start with. We must act now before they come unstuck prematurely. We have to deal with them as we have discussed it, and soon.

"I fed some vague reassurances into their network to slow them down but this caused even more anxiety, especially with the accountant and the politician. They are cracking up. The first has stopped all stealing since there is nothing left to steal. The politician does hardly anything else than washing his hands and lately has started foaming at the mouth at times. All of them have become very suspicious of everybody else. Even though I destroyed their memories concerning us, they seem to have, much like you told us about Elise, a residual awareness of something amiss. They will not be able to last much longer without cracking up.

"We will have to make our moves tomorrow. Sorry, Bert, I would have liked to give you a few days to get the feel of everything. Tonight we will stay at the mill, have a good meal, some talks and early tomorrow we will go to my place, it is not all that far away, where we will play our little games of fate. If we are up to it..."

Wilbur had finished his breakfast, handing me some morsels regularly, and was now pouring coffee.

"We will be up to it, Alfred. We might turn the heat down a bit if you insist, but no second thoughts. We could never relax again, you know that."

"Yes, Wilbur, I know, but..."

"We are not involving the women in this, are we, Alfred? If you ask me they should not even be able to guess what we are about to do."

"You're right, Bert, they are not involved. Even so, you cannot stop them from speculating why you have to be here, why you had to have a new identity. So we just told them that it was better for you to be away from Elise for a while. Give her the chance to calm down and find peace in herself, if possible. They understand that, but they are very worried about her, too. And I hate all this lying and subterfuge amongst the people I love!"

"Wilbur, you did mention some photographs that Sabreena took when times were still good. Perhaps Sabreena could send some of them to Elise. I did not like leaving her at this time of the year and they might just trigger something in her which I could not."

"Damn, Bert, I forgot all about them. Sorry, but we will do it tonight. You are right, we dare not leave Elise alone in her plight. Sorry."

From then on we did not speak all that much, except either Alfred or Wilbur pointing out places of interest along the way, battles won and lost in that ill-conceived war a long time past. Just before we reached Culpeper Alfred turned off to the left on what must have been a secondary highway and found a deserted resting place soon after.

"Please put on the new clothes now, Bert. It will soon be getting much colder and we want you to be dressed right if we do meet people."

My new outfit was not at all bad, considering my previous experiences with Alfred the tailor. Slightly more woodsy-outdoorsy than I would have preferred, dozens of pockets to store what not, but Alfred did tell me that we were going into quite rugged country. His boots I did not like at all, cowboy-style and rather pointed and high heeled. No wonder I was looking for a couple of six shooters to go with the dress and wouldn't have been surprised if they had a nag saddled for me somewhere around the corner.

"Bert, those fancy boots are just another example of Wilbur's idea of fun. I got the genuine article for you, don't worry."

After some more driving over well-kept roads with steady but light traffic he swung off the road and aimed the car at the mountains in the near distance. Something bothered me, though.

"Alfred, you did say that Wilbur's place is out in the boon sticks, didn't you? But this area is quite densely populated and there are roads all over the place with cars going in all directions all the time."

"Maybe it would appear that way to you, Bert. From our point of view, this is rather quiet living. There are lots of tourists, hikers and backtrackers and such all year round, yes. But this is the most appealing side of the place we found. We are practically hiding in plain view. We have three very bad access roads, tracks rather, to the mill and we do our best to keep them that way. We always use a different one to go in or out. They look virtually unused. Our next-door neighbour lives only about four km from us as the crow flies. But his place is on the other, very steep side of the hills with no direct connecting road which makes the distance about 15 km one way. He has given up visiting with us since we played our parts well. Boring people of sober habits. Instead of some shine as he might have come to expect we treated him to what Lexa calls her nice mulberry wine. A misnomer if ever there was one. Disgusting stuff, gives you the runs too. None of us drink it and the guy left in a hurry. We haven't seen him here since. He does wave vaguely at us when we do meet him in town.

"We even have a mailbox at the turn-off from the main road and we do send ourselves some mail, catalogues mostly, and now and then an official-looking letter to have people accept us as genuine. It works well, they don't bother us at all."

Soon we turned off onto a smaller road and I was advised that we were now closing in. The valley got narrower as we went along, the hills steeper and more wooded and there was a substantial streamlet rushing in meanders that we had to cross and re-cross constantly.

"Bert, I did quite a bit of research on this mill, all fruitless. For the love of God I do not know why it was built out here in the first place. There are no farms in the vicinity, there never have been logging operations. If I should guess the mill was just a front for moonshining. Nothing else makes any sense, yet the wheel, a steel one at that, was in good enough condition to restore easily. We let it run all the time. It makes a nice background sound we have all come to love. Since it is so out of the way, the warring parties of the civil struggle did not bother to destroy it. If they did know about it at all, they may have killed or driven off the owners."

After he said that, Wilbur pointed out a dirt track going off at the left.

"This is one of the tracks we could have used. But Alfred came out on it in the morning, so now we use the last one for going in. A very handy feature this. Lexa does not care for the sneakiness and we think she would like to have more of a social life. But that will come once everything is sorted out. We won't hide forever."