A Matter of Honor

“I fear so,” said Romanov, “and I shall have to make a full report of the situation to my superiors the moment I get back to Moscow.”

“Yes, of course, Comrade Major.”

“I shall also point out that you have done everything possible to assist me with this problem, Comrade Second Secretary.”

“Thank you, Comrade Major.”

“And brief me the moment you come up with any information that might lead us to where she is.”

“Of course, Comrade Major.” Romanov replaced the phone and walked across to the bathroom in the adjoining room. He stared down at the body hunched up in the bath. Anna’s eyes were bulging in their sockets, her face contorted, and the skin already gray. After throwing a towel over the dead researcher’s head and locking the door, he went into his own bathroom for an unusually long shower.

He returned and sat on his side of the bed, only a towel around his waist, and picked up the phone. He ordered breakfast, which arrived fifteen minutes later, by which time he had dressed. Once he had finished orange juice and croissants he returned to the phone trying to recall the name of the hotel’s manager. It came back to him just as the receptionist said, “Guten morgen, Mein Herr.”

“Jacques, please,” was all Romanov said. A moment later he heard the manager’s voice, “Good morning, Herr Romanov.”

“I have a delicate problem that I was hoping you might be able to help me with.”

“I shall certainly try, sir,” came back the reply.

“I am in possession of a rather valuable object that I wish to deposit with my bank, and I wouldn’t want …”

“I understand your dilemma entirely,” said the manager. “And how can I be of assistance?”

“I require a large container in which to place the object.”

“Would a laundry basket be large enough?”

“Ideal, but does it have a secure lid?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Jacques. “We often have to drop them off down lift shafts.”

“Perfect,” said Romanov.

“Then it will be with you in a matter of moments,” said Jacques. “And I shall send a porter to assist you. May I also suggest that it is taken down in the freight elevator at the rear of the hotel, thus ensuring that no one will see you leaving?”

“Very considerate,” said Romanov.

“Will a car be calling to collect you?”

“No,” said Romanov. “I—”

“Then I shall arrange for a taxi to be waiting. When will you require it?”

“In no more than half an hour.”

“You will find it parked outside the freight entrance in twenty minutes’ time.”

“You have been most helpful,” said Romanov, before adding, “the chairman of the State Bank did not exaggerate his praise of you.”

“You are too kind, Herr Romanov,” said the voice. “Will there be anything else?”

“Perhaps you would be good enough to have my account prepared so that there will be no holdup.”

“Certainly.”

Romanov put the phone down, wishing he could export such service to Moscow. He only waited a moment before he dialed the first of two local numbers. On both occasions his wishes were immediately granted. As he replaced the phone for the third time there was a gentle tap on the door. Romanov went quickly over to answer it. A young porter stood in the corridor, a large laundry basket by his side. He smiled politely. Romanov merely nodded and pulled in the basket. “Please return as soon as the taxi has arrived,” said Romanov. The porter bowed slightly but said nothing.

As soon as the porter had left, Romanov locked the door and put the chain in place before wheeling the laundry basket into the main bedroom and leaving it by the side of the bed. He undid the tough leather straps and threw open the lid.