A Matter of Honor

Next he unlocked the bathroom door and lifted Petrova’s stiff body in his arms before trying to cram it into the basket. Rigor mortis had already gripped the body; the legs refused to bend, and the researcher didn’t quite fit in. Romanov placed the naked Petrova on the floor. He held his fingers out straight and suddenly brought them down with such force on the right leg that it broke like a branch in a storm. He repeated the action on her left leg. Like the guillotine, it didn’t require a second attempt. He then tucked the legs under her body. It amused Romanov to consider that, had it been he who had been murdered, Anna Petrova would never have been able to get him in the basket, whatever she had tried to break. Romanov then wheeled the trolley into the researcher’s bedroom and, after emptying all her drawers, including Anna’s clothes, clean and dirty

, her shoes, her toilet bag, toothbrush, and even an old photograph of himself he hadn’t realized she possessed, he threw them in the basket on top of her. Once he had removed the gold medallion from around her neck and was certain that there was nothing of the researcher’s personal belongings left, he covered up the body with a hotel bath towel and sprayed it with a liberal amount of Chanel No. 5 that had been left courtesy of the hotel.

Finally he strapped the lid down securely, wheeled the creaking basket out, and left it by the outer door.

Romanov began to pack his own suitcase, but there was a knock on the door before he had finished.

“Wait,” he said firmly. There was a muffled reply of “Ja, mein Herr.” A few moments later Romanov opened the door. The porter entered, nodded to him, and began to tug at the laundry basket, but it took a firm shove from Romanov’s foot before it got moving. The porter sweated his way down the corridor as Romanov walked by the side of the basket, carrying his suitcase. When they reached the rear of the hotel Romanov watched as the basket was wheeled safely into the freight elevator before he stepped in himself.

When the ground-floor doors opened Romanov was relieved to be greeted by Jacques, who was standing by a large Mercedes waiting for him with the trunk already open. The taxi driver and the porter lifted up the laundry basket and placed it into the trunk, but Romanov’s suitcase could not be fitted in as well, so it had to be put in the front of the car alongside the driver’s seat.

“Shall we forward your bill to the consulate, mein Herr?” asked Jacques.

“Yes, that would be helpful …”

“I do hope everything has worked out to your satisfaction,” said Jacques, as he held open the back door of the Mercedes for his departing guest.

“Entirely,” said Romanov.

“Good, good. And will your young colleague be joining you?” asked the manager, looking back over his shoulder toward the hotel.

“No, she won’t,” said Romanov. “She has already gone on to the airport ahead of me.”

“Of course,” said Jacques, “but I am sorry to have missed her. Do please pass on my best wishes.”

“I certainly will,” said Romanov, “and I look forward to returning to your hotel in the near future.”

“Thank you, sir,” the manager said as Romanov slipped into the backseat, leaving Jacques to close the door behind him and wave as the car moved off.

When Romanov arrived at the Swissair office his suitcase was checked in, and he waited only moments before continuing on to the bank. Herr Bischoff’s son, accompanied by another man, also clad in a gray suit, were waiting by in the hall to greet him.

“How pleasant to see you again so soon,” volunteered the young Herr Bischoff. His deep voice took Romanov by surprise. The taxi driver waited by the open trunk while Herr Bischoff’s companion, a man of at least six foot four and heavily built, lifted out the laundry basket as if it were a sponge cake. Romanov paid the fare and followed Herr Bischoff into the far lift.

“We are fully prepared for your deposition following your phone call,” said Herr Bischoff. “My father was only sorry not to be present personally. He had a long-standing engagement with another customer and only hopes that you will understand.” Romanov waved his hand.

The lift traveled straight to the ground floor, where the guard, on seeing young Herr Bischoff, unlocked the massive steel cage. Romanov and the banker proceeded at a leisurely pace down the corridor, while the giant carried the basket in their wake.

Standing with folded arms by the vault door was another of the partners Romanov recognized from the previous day. Herr Bischoff nodded, and the partner placed his key in the top lock of the vault door without a word. Herr Bischoff then turned the second lock, and together they pushed open the great steel door. Herr Bischoff and his partner walked in ahead of Romanov and opened the top lock of all five of his boxes, while the guard placed the laundry basket on the floor beside them.

“Will you require any assistance?” asked Herr Bischoff as he handed his Russian client a personal sealed envelope.

“No, thank you,” Romanov assured him but did not relax until he had seen the vast door close behind him and all four of his Swiss helpers left invisibly on the other side.

Once he felt certain he was alone, he stared down at the one large box he knew to be empty: it was smaller than he had recalled. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he unlocked it, pulled it out, and raised the airtight lid. It was going to be a tight fit. Romanov unstrapped the laundry basket and removed everything except the body. He stared down at the contorted face; the deep marks in the skin around the neck were now a dark blue. He bent over and lifted the researcher up by her waist, but as no part of the body moved other than her broken legs, he had to drop her into the box headfirst. Even then he had to adjust her various limbs in order that the box could be shut: had Anna been even an inch taller the exercise would have proved pointless. He then stuffed the girl’s belongings down at the sides of her body, leaving only the Chanel-covered towel behind in the laundry basket.

Romanov proceeded to replace the lid on the airtight box before pushing it back securely in place and locking it. He then double-checked that it could not be opened without his own personal key. He was relieved to find he could not budge it. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the second large box, but accepted that this was not the time to indulge himself: that would have to wait for another occasion. Satisfied that everything was back in place, he closed and strapped down the lid of the laundry basket and wheeled it back to the entrance of the vault. He pressed the little red button.

“I do hope you found everything in order,” said the young Herr Bischoff once he had returned from locking the five boxes.

“Yes, thank you,” said Romanov. “But would it be possible for someone to return the laundry basket to the Saint Cothard Hotel?”

“Of course,” said the banker, who nodded toward the large man.

“And I can be assured that the boxes will not be touched in my absence?” he asked as they walked down the corridor.

“Naturally, Your Excellency,” said Herr Bischoff, looking somewhat aggrieved at such a suggestion. “When you return,” he continued, “you will find everything exactly as you left it.”

Well, not exactly, Romanov thought to himself.