A Matter of Honor

“Are you a musician as well?” asked Stephen as he shook Adam’s hand.

“No, I can truthfully say that I have never been able to master any instrument,” said Adam.

“He’s tone deaf,” butted in Robin. “Takes after my father. He’s in magazines, actually,” she continued, enjoying herself.

“Oh, really. Do you publish them or sell them?” inquired Stephen.

“I’m with Playboy,” said Adam, mentioning the first magazine that came into his head.

“Playboy, the magazine that produces those fabulous calendars?”

“What’s so special about their calendars?” asked Robin innocently. “I’m sure Adam can get you one.”

“Oh, that would be great,” said Stephen. “I hope it won’t put you to too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” said Robin, leaning over Adam conspiratorially. “Actually, to let you in on a little family secret, there is a rumor at H.Q. that Adam will soon be joining the main board. The youngest member in the publishing company’s history, you know.”

“How impressive,” said the manager, taking a closer look at the orchestra’s latest recruit.

“Where shall I send the calendar?” bleated out Adam.

“Oh, direct to the RPO. No need to tell you the address, is there?”

“In a brown paper envelope, no doubt,” said Robin. “And don’t worry about the year. It’s not the dates that he gets worked up about.”

“What time are we expecting to reach Frankfurt, Stephen?” shouted a voice from the front.

“Must leave you now,” said the manager. “Thanks for the promise of a calendar. Robin’s right, of course—any year will do.”

“Who taught you to spin a yarn like that?” asked Adam, as soon as he was out of earshot.

“My father,” said Robin. “You should have heard him at his best. In a class of his own. The problem was my mother still believed every word.”

“He would have been proud of you today.”

“Now we’ve found out what you do for a living,” said Robin, “may we learn what’s next on the agenda for the youngest director of Playboy?”

Adam smiled. “I’ve started trying to reason like Rosenbaum, and I think he’ll stay in Geneva for at least an hour, two at the most, so with luck I’ll get a fifty-mile start on him.” He unfolded the map across the two seats.

His finger ran along the road the bus was traveling on, and it was Robin who spoke first.

“That means you could make Zurich airport before he has any chance of catching up with you.”

“Perhaps,” said Adam, “but that would be too much of a risk. Whoever Rosenbaum is,” he went on, abiding by Lawrence’s request to be cautious by not letting Robin into his secret, “we now know for certain that he has a professional organization behind him, so I must expect the airports to be the first place he will have covered. And don’t forget the Swiss police are still on the lookout for me as well.”

“So why don’t you come on to Frankfurt with us?” asked Robin. “I can’t believe you’ll have any trouble from Stephen.”

“I’ve thought about that already but discounted it also as too great a risk,” said Adam.

“Why?”

“Because, when Rosenbaum has had time to think about it,” said Adam, “the one thing he’ll remember is this bus. Once he’s found out the direction we’re heading in he’s sure to come after us.”

Robin’s eyes returned to the map. “So you’ll need to decide where and when to get off.”

“Exactly,” whispered Adam. “I can risk sixty to seventy miles, but not a lot further.”

Robin’s finger ran along the little road. “About here,” she said, her finger stopping on a little town called Solothurn.