Collective Mind (11 page)

After
two weeks, Isaac and Bikie, having collected an ocean of information and
analyzed it forwards, backwards and sideways, were still stuck right where they
had started. There were too many alternatives and despite all the efforts of
Bikie and his mysterious friends, who obtained data from places so dark that
even storing it was frightening, they still have not come up with any theory
concerning Link’s whereabouts.

They
discussed and argued, trying to persuade each other, but in fact did not make
any progress.

Isaac
looked at the data they had and summed things up.

“So,
our old boy didn’t take many holidays and he loved islands. He was quite fond
of Thailand, Corsica and Sardinia, and he had been to China. He visited America
too, but mostly on business, for holidays he usually chose the Mediterranean
islands. Sometimes he went just for a weekend, sometimes staying longer and,
interestingly, often called a Dutch escort service before setting off. Well
yes, sitting in the lab for hours on end does make it pretty hard to find a
female companion. The rest is general information: date of birth, education –
nothing that gives us any insight.”

“Isaac,
why are we trying to find him in the first place? Putting in so much effort?
Maybe we ought to try studying the actual technology?”

“Intuition,
Bikie. If we find him, maybe we’ll find both our question and answer at the
same time. In theory, the man who created it can destroy it too. Lots of people
who’ve tried to produce the technology have got now here and we want to break
it. What if we cause some disaster? It’s dangerous. Better let Link break it
when we find him.”

“If
he can, and if he wants to…”

“We’ll
make him”

“What
if he’s a big fan of his eyecandy?”

“Stop
cooking Link before catching him. We’ll work it out. By the way, what about the
woman he loves? If he’s alive, she’s probably somewhere close by. Analyze her
data. Maybe it’s not so secret, and anyway women don’t worry as much about
security, or rather, they’re not as careful as a paranoid scientist. If she’s
not from scientific environment, she could easily have left tracks.”

“Well
that would be a good idea, except that I haven’t really found any personal
connections for Link.”

“And
what about the escort service? Why don’t you think he could have called and
dated the same woman all the time?”

This
secret side of Link’s life could turn up some leads. Only they had to take into
account that an escort service probably didn’t have permanent sites or a
permanent telephone number. But they didn’t have anything else, and Bikie
started on the analysis.

A
few hours later Isaac looked in on his friend, and from Bikie’s excited
appearance, he realized they finally had some kind of lead!

“It
looks like I know where our little friend wove his love nest once in a while!”
Bikie was really excited, and Isaac realized he was about to deliver some kind
of bombshell. “Every time after he called the agency from this number, there
was another call, to a mobile or landline number. The mobile number’s been out
of use for a long time, unfortunately, but I wouldn’t have spent much time on
it anyway because I came across something more interesting. The landline number
is in Amsterdam, it’s listed to an apartment at an address that came up once at
the immigration office. So, according to the report on this address, two girls
lived there. A certain Yoshi Kato and a certain Hiro Okamoto. So our man was
not only fond of his laboratory flasks, he liked a touch of Japanese flavor.”

“Right…”

“After
that I came across Yoshi Kato several times.”

“But
Hiro Okamoto not once, apparently,” Isaac guessed with a smile.

“Bull’s-eye!
Well done, kiddo, you catch on quick.”

“And
I’d even venture a guess that you’ve already gathered the info on Yoshi.”

“Bull’s-eye
again!”

“And
you’ve found…”

“So
far shit-all,” Bikie replied vulgarly. “Apart from the fact that she has a
residence permit in England! But hang on; I haven’t been digging for long.

“Well
now, Amsterdam is not Tokyo, we can make an on-site inspection. Link had a cozy
set-up, a one-hour flight and no prying eyes. I think I’ll take a flight over
there,” Isaac summed up.

Thank
God prostitution in Holland was legal, so they had a fair chance of finding the
Japanese girl or her friend Even though Bikie was working away tirelessly and
the search for information needed to be continued, it was impossible to stop
him from taking a trip to Amsterdam.

“You
know that we haven’t got any money to spare, don’t you? I’ll manage on my own,”
Isaac assured him.

“I
agree to a hotel with a quarter of a star, I even agree to sleep with you in
the same bed, I will not eat or drink, but I’m definitely going to Amsterdam,
that’s non-negotiable… Oh, and I’m taking back my vow not to drink.”

Realizing
that resistance was futile, Isaac called Peter and warned him they would be
going to Amsterdam. Peter laughed and asked on what dates they would be away.

“You
probably need to blow away a few cobwebs,” he agreed.

From
Monaco to Amsterdam is fifteen hundred kilometers. After a small argument with
Bikie, who, having won himself a trip, promptly suggested going on his Harley,
the alternative of going by plane won out. Neither a car nor a motorbike was
convenient in Amsterdam.

Isaac
bought the very cheapest tickets and found a budget apartment with two beds
through a mobile phone app.

Bikie
was so excited he wouldn’t let Isaac sleep until three in the morning. Although
they didn’t really need to discuss their plan further, they talked it through
briefly. They would contact the escort agency – there probably weren’t many
good ones, and they could not believe that Link had used a cheap one. They
would try to find both the Japanese women there.

Assuming
that Yoshi had disappeared together with Link, finding her would be no easier
than finding the professor. But the other woman, Hiro Okamoto had no reason to
hide. They would find her and see where the threads led to from there. Even if
she didn’t work at the agency any more, you never knew your luck, so it would
be worth talking to her. Bikie had easily figured out the old address of the
two girls’ apartment from the telephone number. The rest they would sort out on
the spot.

Amsterdam
is the only capital in the world that stands below sea level. Dozens of canals
divide the city up into a host of little islands, connected by hundreds of
bridges of vastly different kinds. The main, and the most famous canal, is
Amstel. Amsterdam is also the city of tulips, but by no means their native
land. The flower originally came from the mountains of Asia. The Greeks and the
Persians loved them. And there was a “Tulip Era” in Turkey too. It was from
there that the Austrian ambassador brought back a few bulbs and presented them
to a local professor of botany: they were stolen from him and brought to
Amsterdam. Isaac recalled the story of the famous tulip boom that followed
these events. At that time you could get a good house for the bulb of a
beautiful tulip. Prices soared sky-high and everyone speculated in the bulbs –
from bankers to ordinary housewives. Of course, in the end the bubble burst,
dragging a whole bunch of people down to financial ruin.

This
was the world’s capital of freedom. Hordes of people once used to come here for
a weekend to have a good time. There was everything here: the red-light
district, loads of clubs and bars, coffee shops. Nowadays they still came here
to smoke grass and have fun, although vast crowds were a thing of the past.
Isaac had been to Amsterdam three times but his most vivid memory was the
King’s Day. The streets were transformed into torrents of orange – every single
last person was dressed in the national color to honor of the festival. It
seemed as if all of Holland had gathered in the streets of the capital. On the
canals there were so many boats, large and small, and rafts, that you couldn’t
even see the water. And so many people crowded onto the boats, you couldn’t
tell where the pavement ended and the water began. Everyone was singing,
drinking and dancing. One of the best days in Isaac’s past. He smiled at his
pleasant memories as the plane made its approach for landing.

They
decided to save on a taxi and took an express train. Half an hour later they
were standing in the central station. Bikie was amazed by the size of the
bicycle park. There were thousands of bicycles, if not tens of thousands, in a
three story building. Bikes could be hired for peanuts, but the friends set off
for the Old City on foot. Their apartment was conveniently located in the attic
of an old house: there was no lift, but that was no problem. On the other hand,
bustling, noisy Rembrandtplein was only a stone’s throw away, and they could
see a canal with a drawbridge that connected with the Amstel.

“Isaac,
let’s have lunch first, the escort agency probably isn’t open at lunch. I’m
sure the girls are still asleep after their working day, or rather night.”

“Okay,
let’s do lunch. That smell of pizza is making my stomach rumble. You don’t mind
a piece of Italy?”

“I’m
all for it,” Bikie answered, stroking his large belly.

In
an attempt to justify his presence in Amsterdam, Bikie had prepared very
thoroughly. He had studied the five most visited escort agency sites. Only two
of them had Asian girls and only one had Japanese girls. He also already knew
the location of the apartment where the phone number he’d found was registered.

“The
phone number I dug up doesn’t match any of the agencies. It’s been changed
since then but one of the sites said the agency has been in business for
twenty-five years. I think that’s the one we want although there is another one
that is also old, from the look of it. I’d start with that one for practice, as
the less likely option.”

Isaac’s
call was answered almost immediately by an extremely jolly voice.

“Decided
to spend a pleasant evening?” the man’s voice asked jauntily in English with an
accent.

“Yes,
thank you, but I have specific requests,” said Isaac, feeling a bit awkward.

“Well,
bear in mind that our prices are significantly higher than in the red light
district. And specific requests will cost even more.”

“No,
no, I don’t mean that. I’m interested in oriental girls.”

“Well
that can easily be arranged.”

“Not
just any, but Japanese girls. That’s essential for me.”

“We
don’t have Japanese girls. Only Thai and Chinese, and a Filipino girl. There’s
a young Russian with slanting eyes, very beautiful.”

“No,
only Japanese girls. And you know, a bit older. Over thirty if possible.”

“Listen,
this isn’t a supermarket, we don’t have that kind of choice, but you won’t
regret it if you choose a Chinese girl, we do have one a bit older, if you
like. A very sexy and exotic woman.”

“I
want a Japanese woman,” Isaac insisted.

“Are
you a Japanophile or what? Or Japanese yourself?”

“No,
I’m a European. It’s just that I was here a few years ago. And I was with this
girl. I want to see her again.”

“Sorry,
lad, I’ve never had any Japanese girls here. If you want someone else, call
us…” – the dial tone sounded in Isaac’s ear.

“No
luck,” said Isaac, turning to Bikie. “I’ll take a breather and call the other
number.”

“Hello,”
Isaac heard a familiar voice say

“Uhmm,
this is me again…” Isaac hadn’t expected that the different telephone numbers
could belong to the same agency.

“You’re
a persistent lad. You must have had a really wild time back then,” the agency
manager laughed.

“But
it says on your site that you have a Japanese girl.”

“If
you were drunk and I brought you a Chinese girl, you couldn’t tell the
difference. Anyway, I don’t have any Japanese, and I never did. But I’ll look
for one. Do you remember the name of your Kamasutra? They often disappear, you
know. I mean, they go away. Some guy like you gets stuck on a chick or gives
her so much money, she doesn’t need to work anymore, sometimes they take them
away and support them, so they can live together, sometimes they even get
married.”

“It’s
not a matter of Kamasutra. I don’t remember her name exactly. Maybe Yoshi Kato,
maybe Hiro Okamato or something like that.”

“OK.
If I find her, I’ll call. What hotel are you in?”

“The
Grand Hotel de l’Europe,” Isaac lied. He didn’t give the real address in case
the deal broke down. It was better to play a rich customer.

With
nothing in particular to do, Bikie suggested they should take a ride to the
building where Yoshi Kato and Hiro Okamoto have lived. They decided to go on
the bus, in case everything worked out with the escort agency – since there was
so little money.

The
Japanese girls’ apartment was located in a pleasant looking district, although
not in the center. Unfortunately they couldn’t find any cafes nearby that they
could have used as an observation post. The building had no concierge, and the
residents’ names were on the buttons of the entry phone. There was no tab for
Kato or Okamoto, but they found the name Akiyama.

“Look,
Akiyama. Could that be our Japanese rose?”

“Let’s
check right now,” said Bikie, pressing the call button.

There
was no response for a long time, but eventually a soft, mewing voice answered.
The friends didn’t know what a Japanese accent sounded like, but it could
easily have been one.

“Can
I speak to Yoshi Kato,” Isaac asked diffidently.

“I’m
sorry, there’s no one here by that name.” There was a brief pause and some
bustling in the background. “Who’s looking for her?”

Bikie
jogged Isaac with his elbow. Isaac leaned towards him and Bikie whispered that
if they didn’t know that person here they wouldn’t have asked who was looking
for her.

“I’m
an old student of Professor Link’s. I’d like to talk to Yoshi. Are you her
friend, Hiro Okamoto?”

There
was rustling sound in the entry phone and a different voice answered:

“Come
in.”

Bikie
uttered a soundless “Yessss!” and slapped Isaac on the shoulder so hard that he
winced in pain. When they were in the lobby, Isaac twirled his finger beside
his head and told Bikie what he thought of him.

“Ouch!
You’re crazy? That hurts.”

“Sorry,”
Bikie muttered guiltily. “I was so excited

The
girl proved to be very hospitable. She didn’t know where Yoshi had suddenly
disappeared to. But she showed them a photo and also said she suspected an
elderly Englishman. So the most valuable thing the guys learned was what Link’s
girlfriend looked like.

They
left feeling disappointed though. They hadn’t got anything new apart from
confirmation of their guess that Yoshi was probably with Link. And it had been
pretty clear that the two were together anyway. No leads yet again.

“Let’s
go have a beer at Smokey,” Bikie suggested. “Evening’s coming and I need to
relax my nerves.”

Isaac
agreed. This was Amsterdam after all. And Smokey was right on Rembrandtrein.

No
sooner had the friends drank a mug each, than Isaac’s phone rang. The number
was not displayed, but he recognized the voice.

“I’ve
found your Japanese girl, where shall I bring her?”

“Mmm,
don’t bring her to the hotel, we’ve rented an apartment.”

“We?”
the caller asked in surprise. “That’ll cost extra.”

“No,
no, I’m the only client,” Isaac clarified.

“OK.
I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

“OK,”
Isaac replied uncertainly and hung up.

“What
crazy shit is this?” asked Isaac, looking at Bikie.

“I
don’t know. Maybe Hiro was jerking us around.”

“It
didn’t seem that way. But who can tell? Let’s meet her, it can’t do any harm.”

At
the agreed time a car drove up to the building. The manager introduced himself
as Paul, gave the building a disgusted look and suggested they go upstairs. In
the apartment he looked around, sent a text, and soon a woman of about forty
came up.

“Here’s
your Yoshi,” Paul said with a broad smile. “Give me the money.”

“Do
you know Hiro Okamoto?” Bikie asked the woman, smelling a rat.

 She
looked at Paul inquiringly, but still shook her head.

“It’s
not her,” said Bikie, annoyed.

“How
do you know if it’s her or not? He’s the one who fell for the Japanese girl,”
said Paul, pointing angrily at Isaac.

“But
it really isn’t her,” said Isaac, trying to explain.

“I
got you what you wanted, and she’s got the right name! Isn’t that right?” said
Paul, starting to get angry. “What’s your name? Yoshi, right?” he asked, giving
the woman a stern look.

This
time she nodded.

“So
let’s have the money, guys, and she’s yours. And no tricks. Don’t even think of
scamming unless you’re looking for really big trouble.”

Bikie
jumped up off his chair with his fists clenched.

“Who’s
trying to scam here?”

“Look,
lad,” his opponent told him in an icy voice. “I’ll leave calmly right now. And
then I’ll come back up and you’ll leave here for the hospital.”

Paul
looked very confident and quite menacing, it obviously wasn’t his first time
doing this, and Isaac was frightened by Bikie’s quick temper

“Wait.
This is a misunderstanding. We wanted a different Yoshi. Let’s settle this
peacefully.”

“Money
on the table,” Paul said quietly, calling a number on his cell phone. “We’ve
got a problem here,” he said to someone.

Bikie
kept on crowding him.

“Don’t
give me this bullshit. I’ll call the police and they’ll stick you behind bars
before you can even let out a peep. And then they’ll download you dry. No one
will let you rip off tourists. This town lives on them, and you’ll get such a
kick in the ass, you’ll forget your name.”

Isaac
was already standing shoulder to shoulder with Bikie, feeling that a fight was
inevitable.

Suddenly
Paul backpedaled. . He lowered his voice and started making excuses.

“I
looked for the one you wanted. Hassled people and found you a Japanese girl.
You guys are setting me up. I already owe the middleman.”

“Do
I kick you out, or you just leave by yourself?” asked Bikie, a genuine bar
bouncer seething up inside him.

Completely
deflated, Paul took the Japanese woman and cleared out.

They
waited for another ten minutes, and it became clear that no one was coming back
up.

“
get out of here,” Isaac summed up.

“Agreed.”

They
quickly collected up their things and went downstairs. Isaac’s phone rang again
and Wolanski’s number was displayed.

“Hey,
Peter! I’ll call you back; we’re a bit busy here.”

“Surprise,
Isaac! I’m here in Amsterdam, in the Grand Hotel de l’Europe. Shall we meet?”

“You
know, Peter, your timing is just perfect. We’ve got nowhere to go,” Isaac
replied, turning in the direction of the famous hotel.

In
Wolanski’s room Isaac finally recovered his wits after the unpleasant incident.
He told Paul about their search and the clash with Paul, making special mention
of Bikie’s heroism.

Wolanski
listened avidly, once in a while throwing alarmed glances at the door.

“I
swear I envy you, although you guys turned out to be real thugs! Things are
humming for you two! I couldn’t resist flying in here. This is Amsterdam and
with you, my friends. Especially since I was so close, in Copenhagen,” Peter
confessed in embarrassment. “Sorry I didn’t warn you, I was afraid you wouldn’t
let me come,” he added, speaking to Isaac.

“Not
let you?” Isaac was amazed.

“Well
yes, you’re the boss, the ideologist, you decide what can be done and what
can’t,” Wolanski explained.

Bikie
nodded in agreement, reaching for the joint that Peter had prepared.

“I
agree with Peter. I might have fired the shot, but you’ve got steel balls the
size of melons. I am always prepared to knock the arrogance out of someone, but
I couldn’t have launched a global project like this, that’s for sure.”

“Without
you I wouldn’t have got anywhere either, guys.” Isaac was touched, his friends’
sincerity gave him even more confidence.

“Who
knows? I think you would. Definitely, you would. Who did you go to before me?”
Wolanski asked.

“A
young guy, a sportsman. Named Abdul.. And Michelle Blanche, if you know who
that is.”

“I
don’t know Abdul, but I know Michelle.”

“And
Isaac wrecked himself on her, like she was an iceberg,” Bikie explained in his
usual style.

Wolanski
laughed and Isaac blushed.

“To
hell with wrecked ships and dashed hopes! We deserve a little party in
Amsterdam. I don’t fancy going out, but I wouldn’t mind getting high and
getting drunk,” said Isaac, handing the others bottles of beer.

“Here’s
to Amster!” Bikie clinked bottles with Wolanski and glanced suspiciously at the
joint. “No tobacco in it, is there?”

 “Of
course not, pure grass.”

Satisfied,
Bikie leaned back in his armchair and released a cloud of smoke.

Next
morning Isaac woke up in the hotel, still in his clothes. Wolanski was sleeping
nearby on the sofa, also fully dressed, and Bikie was snoring in the bedroom.
Isaac splashed cold water on his face, ordered breakfast for three and woke his
friends up. Then he went for a shower and felt better at once. There was an
hour to go until they left for the airport.

They
gave a warm hug to Wolanski one after another. Peter called and paid for a
taxi.

“He’s
a good guy, Wolanski,” said Bikie, examining the buildings flickering past the
car window.

“I
agree. And he has an excellent habit of showing up at the right time,” Isaac
added.

***

In
the morning Commissioner Pellegrini booked a ticket, collected together his
beach things and set off to the airport.

Four
hours later he was already in Monaco. He dropped off his things in a cozy
hotel, had a delicious lunch and a coffee at an Italian brasserie in the port.
He breathed in the delightfully salty sea air while walking to the local police
department where he was received very guardedly and with surprise since he was
such a big cheese. “Those weird people, first they write a huge report, and
then they’re surprised that I’ve come,” the commissioner thought in annoyance.

He
inspected the scene thoroughly and took notes, incensing his local colleague.

“It’s
all in the report,” this host protested. The Monegasques didn’t like it very
much when the French interfered in their internal affairs.

“I
understand,” Pellegrini gave a dignified nod. “It’s a good report. But it’s
always best to take another look. Who of the local officers dealt with the
case?”

He
was sent to Captain Nero, but the conversation did not produce anything new.
The captain clearly had not found anything suspicious. The terrorist was a
run-of-the-mill fanatic – you came across them, sometimes. He was probably a
psycho. He had spouted some total gibberish about “the heart of the devil” and
smashed a computer. Had he come across a cash register or a safe, he would have
smashed that too. Nero was telling all the details, but in fact didn’t feel
eager to deal with the uninvited guest.

“He’s
in a looney bin,” the captain explained. “You can go there and check for
yourself. A crackpot if ever there was one, there are plenty like that. Some
stand in strike pickets, holding placards, some turn to frenzied prayer, but
this one was violent. There’s nothing more I can say. Here are all the witness
statements as a bonus. Here’s a pass for the looney bin, if you want: you can
talk to this mental case Elvis as much as you like.”

But
Pellegrini wasn’t able to talk to Elvis, who was as tight as a clam and as
puffed-up as a turkey cock. In the hospital they said he was usually very
talkative and kept rambling on about the devil and his heart, saying it had to
be destroyed. But he wasn’t actually dangerous at least not to people. He’d damaged
some equipment, but that was about it. Other than that he was harmless.

The
amiable nurse was really amazed that Elvis refused to speak to his visitor and
she tried to help to get him to talk. But the patient frowned, crossed his arms
and said nothing. The girl told the commissioner that only an hour ago Elvis
had been boasting that the heart of the devil would be destroyed because he had
managed to hand it on to someone he had enlightened.

“Elvis
does have an attitude of a criminal after all: say as little as possible at
interrogations,” the commissar noted. But there was no doubt about Elvis’s
insanity. There was obviously nothing to be picked up here, and Pellegrini went
back into the city. He strolled round the beautiful city and admired various modern
sculptures and vintage cars. Tired of walking, he dined in the famous
Café de Paris, drank a glass of local rosé and went back to the
hotel.

He
was intending to fly back the next day, late in the evening. But from early
morning to midday he had some time to sunbathe and swim. He had to make the
most of his visit. The sea wasn’t at its warmest, of course, but some people
had already opened the season and after that perhaps he would have a chat with
some of the witnesses. Yes. Definitely! The commissioner ran a rapid eye over
the records of the interviews. “I’ll have a word with them. I can go back to
Paris any time, but after all, I have the sea here.”