JК
The Doomsday Conspiracy :: Sheldon Sidney
Страница: 27 из 213Very interesting, indeed. We Swiss pride ourselves on our efficiency.”
“And that pride is well deserved,” Robert assured him.
“Would the name of our company be mentioned?”
“Prominently.”
The clerk smiled. “Well, then I see no harm.”
“Could I speak with him now?”
“This is his day off.” He wrote a name on a piece of paper.
Robert Bellamy read it upside down. Hans Beckerman.
The clerk added an address. “He lives in Kappel. That’s a small village about forty kilometres from Zurich. You should be able to find him at home now.”
Robert Bellamy took the paper. “Thank you very much. By the way,” Robert said, “just so we have all the facts for the story, do you have a record of how many tickets you sold for that particular tour?”
“Of course. We keep records of all our tours. Just a moment.” He picked up a ledger underneath the counter and flipped a page. “Ah, here we are. Sunday. Hans Beckerman. There were seven passengers. He drove the Iveco that day, the small bus.”
Seven unknown passengers and the driver. Robert took a stab in the dark. “Would you happen to have the names of those passengers?”
“Sir, people come in off the street, buy their ticket and take the tour. We don’t ask for identification.”
Wonderful. “Thank you again.” Robert started toward the door.
The clerk called out, “I hope you will send us a copy of the article.”
“Absolutely,” Robert said.
The first piece of the puzzle lay in the tour bus, and Robert drove to Talstrasse where the buses departed, as though it might reveal some hidden clue. The Iveco bus was brown and silver, small enough to traverse the steep Alpine roads, with seats for fourteen passengers. Who were the seven, and where had they disappeared to? Robert got back in his car. He consulted his map and marked it. He took Lavessneralle out of the city, into the Albis, the start of the Alps, toward the village of Kappel. He headed south, driving past the small hills that surround Zurich, and began the climb into the magnificent mountain chain of the Alps. He drove through Adliswil and Langnau and Hausen, and nameless hamlets with chalets and colourful picture-postcard scenery, until almost an hour later, he came to Kappel. The little village consisted of a restaurant, a church, a post office, and a dozen houses scattered around the hills. Robert parked the car and walked into the restaurant. A waitress was clearing a table near the door.
“Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Fraulein.
“And that pride is well deserved,” Robert assured him.
“Would the name of our company be mentioned?”
“Prominently.”
The clerk smiled. “Well, then I see no harm.”
“Could I speak with him now?”
“This is his day off.” He wrote a name on a piece of paper.
Robert Bellamy read it upside down. Hans Beckerman.
The clerk added an address. “He lives in Kappel. That’s a small village about forty kilometres from Zurich. You should be able to find him at home now.”
Robert Bellamy took the paper. “Thank you very much. By the way,” Robert said, “just so we have all the facts for the story, do you have a record of how many tickets you sold for that particular tour?”
“Of course. We keep records of all our tours. Just a moment.” He picked up a ledger underneath the counter and flipped a page. “Ah, here we are. Sunday. Hans Beckerman. There were seven passengers. He drove the Iveco that day, the small bus.”
Seven unknown passengers and the driver. Robert took a stab in the dark. “Would you happen to have the names of those passengers?”
“Sir, people come in off the street, buy their ticket and take the tour. We don’t ask for identification.”
Wonderful. “Thank you again.” Robert started toward the door.
The clerk called out, “I hope you will send us a copy of the article.”
“Absolutely,” Robert said.
The first piece of the puzzle lay in the tour bus, and Robert drove to Talstrasse where the buses departed, as though it might reveal some hidden clue. The Iveco bus was brown and silver, small enough to traverse the steep Alpine roads, with seats for fourteen passengers. Who were the seven, and where had they disappeared to? Robert got back in his car. He consulted his map and marked it. He took Lavessneralle out of the city, into the Albis, the start of the Alps, toward the village of Kappel. He headed south, driving past the small hills that surround Zurich, and began the climb into the magnificent mountain chain of the Alps. He drove through Adliswil and Langnau and Hausen, and nameless hamlets with chalets and colourful picture-postcard scenery, until almost an hour later, he came to Kappel. The little village consisted of a restaurant, a church, a post office, and a dozen houses scattered around the hills. Robert parked the car and walked into the restaurant. A waitress was clearing a table near the door.
“Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Fraulein.