The Art of Deception by Sergio Kokis

Author:Sergio Kokis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2002-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

Alois Stompf, in Berne, was an entirely different kind of person. I found him at home the following evening in his apartment on the Zibelgaessli, near the Town Hall, heavily decorated like a turn-of-the-century brothel. He was waiting for me surrounded by a formidable jumble of Turkish cushions, Chinese porcelain, and erotic figurines. He was short but solidly built, in his late fifties, and his whole person radiated healthy energy and remarkable openness, despite the unusual décor. He spoke intelligible French with a very strong Swiss-German accent, and seemed to suffer not at all from feelings of suspicion. More than in his dress or jewellery his homosexuality was evident in the suggestive glances and the grimaces with which he surprised you as he spoke.

He took me out to dinner in a restaurant on the Bärenplatz, where we chose a table on the patio, as if we were just tourists.

“Forgive me, Max, but here people have to think you’re one of my boyfriends. I know, I know…” he excused himself, seeing I was taken aback by this. “Things get around. It’s actually better that you prefer the opposite sex — though that’s just a matter of pure inexperience, my boy. It’s just a cover. There won’t be anything serious between us, no need to worry. That’s a promise,” he added, with a mocking smile. “And there can be no question of you sleeping with prostitutes whenever you’re here. You’ll be here strictly on business, don’t forget. I’ll provide female company for you — this town is full of diplomats’ wives dying of boredom.”

The meal was excellent and we drank a lot while he gave me a very detailed run-down of my duties. It was then I understood I’d passed my final test in London, where both Gett and several senior employees with prominent dealers had been my examiners. Now I was part of the firm. The only problem that might arise was that I turn out to be unacceptable to my teacher in Belgium, Lukas Guderius — for it turned out that my ultimate destination was to be Antwerp, where this mysterious teacher would have the job of ensuring that my membership of their curious mafia was a profitable one.

“Don’t worry, Max my friend. Our people in America assure us you have the necessary talent. If that is so, everything will be fine, for that old magician Guderius is a great expert in the field. He is a pain in the ass, but very gifted. He is very particular about who he works with. If he’s willing to give you a try that’s already a good start.”

I found it an extraordinary coincidence I was being sent to Belgium. My dad was Belgian, but I’d always felt Canadian and he hadn’t kept any ties over there. And now, suddenly, I’d be able to send him postcards from Antwerp, though I didn’t have a clue how I’d explain this new-found passion for the land of my forefathers.

“What you do with Guderius is none of my business, and we shall never discuss it.

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