When I woke up in the darkened room, I was totally refreshed and had felt a bit re-energized. Olga was still in dreamland and seemed quite comfortable on the large bed with an ancient canopy that looked positively medieval.
There was a light blinking on the telephone apparatus on the desk indicating that we had received a call message. I had asked the concierge to hold the calls but just leave the message on the board for me to retrieve. I was familiar with their system which hadn’t changed for a few decades.
The old grandmother behind the desk gave me the slip of paper with just a number to call back and no written message at all. It was SOP for unsecured communications. We had both ditched our cell phones before crossing the border and I did not want to use the phone in the hotel safe house. I walked a short distance to the newly-opened internet café and ordered an espresso to sip while I slipped in some coins to the local call free phone in the hallway.
“Pronto!”
“This is Harry returning the call made at 2100 hours. Unsecured line.”
“Harry, old chap, we are so glad to have you back in Venice. Long time away, you old bugger. Meet me at the usual place, my dear fellow at midnight tonight. Do Zaftra.”
I recognized my old friend Harold Simon whom I had assumed had met his maker a long time ago. Probably, he was thinking the exact same thought about me and understandably so.
The “usual place” had to be “Harry’s Bar” a cozy little hideaway that was not named after me at all. At least, I didn’t think so.
I checked my Belgrade account for any updates and was only greeted by two tradesmen looking for payment on recent purchases of photographic supplies. That would have to wait until after this mission was completed. I did not want to give either of them access to my banking contacts and any communication from locations outside of Belgrade was completely out of the question. I did not want any paper trail to place me in a location where I was not supposed to be.
When I returned to the room, Olga was already up and brushing her sparkling white teeth in the bathroom mirror. All she was wearing was a pair of skimpily cut knickers and a running bra with absolutely no frills or nonsense. I sat in the cushioned chair and tried to hide the fact I was eating up the way her pretty little ass jiggled with the brushing of her teeth. She was such a sharp little thing that I was certain she was fully aware of my keen interest in her anal geography and she was teasing me with a view that was certain to make my usually dormant equipment take notice.
“I have made contact with our benefactor and we have a meet tonight at midnight. We still have time to catch a quick bite at a nice little Trattatoria just on the other side of the canal one short block away.”
She brightened up at mention of food and I realized she had not eaten since the snack at the train station. The situation had demanded more attention to sleep instead of food.
I stopped at a small food market and purchased two bottles of my favorite Chianti knowing the likelihood of find it in any restaurant was slim to none. Besides, most places didn’t care if you brought your own poison providing you paid the glass fee to dispense it. I found it most reassuring to have my own booze instead of chancing some inferior blend in an already opened bottle.
I had the Calamari and pasta with rolls of the freshest taste imaginable. Olga was content with the lightly breaded chicken dish that looked tempting to me as well. She was keen on the rolls, but unbuttered only and turned up her nose at the pasta as if it were a plot to add unwanted weight to her hips.
The poor girl was so slender; I wondered why she was so tough on her intake of carbs. We each had two glasses of the lovely Chianti and she remarked on its smoothness.
