Monday, afternoon: The Trip

I showed up very early in the cafe, warned the owner that someone would leave a package for me, and dropped him a 20 note "for your help". Then, I sat in the terrace of another cafe in front and took breakfast. A very long breakfast in fact, 'cause the UPS guy only showed up around nine. I let slip a couple of minutes  and went to get my package.

My pal was not lying: those guys were for real. Inside a large sized envelope I found an airplane ticket to Nice, via Paris, depart within two hours. A first class ticket, in Air France, no low-cost companies here... Also a small package with 10.000 Euros and a printed card: "Car with driver will pick you up in Nice airport. Room reserved in Hotel Metropole, Monte-Carlo, under the name of Mr. A. Michel. Please wait for call."

"Hotel Metropole, huh?" I tought to myself. "Well, well, well..." 

I had to run, to make it on time to the airport: I sure was glad I had packed already.





The Eiffel Tower through the airplane window.

Let me tell you, the people of Air France have some REAL respect for passengers holding first-class tickets: they practically carried me to the airplane and a very nice stewardess made sure  "Mr A. Michel" was really confortable, that I had all the magazines and drinks I wanted, that I knew how to change channels on my personal LCD, the works. I reclined my seat and stretched the leg rest:  in first class the seats have so much leg room that you can almost park a Volkswagen in there.

The flight to Paris toook some time, but I was asleep most of it. The stewardess woke me up when the Airbus started the final approach to Orly airport and I took a look through the window: I was able to see the Eiffel Tower in the distance and then the landing gear touched ground.

With some time to spare until my next flight, I parked my butt in one of the airport bars, sipping coke and thinking about life. I was curious about this deal. A bit worried, but curious. What about this Swiss guy my pal told me about? The only Swiss I talked to in my entire life was my banker. Who ever heard about a Swiss trying to hire mercenaries? I smiled to myself: maybe the competition between swiss banks is getting rough? Of course this alleged "swiss" could be as fake as Mr. "A. Michel". I gave up thinking about it. Everything would be explained soon, so, why try to guess ?

Metropole Hotel in Monte-Carlo.
Now, THIS is impressive.

Another Air France bird took me to Nice in less then an hour, a short jump. I didn't sleep this time. When I peeked through the airplane window, I could see the Mediterranean glittering, and the city of Nice spreading along the coast. I tought that, if I could, I would try to have some beach time - although I doubted that would be possible. The air was warm and you could feel the scent of pines. When I came out of the VIP lounge, the sun made me blink.

A quiet guy in a dark suit was waiting for me holding a card spelling "Mr. A. Michel". He took a look at me and made a courteous smile:

"Monsieur Michel ?"

"Oui" I awnsered in French. "How do you know me ?"

"I saw a picture of you, sir" he awnsered, as if it was obvious.

"Of course" I tought. I declined his offer to carry my bag and he drove me to Monte Carlo in a big, black, silent Mercedes. The hotel Metropole it's a five-star as you can only find in the Côte d'Azur: a "Palace" with rooms the size of tennis courts. If the objective was to impress me, they suceeded. I was impressed.