5. Twilight Zone

After dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, Shirley suggests drinking a Schnapps, "für die Verdauerung", to help digestion. The Schnapps helps activate the little grey cells: I'm getting an idea.

"If the Ace of Spades is the best lead the Higher Powers could think of, and if the Ace of Spades is the card of Death, perhaps we should start our investigation at the local cemetery."

Shirley lifts an eyebrow: "The cemetery? Do you want to go there now?"

"Are you afraid?", I grin.

"I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just surprised. What do you expect to find at the cemetery at midnight? The ghost of Christmas Past?"

"If I already know what we'll find there, we'll have no reason to go. We go there with the hope of finding something, and if not, well, it's a nice evening for a walk, and a cemetery is always a peaceful place; the scent of fresh flowers, illuminated by small candles…"

The scientific methods of a professional spy don't impress Shirley, but she can't think of anything better, so she takes my arm and we are on our way. It really is a nice evening. The cold turns our breath into little fogs. Our footsteps clang in the deserted streets; the echo makes us sound like a troop of marching soldiers. Shop windows illuminate our path. We turn right and follow the lampposts alongside a metal fence until the dark silhouette of the church tower tells us we've arrived, five minutes before the hour of ghosts.

We follow the path alongside the church towards the cemetery. The silence is disturbing. No small candles, no smell of roses, just the sound of the sand under our soles and the whispering of the souls below them. I try to read the names on the tombstones, but there's not enough light. The cold enters my clothes. What are we doing here?

Suddenly I stop.

Was that a shred of fog?

I hardly dare to speak aloud: "This looks like a dead end. Either the cards were wrong, or we are."

Shirley stops me with a sign of her hand. She's heard something: "Shhh."

I hold my breath.

Deep silence.

Everywhere.

An image visualises in the darkness in front of us.

Somewhere, in a lonely hotel room, a terrorist starts to realise that eternal fate has turned its back on him.

I hear a gunshot.

A bullet hits the bone.

A siren in my head.

A victim is dead.

Far away, an owl cries, twice.

It's 02:00 AM

It's over.

The fear is gone.

I take a deep breath and whisper: "It was probably a bird."

"What do we do? Shall we go back? Lovely. I'm getting cold."

I'm cold too. The icy hand of the Man In Black grabbed me firmly in the neck. I shrug it off. We have to keep moving.

"Let's walk around the church to the other end, just to make sure.", I suggest.

We make a turn and follow the path. Shirley has been here before. She goes left and right again until a path of flagstones leads us back to the entrance.

"What's that building over there?", I ask and point at a dark shape on the other side of the fence.

"It's the Twilight Zone, the residence for old people who cannot live on their own anymore. I hope to skip that part and come directly over here.", says Shirley, pointing at the graves on either side of our path.

"Is it that bad to be in a home for elderly people?"

"Probably not. The food seems to be quite good, they have their own room and everything, but I don't think I can stand it to be surrounded by all those old plaintive skeletons all day. They have nothing to do but talk to each other, and all they talk about is their health issues. It makes me happy to be still mobile enough to live on my own. Those folks get no visitors, go nowhere, never see a youthful face. All they do is wait until the undertaker comes to take them next door."

As we leave the churchyard and return home again, I think about what she said. After a few minutes, Shirley interrupts my thoughts: "You won't have that problem, right? You live a dangerous life. The odds predict you won't live long enough to end up in a home like the Twilight Zone. It must be a reassuring idea: you live life to the max, and when it's over, it's over. As long as you don't have a wife and kids to leave behind…"

"That's one condition of this job: don't marry, don't fall in love, and don't think about having children. You're right about that other thing too: I never thought about getting old. I'm happy with what I do and just look forward to keeping doing it. But I was thinking about something else. When I saw that residence, I got an idea. Perhaps it's nothing, but at least it's a clue. The Ace of Spades is the card of death. If you think about the place with the highest death rate of the city, what would be the number one on your list?"

"A hospital, I guess. Lots of people die in hospitals."

"Yes, a hospital, or… a home for old people. That house is big enough to give the Man In Black a room for himself. He must have a regular job there. Like you said: those people don't get a lot of visitors. Perhaps we should visit them, tomorrow morning, for a cup of coffee and a chat."

Shirley must think I'm silly: "Do you expect the terrorists to hide in a residence between the old folks?"

"I don't expect anything. The Ace of Spades brought us here and I try to listen. Let's visit the Twilight Zone and see what we find."

"Lovely. I'll get up a little early tomorrow and bake something we can bring, a cake and cookies. I've bought flour, eggs and milk in the supermarket."

It looks like a plan. And if it doesn't work out, coffee with cake and cookies isn't a punishment either.

* * *

When I wake up, Shirley already prepared our breakfast. Two almond cakes are in the oven when I get out of the shower. After breakfast, we walk to the Twilight Zone. The stately building must be over a hundred years old, but it's in a much better shape than most of its inhabitants. The first person we see is a bold man with a moustache who sits in his pyjamas on a bench in the garden, smoking a thin cigar. They say that smoking kills, but forcing people to sit outside in their pyjamas on freezing-cold mornings is the reason why.

"Good morning, Sir. I'm Doctor Watson and this is Nurse Shirley. We hope you can help us. We're interested in talking with the person who's usually best informed about what happens in this city, the one who brings in all the interesting news from town. Do you have any idea who that might be?"

His moustache almost disappears in the man's victorious smile: "That might be the sisters Klammer, Resi, Sanni and Traudi, the top three of our national Gossip chart. But I warn you, Doctor: before you know it, the entire town knows things about you that you don't even know about yourself. Are you prepared to take that risk?"

I return the smile: "My reputation might benefit from a few scandals. Where can I find those three sisters?"

"Don't worry. They'll find you. A gossip goes faster than light. Best is to sit here, next to me, and explain to me a little bite about that delicious smell that's coming out of your shopping bag."

The front door opens and three identical elder ladies in striped pyjamas fight to get out first. "For being the eldest, I have to go first." - "You block the door with your walking frame, Resi." - "You should make room for us." - "We're so much faster than you." - "That scooter of yours stops every second, Sanni. I saw him first. A handsome man is hard to find and I need him more than you two." - "Oh, shut up, Traudi. You can walk with a stick. You don't need a walkman like Doctor Watson. Good morning, Doctor. May I present myself and my triplet sisters? I'm Theresa Klammer, but please call me Resi, and those two shameless shackles are my sisters, Susanna and Gertrude." - "Please, call me Traudi, Doctor Watson. Can we invite you for a cup of tea?" - "We can't, Traudi. We drank tea last Wednesday. We'll have to wait two weeks, until they bring our tea bag for February."

I lift my hands in a useless attempt to turn off the triple word waterfall: "Please, ladies. Can I say something? Perhaps we can go inside? It's rather cold here. We've brought coffee, cake and cookies…"

The magic words.

Coffee, cake and cookies.

Vitamin C++ for the elderly.

We're stepping into the Twilight Zone. This place is a madhouse. It feels we're being cloned when three identical triplets swarm around us, knocking doors, and one person after another joins our party, everyone dressed in the same pyjamas. What's this?

We have to be patient. The residents of this home for assisted living aren't used to visitors. It takes a while before they're all seated in what looks like the common dining room. While Shirley prepares coffee, I serve every one of the (quick count) fifteen inhabitants a piece of cake and two cookies on a plate.

The triplets are explaining to the others what's going on: "These are Doctor Watson and Nurse Shirley." - "Doctor Watson? His name is Timo. He works for Günter Oberkräuter as a delivery boy." - "Is it okay if we finish our game of rummy while we're having coffee? I was winning." - "Doctor Watson didn't come here to play rummy with us, Sanni. He has better things to do."

I try to take the initiative. I have better things to do than listen to these ladies: "We have some questions. They told us, you're the best."

The triplets reply in threefold: "Who told you that?" - "Do they talk behind our backs?" - "Is Nurse Shirley your girlfriend?" - "Behave yourself, Traudi."

"I try to explain something. If you don't listen, we're only losing time."

"Losing time with what?" - "Why don't you tell us?" - "Yes, Doctor Watson. Why are you here?" - "We don't have all day, you know." - "When you're old like us, every second counts." - "We don't live long enough to have patience."

I'm losing my patience too: "Can you please hold your tongue?"

"Can we hold our tongue?" - "Of course, we can." - "I'm losing my teeth, my hair, my eyesight and my top speed, but my tongue is no problem." - "Do you mind if I stick it out when I hold it?" - "If you like, I can kiss you with my tongue, so you can hold it yourself…" - "Traudi! Behave yourself!"

I slam my fist on the table: "Can you all be QUIET PLEASE!"

"Can we?" - "I guess we can." - "Why?" - "Can I have two lumps of sugar in my coffee, please?" - "This almond cake is splendid." - "It tastes like it's freshly baked this morning."

Shirley interrupts: "I baked it myself, half an hour ago. If you can all be silent for a minute, I'll give you the recipe. But… it's a secret. You need to promise not to tell anyone. Can you do that?"

As Korean cheerleaders, all fifteen residents move their hands to their mouths, zip their lips, turn the key, and put it away. The silence is deadly.

Shirley gives me a meaningful look. My tactics didn't work. She offers to take over. With a sigh of relief and a small nod, I agree.

Shirley knows how to address the troops: "As we're all old people, we don't have a second to lose. I hope you all realise that we're wasting time if we all keep talking and nobody listens. Doctor Watson and I, we don't need talkers; we need people who can listen. So I suggest that Miss Resi Klammer here speaks for every one of you. If anyone of the others speaks… she won't get a dessert!"

The nervous movements and enthusiasm are clearly visible, but Shirley's promise is big enough to keep everybody quiet.

Shirley turns to Resi and asks: "Why are you all wearing the same striped prisoner outfit?"

"That's not a prisoner's outfit. These are our pyjamas. The nursing personnel has her free weekend and there's nobody here to dress us, so we have our pyjama days."

"How is the medical treatment here?"

"Excellent. Every day the grief counsellor tells us we'll have good days and bad days, so we need to stay positive and deal with it. It works fabulously."

"When was the last time you had coffee, cookies, and cake?"

"You should ask Frans Waltz. He's the oldest. I only live here for ten years."

"What did you have for breakfast today?"

"Do the drugs they give us count for breakfast? I had an aspirin sandwich and a glass of water."

"What did you have for lunch yesterday?"

"An aspirin sandwich and a glass of water."

"Yesterday's dinner? The rest of the week? Do you get anything else but dry bread and aspirin?"

"Oh, yeah, we get the instruction to cheer «thank you, Nurse Betty, for defrosting our meal so deliciously» before we can attack our plates. That prayer replaces the religious words of thanksgiving we used to say. As it's not the church but the state that takes care of us, the only religion allowed here is the Holy Economy of Profit."

Shirley lifts an eyebrow: "Bread and frozen food? Lovely. Where are your vitamins? Where are your minerals?"

"Nurse Betty says it's a balanced diet. The balance is in the books of the commercial company that runs this place. Oh, I almost forgot: we get a full box of sour lemons every week; they're full of vitamins. Thanks to our therapy of positive thinking, we use them to make lemon meringue pies (but, please, don't tell the staff because it's against the rules)."

Frans Waltz, the bold man with the moustache, makes a gesture to Resi, which is enough to make her remember something else: "Oh, yes. On Sundays, we get pizza, as long as we defrost them ourselves and clean up the mess."

Shirley explains to me: "Taking care of elderly people is expensive. All the tax money goes directly to the pharmaceutical industry, for all those priceless medicines and medical treatments. It's the policy of «Live and let die»: the price to pay the doctor for saving the patients is so high that the patients die of hunger. Our most experienced generation lives in cells on water and bread, dresses like convicts in striped pyjamas, and never goes out because nobody pushes their wheelchair for less than the minimum wage; society generously invented this lifetime prison to punish everyone who survived 50 years of hard work and paying taxes."

I don't believe it: "How about charity? I thought Austria was a Christian country. Doesn't the church help the old and the sick? Doesn't the church preach something like breaking the bread and sharing it between the hungry?"

Resi explains: "Today's bread is tomorrow's famine. It's not the church that helps people; it's people, helping the church to help people. Our parents took us to church every entire Sunday, we had the missionary meeting on Monday, the prayer meeting on Tuesday and our Bible lessons on Wednesday, we sang the gospels on Thursday, we practised the play of the Passion on Friday and we organized yard sales to collect money for the church on Saturday. I mean, we talked a lot about doing good for the sick, the hungry, the lonely and the poor, but we never had time to do anything for them. So now we're old, sick, lonely and poor ourselves, we can't expect others to act differently, can we?"

Shirley's played-concerned look would make an actor jealous: "You say a true thing: if Doctor Watson and I need help, we should start helping others first. But we can't do much for others, except make coffee and bake cookies…"

This is where I come in: "Don't you think these residents might help us? Would they like helping us, in return for breakfast, coffee, lunch and dinner?"

"Every day?", Resi wonders.

"At least, as long as we can afford it. We can start and see how it goes…"

The crowd moves on their chairs; I'm not sure if it's excitement or Mother Nature, pressing them to visit the bathroom. Some start to mumble. Shirley shakes her head: "It won't work, my dear Doctor Watson. The help we need requires discipline (suddenly, it's dead silent again), it requires courage and dedication, and above all… it requires the highest level of secrecy. Do you think anybody here can keep a secret? Gossip is their native tongue…"

Resi speaks for the rest of the group: "What do you have in mind?"

I try hard to keep up my serious face. Our plan is working. I ask Resi: "You said that I work as a delivery boy for Super Oberkräuter. How did you know?"

"Oh, we old ladies always know everything. We have no other things to do, you know. According to the staff, we're most happy when we paint watercolours, knit scarves, and build cathedrals of burnt matches. They also force us to play domino and rummy; the sooner we bore ourselves to death, the sooner there will be an opening for the next victim on their waiting list."

Her sister Sanni interrupts: "Playing rummy is fun. You just can't stand it that I always win." Shirley throws her a look to remind her of the discipline and the secrecy. All the others throw her the same look. It helps.

I deliberate with Shirley: "What do you think? Can they keep a secret?"

Shirley solves the problem: "We can ask them. They can vote. Do you, inhabitants of the Twilight Zone, promise to keep the secret you're about to hear? You can't tell anyone, not even when they torture you. If you promise to help us with our secret assignment, we promise you coffee, cake and cookies until the end of the operation, which will be the rest of your lives if our mission fails… If you accept, please, lift your right hand and take the oath."

Everybody lifts both hands. Resi snaps at her two sisters: "You see? I'm not crazy. What did I tell you? I said there was something strange about Günter Oberkräuter's new delivery boy. It wouldn't surprise me if he was a spy for a foreign nation. He's James Bond, 007. Now the British have voted for Brexit, we are the enemy; they send spies to find out the secrets of our Austrian kitchen. If you've ever tried the food in England, you know I'm right. But I'm not going to sell our culinary secrets for a plate of lentils, Doctor Watson!"

I can no longer keep my serious face. I laugh: "Don't worry, Miss Resi. If you promise to keep the secret, I'll tell you all about it."

Curiosity killed the cat and Resi's suspicion: "I promise."

"You were correct. Shirley and I are spies. But we're not after the secrets of the quality of Austrian life. It's our mission to find a gang of deadly terrorists who plan to destroy the world, and we need all the help we can get. We've asked the official channels, but they don't have the money for such an operation because they use their entire budget to take care of the sick, the old and the poor. What we need most are informers, an army of foot soldiers who walk around unnoticed while they see and hear everything. We'll need your eyes and ears. We want you to become Bond boys and girls. But we warn you: this might be dangerous."

Frans, for being the oldest, feels responsible for the group. He stands up: "Doctor Watson, I've reached the autumn of my years. I have nothing to lose, so I have nothing to fear. If those terrorists succeed, we're all going to die, and if they don't, we're going to die of hunger, anyway. Losing my life means nothing to me. The only evil thing someone can do to me is cut off my [censored] and lock me up in a whorehouse. I promise to help you with your mission."

One by one, all the other residents follow his example. After waking up Traudi (who fell asleep) and letting her swear to serve and protect, Shirley reveals the first secret of the day: "For lunch, we have… chocolate soup!"

The high-spirited cheer of our just recruited army confirms what I've learnt from all those books: the nature of human motivation is not about making money; it's about making meaning. Last night, when I looked at this home for elderly people, I didn't see fifteen problems; I saw fifteen opportunities. It doesn't matter what age you are: everybody needs a goal, and an activity to reach that goal; it's the most effective solution against lots of diseases.

The autumn of our life is the best time to be what we want to be and to do what we like best. People over 50 have experience. They are cool, don't get confused by trends or fashion, and have confidence in themselves. They know the two most important values of life: enjoy good food and take your time. Young people run around like crazy because they want to see it all, try it all, have it all, do it all. Old folks have found out that most of 'all' is just a waste of time, money and energy. They concentrate on what's most important, most fun, and most satisfying. This philosophy gives them time, the only valuable thing that is truly ours, to enjoy more and to hurry less. We've found the best help we could wish for, and nobody here will regret helping us.

We offer these people a chance to live their fantasy, with the satisfaction of working independently, and the possibility of working together on something bigger than themselves. Competence, Autonomy and Relatedness are the three elements of true motivation. These old-timers want to give their lives to join a mission like this. I've always thought there's an inverse relationship between the number of people in a room and the amount of useful work that can be done, but when you work with motivated, experienced people, the opposite is true: as one man, they stand up to defend our world against the evil that threatens it. And they know everything is top secret, so they hide their real motivation behind a cheap (but acceptable) excuse, singing: "Chocolate soup, chocolate soup, I give my life for chocolate soup!"

Still, Resi has a few doubts: "We'll need… stuff… You know…"

Of course, I know. Our ageing agents need all the gadgets that Q ever invented for 007. I'm a professional. I've brought them with me. Last night, I ordered twenty starter sets at Spyware Inc, with overnight delivery, and I never go on a mission without my own gear, which includes several spares and a complete disguise kit. I open my backpack and put the content on the tables: "A mobile encrypted phone with voice control for everyone. For the men, we have the spiRolex, so they can talk while they watch the football highlights on their wrist. For the women, we have the golden hearing earrings with enhanced speakers, plus the necklace with the medallion of their grandchild to talk to. You are NOT allowed to call your grandchildren; we've installed Grandparental Control on those phones! This is the chewing gum tracker device; you can stick it on everything that needs to be followed, and they also work perfectly to keep your false teeth in their place while you're eating. This ring, you put on your finger. It has an automatic GPS: when you're kidnapped, when you're lost, when you forgot where you live, or when you're so drunk that you can't find your walking frame, you press the stone on the ring, and a rescue mission is on its way. I have a professional disguise kit to make you all between ten and twenty years younger. In our headquarters (the Ambassador's villa), we have the wardrobe to dress you all for every thinkable occasion. And finally, we have the LSD aftershave for the men and the LSD perfume for the women."

"What's that for?", Sanni wants to know.

"It smells much stronger than what you buy in the shops: when you accidentally shit your pants, nobody will notice."

Resi shakes her head. The 'stuff' she referred to has nothing to do with gadgets: "This is all nice and useful, and we thank you for it, but… You can keep a secret, can't you? Okay. If you want us to help you, help us get some… drugs… dope… performance enhancers, everything you can get. If you're a genuine spy, you must have some connections with the Russian secret service, and they supply it to every athlete in their country. We want that stuff too, not to break records, but to reach the bathroom in time, before the flood starts. Don't worry, we'll write Sebastian Coe a letter. He'll understand. He's not getting any younger, either."

Shirley takes away the doubts: "Miss Resi, all the energy and proteins you need are in the food we'll prepare for you. It's already part of your first mission. We'll need mobile agents, to go with Doctor Watson to Super Oberkräuter. They carry home the shopping that the Doctor will pay for, and also learn how to help Timo, the shopping delivery boy. Delivering groceries allows you to look in every kitchen. With a little luck, you might find clues about the location of the terrorists."

Resi wants to know more: "What should we look for? Can you give us more details about the mission?"

Shirley nods: "First, we buy food and have lunch. When we eat, Doctor Watson and I will explain what we know. The rest of the day, we'll use for training. Do you all realise you're never too old to learn?"

Traudi sighs: "Until yesterday, I thought that my sisters and I could only become angels, but now… We're going to be Charlie's Angels: jumping out of planes, racing off-road bikes, kicking asses of dangerous criminals, wearing the latest fashion, kissing the hottest men on the planet…"

Sanni slaps her sister on the back of her head: "Behave yourself, Traudi. You can become a lot of things, but an angel, you'll never be. The role of The Three Graces would fit us better. Resi can be Charm, you can be Creativity, and I'll be Beauty."

Resi doesn't accept the role of Charm without a good fight first: "You? Beauty? The closest you come to beauty is when you give the poisoned apple to Snow White."

Shirley interrupts the upcoming battle with a good idea: "That's a lovely idea: you walk the streets with baskets full of apples, to hand out to everyone with the message «an apple a day keeps Doctor Watson away». Everybody likes to get something for free, and when we hand out healthy fruits for free, with the message «look at yourself and earn a healthy life», we'll get a great excuse to talk to everyone. We're looking for a man with a remarkable voice. As soon as you hear anyone with a strange voice, press your ring and activate your spiPhone. I will listen. When I identify the voice of the killer, we're on our way to you for his arrest."

Everybody is excited, except Traudi, who still is a little cross because of the ugly remark of her twin sister: "You take that back, Resi, what you said about me being an old witch."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because you're my twin sister. If I'm an ugly witch, you're an ugly witch too."

Resi has a remarkable talent for being a spy; she adapts to the changed situation like a natural: "You a witch? Your hearing earring urgently needs adjustment, my dearest, sweetest, beautiful sister. I would be the last person in the world to say you're ugly. Don't you know that true beauty comes with the years? When I was young, I used to feel sad when I had a pimple, ashamed when I had a stain on my dress, embarrassed when somebody wanted to kiss me. And now, my face is so full of wrinkles that it makes me laugh, I wear a nappy because sometimes I piss myself, and when I see a handsome man, I don't ask for permission but I kiss him quickly before he can escape."

Immediately, she proves her theory: she steps towards me, grabs my head with both hands, and kisses me full on the lips.

SMACK!

Everybody laughs.

When you're old, you can get away with everything.

Getting old is marvellous.

To make up for my red, hot face, I laugh and say to Resi: "I'm not sure if I'll live to get old, but if I do, my goal in life is to be like you."

Resi shakes her head: "Impossible. You'll never be that handsome…"