13. Don't Stop, Go Your Own Way

[Saturday, 27-1-2018 (Cancer): Don't doubt yourself but check all information you gather twice. Return to issues that are difficult and demanding when you feel that you can push through.]

The Twilight Zone is not big enough to house fifteen inhabitants and six staff, but the triplets have found the perfect solution. The six members of the Sieben Gänge gang work from 08:00 to 20:00, while ten inhabitants sleep through the day until dinner. After dinner, at 20:00, the staff retires to the empty bedrooms and the ten old folks start to party until 08:00 the next morning. It works splendidly. Dancing is an entertaining training, and the three healthy meals each day (they eat breakfast at 20:00 and dinner at 08:00) with lots of fruits and vegetables, giving them all the energy they need.

And energy they need, in large quantities, because the safety of the world is at stake and our troops take their responsibility seriously. The best gossip and other confidential information come from lips that loosen after a night of partying, and our Bond boys and girls are there, all night long, with the eyes of a fox and the ears of a night owl, to record and remember everything… Well, almost everything because some stories do have a few missing links here and there; when Doctor Alzheimer makes them forget to turn on the Permanent Voice Recorder app and Doctor Hearing Earring remains on their nightstand, some of our spies have to rely on their senses, which doesn't always give us all the information we're after.

Report during breakfast-for-us, dinner-for-them is a breathtaking example of professionalism and efficiency: they all talk at once to avoid losing precious time. For the record, I record everything, but not even my spiPhone can keep up with the world record of sharing confidential information: "There's a rumour that Pac Man has escaped. He runs around in homes for the elderly and eats their socks at night. He goes by the name Alzheimer…" - "Shut up, Frans. Your socks are in the laundry. I can smell them from here." - "There are lots of rumours about change." - "Most come from the Town Hall." - "Others come from the government." - "They all confirm that politics finally will take action." - "I've heard they are sick and tired of all the sick and tired people." - "I agree. I'm also sick and tired of being sick and tired." - "A recent investigation showed that people get sick from smoking, so they're going to raise the taxes on tobacco." - "A more recent investigation showed that drinking is bad for our health too, so they're going to raise the taxes on alcohol." - "There are rumours about marijuana and hard drugs being legalised, so they can tax them." - "Stress is the number one killer in the world, so they're going to raise the taxes on coffee." - "Eating chocolate gives a feeling of happiness, and it's a scientific fact that happy people don't spend money, which is bad for the economy, so they're solving that problem by raising the taxes on chocolate." - "All these 'problems' are about what people consume when they have fun." - "And the only solution is to raise the taxes on that consumption." - "I've heard rumours that the real problem might just be politics itself." - "I heard that society has already found a solution to our biggest problem of the everyday higher taxes. We buy more on the black market." - "Where can I find that black market?" - "I don't know. The battery of my hearing device dropped dead when they told me."

If our information is correct, Irish Coffee, our last member of the Sieben Gänge gang, handles the coffee, the chocolates, the liqueur and the smokes, the last dish of a seven-course dinner. When taxes make those after-dinner desires too expensive on the white market, the black market takes over. To find the criminal who dominates this black market, we have to start with finding the market itself.

This morning's Tarot card showed The Devil. Shirley explained it stands for material things that lead to addiction or obsession, and for sexual desires. The Devil is strongly connected with Capricorn and a leader, an indication that makes sense, but it's also an Earth sign that points towards Taurus and Virgo.

"I'm not so sure about that leadership.", Shirley said: "I get the impression that the real leader of this gang will be someone else, a Leo, and that this Devil is a Taurus. The four arms of the Maltese cross are the Queen of batons, the four of batons, the nine of coins, and the king of coins. Batons represent action. Coins stand for material success. Both are Taurus characteristics, and the Devil's materialism is also the Taurus's strongest quality. What doesn't make sense is the queen of batons, who stands for «hot and spicy» and the nine of coins, which means an erotic peak."

This time, we couldn't make chocolate of the Tarot. All we had left to end this mission were the reports of our informers, and they weren't clear either.

"What do we do?", Shirley asks.

I'm not sure: "We need more information. Does anybody have any good ideas?"

Frans has a good idea: "Chocolate cake. We can eat it for dessert, we can eat it for breakfast, and we can have a piece when we're drinking coffee in the morning or tea in the afternoon."

Shirley waves it away: "All you think about is eating and drinking. Chocolate cake won't help us find the last member of the Sieben Gänge gang."

I'm not so sure: "The criminal we're looking for has the code name Irish Coffee. She handles the sweet liqueurs, the Cuban cigars and… the chocolates that go with it. Our reporters heard all sorts of rumours about prices going up for alcohol, tobacco and chocolate, unless you buy on the black market."

Frans adds a few arguments too: "Another rumour I heard is that you, Miss Shirley, have the secret recipe for the most spectacular chocolate cake that Villach has ever tasted. I want to know if that's true."

Shirley looks suspiciously at Frans: "Who told you that?"

Frans raises his hands to prove his innocence: "Your son, little Arnie, is married to my niece. She baked a chocolate cake for him every week for the last twenty years. She's tried everything: flour from ten different kinds of cereal, ecological milk from mountain cows that had a better life, biological eggs from chickens that won prizes, sugar from Cuban canes, chocolate from all the brands one can find, but every week your little Arnie said the same: «This cake is nice, very nice, but it's not as good as my mother's chocolate cake.» So…"

As a spy, I'm professionally interested in well-kept secrets. Secrets about chocolate cakes have always been my favourites: "We can use the chocolate cake to find out if there's a black market for dark chocolate. Who's behind it? Where we can find hor… It's an idea that might work. With the weather outside being like it is, there's hardly anything better we can do than drink coffee and eat chocolate cake. Or do you have a better idea, Shirley?"

Two minutes later, Shirley and I walk the wet streets of Villach under a big black umbrella. Accompanied by streaks of lightning and punches of thunder, we set course for Supermarket Oberkräuter to do our shopping. I can't control my curiosity: "What's the secret of your chocolate cake?"

"Those cheap boxes from the supermarket, my dear Watson. My little Arnie, like everyone else, likes the things he grew up with."

It's crowded in the supermarket. Shirley's walking around, putting all kinds of articles in shopping trolleys and taking other articles out of the trolleys to put them back on the shelves. Those shopping trolleys aren't ours; they are from other customers, and Shirley is changing their content when they're not watching.

"You can't do that, Shirley. Those people will come to the cash register and find out that they're buying stuff they don't want.", I whisper.

Shirley doesn't care; she goes on with her mission: "All I do is replace the deep-frozen high calories for fresh fruits and vegetables. I'm doing those people a favour."

"Having a free choice is a favour, Shirley. You can't oblige others to eat healthily."

"Why not? Producers of fast food oblige others to eat badly, and nobody says anything about that. Look at this trolley… It belongs to a single man, who buys himself an Australian seven-course dinner (a six-pack of beer and a frozen pizza), that he eats in front of the TV while watching commercials of frozen pizzas and beer… If we don't give this man some better ideas now and then, he'll never get out of his rut of bad habits."

At that moment, the single man (having a belly like he's expecting twins) returns to his shopping cart: "What's this? I don't like carrots, apples and orange juice. I like beer and pizza."

Shirley looks him in the eyes, sighs romantically and says: "And I like you… I like you so much… but with a belly like that, I can't come close enough to kiss you… So if you lose a little weight, take a walk instead of a remote control, eat differently… Who knows what can grow between you and me. Don't you like me better than pizza and beer? I wrote my phone number on one of the apples. Call me when you've lost twenty kilos…"

The single man can't resist Shirley's smile. He runs to the cash register, already dreaming of candlelight and carrots with Shirley.

I can't resist smiling either: "You're good at this game, Shirley."

"And you're good at getting information. Try to find out where our friend Günter Oberkräuter buys this dark chocolate and this pear liqueur. It's too good to be so cheap, and it's too cheap to be legal."

"Are you eating every available type of chocolate without buying it?"

"How can I choose between twenty different bars of chocolate if I don't know how they taste? You don't have to eat the entire bar to find out it's chocolate and not soap, my dear Watson. Just one bite, to be sure. I leave the rest, so others can taste too. You better focus on discovering where it comes from."

It's a challenge. Although the Bond boys from the Twilight Zone did most of the deliveries last week, officially, that's my job. In my undercover job, I work for Mister Oberkräuter, which gives me a different connection with him than being a friend and customer like Shirley. I go to the back, slip into my uniform, scan the boxes in the stockroom, and go to the office, where I find my boss.

"Good morning, Mister Oberkräuter. I have a question from the Ambassador of Luxembourg. He has invited 21 people for dinner this evening and he'd like to order three crates of that delicious pear liqueur, and also ten boxes of those dark chocolate bonbons, but in the shop, there's hardly anything left and I can't find anything in the stock room either. Can you call your supplier and ask him if it's possible to deliver the order today? Or perhaps I can go there and pick up the order myself?"

Mister Oberkräuter has a difficult expression on his face: "That's not so easy… I mean…"

I give him a reassuring smile, come closer and whisper: "You buy those goods on the black market, don't you? I noticed you sell them at lower prices than mentioned in the catalogue of your supplier in Graz. Don't worry. I don't work for the tax department. I'm just trying to help an Ambassador save on spending Luxembourg taxes, while I help an honest, hard-working Austrian shop owner make a little extra profit, so he can pay the Austrian taxes. Making money isn't against any law, is it? If you give me the address, I'll go there on my lunch break, and everybody is happy."

"You can't go in your lunch break. It's more than an hour by bus.", Mister Oberkräuter objects.

"And if I can find fast transport? Where do I have to go?"

"On top of the Würzenpass, just over the border with Slovenia. There is a little shop that sells tax-free products. I can call Barbara Seeboden, the lady who owns the shop, and ask if she has the pear liqueur and the dark chocolate in stock. If you can arrange transport, come back in fifteen minutes and I'll let you know. But… not one word to anyone, do you understand? This has to remain a secret between you, me, and Barbara."

Würzenpass… Würzen are hot and spicy like the queen of batons. The name of the pass is the erotic peak the nine of coins referred to. The Tarot was right again…

"Secret is my middle name, Sir. If you'd know all the things I never told you, you wouldn't doubt me, but, of course, I can't tell you my secrets because my lips are sealed."

First, I google Barbara Seeboden, to find out how much Mister Oberkräuter's secrets are worth. She has a website where people can order tax-free products online. The contact info of her shop (The Smuggler's Den, with a tradition of fair prices since 1889) gives me the exact location and, after some browsing, I find out that her birthday is on… the 20th of April, the same day as Adolf Hitler. Shirley was right. Barbara is a Taurus. The Tarot called her The Devil. I have a sudden hunch of an upcoming disaster.

We need transport. We need fast transport, and we need it fast. I return to the shop and tell Shirley what I found: "You can go back to the Twilight Zone with your flour, sugar and butter to make the cake. In the meantime, I'll go to the Slovenian border and arrest our last suspect. All I need is a fast car to get there."

"Lovely. How about you bake the cake and leave that criminal to me? I thought we were a team. You have no idea how to bake a chocolate cake, do you? But don't worry, I'll help you. But don't ever think about leaving me home when you're going on a hunt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Shirley. I'm sorry, Shirley. But we do need a fast car because we have to go to the Würzenpass, and I have no idea where that is."

"Würzen… That's hot and spicy seasoning, like the Queen of batons from the Tarot. And it's a high place too, a hot and erotic peak… We've found our man, my dear Watson."

"It's a woman, by the way. Her name is Barbara Seeboden. She runs a smugglers' den on the other side of the border, in Slovenia. Do we have a fast car?"

"We have something better. Call Frans for me, please. I still can't figure out how your phone works."

I make the call and give her my spiPhone.

"Frans. It's me, Shirley. Doctor Watson and I need transport. We need it to be fast and we need it now."

"That's going to be a problem. The triplets took them to the Klagenfurt carting circuit for a test ride. That's 40 kilometres from here. If they leave right now and take the Autobahn, it will cost them almost 10 minutes to get back here. And I'm not sure if I can reach them. The nitro injection engines make so much noise that they might not hear it when the phone rings.", Frans answers.

I don't understand this: "The triplets took them? What's «them»? And how do they make a 40 kilometre trip in 10 minutes?"

Frans explains it better this time: "The scoot mobiles, of course. I worked a bit on them and now the girls think they can beat Valentino Rossi next season, which is silly because twelve-cylinder scoot mobiles can't compete in the MotoGP; the professional pilots wouldn't have a fair chance."

Twelve minutes later, we hear how the thunderstorm outside triples until the triplets park in front of the door of Supermarket Oberkräuter: "Hello, Doctor Watson." - "Hello, Miss Shirley." - "Are you sure you can handle these vehicles?" - "When you go from fifth gear to sixth, don't open the throttle all at once because it feels like someone kicks your butt, unless you like your butt kicked, of course." - "If you take Resi's scoot mobile, and Miss Shirley takes Traudi's, we can go back to Twilight Zone on mine." - "Do those boxes contain your secret recipe for chocolate cake?" - "Can we bake them?" - "Oh, how exciting."

Never mind the rain. It's a nice day for a ride. Shirley and I put on our helmets and our leather gloves, step on our… Scoot mobile? Motorbike? Transport for elderly people? The two wheels at the back keep the thing stable on the curves, but if you hang heavily on the inside and open the gas wide enough, all three wheels spin on the wet tarmac. We test the top speed on the motorway, but the real fun starts when we reach the steep hill towards the Würzenpass (here and there 26%). Shirley tries to overtake me, first on the outside, then twice on the inside, but I close the door and keep the pole position. In turn 13, I almost get a highside and she takes the lead, but I slipstream behind her, close the gap, get almost next to her, but have to let go when a bus comes from the other side, then I try it again, two curves before the finish, she goes wide, this is my chance, but I hit the curve stones and she comes near and…

We're there.

We have a mission.

This isn't a race. This isn't a game. We're here to arrest a criminal. The lady who runs the shop has already seen us (and heard us). Barbara is prepared, and she's not alone. She has an army at her command. One finger pointed in our direction plus one: "Get them!", and twenty-some killer dogs storm outside, having only eyes for one thing, for two things: my balls. Dogs love to play with balls… Running is useless; they're much faster than I am. Hiding is impossible; they've seen me, smell my fear, know I'm the prey and they are the hunters. They outnumber me, even if I kill two of them with each bullet in my Makarov. Sharp teeth will tear me into dog food and leave not even my bones to bury. I'm lost. Dobermans are aggressive, Rottweilers are ferocious, pit bull terriers are mortal killers, but Barbara 'Irish Coffee' Seeboden is no ordinary criminal, she's the best of the best, part of a gang that kills millions each year, so she has a whole pack of demonic Yorkshire terriers, the piranha under the underdogs, trained to leave nothing of their prey but droppings, and their favourite dish is right in front of them, hanging around in my underwear. I can't run. I can't hide. I can't even climb a tree because the jaws of these little monsters are worse than a chainsaw.

"Hey, little monsters. Look what I have for you. Sit!"

I'm saved by the bell. The Yorkies line up in front of Shirley, sit down and when they receive their bribe (a bone-shaped buffalo skin that will take them at least an hour), they don't bother us anymore.

"Don't you watch César Millán on TV, my dear Watson? The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but man's best friend loves biscuits too. Criminals, like everyone else, follow the one who pays best. A good spy should be prepared for situations like this. Look at them. Aren't they cute? Wait for your turn, little one. There's enough for the entire pack. That's fine. Good boy. Where would a lady be without her handbag? I never go out without mine. That way, I always have everything I need with me.", Shirley says.

"Perhaps you also have a key? A chainsaw? A medieval instrument to break the door of an ancient castle?"

While we were fighting off the dogs, Barbara didn't waste time. She pushed the security button that lowered her shop's night protection: three-inch-thick steel plates cover each window while the front door with seventeen unbreakable locks looks like the entrance of the vault of Fort Knox.

Perhaps I can pick the locks. I take my Swiss army knife and select the proper tool, but when it touches the door, a strong electrical shock finds its way to earth through my body. I fall flat on my back. For a moment, I can't move, I can't even breathe. Sharp needles greet my body, poking and stabbing me everywhere.

Barbara watches us from inside with a video camera and talks to me via a speaker next to the front door: "I see you have a crush on me, but I'm the Iron maiden, Mister Watson. If you want to seduce me, you'll have to do better, and above all, you'll have to be patient. My merchandise might be tax free, but that doesn't mean I'm a cheap woman myself."

"Do you want to go out with me, Barbara? I'll bring you flowers. I'll treat you to a romantic dinner with candles and wine."

"Sorry, I'm not interested. I have enough wine in here."

"Open the door, Barbara. I won't harm you.", I say.

"Ha, ha. Why don't YOU open the door? I have the finest delicacies here, waiting for you. Packing up and shacking up is all you want. As long as you pay my tax-free prices, I give you my world, but how can I, if you don't take it from me? All you have to do is open the door and come in, ha, ha."

Shirley switches tactics: "Austria is famous for its hospitality, love. Why don't you open your door for us, two hungry strangers, cold and wet in the pouring rain, in desperate need of a Schnapps of pear liqueur to warm us and some chocolate to make us feel happy? We have the money to pay for it."

The speaker is cold: "This isn't Austria, dear. This is Slovenia. We have a different culture here. Why don't you go your own way and let me take mine?"

We have a situation here. Inside, Barbara sits on enough food to survive for months, while Shirley and I are outside in the cold and the rain, with nothing to eat or drink. We can't wait too long; the dogs are working their fingers to the bone to return.

"We can't get in and she won't get out. We've lost, Shirley. Barbara is right. She'll withstand our siege easily. We better follow her advice and go our own way. Tomorrow, we might get a better chance."

Shirley doesn't agree: "Open your eyes, dear. Look at the day. Your horoscope told you to see things in a different way. Yesterday's gone and tomorrow's far away. This is our moment, that's what I say. Don't stop before you've reached your goals, my dear Watson. What are the four teck-tics to solve any problem?"

TECK.

"Time."

"She has all the time she wants and we're in a hurry. Time is not an option."

"Energy."

"Not even with all the energy of an atomic bomb can we go through that steel door. Next, please."

"Creativity."

"We've used all our creativity to talk her out of this, but it didn't work. We have one option left."

"Knowledge. But that's useless too. She knows the territory, and she's already used that knowledge to build the best defence since the Iron Curtain."

"What did your horoscope tell you this morning?"

"Don't doubt. Check all information you gather twice. Return to issues that are difficult and demanding when you feel you can push through."

"Did you check the backside of this building?"

I didn't. I leave Shirley in front of the door and walk around the shop. The double walls are made of concrete bricks with an outside layer of granite stones. The place is a fortress. When I return at the front, I report: "Impossible. There's no weak spot."

"Now go again and check that information twice. Don't you look back. Look at the back. Do you want me to come with you? Two see more than one. What's that door?"

"It's the entrance to the bathroom. It's locked. I already checked that twice."

"And you can't pick the lock?"

"Why? Do you have to go?"

"Check your information twice, my dear Watson. There's a door and you haven't even looked once what's behind it. It takes a little while, but you'll never know what you'll find."

"It's a bathroom. There will be a throne, a washbasin, and a towel. Bathrooms are like that. I don't want to get into that same situation again and find the place occupied."

"Well? Knock on the door and ask if there's somebody there. Do I have to teach you everything?"

I knock on the door, ask if there's anyone there, don't get an answer, take my Swiss army knife and pick the lock. With the attitude of the doorman of the George V hotel, I open the door for Shirley: "TadAAAA. The end of the world is near, and this is how it smells."

Shirley takes a deep breath, faces her determined look that I know all too well by now, and says: "Heroes don't follow. Heroes go their own way. When the end of the world is near, when there's no tomorrow, there's only one thing we can do, my dear Watson: push through. Don't stop. And this is what it looks like."

Shirley strides across the bathroom, with firm paces, and… WALKS. THROUGH. THE. WALL!

I can't believe this. Shirley weighs about 50 kilos, isn't even 1,60 metres tall, and she walks through the back wall of the bathroom like it's made of plaster instead of concrete.

"What are you waiting for, my dear Watson? Do you want me to fight this woman by myself, or are you coming to help me arrest her?"

"But… Did you just walk through a wall?"

"You're getting rather overexcited. It's just simple knowledge. This isn't Austria. This is Slovenia. People have a different culture here. They don't build their houses as Austrians do. From the outside, it looks impressive, but inside, it's painted paper and plaster. Are you coming?"

When I show her my Makarov, Barbara surrenders immediately: "Don't hurt me. I've never done anything wrong."

I bite back: "You and your friends kill three to four million people each year, for already thirty years. In my dictionary, that's wrong, without any doubt."

"Those people asked for it. I just sell what the market wants. Making money isn't against any law. I've never done anything wrong. All I did was work hard, and all I get back is punishment, with everyday higher taxes. I hate it to pay for crimes I didn't commit. I hate the people who do that to me."

I'm out of text, but Shirley isn't: "Why are you so angry? Can't you just forgive them? To err is human, to forgive is divine."

"Being angry with everyone is much easier than forgiving them. I've done nothing wrong."

"I've seen you give the order to a pack of bloodthirsty dogs to attack and kill us. That's a conspiracy to murder, plus leading a criminal organization. The animal rights movement might have a few words with you too, about the bad-quality food you serve your pets. That's thirty years to life in prison. You're not going to walk away from this, love. But perhaps we can forgive you. All you have to do is what your six sisters have done already: regret your crimes and promise to do your best to undo the damage. We're not here to hang you. We're here to help you. I might be your best advocate at the moment you'll face your final judgement."

I admire how Shirley turns any situation into her benefit by making use of what others say. She looks indeed like an advocate, The Devil's advocate in this case. Barbara doesn't give in yet, but her defence has lost its former strength: "I've done nothing wrong. I need a cigarette and a Schnapps, and I need a box of dark chocolate too. You make me feel bad. I hate feeling bad. I want to feel good. I've done nothing wrong."

"You know you've done a lot of wrong things, dear, but your stupid Taurus stubbornness stands in your way. You can go on as long as you like, telling yourself and the world you've done nothing wrong, but not all the cigarettes and liqueur and chocolate in the world will make you feel good after all the wrong you did. Give it up. Give up smoking, give up drinking, give up eating your sorrows away, give up blaming others, give up looking for excuses, and most of all, give up your stubbornness. Stubbornness is like a concrete wall with granite stones that stands between you and a better you. Nobody can tear that wall down, not even me. You have to do it yourself. Don't hide. Don't run. Don't stop. Don't give up on yourself. Break down that Iron Curtain of lies, that Chinese Great Wall of self-destructive habits, and find out what's on the other side: the beautiful view of freedom."

Barbara still sputters: "I can't. I can't give up smoking. I can't give up drinking. I'm addicted to eating dark chocolate. And my habits cost me so much that I can't give up my work for the Sieben Gänge gang."

"Of course, you can. I'll help you. Together, we can do anything. Come with us to the Twilight Zone. Meet the members of our Ancient Army who will give meaning to your life. Meet your six sisters who already left the steep, dark and rocky path of crime. There's no future in evil. We give you the chance to find out. All you have to do is take that chance."

"And my puppies?"

"Every doctor says that having a pet does miracles to the health of elderly people (but they are not allowed to have pets because every politician prohibits everything that costs money, except raising taxes). Your little friends will be more than welcome at the Twilight Zone. We take them with us. Come on. Grab your things. We're done here. You were the last one on our list. Now, our mission is complete, the world is saved, and we can have a coffee with a piece of my special secret recipe chocolate cake. I'm starving."

Barbara finally surrenders. Perhaps it's because of Shirley's kind words. Perhaps it's because she realises it's time to start living. But most likely, because of the promise of chocolate. I'm starving too. Chocolate cake is the best way to celebrate the end of our mission.