When Civil Servants Fail

By John Schou

In this book, we are concerned with our security agents, and if the tenor of this description is right, we are then dealing with the greatest terrorists, according to their accomplishments. In contrast, normal citizens are treated as their enemies, so far without justification since we tolerate their actions without noteworthy resistance. Ironically, if you redefine a terrorist from their destruction of civil rights, the biggest terrorists of our time will be found in various governments. But when the ministers of the interior (home secretaries) actually (and exceptionally) defend human rights, I excuse this comparison. May he or she be successful with this task; be sure there is a lot to do after the grave setbacks experienced in the first part of the Third Millennium.
The five stories are dealing with different aspects of this conflict: In ‘Crime Does Pay,’ the biggest false-flag attack of modern time (9/11) is the topic. ‘Honour the Liars’ is dealing with whistleblowers and their fight for truth – in vain – as the “weapons of mass destruction” lead to war against Iraq. The murder of Dr. David Kelly is given particular attention in this connection. In ‘Civil Servants,’ various so-called security organizations plan a large false-flag attack. In 'What a Waste,' toxic and radioactive waste is scheduled for transport to the Third World, disguised as relief-aid. Finally, the subway-attack in London in 2005 is given attention in the last story, ‘Dark Shadows’.
But rather than disclosing these crimes here (I have done so in various essays on my homepage), the stories are fictionally packed as detective stories, unmistakably inspired by Rex Stout’s main characters, Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, here in a local Danish version.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Schou
• Release date: Apr 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476241593

John Schou

John Schou was born 1951. He grew up in Denmark and graduated as a physician in Copenhagen in 1977. From 1982 did he work as a consultant anaesthetist in the county hospital in Lörrach, Germany (by Basel), where he still lives. 1994-97 he was Chairman of the prehospital committee, ITACCS. A severe disease forced him to retire from the medical career early in September 2001. He has published several medical articles and three books about emergency medicine and anaesthesiology. In later years, he has concentrated his authorship on other stories, some with but mostly without medical relevance.

Book preview

John Schou

When Civil Servants Fail

Copyright 2012 by John Schou

Published by John Schou at Smashwords

ISBN 9781476241593

Cover Photo by Ahmad Mesleh ©

Used by permission (eyeonpalestine.com)

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

John Schou

When Civil Servants Fail

Table of Content:

Preface: Which Civil Servants?

I – Crime Does Pay

1 – A fresh Breath

2 – Shocking revelations

3 – Welcome to Copenhagen

4 – A Long Travel Home

5 – If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them

6 – End of the Journey

II – Honour the Liars

1 – Fight for Work

2 – Locked Up in the Woods

3 – Locked Up in the Hospital

4 – A Traitor Confesses

5 – How Kelly Died

6 – With Such Friends, You Don’t Need Enemies

7 – Meeting Members of the Board

8 – Back in the Woods

9 – Culprit or Victim?

10 – Kelly’s Mimic

III – Civil Servants

1 – A Christmas Present

2 – Lunch at Shepherd’s

3 – George Departs

4 – Breaking Up

5 – The First Bomb I Ever Threw

6 – Being Famous

7 – Home with Honour

8 – A New Household Help

9 – Christmas Visitors

10 – Finally Snow

IV – What a Waste

1 – A Sour Introduction

2 – Frozen Gulf

3 – Rule the Waves

4 – A Small Addition

5 – Return to Sender

V – Dark Shadows

1 – Endangered species

2 – Eric, we have Case

3 – Discrete Appearance

4 – Operation Fafner

5 – Nightly Encounter

6 – Four Murdered Suiciders

Author’s Construct of Mr. Smith

Mr. Smith’s House

Which Civil Servants?

Which Civil Servants are dealt with in this book? The reason for this question is the quotation in Wikipedia: Civil Servants are those who are employed by the Crown. It does not characterize this bunch of most non-British subjects, which are dealt with here. In this book, we are concerned with our security agents, and if the tenor of this description is right, we are then dealing with the greatest terrorists, according to their accomplishments. In contrast, normal citizens are treated as their enemies, so far without justification since we tolerate their actions without noteworthy resistance. Ironically, if you redefine a terrorist from their destruction of civil rights, the biggest terrorists of our time will be found in various governments. But when the ministers of the interior (home secretaries) actually (and exceptionally) defend human rights, I excuse this comparison. May he or she be succesfull with this task; be sure there is a lot to do after the grave setbacks experienced in the first part of the Third Millennium.

John Schou

Crime Does Pay

1 – A Fresh Breath

I was jogging through the park a late November morning. Dawn was slowly emerging. It had been frosty during the night and the branches of the trees, together with the few leaves, which had not yet left them during the autumn as brave leaves are expected to do, were covered with ice, giving the whole park a glassy appearance. The park lies in the middle of the suburb, and all day, but particularly in the morning, joggers are on their way. It is not a big park and there is only one logical way round; then, there are two ways how to run around, clockwise and counter-clockwise, and since the path was rather narrow as jogging became a widespread sporty event, people tried to agree which way to run. In the city hall, there was an agreement that there should only be one way around permitted but, fortunately, they never agreed upon, which way that should be. As a compromise, they enlarged the path, and I keep changing the direction, partly to demonstrate my independence of the two parties, partly to make sure that it remains open possible both ways around. In the last months, however, I generally used the counter-clockwise route as counterweight to the tendency to a new attempt to make the clockwise route the standard. Perhaps it sounds ridiculous but in a deeper sense, this is a symptom of people becoming less liberal, setting up standards for their compatriots to follow – yes, patriots is ‘in’ again, and they should run the same way around in the park. Needless to say that I meet more joggers now and the majority meets me with a sour expression in their face, with a small minority simply ignoring me. Anyhow, joggers are not underway to say hello to anybody, so I try to ignore most of them, too; except Alice, whom I only met exceptionally in the park since she started being ‘counter-clockwise’ like me and for the same reason. More important, since she got a new job, she only runs much earlier, if at all.

My boss generally does not care much about what I do before 9 a.m., at which time we enjoy a mutual breakfast without discussing the days’ programme, since business matters are banned during all meals – but more to that later. Now, I am enjoying the fresh air and do not want to think about him, who is the opposite of fresh and healthy, but also more to that later. Since he plays a central part in the story, I am going to tell, I anyhow cannot avoid introducing you to him soon, I just have to turn another round. It is quarter past eight, so I just have the time to look through newspapers and mail. I said he does not care about what I do, but there are things that must be done, sometime between night and morning. When is then up to my decision.

Joggers are practically dressed, in winter even more than in summer, and it is difficult to distinguish the wealthiest from the rest of us. But it all depends on a shower after that. Since the big house of my employer, Mr. Smith, has plenty of rooms, many of which are staying unused since his wife died, I have conquered a bathroom to be called my own, so I do not need to go back home after having completed my circles in the park. Actually, Mr. Smith had offered me to stay in the house, an offer I politely rejected since I need a private sphere after the job and he does not. After a period of some weeks’ cool sentiments after my surprising decision, our relation gradually normalised. Anyhow, Juanita, his Spanish householder, lives there. She is also the one preparing the breakfast at 09:00 sharp. It was occasionally difficult for me to stick to that rule, not to speak about business during the meals, when we were having an urgent case. In the meantime I have learned my lesson and accept it as practical. We are not competing with the police and emergency services, Mr. Smith had said once, Therefore we need to relax our strained brains during the meals. He was a real master of relaxation, but I must admit that he was also my superior when it came to brainpower.

I approached the white villa in Hellerup, the suburb to Copenhagen North of the city, adjacent to the sea. It is the last house before Øresund, with an own bridge to the boat that was said to have been there in the former owner’s custody. For now, this luxury was totally superfluous since Mr. Smith seldom left his luxury villa and never by the sea. Outside the garden gate, a luxury car was parked. As I approached the villa in a running pace, the driver opened the door and asked: Are you Mr. Smith?

No, I simply said and tried to imagine the mentioned person running.

Are you working in Mr. Smith’s house?

Yes, I confirmed and continued to the garden gate.

Please wait. We tried to ring the bell an hour ago, but nobody opened. Milady needs urgently to speak to Mr. Smith.

If they asked if I was he, it could not be a very cordial visit, I thought. I can arrange a meeting at 11 a.m. the earliest, I said. Who may I announce?

Who are you anyway yourself?

I hate this intrusion and, as a principle, then keep my own name back until the fine visitor has delivered his name first. So far, we have not lost any clients on that behalf. I am Mr. Smith’s confidential assistant.

The driver looked at me sceptically. And your name, please?

I asked first.

I am Sebastian Olsen.

So you need to speak to Mr. Smith, Mr. Olsen, I asked innocently, as if I forgot his question.

He blushed. No, not I, Milady want to consult him.

Then who shall we expect at 3 p.m.?

But you just said 11 a.m., and we need to consult him immediately.

Well, I thought that if the introductory formalities are taking so long time, we better go for the afternoon session.

The driver looked back angrily, but before he could react, the back door of the car opened and a woman in her forties showed up. She was dark haired (or her hair was coloured so), then there were some black shoes and in-between, most was covered by an elegant dark brown fur, which had probably cost the life of hundreds of small animals and the bearer a stiff sum of money. My name is Dorothy Wilson. I really need to see Mr Smith quite urgently. I cannot wait another couple of hours.

For very urgent cases, I can only recommend the police. Mr. Smith will only be available at eleven o’clock.

Where is he and when does he come?

I do not strictly know. I mean, I did not know whether he was in the bedroom or the bathroom, at this time of the day, there were only the two possibilities. Do you want to make use of the offered term?

She shook her head, and then recognized her defeat. I have been advised only to talk to Mr. Smith about this ... case. We shall be back at eleven. Sebastian, we are leaving. She did not say goodbye.

I went directly to my bathroom for the shower. I dressed like a businessman with a blue tie, as Mr. Smith wanted when clients were coming – I never saw him with one. This was the only indication that guests were expected, and I did not mention it with a single word before they were almost there. I had only told Juanita, so that she would let them in, at earliest a quarter before. The discussion with the potential clients had stolen 3 valuable minutes of my time, so I was rushing through the mail. I read without understanding, later there was time to understand without reading. At 9:00, I was sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen. The dining room in the North-East corner of the house with a view to Sweden was called ‘morning room’ by the previous owner, but discharged for this function as Mr. Smith did not like so much light in his sensible eyes just after getting up. The sky was grey but somehow, the sun gave light and warmed the temperature above zero, so that the icy cover of the plants rapidly melted. Now, Mr. Smith finally entered. His breakfast was what I might desire twice a year, but for the everyday, I was going for the opposite. I looked sceptically as he ingested his bacon and eggs (and what an amount), each day made or attempted in the same way: one package of bacon first roasted on one side at low heat, thereby yielding its own fat for the continued process, then immediately after the bacon is turned, 6 eggs are added, the yellow immediately mixed with the rest. When it is rather solid, Juanita has the biggest challenge of the whole process: turning it all on the pan, then waiting 15 seconds (not 14 or 16) and off it goes to Mr. Smith, who immediately engulfs it, helped by two glasses of fresh pressed orange juice – at least that should be healthy, but he drank it only because he liked the taste. And that is just the beginning of his breakfast; afterwards follows a number of rolls with honey, jam, ham and cheese in pre-defined range of order. I was looking with a slight disgust at this feeding orgy while my own dietary meal slowly disappeared.

It is not your birthday today, Eric, he said. He paid me enough to allow himself to use my first name while he remained ‘Mr. Smith’ to me.

Even if it was, I could not eat so much.

I obviously need a larger replenishment for my body, to keep it in its old shape. When you grow big, you will also be served correspondingly. I only keep wondering, why you want to be so small, as judged from your meals.

Perhaps that is why I fail to grow big, I suggested.

He ignored my comments. And then there are all the thoughts, I make. Brain activity demands a lot of energy.

Certainly, that explains why I do not need so much. I changed the subject: How was the opera yesterday evening?

Mr. Smith would not dream of leaving the house to go to the Opera House. It would also be technically difficult. Instead, he was viewing them alone on TV from DVD discs, of which he already had a rich amount. His possession of music-records was enormous but fortunately, the house was big enough to give space for it all. The ‘music room’ had a large collection of discs, second in size only to the Danish State Radio, but he preferred to order Juanita to search out some discs, which he would then listen to in the sitting room in his favourite chair. In the cellar, two rooms were full of records and tapes, none of which had been used in the three years I had been on Mr. Smith’s payroll. Yesterday came a new disc with Wagner’s ‘Lohengrin,’ which he wanted to see the same evening.

It was simply terrible. Can you imagine that Elsa was the bad person who had abducted her brother, Count Telramund the hero who tried to uncover the plot while Lohengrin was mixing up in matters not of his concern?

Finally something different, I remarked, not knowing how it should really be.

And then after almost three hours, Elsa – who should be a young girl but was sung by an ‘overdone’ soprano – suddenly failed in the high notes. Strange that they let it pass on the disc, instead of recording that scene anew.

Probably they assumed that nobody would sit up for three hours to find out only then, I suggested.

I guess you are right, Mr. Smith said thoughtfully. I should have stopped after 15 minutes and taken one of the other editions I have. Will you please file it under ‘Disgraced Editions’ when we finish the morning programme?

Of course. I only don’t understand why you keep a disc you’ll never see again.

Just in case. I have been mistaken before. If we throw it out, I shall definitely read something in the coming days, which will make me interested in some detail again. It is like going away in sunny weather, bringing an umbrella along; it is the only way to make sure that it will not rain.

The meteorological weather-report has become more precise in later years, I tried to argue against the necessity of this security measure."

Bah. The meteorologists are best when they tell you how the weather was, should you not have noticed. But your blind adherence will of course make you trust a scientific meteorological report than some stupid rain drops.

I could have argued that he had little experience with outdoor weather since he stayed in the house most of the time. I did not. The main point was keeping up a social conversation without mentioning any business points. Also politics were a forbidden topic. Since Mr. Smith’s and my interests were absolutely additive, with little in common, and since we could not always talk about the weather, it was kind of a problem to keep this conversation going. Nevertheless, I learned much about all kind of arts and gastronomy during breakfast, and I tried to give some comments every now and then. Mr. Smith knew about my ignorance in this area and I knew that he knew it, but with this mutual knowledge, some amount of personal respect and a luxurious salary for the rest, we managed our way. And I did not tell him about the intruders, who should return this morning. Not before we were in the sitting room, which also was Mr. Smith’s office.

As soon as he had taken place in his favourite chair, helped by gallows, which afterwards disappeared behind panels in the wall, I was expected to giving him a brief summary of the mail. Then I said, At eleven o’clock, we shall get a fine visit of a rich client, who arrived in a Cadillac with driver.

Whoever can afford a Cadillac can also afford the driver. Tell her to come back in the afternoon. I am not in the mood for female company presently.

I can’t – I mean, I promised her this term. She sounded pretty desperate. Juanita told me they had tried to wake the dead shortly after 8.

They also succeeded to disturb me. That is probably the reason why I am tired now. Three p.m. or not at all!

I am kind of worried for my salary. The balance for this year doesn’t look so promising. We could really use a rich client and I should gladly hunt her favourite pet animal, if that is the reason for her despair. Why don’t you let me take care of this case and you are just nodding and adding some positive words every now and then?

OK, that is an argument, but you must really manage this case all alone, he said. I knew he could not keep his word, but first of all, we needed a new, wealthy client. In this moment, the doorbell rang. We did not expect anyone else. I had told Juanita to show the lady into the music room, our waiting room for impatient guests, with calming music playing; we should then be ready at the agreed time. She could offer her a coffee in the meantime.

At 11:00, Juanita knocked on the door and, having not received any negative reply, entered, closely followed by the guest who had used all her remaining patience, how little that may have been. We had finished our mail briefing long ago and were – or at least I was – ready for a new challenge.

Mrs. Wilson approached the guest chair, which I had turned so that we were grouped in a triangle. Normally, Mr. Smith preferred to be confronted with a new client en face, but the agreement from before called for a different arrangement. She recognized me from before, but it was obviously not a pleasant meeting, disregarding the fact that the sweating jogger from the morning had turned into a well-dressed businessman. After we had all introduced ourselves, she bluntly asked: Must this young man necessarily be present? It is a matter of utmost discretion.

Mr. Gusto is a necessary part of all my investigations. As you see, I am physically indisposed, and when I need his physical assistance, he must know also what it is all about, my master answered.

Having worked for Mr. Smith for some years, I was actually happy for the insult, being degraded to the brain’s physical supplement. It meant that he might possibly take the case himself, whatever it was about. His physical indisposition was a mild expression. Mr. Smith is not only excessively fat, he is also dependent on a wheelchair after a neurological disease, which stole him the control of his legs. The house has been rearranged for his particular demands: an escalator leads to the upper floors and the cellar and there are gallows in plenty strategic places, such as his bed, some chairs and his absolutely private toilets. If he had half the weight, it would be easier, but when reminded of this fact, he usually ‘comforted’ the one who had made this remark that it would anyhow all be gone in a brief time, whereupon the subject was changed, to the relief of everybody.

His fatness was expressed in his face, which appeared strangely square, more so through a full beard. His short hairs were well-preserved, short cut and stood up vertically, still giving the impression of a blond colour although heavily mixed up with grey hairs. His cheeks seemed square with parallel vertical lines along the nose, which was the only sharp object in his face. Needless to comment the rest of his body, from where the majority of his some 400 pounds originated, it would therefore be too big a project to start now. By the way, this weight is merely an estimate. I do not think there were any such devices in the house that could measure it. The main characteristic for a rapid evaluation, the wheelchair, was taken away, a luxury always performed when guests or clients were coming. That demanded that Juanita or I had to be nearby, and he was, in fact, never alone. Juanita would soon go shopping and afterwards she had some free hours. She was present for many hours, but she was not working much during this time. But back to Mrs. Wilson, who was now recovering from the shock of Mr. Smith’s visual appearance. His attitude to strangers, regardless their status of clients, was not much more appalling. For now, he just silently reminded me to go on, bearing in mind that it was me who should find the bird that had flown away or whatever was now disturbing her.

Please describe the reason for your presence and be assured of my discretion, which will be guaranteed in writing if there is a case for us coming up, I started.

"Very well, I hope there is. It is about my son, Jack Wilson, who was one of the unhappy passengers of the four hijacked planes on September 11, 2001, now five years ago. He has been declared dead as a result of the planes’ crash in Pennsylvania and we have been paid a sum as sole relatives – he had just finished college and was 18 years old, far from being married. We have more or less accepted the situation and recently, we have left the United States while my husband has taken over the direction of an international company with seat in Copenhagen.

Three days ago, a man who called himself Jack Stewart called from Australia. In the telephone, I immediately got the feeling that this was my son speaking from the grave, and he did mention some experiences from college, which my son had told us about. And then he asked me to send some money."

How did he justify that you should send him money? I asked.

He didn’t. He just told me that he needed them. The next day he called back again and gave further details, which only a family member should know.

Did he tell you plainly at anytime that he was your son? Mr. Smith interrupted. A good sign, I was afraid he was kind of sleeping with open eyes, but this proved interest in the matter.

No, he really avoided that. Yesterday he called for the third time and gave me instructions, where to direct the money transfer – not a big sum, by the way, just 5,000 $ to a bank in Australia.

‘The bill shall also not be a big sum,’ I thought, ‘just at least 10,000 $ for whatever we make.’

Did he tell you, why he needed this money, Mr. Smith said, his second intrusion in a short time.

He said he wanted to come to Copenhagen and tell me something personally that he could not tell by phone. He also recommended that I contact Mr. Smith – he even gave me your address. You seem to have a broad reputation. Do you advertise abroad?

I do not advertise at all. Success is my best recommendation, Mr. Smith said.

At what time of the day did he call? I also wanted to ask something.

Always around 10 in the morning. Today there was no call.

This is around 9 p.m. in Australia. Did he tell you where he lived or give you a phone number?

No, and there was no number in the display of our phone.

There was a small intermission, to be broken by Mr. Smith: I understand that you have the feeling that you were talking with your son while you know, this should be impossible. What exactly do you want from me?"

I want you to go to Australia to find out, who this person is!

I could not help smiling. It was several months ago when I was last time forced to drive Mr. Smith to the central police station in Copenhagen, perhaps 6 km away. It is always an unforgettable experience and I am happy, that he practically never left the house. I am driving the old Bentley from time to time; otherwise it would stand unused in the garage.

I am certainly not going anywhere, neither is Mr. Gusto. By deduction, there is a simple solution to the problem. First, we shall find out if it is possible that your son was not onboard the plane which crashed in Pennsylvania. Second, it is cheaper to send Mr. Stewart some money and let him fly here – obviously, he knows your address as he knows mine – than it would be to send any of us to find a Mr. Stewart, of whom we only know that he lives in Australia.

I can arrange for the bank transfer right away, if you recommend it, Mrs. Wilson said.

Yes I do, but send him only half of the amount, which is much more than he needs for the plane-ticket. And write that he shall get more when he comes to Denmark, provided he fulfils certain preconditions, Mr. Smith continued.

Which preconditions? she wanted to know.

I answered that: That he is your son, but you shall not write it. Does the surname ‘Stewart’ occur in your family?

My mother was baptised Stewart.

We are indeed in a hurry. Mr. Gusto and I shall perform some research before Mr. Stewart arrives. If you make the transfer today, he shall get it tomorrow and could be here probably within two-three days. I suggest that we meet tomorrow at five p.m. to exchange information and demonstrate our preliminary recognitions – if you agree, of course. Mr. Gusto will make the contract with you, I hope you will agree upon a cheque of 5,000 $ or the equivalent in Danish Kroner, to cover our initial expenses.

Mrs. Wilson nodded: Of course. She seemed relieved that Mr. Smith was taking her problems serious – for 5,000 $, I can also take quite a lot of problems serious.

Eric, can you deal with it in the music room and send Juanita in right away with Rosinante?

I nodded. The reason was clear to me: he had drunk quite a lot of coffee in the morning and now it wanted to get out again. Rosinante was the nickname of his wheelchair, named after the horse of Don Quichote. He certainly did not want to show his gymnastic efforts for getting out of the chair to the visitor, let alone to mention that he was going to the toilet. Mrs. Wilson, this way please, I ordered.

When I came back, after having fulfilled my tasks and Mrs. Wilson had departed, Mr. Smith had not yet arrived. When he did, I could inform him: Our new client made a preliminary payment of 10,000 $. Shall I bring it to the bank?

Certainly not. We are in kind of a hurry. If it is really her son and he comes soon, Mrs. Wilson will lose interest in our work. We must deliver something in two days. This is where your promise comes in. Find out what happened with this plane on 9/11 2001, passenger lists and so on. The Internet is full of 9/11 stuff.

How do you know? You never touch the computer.

I simply know it. You shall know it soon, too. What is your working theory?

Her son ran off with an Australian girlfriend and missed his plane home. Now their relation is broken and he needs money. Since he was declared dead and lots of money was paid on that behalf, he makes this mysterious approach, in order not to make it worse, paying back all of it.

I only agree with your assumption that Mr. Stewart is really her son. But we shall see, he said. Afterwards he could always claim, ‘Exactly as I thought.’ But to my surprise, he continued: Juanita will bring you some meal to your bureau at noon and perhaps later. There is no time for a big break, you must work concentrated.

That was rare. Mr. Smith was very concerned that also I got my meals, but now he condemned me to work like in a treadmill in front of the computer. "We must work concentrated," I answered.

"You wanted to deal with this case all alone; I am just making it possible. When you leave, would you just tell