Roskov, Book 8, page 1
Ricky Roskov
Book 8
Copyright © Geoff Wolak
Written in January, 2022, from an idea first formed in 2006.
This book is a work of fiction, technically accurate in the detail of geographical locations, and the time period history. It is young adult romance, conspiracy and murder-mystery.
Email the author: gwresearchb@aol.com
www.geoffwolakwriting.com
Denmark
My parents’ suitcases packed, my own case re-packed with what few items I had taken out, and we were soon on the way to Heathrow Airport in the rain - and with a heavy police escort.
But I resented this, I resented this a great deal since I felt more like a prisoner being escorted to jail than anything else, I certainly did not feel like a VIP being escorted. And although I had done well to break-up the child sex ring in Leicester, I felt that the world was against me – and wanted me dead.
When people shot at me … I stopped to take notice, and part of me felt unloved, unwanted, hated, even though 99% of the population supported me. It was that 1% that got the upper hand with my emotions and made me feel bad, made me feel that I was not wanted in a place.
In the steamed windows I drew an unhappy face, and I had to stop and wonder what I was doing with my life, since I felt like shit right now. I was worth millions, I had beautiful girls throwing themselves at me, but I still felt terrible.
The question was … why?
At the airport, we had the use of a side room till it was time to board, and since the aircraft would have mostly Danish passengers I was not wary, in fact I was welcoming of the good company.
With my parents, we sat in the middle near the exits, a chance placement since I had not asked for such seats. Across the aisle sat three tall Danish men in their late twenties.
The closest man faced me. ‘Sir, if you need some assistance we are here.’
‘Thanks,’ I told them. ‘But I walk OK now, just the deranged gunmen to worry about.’
‘You need an escort in Copenhagen?’ the first man offered.
‘No, your police will be there.’
‘You get ready for the celebrations?’
‘Yes, and to look at our new nightclub,’ I told them.
‘We see it in the newspapers, and we will visit, yes, not so many nice clubs in Copenhagen.’
‘This is a short flight,’ I told them, ‘But to drive is a long time I hear...’
‘Hell yes, don’t drive it. First across to Holland and then up, but the roads are OK in many places. By bus from London is eight hours or more.’
‘Is there a good train route?’
‘Good for local people, not so good from London to Copenhagen. You go to Brussels then you change a few times. We’ve tried them all, and flying is cheaper and better.’
I nodded at that. ‘Rolf, the twins’ father, he flew back with us, but … he was nervous and worried.’
‘My grandfather, he sailed Jews to Sweden, so all my family will be there. Altogether … maybe five hundred Danish boats were used, many sailors, thousands of Jews taken across and the Germans did not see it.’
‘And the modern day attitude of the Danes to Germany?’ I nudged.
He shrugged. ‘We find them arrogant towards us sometimes - our GDP is so small compared to Germany, but we are half German – like England and Ireland, like family.’
‘Many Danish women married German soldiers…’
‘Yes, but they do this before and after the war, we have always had close ties to them, our big brother to the south.’
‘What do you do in England?’
‘Banking, good money, once a month to fly back for a weekend.’
Seatbelts checked, and we were moved back from the terminal.
‘Who are they?’ my father whispered.
‘Danish men, offering to bodyguard us.’
‘Oh. Nice of them.’
Barely forty minutes later we touched down, a smooth enough flight and landing, the passengers asked to remain seated till the police boarded the aircraft.
I stood. Facing the three men, I said, ‘Anyone with a camera, be quick, eh, before the police grab me for being so handsome.’
Several people took snaps, and I stood with the three men to pose before the police boarded, and with my parents we were escorted off, thanking the crew.
Our luggage was kindly collected by the police using our tickets, and with our luggage being dragged we exited the terminal. But seeing the waiting TV cameras I halted the police and headed that way as my parents held my case, four armed officers around me.
‘Mister Roskov, your bodyguard was shot dead?’ the lady presenter began.
‘Yes, my police bodyguard was killed, but the man shooting at us was aiming at me, and he missed by inches. I’ll be handing money to my bodyguard’s ex-wife because he leaves behind a daughter.
‘My previous bodyguard was injured on the flight to Milan, and had he still been active he would have been killed, so … he’s now worried that he’s using up his nine lives. He plans a holiday to my hotel in Corsica.
‘I came here for the celebrations on Monday, and we came early because I wanted a safe place for a few days, and here in Denmark I always feel safe.
‘The British police do what they can to protect me, but I can’t live in a cave and drive around in a bullet-proof car, I have people to meet and businesses to run.
‘But I have offered to pay the British Government for my bodyguard detail, that way the British taxpayers don’t have to pay for it.’
‘Your parents are with you?’
‘Yes, and I try where I can to shield them from media attention, but that’s a lost hope, so my father cooperated with a documentary about my grandfather’s life in England.
‘But my parents will soon sell our family home to me and then travel some, they find life in Britain to be … difficult now, which is my fault, so they’ll stay at my hotel some of the year.’
‘Will the twins be here?’
‘Yes, for the celebrations on Monday, but their father is still not very good at walking, so his role will be limited.’
‘He will recover?’
‘Yes, he should be able to make a recovery - to the point of walking without a crutch, but he may have some pain for the rest of his life.’
‘You have recovered quickly…’
‘I have pain all the time, but I won’t let it slow me down.’
‘Will the miracle baby be here?’
‘The baby is under the protection of an Italian court order, so I don’t think that they could travel very easily, and I don’t want Luka to have her routine upset; she needs a good daily routine and plenty of rest to recover quickly.’
‘Will she get the baby back?’
‘In time, I don’t see why not. But she must first get well, and the court case with her ex-boyfriend must be settled, and then Luka needs a job and an apartment and … to show that she can be a good mother. I’ll help with that.
‘Do you have a card or a phone number? You can follow me as a visit a few places here.’
Camera lowered, and they handed over a card. I thanked them and re-joined my parents as fresh passengers arriving at the terminal glanced our way.
In the vans, we headed to Rolf’s old four-storey house, driving through the city under a leaden grey sky to the house where the twins had been born, and arriving there I noticed Rolf’s silver Volvo outside, so I wondered if he had he driven himself here.
Two plain-clothed officers walked up and introduced themselves. They would accompany me here in Denmark, no uniforms to be seen on the street attracting attention – so they reported, but a van full of armed officers would be across the canal - they also reported.
Inside, Rolf opening the door, we found Henrick and Elsa with their keen happy daughters, and I introduced the two officers, Rolf chatting to them in Danish and showing them to seats in a front room with a window – a view of the street.
With both my actual and my extended family sat in the lounge with cups of tea, we discussed our extended family heritage, my father recalling my grandfather, what memories he had, since my grandfather was away working a great deal.
Henrick had seen a newspaper article about the fishing harbour that the German officer, Kolhman, had used after the war, and the trawler company that he had worked for, so a visit there was a possibility, just that it was a very long drive.
I asked Rolf, ‘Did you drive here?’
‘Some of the way, not so much the pain, Henrick driving most of the way, but it was just four hours - plus the ferry of course. The twins have work today and Ingrid will drive here Sunday evening. Claudia said that she will try and come here today with Dominique, Olesya has a concert or two.
‘And your new Roskov relatives from Finland, they will visit as well, and see your grandfather’s house here. But the twins are conspiring for the daughters to be seen by the TV cameras.’
I smiled widely. ‘Why not, we get a free plug for our future models.’
‘There is a bad newspaper story from Italy,’ Rolf warned, giving me his best fatherly-disappointed look. ‘A group of nuns bought our DVD by mistake, and tried to watch it – with a group of priests.’
I laughed so hard I spilt my drink, my father shaking his head as Henrick’s girls giggled, my mother not impressed.
Rolf added, ‘It made the TV news, the Catholic Church embarrassed and asking that its priests and nuns not watch the DVD since it shows women in bikinis.’
My father co mplained, ‘Less than bikinis.’
Rolf added, ‘The German newscaster last night could not finish his segment for laughing, his co-host struggling to finish. Swedish breakfast news was similar.’
‘We did discuss that it may happen,’ I noted with a grin. ‘And it may happen in South America.’
‘DVD and poster sales there are huge, and now posters of the twins and Claudia sell well – Claudia especially.’
‘Do we sell well in the Faroe Islands?’ I teased.
‘There we could not be more popular, and all citizens have seen the DVD at least once.’
‘And the club in Stockholm, it’s at capacity?’ I asked.
‘Beyond capacity, busy on a Wednesday now,’ Rolf reported. ‘The club here soon to be ready.’
‘Let’s go visit it and check it. Today or tomorrow.’
‘I will arrange an inspection, yes. And your grandfather’s original house is now very busy - you must book ahead to view it, there is a queue of people.’
Henrick asked me, ‘This policeman shot, you knew him well?’
‘Not well, no, but … we had spoken many times as he drove me around, I got to know him, heard about his family. The man who killed him was shooting at me but missed, and that man had been on many golfing holidays to Portugal.
‘He may have been innocent, but his wife thought he was guilty and she wanted a divorce, the house up for sale in a hurry. And in my home town a hundred houses were put up for sale quickly, a hundred women wanting quick divorces.’
‘A bad business, yes,’ Henrick agreed. ‘And still some people out there with anger towards you.’
‘I … may live outside Britain more,’ I quipped, a glance at my parents, but I was not sure if I was being truthful or not as I exchanged a look with Rolf.
After a bite to eat we headed out, my parents’ first trip here, and the police escorted us to my grandfather’s small house. I had called the Danish TV crew and they were stood ready, a small crowd being kept back as we stepped down from the minibus, a guide on hand.
I let my parents go ahead, the guide explaining things in English to them, my father loving the dated furniture and wartime relics. Now, up on the walls I noticed many black and white photos of the Roskovs circa 1920-1943, as well as copies of many documents.
My father would have stayed all day, but after forty minutes I led them out and to the buses, my father thanking our guide, and we headed around to Henrick’s father.
There, I allowed in the TV crew for five minutes, and they filmed my father greeting the old couple, then filmed my father looking at old photos.
With the TV crew gone my parents got the tour as Oleg and family arrived, welcomed inside, a translator on hand, Henrick’s elderly parents greeting the long lost Roskovs with tears in their eyes.
Oleg had brought a large glass-framed family tree with him, and he presented it, the old couple tracing people that they knew or relatives that they had heard of but never met. The old couple themselves were listed, along with their son Henrick, my branch of the family displayed.
It was soon on the wall in pride of place, my father wanting a copy, so Oleg would arrange one soon for him. I wanted a copy as well, as did Rolf and Henrick, so many copies would be made.
The old couple then threw us a surprise of their own, a surprise visitor knocking on the door, a tall lady around forty years old, black hair, and with two stern-faced bodyguards in tow.
We let her in, bodyguards as well.
She shook my hand. ‘I am Olivia Roskoff, spelt with two “f” at the end, a junior minister in the Israeli Government. We are related,’ came with a mild accent.
I showed her to the family tree on the wall and she pointed out her grandfather, spelt in the diagram with a “v”, but when he landed in Israel it was somehow spelt with “ff”.
She greeted Oleg and family warmly, then Henrick and family, finally a chat to my parents in English as we sat with cups of tea.
I asked her, ‘How many Roskov relatives do I have in Israel?’
‘Not many, some in America. Unless you go back to the Middle Ages and draw a link.’
‘And your married name?’
‘Was Cohen, but he was killed in a terror attack.’
‘Why not keep his name?’ I probed.
‘After his death I find his second wife in America.’
‘Ah.’ I exchanged a look with Rolf. ‘Was he a spy, and had a good cover story?’
‘No, that I could have understood.’ She did not seem cut-up about it.
‘You’re here for the celebrations?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and I wanted to see the old family home. That house belonged to my family originally and was handed over after a marriage and when the groom’s father died from a sickness, 1927. Later it was sold to Henrick’s grandfather.’
‘Are there still Jews trying to get back property here?’ I asked.
‘Here? No, all were welcome to come back here and claim property, but most wanted a new life in Israel. Some arranged to sell their properties here and the Danish Government cooperated.’
‘And the Swiss banks?’ I nudged.
‘Still many claims outstanding, not so much the cooperation.’
I nodded. ‘I saw a TV documentary, someone’s safety box in Switzerland opened, and it had gold teeth fillings in it.’
‘Many like that have been found, yes. And most of the art treasures lost in the war have never been found.’
‘Some found in Sweden,’ Rolf noted. ‘But not much. Most is believed to be in South America, some hidden still in Spain. But most experts argue that Switzerland still hides the treasure. Not the government, but Swiss individuals hiding it.’
She nodded. ‘It may never be found, but broken up and sold on.’
I told her, ‘Oleg and family are lapsed Jews, and I was raised Christian … just so that you know.’
She nodded. ‘We know the story already, and it’s a familiar story. In America, fifty percent of Jews marry non-Jews and most don’t practise, yet they still call themselves Jews.
‘I have neighbours in Israel, and they are lapsed as well, it’s not so uncommon and we don’t shun them.’
‘I’d like to visit Israel and see the old relics, I loved history as a kid,’ I told her.
‘And you got to see the Sistine Chapel…’
‘I was jealous,’ Rolf told her. ‘I only got to see the photos.’
I told her, ‘I’ve been granted special access to all parts of the Vatican, and all Catholic churches worldwide, and I do plan on visiting a few.’
She studied me. ‘The story of the miracle baby and Luka is discussed widely in Israel, and many see it as a miracle. For a plane to crash-land next to a baby is … beyond belief for most, so it becomes a miracle.
‘And, oddly enough, it’s the one thing that the various groups in Jerusalem can agree upon. The Catholics, the Orthodox Greeks, the Armenians, the Jews and even the Palestinians think it a miracle.
‘And I would have never thought that they would agree on anything, but this has them all saying the same thing for a change.’
I nodded. ‘Maybe I could take the baby there, but the miracle was Luka.’
She shot me a warning look. ‘Take the baby there and it will be a riot, people killed, so don’t.’
Rolf asked, ‘People killed?’
‘They agree on it being a miracle, but … there are those that would want to deny it and see the baby killed.’
Rolf shot me a worried look. ‘There is no one so crazy as a religious zealot, my father used to say.’
‘He was right,’ she firmly agreed. ‘People with strong beliefs are capable of anything; like suicide bombers.’
I was concerned. ‘Then perhaps, if I visit, you advise me on what to avoid saying and doing.’
‘We can help, yes, but just by breathing some will want you dead.’
‘I hate to say it … but I’m starting to get used to that.’ I could see the worried look on my parent’s faces.
With the Israeli minister in tow, and forgetting what we had just said about dangerous religious zealots, we drove in column with escorts to the graveyard, police already there, and we found a well-tended grave, many fresh flowers noted as the TV crew filmed us.
Using Rolf’s camera, I took several shots of the headstone, and it was odd to be here, and to see Katerina Mary’s grave. Our Israeli visitor placed a flower down, and was photographed doing so, an odd stamp of approval it seemed on the miracle idea from the Israeli Government – and I had to wonder why.
