The Holy Lance - Chapter 5

The announcement, first in German, then in English informed Mark that he would soon be arriving in Vienna, and could he prepare for landing. Checking his seat was upright, he fastened his seatbelt and waited for the descent to commence.

The voice on the phone that morning had claimed to be from Austrian Airways, looking for a Mr Smith, but Mark knew enough to understand that the next leg of his trip had started. In some ways it was a relief. Although his time in London had been relaxing, he was ultimately a spy, thriving on action. Three days in a hotel, even a hotel as nice as Claridges was enough to dull his edge, no matter how much exercise he took in the modern gym on the sixth floor.

Wheels bumping the tarmac, he looked forward to leaving the tin-can that had rocketed him across Europe. He did not mind flying, but too much in a short space of time and it all became a bit, well, samey. Inflight magazines were remarkably similar when analysed in any detail, the films were the same mixture of recent blockbusters and the food, well there was a limited amount you could achieve in a 3 foot by 4 foot galley.

Swiftly leaving the plane and he made his way through the formalities and headed for the taxi rank. At least Vienna Airport is close to the city, he thought, settling back for the 20 minute ride to the Hotel Bristol. Even if this whole mission turned out to be a waste of time, at least he was racking up the airmiles, and doing so in some style.

10 minutes behind, Simon struggled through customs, his place at the back of the plane reflecting his place in the passport queue. After his discovery at the bank, he had returned to Oxford and sought an interview with the Warden of the College. A kindly old mathematician, Sir Nigel had been only too willing to listen to Simon’s plea for some time off after his terrible ordeal. A couple of weeks should do. Arrangements were made to re-distribute Simon’s teaching duties and he prepared himself for the next step of his journey.

Not quite sure why, he was tempted to blame a very early mid-life crisis, Simon decided to follow up the strange card. Failing to reach the Doctor on the telephone, the new and improved academic resolved to take matters into his own hands and go to see him. Booking the next available flight, and a midrange hotel in the centre of the city, he was satisfied by his more gung-ho approach to life. No more tweedy academic for Simon Pelham.

Packing an overnight bag, he decided cavalierly to slip the ring on his finger before he locked his door securely and headed for the bus to Heathrow.

Having endured the flight to Austria stuck between a rather large hausfrau and businessman who slightly creepy self-control could only be masking some deep seated perversion, Simon was now facing the realities of modern air travel. Dodging the crowd of braying English tourists, their trolleys laden with enough skis to mount an invasion of Switzerland, he headed for the train station in terminal one. Finally persuading the machine to accept his 10euro note, he boarded the grey and green double decker train for the journey to Wien-Mitte station. A trip of 16 minutes he was informed. From there, he would find his hotel, and head off to find the good doctor and get some resolution to the matter.

Disgorged from the train, he strolled the short distance to the hotel. A modern building on the banks of the famously grey Danube, the Adagio Wien was a modern chain hotel, with guaranteed hot water and internet access, and the charm of a brick. Still, it was warm, safe and cheap, three things Simon valued highly, particularly after recent events. While big enough to swing the proverbial cat, as long as it was not a large one, the room was not particularly welcoming, so Simon decided to head over to the museum to expedite matters.