The gate agent halted Gage.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No, sir. One moment.” She made a phone call and within seconds an electric Lufthansa golf cart materialized, driven by a similarly attired Lufthansa employee.
“I’m Dolf,” the employee said, giving Gage’s right hand a hearty shake. “I’ll take you to the first class terminal, for your breakfast with Mrs. Vogel.”
Gage was surprised to see his old black flight bag resting on the back of the golf cart. It was adorned with several orange priority tags.
“There are different levels of business class, sir,” Dolf explained, reading Gage’s expression. “You were in the highest tier, so they placed your bag closest to the unloading point.”
Feeling like he was taking the golf cart from someone who truly needed it, Gage reluctantly sat and was whisked away from the gate to the nearby first class terminal. Rather than queue in the large customs line, he was driven to a single booth where only two people waited in front of him. In order to prevent a sticky situation, Claudia had instructed him to list his visit length as 75 days—this would allow him to enter Germany without a visa. She told him she’d work through her attorneys to get him a visa after he was in country.
Once his passport was duly stamped, the man on the golf cart met Gage on the other side of the barrier, hustling him through the arrival terminal. Dolf acted as an airport tour guide, telling Gage about a number of the unspoken services Lufthansa offered its highest-tiered passengers.
“I’ve even seen the airline put people in an Audi and speed them to their destination, especially if their flight was late getting in,” Dolf said. “This is the airline’s way of competing with private charter. A business class ticket from the U.S. in the highest tier might cost ten thousand euro. A lot of money. But a charter, even split among six people, could be five times that much. So, the super-wealthy often opt for the top tier rather than charter a flight. Little things like this golf cart, and first-off service, help.”
“Some people live in a different world,” Gage said, not really knowing what else to say.
“If we had time, I’d tell you a few tales,” Dolf replied as the golf cart hummed its way toward the well-appointed first class terminal.
* * *
At the restaurant, Gage took note of the white linen tablecloths and sparse crowds. Most airport restaurants were miserably packed around the typical breakfast, lunch and dinner hours. He’d changed the time on his Timex at departure, meaning it was now displaying the correct local time of 8:05 A.M. And while there might have been a hundred seats in this fine dining facility, only a quarter of them were taken. One of the seats was occupied by Claudia Vogel. She beamed upon seeing Gage.
Gage insisted he carry his bags, leaving Dolf shrugging sheepishly. “I’m supposed to do that, sir.”
“If your boss gets onto you, blame me,” Gage answered with a wink. He carried his items to Claudia’s table and gave her a peck on her offered cheek.
“Did you sleep?” she asked, sipping her coffee afterward.
“I did, many thanks to you. A lie-flat seat on an international flight is a real treat.”
She waved away his thanks. “The least I could do.”
“How do you feel?” Gage asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Claudia’s expression was solemn. “Gage?”
“Yes?”
“The one thing I’ll not have is a great deal of fretting over my condition.” Though she spoke the words firmly, there was a slight twinkle in her eyes. “Do you follow?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“We’re all dying…I’m simply dying a bit faster.”
Breaking eye contact, Gage studied his silverware. Claudia touched his hand so he lifted his eyes.
“That was a joke, Gage.”
He chuckled.
“In all candor, I’ve lived a fine life. There’s no point in being morose and moping around because my time is almost near.”
“Your attitude is admirable.”
A server appeared, asking for Gage’s drink order.
“Black coffee and orange juice, please.”
When the server had taken his leave, Gage leaned forward. “So, where do we start?”
“I’ll make sure you’re shown around the estate. Before then, we’ll have one meeting—and it will be brief,” she answered, her merriment dissolving. “After all you went through here in Germany, with all the unpleasantness that occurred surrounding those diaries, I can only imagine the intensity of emotion you’ll experience over your first days.”
Though Gage wasn’t prone to blushing, he could feel his cheeks and neck grow warm. “This isn’t about me—it’s about being here for you.”
“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I understand.” She tapped the menu. “We might as well have a bite. The traffic will be horrid until at least nine-thirty. There’s no point in hurrying.”
They both ordered simple breakfasts as the conversation went to lighter subjects.
After he’d eaten half of his food, Gage dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Claudia, might I be direct?”
“You can say anything you want to me, don’t forget that. I place high value on directness.”
“Exactly what measures do you want me to take to prevent someone from hurting you? The reason I ask is because I can do a number of extreme things that will virtually guarantee your safety—but those things will interrupt life as you know it.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“It’s hard to say without seeing your home and the surroundings. I’ve got a good bit of gas in the tank, but I can’t be everywhere at once, twenty-four hours a day. I’d like to have the freedom to possibly bring in a few people to help me.”
“I’d prefer to live as normal a
