Using my other hand, I loosen my tie before grabbing hold of the suitcase to pull it along. I am in the airport in Copenhagen, it’s in the middle of the night, and the place is deserted. My steps echo. I am on my way to the Metro station. “I’m back,” I say in a tired voice, not recalling where I have been. I have worked around the clock ever since my divorce. It’s my fourth business trip this week and it is only Thursday. Well, actually, it’s past midnight by now; so it’s Friday. “What’s up, Maja?”Maja is my secretary and I guess she is not calling to deliver good news. No, I know for sure, she is calling with bad news; otherwise she wouldn’t be up at this time of night. There is no need for her to say it, but of course she does.“Something’s happened, William.”“What?” I pull my suitcase down the long hallway leading to the platform. Up ahead I can see the illuminated red letters and numbers on the sign by the tracks:VANLOSE 4 min.Underneath this, sliding across the screen is a message stating that the elevator on Flintholm Station is out of order.
