shopping mall. He was just about to enter the Danish Food deli when he noticed a
small envelope taped to the store window. It had MAJOR KNAG written on it with a
thick marker pen. Albert took it down and opened it:
Personal message for Major Albert Knag, c/o Danish Food, Kastrup Airport.
Dear Dad, please buy a large Danish salami, preferably a two-pound one, and Mom
would probably like a cognac sausage. P. S. Danish caviar is not bad either. Love,
Hilde.
Albert turned around. She wasn’t here, was she? Had Mark given her a trip to
Copenhagen so she could meet him here? It was Hilde’s handwriting ...
Suddenly the UN observer began to feel himself observed. It was as if someone
was in remote control of everything he did. He felt like a doll in the hands of a child.
He went into the shop and bought a two-pound salami, a cognac sausage, and
three jars of Danish caviar. Then he continued down the row of stores. He had made
up his mind to buy a proper present for Hilde. A calculator, maybe? Or a little radio—
yes, that was what he would get.
When he got to the store that sold electrical appliances, he saw that there was an
envelope taped to the window there too. This one was addressed to “Major Albert
Knag, c/o the most interesting store in Kastrup.” Inside was the following note:
Dear Dad, Sophie sends her greetings and thanks for the combined mini-TV and
FM radio that she got for her birthday from her very generous father. It was great, but
on the other hand it was a mere bagatelle. I must confess, though, that I share So-
phie’s liking for such bagatelles. P.S. In case you haven’t been there yet, there are
further instructions at the Danish Food store and the big Tax Free store that sells
wines and tobacco. P.S. P.S. I got some money for my birthday, so I can contribute to
the mini-TV with 350 crowns. Love, Hilde, who has already stuffed the turkey and
made the Waldorf salad.
A mini-TV cost 985 Danish crowns. That could certainly be called a bagatelle
in comparison with how Albert Knag felt about being directed hither and thither by
his daughter’s sneaky tricks. Was she here—or was she not?
From that moment on, he was constantly on guard wherever he went. He felt
like a secret agent and a marionette rolled into one. Was he not being deprived of his
basic human rights?
He felt obliged to go into the Tax Free store as well. There hung a new envelope
with his name on it. The whole airport was becoming a computer game with him as
the cursor. He read the message:
Major Knag, c/o the Tax Free store at Kastrup. All I need from here is a bag of
gumdrops and some marzipan bars. Remember it’s much more expensive in Norway.
As far as I can recall, Mom is very fond of Campari. P.S. You must keep all your
senses alert the whole way home. You wouldn’t want to miss any important
messages, would you? Love from your most teachable daughter, Hilde.
Albert sighed despairingly, but he went into the store and shopped as instructed.
With three plastic carriers and his flight bag he walked toward Gate 28 to wait for his
flight. If there were any more messages they would have to stay there.
However, at Gate 28 he caught sight of another white envelope taped to a pillar:
“To Major Knag, c/o GATE 28, Kastrup Airport.” This was also in Hilde’s hand-
writing, but the gate number seemed to have been written by someone else. It was not
easy to judge since there was no writing to compare it with, only block letters and
digits. He took it down. This one said only “It won’t be long now.”
He sat down on a chair with his back against the wall. He kept the shopping
bags on his knees. Thus the proud major sat stiffly, eyes straight ahead, like a small