At the security desk, Orion offered the officer his boarding pass and passport, smiling at him confidently. The officer studied the passport photograph, glancing up at Orion with emotionless eyes. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, handing back the documents and directing him towards the queue waiting to have their hand luggage scanned. As the pilot’s case disappeared into the interior of the scanner, a security guard invited him to walk through a metal-detecting arch. The scanner operator sat staring intently into his display, now showing the translucent pilot’s case. He studied the image for a few seconds, blind to the dubious contents, then pressed a button to send it on its way.
The air steward who greeted Orion into the First Class cabin ushered him to his seat, offering to stow his pilot’s case. Orion declined and, placing it on the floor, relaxed back into his luxurious leather seat. While the other passengers came aboard he browsed through the menu, choosing what he would have had for lunch if he had been a physical entity. Soon the airliner was being pushed back from its stand, the two massive jet engines starting to turn.
A poltergeist being a poltergeist, mischief is never far away. And halfway through the seven hour flight the Gatekeeper started to get bored. He began to amuse himself by rearranging the other passengers. An Indian woman, wearing a beautiful red and gold silk sari, returned from the restroom to find an overweight Italian businessman snoring in her seat. It took several amusing minutes and two flight attendants to convince him he was in the wrong assignment. Then a young child woke to find herself sitting alone in the rear of the economy section, her hysterical mother screaming at the flight attendants to find my daughter! Orion realized he had taken his game too far when the steward, serving the pre-dinner aperitif, became hysterical when he found his feet glued to the floor.
The airliner’s descent from a cloudless sky into JFK was smooth and effortless, with only the slightest hint of a bump as its wheels met the runway. Within no time he was walking through the jet-way and into the terminal building, following the signs for Immigration Control. It took about fifteen minutes of queuing before the sullen-faced immigration officer called Orion forward. ‘What’s the purpose of your visit, sir?’ he asked, flipping through his passport’s pages.
‘Pleasure.’ Orion replied confidently.
‘What sort of pleasure, sir?’ the officer continued, now studying his visa form.
‘I’m holidaying here.’
‘Do you have a ticket to leave the United States, sir?’ Orion handed his travel wallet to the officer who opened it and studied the contents. He stared directly into the Gatekeeper’s eyes before glancing down to study the landing form again. ‘You haven’t given the address where you will be staying, sir,’ the officer said coldly.
‘I’m going to be staying at a hotel.’
‘You need to write the address of the hotel on your landing form, sir.’
‘But I haven’t booked a room yet,’ Orion said with an irritated voice.
‘Well without a valid address, I can’t let you through, sir. Please stand aside.’ The officer spoke with an emotionless voice as he handed Orion back his documents.
‘I’ve got to go through, it’s very important!’ Orion said, refusing to move.
‘Sir… I have asked you to stand aside, now please do so!’
‘YOU MUST let me in!’ Orion shouted, pounding the counter with his closed fist.
‘Sir! I have asked you twice to stand aside. Now please do so immediately!’ The officer discreetly pressed the silent-alarm button by his knee, unclipping the holster strap securing his firearm as he spoke.
Orion stood at the counter refusing to move, not noticing the three armed Homeland Security officers who had approached from behind. The sergeant placed his hand on Orion’s shoulder and said in a calm, polite voice, ‘Sir, please come with us.’ Orion sighed, closed his eyes, and dropped his head. The immigration officer behind the counter slid his pistol out of its holster and pushed off the safety catch. He slowly raised the gun and, placing the muzzle against his own temple, pulled the trigger. The deafening report sent the other passengers screaming in all directions. At first he didn’t move but then, like a toppling tree, he slumped forward across the counter, revealing the blood and brain sprayed interior of his cubical. The sergeant pushed Orion aside, running forward to help his injured colleague, shouting ‘Lock him up!’ The officer standing behind Orion grabbed his wrist and went to snap her handcuffs around it, but before she could close them, her partner drew his weapon and fired three times. Two perfectly aimed shots passed through her chest, followed by a third between the eyes. The sergeant, now tending the mortally wounded immigration officer, spun around and crouched down behind the cubical, screaming into his radio, ‘WE NEED BACKUP! We’re under fire!’ Now, only the Gatekeeper was left standing with the security officers squatting down, scanning the interior of the hall for the gunman who was attacking them. After what seemed like an eternity, a stream of armed police poured into the immigration hall. They surrounded the terrified passengers and started to drag them away to safety.
Before Orion could open his eyes, a police officer had pushed him to the ground. ‘Keep low and follow me, sir,’ he said, pulling him away from the mayhem by his jacket collar. They crawled together, out of the immigration hall and into the baggage claim area, Orion dragging his pilot’s case behind him. The officer stood up pulling Orion to his feet, then they ran together, through the empty customs check towards the arrivals hall. As soon as they were safely through the automatic doors, the officer grabbed Orion’s shoulders and pointed him towards the sidewalk entrance, shouting, ‘Go that way, sir, and don’t stop!’ He then turned and ran back towards the immigration hall to rescue more of the terrorised passengers. Orion walked briskly through the now deserted building towards the exit. As the doors slid open, he was faced by a wall of confused travellers who had been evacuated from the building. He quickly lost himself amongst the crowd, making his way towards the AirTrain terminal.
Anubis’ drive to the Eurotunnel terminal at Folkestone took just over two and a half hours, with the traffic on the M20 motorway reduced to a crawl by the torrential rain that covered the southeast of England.
Forty minutes later he was driving through Calais, with the Volvo’s satellite navigation system predicting a journey time of eight hours, thirty-one minutes to travel the seven hundred and forty-eight kilometres to Geneva. As he joined the A26, Anubis glanced at the fuel gauge, the tank was almost empty.
At the service station, after paying for the fuel, Anubis walked over to the café counter and ordered two double-espressos, which he drank straight down, hoping the caffeine would keep Sven awake during the long drive to Geneva. As the kilometres rolled by, he tried to come up with an alternative scheme to gain access to the CERN research facility. The original plan of using a PhD student would have been perfect, as the research team at Cavendish were regular visitors to the Large Hadron Collider. In spite of the coffee, by the time he got to Dijon, Sven’s body was too tired to continue driving. Anubis turned off the A31 and headed towards the small town of Arc-sur-ville, pulling into the car park of a first hotel he came across. Too tired to eat, he booked himself in for the night, ordered a cold beer from the restaurant bar and went to his room.
By six-thirty the following morning he was enjoying his breakfast of black coffee and a pain-au-chocolat. He had taken a skiing brochure from a display in the hotel lobby and was studying it as he ate. The centre fold contained a stylised 3D map of the Chamonix-Mont-Blanc skiing resorts, highlighting the ski-runs and hotels in the surrounding valleys. On the rear cover was a road-map of the area around Geneva, extending over the border into France. His finger skipped from town to town as he searched for a suitable base to work from. But for some reason, it kept returning to the same small French town of Saint-Genis-Pouilly, only a few minutes’ drive from the CERN complex.
By early afternoon the Volvo was snaking through the mountains between Morez and the picturesque commune of
Gex. He had left the rain behind him at Rheims the day before and, by the time he passed the white buttressed facade of the church, Saint-Pierre de Gex, the snow-capped mountains were standing tall against a cloudless blue sky.
Anubis could feel Sven’s heart beginning to pound as they approached Saint-Genis-Pouilly. He drove slowly through the narrow streets, winding his way towards the centre of town. He made a left turn into what looked like just another French street, but what made the Rue-de-Geneve special was the sign mounted on a café wall which read Suisse frontier (CERN) 2,5 km. The closer the Volvo got to the Swiss border the faster Sven’s heart raced and, when the first of the CERN complex buildings came into sight, he started to hyperventilate. Using the last roundabout before the border crossing to escape, Anubis turned back. Today wasn’t the day to push his luck. He needed to have a shave and tidy up Sven’s appearance before he attempted to cross the border and access CERN. As he drove back he noticed a sign which simply read, McDonalds – 8mn. He followed the recurring signs through the town and, exactly eight minutes later, found himself driving into the car park of a McDonald’s restaurant.
He sat for a moment taking deep breaths until Sven’s heart rate returned to normal, then got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. Not having eaten since breakfast, he was ravenous. He waited for the two schoolgirls in front of him to be served with their milkshakes and then ordered a Le Menu Maxi, with a Chicken Mythic Bacon burger, a large portion of Deluxe Potatoes and a bottle of water. He smiled at the female crew member as she told him the cost of the meal in perfect French, overlaid with a heavy Mancunian accent. ‘Thanks, Chuck,’ he replied with a wink.
She smiled back at him and whispered, ‘Bastard,’ in her native English.
‘Sorry, but I wasn’t expecting to meet a beautiful young Lancashire lass out here,’ he said, handing her the exact money for the meal.
‘You’ll have to use a better chat-up line than that,’ she said, caressing the palm of his hand as she took the coins. ‘They’re cooking your burger now, I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.’
Anubis was studying his skiing map of Geneva when the girl arrived with his meal. Sliding the tray onto the table, she sat down in the seat opposite and asked, ‘What are you doing here, then? Do you work at the airport?’
Anubis looked at her name badge, ‘I’m here trying to get a job at CERN, Patti.’
‘You should work at the airport, it’s really cool there. That’s where I’m going to work soon, in the terminal restaurant... you get tips there and everything.’
‘That’s a good idea, but I’m an engineer and I really want to work at CERN.’ Anubis said, unwrapping his burger and taking a huge bite.
‘I know a guy who works there.’
‘What… at CERN?’ Anubis replied through a mouth full of burger.
‘Yeah, but he’s weird, he never talks to anybody.’
‘You’re sure he works at CERN?’
‘Yeah… he lives in my house.’
‘You’ve got your own house?’ Anubis said slowly.
‘I wish! No, I rent a room in this place owned by some rich guy in Geneva. It’s not too bad though and at least I’ve got my own space.’
She went to get up from the table, but Anubis held on to her wrist, saying, ‘So this CERN guy lives in the same house as you?’
‘I told you didn’t I… HEY! You could stay there too! There’s a free room now that Sarah’s gone. Silly cow got behind with her rent. Spent all her money on weed and then just buggered off-’
‘When can I see it?’ Anubis said excitedly, thinking that Christmas had come early.
‘I’ll be finished in a couple of hours. You could come an’ look at her room then… if ya like?’
Anubis studied the naive young face, covered in freckles and framed by a mop of thick black hair. Her flat-chested figure was slight, almost too thin. The skin of her skeletal hands and scrawny arms was translucent, exposing every vein and sinew lying beneath. He could see the edge of a tattoo occasionally peeking from under the sleeve of her uniform as she spoke. In any other situation Anubis would have rejected her. And yet, there was an alluring side to her that was intriguing him. ‘Okay, why not. I’ll come back and pick you up,’ he said, rolling the burger wrapper into a tight ball and tossing it back onto the tray.
‘What’s your name?’ she said, standing from the seat and picking up his tray.
‘Frank, Frank Wright,’ he replied.
She smiled and started to sing, ‘So long, Frank Lloyd Wright. I can't believe your song is gone so soon,’ and then laughed at Anubis’ bemused face. ‘It’s an old song… So long, Frank Lloyd Wright. My Granddad used to sing it all the time.’ She turned, and humming the tune, took the tray to the waste-station, brushing its contents into the bin.
Anubis drove back into the town centre and, parking in a side street, spent the next couple of hours walking around, familiarising himself with its layout. He purchased a roadmap from the tourist office and a copy of Le Monde from a roadside kiosk, which he read while enjoying a cold beer in a corner café. By the time he returned to the restaurant, Patti had been waiting for over half an hour and she wasn’t happy. At first he didn’t recognise her as he drove into the car park. The smart, clean uniform was gone, replaced by an assortment of black goth garments that had seen better days. She got into the car and slammed the door closed. ‘You’re an ass-hole, you are! It’s fucking freezing out there,’ she snapped, turning to grasp the seat belt.
As he watched, the low-cut neckline at the back of her dress exposed the image of a devil tattooed across her shoulders, its arms wrapped around her neck. ‘Sorry, but you didn’t say a time,’ Anubis said as he drove out of the car park. She pulled the seatbelt across her, latching it closed as she settling into the seat and crossed her legs. As she did, the short velvet dress slid up her pencil-thin thighs, revealing several large holes in her black fishnet stockings. Anubis could feel Sven becoming aroused and had to stop glancing at her as she gave him directions.
Patti’s description of the house had been understated. The chateaux, which had once been surrounded by extensive gardens, now sat in a corner of the industrial estate that had consumed it. As Patti got out of the car she nodded at the holdall on the back seat, silently telling Anubis not to leave it, if he ever wanted to see it again. He opened the rear door, dragged the holdall out and followed her up the steps to the front door. The entrance hall was a contradiction to the building’s shabby exterior, being clean and freshly decorated, with a grand central staircase leading to the upper floors. Anubis led the way, hauling the holdall up the stairs until he realised Patti wasn’t following him. He looked down at her, standing arms folded, smirking up at him, ‘I’m not working at the airport yet,’ she said. ‘My room’s down here.’ The stairway to Patti’s basement room was accessed by a narrow door at the rear of the central staircase. She pulled it open and pressed the time-switch that turned on the lights, before disappearing through the doorway.
The cramped staircase forced Anubis to drag the holdall down behind him, thumping on each step as he descended. At the bottom of the stairs was a short, brightly lit corridor. Patti stood waiting for him, key in hand, ‘This is my place. Cool isn’t it?’ she said, turning to unlock the door. As she entered, she beckoned for Anubis to follow her, slamming the door closed behind them. It took several seconds for Sven’s eyes to become accustomed to the dingy interior. The only light coming from a narrow, letter-box window, set just below the ceiling. Anubis looked around the room. In front of him was a kitchen counter, its sink full of unwashed dishes. Hidden amongst the empty milk cartons and wine bottles scattered across the surface, was an electric kettle and a small microwave oven. Next in line, was an ancient set of oak drawers, the top covered with jars and tubes of makeup, most of which seemed to be black in colour. The drawers were staggered open, with their contents overflowing, hanging down towards the floor.
To his right, tucked into the corner of the r
oom, was a single bed. The duvet was thrown to one side, the rucked-up sheet beneath revealing the corner of the stained mattress. The walls were bare, apart from the occasional poster advertising vampire films or heavy metal rock bands. The tiled floor was strewn with shoes, jeans and various household debris.
She picked up the holdall, ‘Shit this is heavy!’ she said, heaving it onto the threadbare sofa. She strolled back and standing in front of Sven, slowly slid the raincoat off his shoulders. ‘Do you want to fuck me?’ she said, staring deep into his eyes. ‘You can fuck me if you want to.’ She turned and tossed his coat onto the sofa. Then, reaching over her shoulders she pulled the black dress over her head, revealing the tattooed devil across her back. The dress disappeared amongst the clothes scattered on the floor as she dropped it and, when she turned back to face Anubis, she was only wearing the torn fishnet stockings.
29
Honeymoon Suite
Amy was asleep, snuggled up against Daniel’s shoulder when the captain announced a change to their flight plan, ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Due to an incident at JFK we have been instructed to divert to Newark. Unfortunately the increased traffic means we have to hold for a landing slot. We have plenty of fuel, so just relax and enjoy the ride. I’ll update you as soon as I have further information.’
The passenger sitting next to Daniel groaned, ‘Have you ever been to Newark?’ he said. ‘It’s a nightmare! We’re going to hit the interstate right on rush hour and my car’s at JFK, I’m not going to be home before midnight!’
Creation- The Auditor’s Apprentice Page 25