by Darren Swart
She shook her head, as though she were being patient with a child and said softly, “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
He leered at her, the little twit. He lunged forward with the stun gun, only to find that she wasn’t there. Okay, so she is pretty quick. He whirled around and grabbed her arm. Gillian half-smiled. She clamped her hand on his wrist, pushing it upward. As gracefully as a ballerina, she nearly pirouetted under his raised arm, so that now he was behind her with his wrist firmly locked in her grip. Pain radiated the length of his arm, as the stun gun fell uselessly to the ground. In one fluid chopping motion, she drove his arm toward the ground like an axe handle and pulled it back up in a whipping motion. He watched as his legs sailed up over his head. An instant later, he thudded with a gut-busting slam to the ground. He lay there, wheezing for air. Gillian twisted his wrist neatly into a lock which, in turn, forced him to involuntarily suck in air from the pain. She rolled him over to his stomach, handling him like a calf in a rodeo. Neatly, she folded his arm into his back and pinioned it there. One side of his face was crushed against the tarmac. The other side of his face peered upward through one eye like a flounder. She gave him a dimpled smile and said, “Out please.”
He lashed out, verbally. “What the hell are you talking about, you stupid cow?”
Pain coursed his arm like an electric shock. He managed a strangled gurgling noise and screaming would have taken too much effort. The pain eased up marginally, as she eased up on the pressure on his wrist.
His head cleared for a moment. Panting, he pleaded, “What? For the love of God, just tell me what tell me what you want.”
She looked at him, civilly. “That’s better.” The pain subsided. “Move your other arm out and throw the stun gun away.”
At this point he had forgotten that he even had the thing—not that it would have done him any good in this position. He managed to work it out from under himself and throw it away. Sniveling, he pleaded, “Can we go back to the part where we both just walk away from this? Please?”
She shook her head, as she stared down at him. This man, of whom she knew nothing, was incredibly lucky. Had he met her the day before, she would have had no compunction in killing him as he lay there. But, as fate would have it, she was a changed person. Instead, she milked him for information. “Who sent you?”
“Some Scottish guy named McPherson.”
She twisted a little harder. “Okay, okay, he works for some German called the duke.”
“The duke of what?”
“I don’t know. I swear. His name starts with an L. It’s Duke Lindenspoke, or something. He wants some damn jewel you have.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“I was supposed to get the rock anyway I could.”
She was surprised by his candor. He was obviously not one of their more devoted employees. “What were you supposed to do with the jewel?”
“Take it to him in Germany as soon as I had it. He was going to pay me the rest of my fee.”
“And your fee was…” her voice trailed off.
“One Million US. That was just for the gem. If I brought you back alive, it was two. I figured I’d retire you and stick with the easy money. Let’s face it. You would do the same thing.”
The comment stung, as she realized he was probably right. “I admire your honesty.”
“Can I go now?”
“I think you should know that I’m getting out of the business. So today is your lucky day.”
He leered back at her with one eye.
With a devilish grin, she quickly struck him in the temple with her elbow. With the suddenness of a light switch the rotund little man went limp. She let go. She looked down at his boots and quickly pulled them off. When she finished with his bootlaces, he resembled a calf in a roping contest. His hands and feet well tied and then strung together, rendering him immobile. The rotund thug lay unconscious and was probably better off that way.
Marty found himself watching both scenes, as though he were in stadium seat looking down. He kept watching to ensure that no other intruders were present. When it was evident that the little round man was the only one, he returned to the corridor. Gillian had things well in hand, so he returned to Digger to help.
He eased over to Maria and asked, “Do we try to move her out of here.”
Her eyes fluttered open at the question. She eyed him for a moment, considering what to do, and said, “Go inside the baggage area and get Ernie. Oh, and bring me something to drink.”
Marty nodded and looked at the code lock. “What’s the number?”
It took less than a minute to find Ernie and face the behemoth in the secluded area. Marty was big. Ernie, on the other hand, was huge. Standing a head taller than Marty and seventy-five pounds heavier, he was not fat, just big. Marty quickly explained that Maria was hurt and was asking for something to drink. Ernie quickly moved to a small break area where he grabbed a sports drink. He and Marty moved back to the hangar access. Even though Ernie said little in the exchange, he paled slightly at the thought of Maria being hurt.
Ernie desperately wanted Maria to like him, but he knew he was slow. She would want a man far smarter than he. Being faced with her rejection, he kept his distance. Except for the occasional head nod, he didn’t think she knew he was alive. He eased into the hallway, with Marty in tow. Digger had her sitting up. Her color was still a little pale, but seemed to be improving at an amazing rate. At the sight of the blood, his hands began to involuntarily tremble. She’s really hurt. I have to get her to a doctor.
Maria recognized the panic in his eyes. She managed a weak smile and reached out with her hand toward him. “It’s okay, Ernie. It looks worse than it is. Honest.”
He held her hand, timidly. It was a moment he had always dreamed of. “Maria, we’ve got to get you to a doctor. You’re really hurt.”
His skin turned from pale to a growing shade of red and his eyes narrowed at Marty. Maria placed a gentle hand on the side of his face and turned him toward her. “It wasn’t them, Ernie. Someone else did this. They saved me.”
He calmed, slightly. She looked him in the eye. “I’ll go to the doctor in a little while, Ernie. We have something to do first. Okay?”
He eyed her, dubiously, wondering what could be more important than her health. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Trust me. It’ll be okay.”
He still looked unsure. He cracked open the sports drink and held it to her lips, careful not to give her too much. She started to put her hands to the bottle and he firmly put her hands back down. Gently, he held the bottle to her lips while she drank, all the while coaching, “Not too fast now…That’s it…Nice and slow… Let’s take a little break…”
Marty smiled. For such a large man, he was incredibly tender. Gillian approached the group. “How are things down here, guys?”
Ernie eyed her, warily.
Gillian looked at Maria drinking and looked at all the blood on the cement and her uniform. She let out a low whistle. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you to a medic.”
Maria looked her in the eye. “Not until you’re on that plane and gone from my airport. Not a second before.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. With Ernie’s help, she tried to stand. It was all she could do.
Ernie looked down and said, “I’ll carry you. It’ll be okay.”
She looked him in the eye. “Are you sure about this?”
He nodded, somberly. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Gently, he cradled her in his arms and asked, “Where to Ma’am?”
Maria gave him the briefest of smiles. “Corporate Charters, F terminal, please, James.”
Ernie gave her a confused look. She must really be hurt. My name isn’t James.
Instead, he responded, “We’ll need to get a cart. That’s too far to walk.”
She nodded in agreement. “Let’s try the Delta hangar.”
The little troop started walking t
oward the tarmac again when Gillian stopped. “Hold up, gang. Marty, how’s it look?”
Marty stopped behind them. He stood there vacant and swaying for a moment. “It’s all clear. Let’s move.”
Ernie knew he wasn’t smart, but these people were strange. As Gillian moved them forward with a hand signal, they walked past Armand who was beginning to stir. Maria looked down at him and asked Gillian, “Is that the bugger who shot me?”
Gillian glanced back. “Yep.”
Maria looked Ernie in the eye and said, “We’ll take care of him when we come back through.”
Ernie growled at Armand. It was low, deep and guttural. A broadening involuntary stain appeared on Armand’s crotch. For the first time since she left the office, Maria removed a radio from her belt and started barking orders. Armand would not be alone for long.
Gillian took point and continued to move them forward. Maria watched her from her vantage point of being in Ernie’s arms. She had skill. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Her head was always moving as she performed deft movements to ensure that they were clear at blind corners. Maria directed them is short concise commands: “Right,” “Left,” “Forward ten meters.” In no time, they were loading onto a club car in the Delta hangar. Ernie eased out of the hangar and down the concourse.
It was a short ride to a non-descript white hangar, simple block letters signifying, Corporate Services Hanger. Two smartly-dressed pilots in white shirts and black ties greeted them with the crisp air of professionalism. While their Finnish accents were noticeable, their English was impeccable. They greeted the group and picked up the bags without asking. Marty held the case with the stone, firmly in his hand.
Gillian reached out and took Maria’s hand. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I never dreamed someone would attack us in the airport.”
Maria managed a weak smile. “Not to worry. I’m fine. We’ll have that fellow locked away for a very long time. You guys take care. I hope you’re able to do whatever it is you’re planning.”
Gillian smiled, but remained silent. She turned and disappeared into the terminal.
Maria looked at Ernie. Quietly, she said, “Home James. We have a criminal to interrogate.”
Ernie gave her a confused look.
“Drive me back to the main terminal, please.” He nodded in understanding. She leaned over and rested against his hulking figure. She stared at her hand where Gillian had palmed ten crisp one hundred dollar bills and suddenly felt very tired.
Chapter 24
The duke scribbled notes in a worn leather journal with a cheap blue pen as he studied the characters on the yellowed scroll under an intense LED-lit magnifier. Carefully, he touched the lambskin with white cotton gloves to keep the oils from his skin from smudging it. While the long forgotten phonetics on the ancient script had confounded the brightest scholars in the world, the duke could hear long-silenced native voices speaking to him as he read.
Franz silently eased into the room. The duke looked up inquisitively and then back at the scroll. “Hello, Mr. Shemu’el. What news do you have for me?”
“All three boarded the plane and are enroute to Orly. As far as we can tell, the jewel is with them.”
“Good. So they’re coming to us.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well played, Mr. Shemu’el. Pitting both sides against each other was a master stroke…although it seems to have taken forever. I must admit there were times when I had my doubts. But you did pull it off.”
He smiled. “Not bad for a second rate archeologist from Tel Aviv, no? There is still much to do once they arrive. The contact with the stone appears to have affected them, or at least that is what I surmised from Mr. Castille’s last report.”
“And how is our pet rat?”
“Incommunicado at the moment, I’m afraid. I haven’t heard from him since he entered the airfield.”
“It doesn’t matter. He served his purpose. Just like a dog in a fox hunt. He flushed them out to where we want them. In a few days, we can begin the next phase. Please wrap up any loose ends with Armand, would you?”
The use of a first name never bode well for anyone in the employee of the duke. It indicated their tenure was up, and their life.
“I’ll see to it, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He continued to study the text in front of him, concluding their conversation with, “Do inform me when we have the twelfth stone.”
Franz took his cue. “Of course, Sir.” He backed out of the door.
****
The painted gray cinderblock walls of the antiquated holding cell smelled of urine and dirty socks. Since the expansion, this area was only used when they needed to isolate someone from the general population. Unlike most areas, this one had no camera. The cell door was on a single lock system. No one noticed the tall young guard with blonde hair as he entered cell D-12 with a tray of food. Armand looked up as he entered. “It’s about damn time.”
The guard didn’t look at him, as he set the tray down. He lifted the cover to reveal an empty plate and a small stainless tube atomizer lay in the place of the food. Before Armand could say a word, the guard had administered one quick spray from the atomizer. Armand discovered that while fully conscious, he was quite paralyzed. The guard took his time removing the large syringe of potassium chloride solution. Armand watched helplessly as the guard pushed up his sleeve to find a vein. Unceremoniously, he jabbed the needle into his arm and emptied the contents. The tingling sensation spread across the back of his neck and toward his chest like a lazy tide on the shoreline. The tingling washed over into his chest and resulted in a sudden crushing pain that radiated its way from his chest to his arm. As numbness filled him, blackness began to tunnel his vision until all he could see was the passive young face of the man watching him die.
Ten hours later, Armand Castile was found unresponsive in the holding cell. In the subsequent autopsy, the medical examiner would rule that the subject Castile, Armand had died due to an acute myocardial infarction. He did not elaborate as to the cause. Case file NCCR 051022-058 was closed without fanfare or interest (other than that of the Sheriff’s office who was always concerned when a prisoner died in custody). No next of kin was available for disposal of the body so in accordance with regulations his body was cremated and placed in a concrete vault with his name and date of death. In the end, no one would really care what happened to Armond Castile.
Chapter 25
Marty sank back into the seat’s soft white. It was a welcome change from the day’s events. He concentrated on the Sapphire, Gillian, Digger’s yellow VW—anything to take his mind off of the fact that the seat was attached to an airplane. As the pilot pulled the steel door closed, he felt his stomach began to twist into knots. He knew then it was going to be a long flight.
Gillian surveyed the cabin around them. She was the first to notice the crisp young Asian flight attendant approaching them from the rear of the cabin. Her tight navy blue skirt and powder blue blouse was as crisp as a new dollar bill. She approached them, smiling. The tightly woven bun of hair never wavered, as she bowed deeply to them. “Hello, my name is Coco. We wish you a pleasant journey. We will depart shortly. Kindly fasten your safety belt.”
Even with an accent, her English was flawless.
Gillian recognized her Macanese accent and watched her every movement. As the young attendant politely backed away, she stopped and pondered the young woman. Then she turned her attention to Marty for the first time since they had sat down. His face was pale as paper and a fine layer of sweat dotted his upper lip. The panic in his eyes was almost palpable. She placed her hand on his. It was cool to the touch. “What’s the matter, Sweetie? First time flying?”
He breathed out slowly. Not a muscle moved. Only his eyes moved in her direction. Tightly, he said, “Quite the contrary. The last time I flew, the plane crashed. Everyone died but me. I haven’t been on a plane since. I thought I would be okay until the cabin door closed.”
She smiled sweetly at Coco. “Can we get a bottle of water for my friend?”
Coco scampered off to the galley for the water.
She could see he was fighting his fear with everything he had. She patted his hand, reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be just fine. This is one of the best aircraft in the world. Our pilots are Finnish. They are unsurpassed as pilots. We’ll be okay, trust me.”
He breathed through his nose and studied her face for a moment. He tried to fight the waves of panic. Her deep brown eyes were reassuring. Her composure began to ease his angst just a little. He took another deep breath and sat back. “Better make that a Scotch and water.”
She leaned across and kissed him. “Now that’s the spirit.”
Digger held up his index finger. “Hey, what about me? I got a splinter this morning.”
Gillian poked him with her finger. “Cranberry juice and Vodka, as usual, I presume?”
He giggled, girlishly. “Am I that predictable?”
She grinned at him. “Well, yeah, you are.”
She looked to the front of the cabin where Coco was pouring Avian into a clear cup. “Coco, we need to change that, please.”
Patiently, she looked up from the tiny galley.
“Make that one Scotch and water, neat; one cranberry and vodka on the rocks; and one Seven & seven. Thanks.”
With a smile, Coco nodded and turned back to the galley. She seemed quite unflappable.
Digger looked at her, curiously. “Who’s the Seven and Seven for?”