Low Flight of Angels in the Benelux

by Ed Hurst

  As he logged in, he added, “Depending on what I find, I’ll probably try to send a copy of the video to whichever agency seems most interested in him.”

  It took quite a while, but as long as the site seemed to be working and didn’t come up empty, he waited. He was about to give up, though, when suddenly a black and white mugshot popped up on the screen. It was the same guy a good bit younger. All the data boxes below it were blank, except for the Interpol case number.

  “Why is there no data?” Angie asked.

  Preston’s face went pale as the meaning dawned on him. He pressed the button combination for a screen grab, saved it to the camera chip and closed his laptop. He paused a moment and extracted the camera memory chip, stuffing it securely in his pants pocked. Then he thrust his laptop back into the knapsack. Jumping to his feet, he began walking immediately off toward the north. It took only a few moments for Angie to catch up on her bicycle. He cautioned her to silence with his finger and very nearly jogged along the narrow side streets. In the shadow of some trees a couple hundred meters from the train station, he stopped long enough to explain in a loud whisper.

  “Our boy was arrested at least once in the past; that was a mugshot. However, something on the level of a government agency covered for him. That would mean CIA, MI6 or perhaps Mossad. What we witnessed was not likely a common criminal act, but some kind of espionage. While I don’t specifically know what they can do, nor how quickly, it is guaranteed to be very unpleasant if they ever find out about us and what we know.”

  He paused a moment while she absorbed that. Then he went on, “As quickly as I can I am going to disappear. I’m going to get as far from here as I can, and I suggest you do the same. Pretend you were never here, that you never met me. And for God’s sake, make sure there aren’t any more tags following us around. Pull the battery from your cellphone. Go somewhere safe and wait at least 24 hours before turning it back on.”

  She remembered the little tag and tossed it into bushes.

  He turned to go in the direction of the open train platform. There were night trains at odd intervals in this part of the country. She caught up with him again. Keeping her voice in the same loud whisper he used, she pleaded with him. “Take me with you! I know this area better than you; I know places to hide.”

  He barely turned his head as he walked a blistering pace along a narrow street. “Are you ready to give up your whole life and marry me? Can you team up with me as if the only thing that matters is whatever crazy shit I think sounds like fun tonight or tomorrow? Are you ready to watch me die under torture and not say anything? Because I assure you right now, I’m not all that interested in living a long and healthy life of peace and security. I’m a complete madman. I have a mission in life and this business just threw me a curve ball. I’m going to face it but I have no illusion about saving the world. I’ll stumble along trying to estimate what makes the most sense according to what I believe.”

  He paused and caught his breath. “I don’t much care for all the things most people struggle to get from this world. Are you ready to sign onto that mission, sight unseen?”

  He barely closed his lips before she said, “Yes! Of course I am. Do you think it’s been a nice life for me up to now? Until an hour ago I had no idea, but this is exactly what I’ve been training for my whole life. If I get killed chasing you around the world, that would be a lot more meaningful than what I’ve been doing so far.”

  He grinned and turned to face her. “You’re my kind of gal. You may regret this just a few hours from now, but I’m willing to let you come along if you can keep up.”

  With that, he pushed off in a renewed attack on the distance to the train platform.

  Chapter 4

  Where could they go?

  One of the few night trains slowed, and then stopped just a few minutes after they climbed the platform. The cars were nearly empty. Yet because of the bicycle, they took jump seats on the foyer where two train cars were joined together. They readied their rail passes but the conductor never came. That happened often enough not to worry them.

  Preston really wanted to gather a few personal items from where he was staying, but decided not to risk it. Angie seemed totally unconcerned about any property she might have accumulated anywhere. She convinced Preston they could rest for at least a few hours. By then they could come up with a better plan. They switched trains a couple of times, then she signaled it was time to get off when the train stopped in a quiet neighborhood. He must have dozed because he had no idea where they were. She led him off and along some very quiet broad streets, until he realized they were headed toward Duinrell again.

  They bypassed the park and eventually ended up out in the wooded dunes area. It was obvious she knew exactly where to go, turning down trails he hardly saw in the darkness. She dismounted her bicycle and turned up a draw between two large dunes. Just beyond the saddle there was a rather flat spot obviously well used for camping. She walked across this and up the far side of the bowl. A few meters farther was a blind of trees where she simply plowed through the underbrush. On the other side was a tiny open space in the trees, which had suffered little from human traffic recently. She leaned her bike against the trees and walked to a sandy hump on one side. Digging in with her hands, she pulled out a plastic trash bag. She opened the collar holding it closed and pulled out a neatly folded tarp. She spread this on the ground and invited Preston to lay down on it and roll himself up on the edge.

  He scarcely remembered anything until he realized the sun was well up in the eastern sky. That’s when he discovered Angie’s red curls were on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. She was on her side with her free arm laying across his stomach.

  “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he murmured. She stirred to life. Looking up into his eyes, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and then rolled away and began putting her shoes on. He realized his were off, and began poking around for them. They were under his backpack, somewhere down at his feet. As he began to put them on, he was about to say something else but she spoke up.

  “I know who can help us,” she said with all the assurance she could muster. She went on in a quieter tone. “We had a man volunteer to teach for the Catholic school where I worked a few years ago. He had retired from some Foreign Service job. The students used to joke he was a Russian spy, but he seemed to know an awful lot about the various clandestine services of different countries.”

  She pulled up the tarp and Preston helped her shake off the sand and fold it back neatly. As she took the last fold from him and he help open the bag, she added one more thought. “He said in the most solemn way possible that if I ever really needed help with something too big for me to handle, I should contact him. The school is not that far from here.”

  “Can we talk about breakfast on the way? I still have my American appetite for a farmer’s breakfast and all this activity is making me even hungrier than normal.” Preston was still pretty stiff but starting to warm up the joints with a little stretching.

  “Well, Den Haag Centraal has several real restaurants nearby,” she offered. “That’s on the way to the school.” Still dragging her bicycle, she led him to a small station where they boarded. It was a short ride with several stops, but the central station in The Hague was massive. Angie made a quick phone call from one of the public phones at the station, and then came out with a smile. He chose Granny’s Cafe because it was close and had food already waiting. Once full, he was ready to sleep again, but knew his aching joints would get no rest today.

  Angie paused a moment, and then locked her bicycle in the caged storage area near most train stations. She tied a brightly colored piece of cloth on the front wheel and mumbled something in Dutch about someone else coming to find it. They boarded a bus heading south. Preston couldn’t keep track of the municipal names as the bus wound its way along. Angie woke him a bit later and almost dragged him off the bus. He stumbled along beside her as they walked a few blocks and turned in at a m
etal gate. It was an older building, but for the time being, clearly used as a school. She led Preston up some steps, through ancient double doors and halfway down a long corridor to an open doorway.

  She left him standing in the hallway waiting while she went through the social rituals of greeting, chatting a bit, then asking about something. The receptionist consulted a paper chart in front of her, and then gave a quick answer of two short sentences. There was more socializing and she handed the receptionist her bicycle key. The woman paused a bit, then said “okay” and took the key. Returning to him in the hallway, she led him down the hall farther and then up some stairs to the floor above. About three doors down she paused and looked through a tiny window in the door into a darkened room with flickering lights. Preston gathered it was a video presentation. Someone inside must have seen her, because Angie simply stepped back and waited.

  An older fellow, obviously a sophisticated gentlemen, opened the door just a few inches and whispered something to her. There was some quick back and forth even Preston couldn’t hear. He handed her a door key, smiled and turned back into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Angie grabbed his hand and dragged him back down the stairs and down two floors to the basement. It was much quieter here, none of the background hubbub typical of schools. On the left side were two swinging doors, followed by three sets of double doors, all closed. Preston guessed that was the kitchen and dining area. On the other side of the hall were two storerooms and a large wooden door. Using the key, Angie opened this, glanced inside, and then pulled Preston behind her before closing the door. He surmised it was the teachers’ lounge.

  He sighed, took one of the more heavily padded chairs along one wall. Angie sat next to him and took his hand. He was almost asleep when the old gentleman joined them. The man spoke in precise British English, “Don’t get up, at least not yet.” Apparently he had more than one key, but Angie handed back to him the one she had. He accepted it without a word, and then turned to Preston.

  They shook hands; “My name is Hendrik Venkman.”

  Chapter 5

  “Could I persuade you to come back up to my classroom? It’s vacant now and I’d feel much more comfortable discussing things there than I would here.”

  Preston smiled while his muscles whimpered. Once inside the classroom, still relatively dark, the man closed and locked the door. Preston realized there was no light shining under the door from the sunlit hallway.

  Mr. Venkman asked, “What have we got, Preston?”

  Preston slipped his laptop from the backpack and placed it on the large desk there. Opening the lid, he brought the system to life. Digging into his pocket, he produced the camera chip and inserted it into the slot. As expected, Mr. Venkman wanted to see his altered version twice, then the raw version. He also asked to see the screen capture followed by the composite Preston had made from the video.

  He shook his head and smiled. “Preston, you and Anja are in serious trouble.” He took a step back and held up his right hand in a gesture meant to forestall arguments. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m really very glad you two chose to bring this to me first, regardless of your reasons, and so soon after the fact. But I’m sure you realize none of this is can be made simple.”

  Preston had heard this lecture before, in different terms. “Mr. Venkman, I decided long ago there were no real good guys, no right or wrong sides, just some which can hinder or help what I consider most important. I admit I know precious little of these things, but I do know what my conscience demands.”

  The old man smiled broadly. “We are all bad guys to somebody. Even under the same government there are competing agencies and genuine bloodshed between them. I won’t bother to explain my position. It won’t mean anything to you and certainly won’t help you any. However, I do hope to keep you and Anja alive and able to pursue your personal quests in life.”

  He crossed his left arm over his chest and grabbed the right elbow. His right hand held his chin for a moment, and then he gestured slightly at the face on the screen. “Our man is Israeli, but not Mossad; some other agency that does some of the same work. I’ll thank you for a copy of that raw video with the GPS data, because we can get someone out there today to find the body. That should prove quite interesting. Meanwhile, you need to disappear for awhile, because in order to use this evidence at all, a copy will eventually make its way to this man’s friends.”

  He folded his hands, raising his index fingers together to his nose for a moment. Then he dropped his hands and gestured to the two of them. “For the next few days, probably weeks, you must not allow anyone or anything to separate you two physically. Sleep together, shower together, and even go to the toilet together. Pretend you are handcuffed. I cannot emphasize that enough.”

  He walked around his desk, reached into a side drawer and handed Preston a jump drive, brand new in the package. “Copy those files onto this.” While Preston busied himself with that, Mr. Venkman went on. “I suggest you remove your excess hair, Preston. Shave your head and most of your beard.” Preston glanced up with a grin, then at Angie. Mr. Venkman didn’t notice but was digging in another drawer. He produced a packet of blank index cards. Pulling one out, he replaced the pack. Then he pushed some papers aside exposing a glass sheet atop the wooden surface. With the other hand he reached inside his desk and pulled out a sharp lead pencil.

  As he put his laptop away, Preston noticed the man printed carefully in all caps, barely pressing down with the pencil so as to leave the faintest writing. He passed it to Angie. “Go to the address at the top there; be very careful about that. Show them this card and speak in your best German, asking for a tour of the apple cider plant. Within in an hour from that, you should be safer than you’ve been since shooting this video. You’ll go on a nice honeymoon and forget the rest of the world for awhile.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Forget nothing I’ve said,” Mr. Venkman said with all seriousness, and then smiled and acted like they had been discussing old times. He moved toward the door while shaking their hands using both of his in a warm clasp. He started speaking in Dutch, basically thanking them for coming and wishing them well.

  Outside on the street again, they stopped at a drug store and Preston grabbed a razor, hair scissors and some baby oil, among other things. He asked, “Where to next?”

  “Rotterdam,” she answered with a far away look in her eyes.

  Preston thought it was almost fun having Angie jammed in the tiny train toilet with him. He sat on the toilet and slid back against the wall, taking his shirt off. She was quite helpful though, clipping him clean with the scissors and making sure the hair fell onto the tracks through the opening of the toilet between his knees. Then she wet the remaining stubble from a water bottle before he applied the baby oil and began shaving his face. The cheap razor just barely managed to keep a cutting edge until his head was smooth.

  They cleaned up the mess, and then he showed her his passport while he struggled back into his shirt. “So that’s what you were laughing about,” she said. He now looked like his old passport photo, having grown all that hair and whiskers during the test voyage on Harry’s sloop.

  She hugged and kissed him before they exited the confined space. “I like this look,” she affirmed.

  Chapter 6

  They were looking for one of the many tourist information kiosks.

  It was a short walk south from the Rotterdam central station. Among the many large buildings with odd shapes, they found the street. They did their best to keep track of the numbers. At one point she was sure they had found it, but it was a freestanding kiosk too far off the street in an open plaza. Preston stood staring into the glass front of a convention center. He pointed; “Is that it?”

  There was a booth inside the lobby of the building. She doubled checked the address, and then decided he was correct. This one had the same collection of pamphlets, maps, souvenirs, and transportation tickets as any other, but displayed differently. Preston decided th
is one included a wider array of languages than what usually festooned the ones at tourist traps. He stood back a bit and let Angie handle it.

  “Konnten wir die Apfelwein-Anlage?” She held out the card that Mr. Venkman had given her.

  The woman behind the counter took the card and glanced at it. Without the slightest hint of a smile she dropped it somewhere behind her counter and pulled out a garish pamphlet with cartoon apples and jugs on the front. It was all in German, but she opened it and began a memorized spiel in German while her finger tapped a spot in one corner. Preston drew forward close enough to see that it was a single paragraph in tiny clear English text.

  Angie looked up with a smile, took the pamphlet and turned to walk away. Part of Preston was thinking that this was getting pretty melodramatic. He started laughing and it was infectious; Angie chuckled but was not exactly sure what caused the hilarity. They were supposed to find a hostel called “The Room” down close to the water as their next landmark. The small typeface English paragraph in the pamphlet said they should walk down to the river quay directly nearest the hostel and someone would meet them. This made Preston just a little nervous, given how this whole mess started on a river barge.

  They never got there. It seemed some portion of Rotterdam was always under renovation, with scaffolding and usually shrouds hanging from it. In sight of the hostel, they were forced to walk inside one of the half-darkened curtained sidewalks where noisy work was taking place above them. A workman suddenly stepped out and, with a very big smile, guided them inside the work area. He pointed to two folks dressed somewhat the same as they, who turned and walked off where they had been headed. The man placed hard plastic safety helmets on their heads and allowed them to watch from behind a billowing sheet of plastic. The couple walked all the way down to the nearest quay, stepped into a water taxi and rode off across the river.