Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide?

by William Walker

  Udo twisted himself painfully into the booth. “Yeth, a lithel.”

  “Beer? Would you like a beer?”

  “Yeth. Pleath.”

  The thin man signaled the bar with a twitch of an index finger and peered at Udo with a flicker of disgust on his face.

  Udo blinked while he moved his tongue carefully over his bleeding gums. He now discovered several teeth were missing. “Ich habe—I hafe losing teeth.” He tried a one-sided smile.

  The man grimaced, looked away, then back. “You know what we do tonight? Understand?”

  “Yeth, Herr Conductor said.”

  Two pints of ale were placed onto the thick surface of varnished wood in front of them. Udo examined his glass. The layer of foam was too thin to be good beer. In Germany, beer foam would flow over the top of the glass and run down over your fingers. He sniffed and took a long swallow, then another for good measure. He sucked at a lingering taste of blood from an empty tooth socket. Okay.

  The thin man opened his mouth. “So. My name is Murdock. I am called Murdock. I am British, a Briton, and I live here in London. I will take delivery of a package from a man on the airplane. You will deal with the pilots. Understand?”

  Udo stared back. He had never seen such an ugly man. The Briton’s hairless, wrinkled face had the rubbery look of a limp dick.

  The ugly man leaned forward. “Do you understand?”

  “Yeth, Murdock. The pilots, Luthy Amund...Amund...”

  “Amudsen.”

  “Yeth, and Daniel...”

  “O’Brien.”

  “Yeth. I understand. Herr Conductor has told me what to do.” He sucked on his tongue, ran a thumb across his throat, and made a squawking noise. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

  “Exactly,” the ugly man said. “That is what you will do.”

  16

  Lucy banked the airplane toward an emerald green headland projecting from the azure blue of the South Atlantic and glanced over at O’Brien. Far below, the Canary Islands stretched in a dotted line toward the coast of Africa. The dazzling view exceeded anything she had expected.

  “I’ve read about the Canary Islands, Daniel. Have you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “No. But I know they extend way out, almost three hundred miles off the African Coast.”

  “Want me to tell you about them?”

  He nodded. “Okay, we’ve still got about thirty minutes until we land.”

  She took a breath and repeated the pertinent facts from her Lonely Planet Guidebook:

  The Canary Islands were positioned in a line from sixty miles to three hundred miles off the coast of Africa. They projected into the soft trade winds from the blue floor of the Atlantic Ocean and were a stopping point for early explorers searching for a safe anchorage in their leaky, wooden ships. The islands provided clean, fresh water from volcanic streams and sun-ripened fruit from the rich soil.

  The explorers were confronted by something odd on the islands: roaming packs of feral dogs.

  “Dogs?” O’Brien said.

  Lucy smiled. “Where do you think the name of the islands came from?”

  He shrugged. “I thought from canaries. Like lots of birds on the island.”

  “Nope. The island chain was given its name from the packs of feral dogs running around. It’s Latin for dogs. Canaris. Canine. Get it?”

  “I think I got it, Lu.”

  “Want more?”

  “Yeah.”

  The largest island in the group was Tenerife, and it lay just over two hundred miles from Morocco. Shaped like a mandolin with the neck pointing to the northeast, the island was wide at its base on the southwestern end. There were two airports, one situated on the southern coastline, and the other, smaller one on the north side of the island.

  O’Brien and Lucy, like most pilots, knew the story of the northern airport, Los Rodeos. The runway was the site of one of the worst airline disasters in modern times when two 747’s collided on takeoff killing all onboard. A Pan Am jetliner and a KLM airplane were involved. Five hundred and eighty-three people lost their lives on that foggy morning.

  Lucy wrapped up. “So I’ll be especially careful with my landing.”

  “If you can manage a takeoff in a hail of gunfire, then I’m not worried.”

  Lucy cast a glance over the instruments and made an adjustment with the throttles. “If I can ever get this airplane to slow down.”

  “The speedbrakes will help,” O’Brien said.

  Lucy pulled the lever slowly backward and a rumble of confused air rolled over the wings jostling the airplane. The speed rapidly decreased to 250 knots. Then she said, “I’m hungry, Daniel. Really hungry.”

  “You ate breakfast. I watched you.”

  “So? That was almost seven hours ago. Seven. And maybe Gary was right about that SOS, the shit-on-a-shingle stuff. It wasn’t that good.”

  “You ate a lot of it.”

  “Yeah, well...I was hungry then too.”

  “You had a hectic night,” O’Brien teased.

  She gazed out the window. “Actually, I was going to mention something about that.”

  “You don’t have to. If it didn’t work out, that’s how life is sometimes. You know that.”

  “It’s not about sex, or anything like that.” She held his gaze for a second or two. “Gary’s back there and he’s, I don’t know, screwed up inside. Devious. Once you’re really close to him you see that.”

  O’Brien sucked on a corner of his lips. “I’ve always thought he’s had his own agenda, but I’ve never known what it was.”

  “Don’t turn your back on him, Daniel. Just look how he’s been acting. He’s weird, and something’s going on.”

  He nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.” He twisted the frequency selector on the back up radio. “Meanwhile, if you’ll monitor the controllers, I’ll dial up the ramp frequency and see if I can get catering to rustle up something to eat when we land. I’m actually hungry myself.”

  Lucy said, “See?”

  O’Brien figured the 747 disaster was still in Lucy’s mind when she set the airplane gently down on that same tragic runway shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon. He hardly felt the touchdown. “Very, nice, Lu.”

  She gave him a wide smile. “I could do it in my sleep.”

  They were directed to the parking area for non-scheduled carriers, remote from the main terminal.

  “I’m checking the cargo bins and the outside of the plane for bullet holes,” Lucy announced the minute the engines wound down to a blessed quiet. She threw off her seat belt harness and pulled herself out of the seat.

  “Take your time,” O’Brien replied. “It’ll be awhile before they fuel us.”

  “As long as I don’t miss the food when it arrives.”

  When she climbed back up the boarding ladder ten minutes later, four, ten-ounce filets sitting in aluminum trays and still steaming in hot juices were waiting. “Great timing, Daniel,” she said. “I saw the catering truck.”

  “Ketchup’s in the galley,” O’Brien said as he took a seat. His stomach twisted in pleasant anticipation when the aroma of the steaks and mound of Euro-style pommes frites hit him. There were no vegetables, but no one seemed to care.

  “Coffee.” Gina said. “I’ve made some fresh.” She slid in the seat beside him and pulled the waxed, cardboard cover from her portion.

  They were seated in the first class section of the airplane around a gray, salon table formed out of a composite plastic. Years and many owners before, the front cabin of the aircraft had been divided into an office-style arrangement that favored traveling executives.

  Lucy dropped into her seat slightly out of breath. A blast of island fragrance full of warm ocean air and flower blossoms followed her. She popped a fry into her mouth. “Salt. I need salt.”

  Starr approached from the rear of the cabin and changed the mood like a guest from a leper colony. His medica
l satchel was tight in his grasp.

  “I’ve got a steak here,” O’Brien said to him.

  Starr took a seat beside Lucy and stared at the meal in front of him.

  After a moment O’Brien said, “Why don’t we swap seats, Lu. I’ll sit next to Gary.” He shifted seats and rearranged the table. Lucy and Gina were now on the inside.

  “What was that about?” Starr asked.

  O’Brien turned sideways. “None of us can figure you out anymore. Your personality has changed, or maybe you’ve always been who you are now. I’m not sure who that is, but we’re not the only ones who can’t figure you out. Maybe I haven’t known you for long, but Larry has, and he’s definitely got your number.”

  Starr made a scoffing noise. “Larry’s a baby.”

  “What?” Gina said.

  “Yeah, a baby. You guys don’t know the half of it. He goes back to his little subdivision house after a month or two—just like you, Gina. I’m the one who has to make all the sacrifices, stuck in that godforsaken place year in and year out. I deserve whatever I’ve got.”

  Gina put down her fork. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. What do you think you deserve?”

  “His houses you guys told me about,” Lucy said. “Isn’t that right, Gary?”

  “Yeah, all my houses and everything else that I may or may not have. You guys just fly your little airplane and don’t bother me. And you, Gina, just tend to your wretched street urchins. Leave me alone.”

  O’Brien shook his head. “You knew days before that you were taking the flight with us. Didn’t you? And that Liberian soldier on the ramp? Who the hell was that guy?”

  “Major Koroma,” Starr said, as though deciding. “And you’re lucky he’s my liaison in the field, otherwise they’d have been shooting at us.”

  “So you paid him off? He gets a cut of something?”

  “None of your business.” Starr tightened his arms around the medical bag.

  “What’s in the bag, Gary? You got a human head? Gina says you won’t let her touch it.”

  “Medical stuff, Daniel. A few personal things. That’s allowed, isn’t it? Nothing you’d be interested in, I assure you.”

  “Why don’t we have a look?”

  “Like I said, it’s personal.” His tone was short of a growl.

  “I’m almost ready to throw you off this airplane, right here in Tenerife.”

  “You can’t do that,” Starr warned. “They’d quarantine the lot of us and impound the airplane. We’re not in the customs territory of the European Union here. It’d be a paperwork nightmare for you, and it’d be days before they let you leave.”

  O’Brien was silent. He watched as the doctor’s eyes shifted.

  “And don’t forget, Daniel.” Starr fidgeted with his beard. “I pulled your ass out of that bar fight you started. You ought to thank me for that.” He grabbed his satchel and stood.

  “For all I know you put the soldier up to it,” O’Brien said.

  “Now why would I do that?” Starr’s eyebrows went up and his gaze fell away. “You just stay out of my way for the next few hours and I’ll stay out of yours. Once we get to London you’ll never see me again. You’ll forget I was even here.” He threw a knife and fork into his tin of steak and potatoes and one-handed the container. “I prefer my own company to yours, if you don’t mind.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Gina shook her head. “All this time.”

  “Life’s a fucking mystery, ain’t it,” Starr replied.

  They watched as he turned his back to them and limped to the rear of the airplane where he took a seat. For a while no one spoke. O’Brien concentrated on his meal, worked his way slowly through the steak and fries and watched Gina do the same. Lucy was chewing solidly, occasionally dusting her fries with salt.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “There is no way in hell I’m staying within a mile of that guy’s apartment tonight. Gina, you may as well toss that key on the table.” She pressed her lips into a line and stared at Starr’s bearded specter at the back of the plane. “I’m truly sorry I interrupted you guys last night over the key thing. And I’m even sorrier I couldn’t read the guy any better.”

  “You’re not the only one wrong about Gary, if that makes you feel any better,” Gina said. “But now that I think about it, in the three months at the clinic, I never did understand who put Gary in charge or what his job actually was.” She moved her shoulders. “Larry and Finney—you didn’t know Finney—ran the place as far as I could tell.”

  “That’s because you spent your time actually helping the sick, as we know now,” O’Brien said. “It’s no wonder you didn’t pay all that much attention to Starr.”

  “Well, screw the guy.” She fished the key from her carryall, handled the fob for a second, and tossed the plastic and brass combination into the catering bag. “That can go out with the trash.”

  “Way to go, Gina,” Lucy said with a smile. “That makes me feel better already.” She picked up a fry and nibbled at the end. “Wanna hear some good news?” She looked around. “The good news is that there aren’t any bullet holes in the airplane. At least, none that I could see.”

  O’Brien frowned. “Yeah...well, it’s about time we took a few minutes and connected the dots on this whole thing.”

  Gina glanced up. “You mean this morning?”

  “I mean from the day we started. Everything, including the soldier murdered right beside me. We’re in the middle of something none of us understand.”

  “You guys could start by explaining the guy in the private jet,” Gina said. She twisted her napkin. “And what kind of pilots carry around weapons like that?”

  “The guy in the Learjet is—or was—a maintenance chief named Cottingham and he was sent down from London to fix this airplane. Lucy and I have wondered ever since leaving Brazil why this run-down 737 was so important.”

  “We haven’t told you about the mess when we first got to Fortaleza,” Lucy said. She ran through the problems and suspicions about the operation in Brazil.

  O’Brien tapped his fork against the aluminum tray. “We get the airplane to Liberia and it breaks. It’s an old, decrepit airplane that no one should care about, so why is everyone so anxious to get this contraption to London? Cottingham was dispatched by somebody higher up to fly down in his Learjet and have it fixed. And something else. Cottingham needed two pilots, both of us, Lucy. He couldn’t allow me to be arrested by that soldier, otherwise he’d never get the airplane out of Liberia. So he had the soldier killed to make sure the airplane could get to London.”

  “The airplane’s the key,” Lucy added.

  “We’ve got drugs onboard. Can’t be anything else,” O’Brien said.

  “But I thought pilots always checked an airplane out before they took off?” Gina said.

  “We do, but we look at faults or malfunctions that could be dangerous: fuel leaks, flat tires, hydraulic leaks, system malfunctions—the cabin pressurization doesn’t work, for instance. Things like that.”

  “What we don’t examine are the access panels and the like that are bolted in to the fuselage,” Lucy explained. She leafed another napkin from the pile on the table and wiped her mouth. “We’re not usually looking for cocaine or heroin.”

  “We can’t unscrew every piece of metal and look behind it,” O’Brien said. “None of us do that.”

  “Gina, are you going to finish your Spanish pommes fritolas?” Lucy asked. She rolled her eyes at the pronunciation.

  “Help yourself.” Gina pushed the tray across the table and focused on O’Brien. “So this airplane could be full of almost—”

  “Anything,” O’Brien said. “But since it originated in Brazil—”

  “Don’t forget,” Lucy corrected. “Before that it actually came from Bogotá.” She stabbed a fork into Gina’s pile of potato fries.

  “Columbia,” Gina said. “So if you’re right, that’d be cocaine.”

  “So we’re hauling a bunch of coke.
Why am I not surprised?” Lucy said.

  “More than a bunch, I’d say,” O’Brien put in. “If they packed every crevice onboard we’ve got enough to supply most of Europe. Probably worth ten of these airplanes.”

  Gina sat back. “So all of this humanitarian medical assistance, these free flights and all...”

  “It’s just a cover, just an excuse to run drugs around the world and make it look good. Sorry if that pops anyone’s bubble,” Lucy said.

  An airplane taxied nearby. The boarding door was left partially open and the whine of the engines overrode conversation for a few minutes.

  “Let’s see if we can prove it, Lucy,” O’Brien said. “Let’s pull down some panels and really poke around. We’ve got the time.”

  “And if we find something? What then? They’ll just arrest us when we get to London.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Let’s find it first.”

  Twenty minutes later O’Brien gave up. Lucy slumped into her seat across from him. “So where is it, Daniel?”

  “It’s got to be outside the cabin—wing panels, fuselage panels, buried behind something in the wheel well. Places we can’t get to. Look, you’ve got to figure they do this all the time. They’ve got to pack it so the dogs can’t smell it and the customs guys can’t find it. That means it’s outside the cabin.”

  “So what are we going to do when we get to London,” Gina asked. “Anybody got an idea?”

  Lucy picked up the last, cold fry from Gina’s container and stood. “I need some coffee. This is too serious and I’m getting upset. Really.”

  “Welcome to the club.” Gina crossed her arms and hugged herself.

  O’Brien glanced up. “Lu, could you get me a coffee while you’re at it?”

  “So who am I, your personal stewardess?”

  “They’re called flight attendants nowadays.”

  “Oops, I forgot,” she replied in a flat voice. “Gina?”

  “Yeah, I guess if you don’t mind.”

  Amid a clatter of china Lucy passed out mugs of hot coffee. “I’m with Gina, Daniel. What are we going to do when we get to London?”

  O’Brien stirred creamer into his mug. “We’ve got to figure someone’s meeting this airplane.”