“Someone?” Lucy flared. “How about a whole fucking squad of criminals and professional hit men? My God, we’ve probably got enough cocaine to supply half of Europe. Shit!” She touched a finger to the corner of an eye. Her hand was shaking.
“Hey, hey,” O’Brien said. “Let’s take a breath here. I’ve thought of a way to get around all of this, a plan that I think will work.”
“How? You going to kill five or six guys for us when we land? You’re not that tough, Daniel.”
“Let’s hope I’m at least tough enough to figure out something better than that.”
“Like what?”
“We’re not going to land where we’re supposed to, where they’d be waiting for us.”
“We’ve already filed London as our destination,” Lucy reminded him.
“Yeah. Heathrow Airport, smack in the center of the city, and that’s where the bad guys will be.”
“Right. So?”
“So where are we going?” Gina asked.
“Somewhere else would be good,” Lucy said to no one. She stared at O’Brien. He could see the bells ring. “We’re going to declare an emergency!”
“And land at Gatwick.” O’Brien finished the sentence.
“And that’s near London?” Gina asked.
“Just south of London,” Lucy said.
“So how much notice will these killers have?” Gina asked. “I mean, when you decide to tell everyone there’s an emergency...”
“We tell the controllers at the last minute. That way we’ve got the most time to play with and the people after us have the least amount of notice.”
“It’ll take them almost two hours to get from Heathrow to Gatwick by car,” Lucy said. “I know London a little, so we’ve got that much time to disappear.” She blew out a breath. “Thank God.”
Gina asked, “But do they want us or just the airplane?”
“I don’t know and I’m not taking any chances,” O’Brien said.
“Just remember what they did to that soldier,” Lucy pointed out.
A black car with the sunburst logo of the Tenerife Airport Authority pulled up next to the airplane. O’Brien watched as a uniformed official clutching a handful of documents exited the vehicle and looked up at the boarding door.
“That’ll be our clearance and the paperwork for the flight,” he said. He stepped down the stairway and returned a few minutes later with an armload of computer printouts and folders.
“Another tree goes down,” Lucy said, nodding at the paper.
“Yeah, but we’re out of here in thirty minutes,” he announced. He retracted the boarding stairs, latched the entry door, and had a thought. “Did either of you get a suitcase onboard? Something to wear in London?”
Gina shook her head. “My dad’s duffle was left on the Rover with all my stuff. All I’ve got is my large leather tote. You said we had to hurry.”
“We did,” Lucy said. She put her mug on the table and asked Gina, “Have you got anything to wear in that big bag?”
“Nothing that will keep me very warm. It’s normal clutter: makeup, toothbrushes, some medicines, a book, and basically everything that I could scrape off the vanity.”
Lucy tossed her napkin on the table. “That beats what I’ve got. Once we’re in London we’ve got to do some serious shopping, girlfriend. And as I recall,” she stared at O’Brien. “Daniel promised me a pair of shoes.”
Two sets of eyes fixed him with raised eyebrows. He glanced down at the paperwork.
“Isn’t that true, Daniel?” Lucy said.
“I guess,” he agreed.
“He’s rich,” Lucy said to Gina. “He told me.”
“Lucy, for crying out loud.”
“What about Gina? Do we both get a pair of shoes?”
“I suppose. Yes, of course.”
“Only one pair? After all, Daniel, we’re defying death at every turn here.”
O’Brien rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure you weren’t a used car salesman in a previous life?”
“You’re evading the question, Daniel.” She turned to Gina. “See what men do?”
“They try and squirm out of their responsibilities,” Gina said with a light laugh.
“So, Daniel…” Lucy pressed.
“Yes...okay. Wait. No. You only get two pair.”
“Each?”
He stood and flapped the paperwork against his legs. “Shit. Each, each I guess. Come on Lucy, let’s get to work.”
17
The Willow Arrival crosshatched the sky overhead England with a complicated web of invisible routes marked by navigational fixes. The design was similar to a land-bound road with turnarounds, bypasses, and branches, all arranged to divide the traffic into streams and holding areas depending upon the particular destination airport—there were four—in the London area.
Daniel and Lucy entered the first entry point at thirty thousand feet in a descent. The sun’s final orange brilliance had receded over the western horizon an hour before, and at present, the multicolored glow from cockpit instrumentation provided the slight illumination. Gina sat in the jump seat directly between and slightly behind the two pilots. O’Brien had returned to his left seat. Starr sat somewhere in the back, but no one really cared.
Lucy tapped the fuel gauge. “Five thousand pounds. By the time we get to the airport we won’t have to lie about our emergency.”
The airplane dropped rapidly through the night sky. O’Brien pulled the throttles back to idle and took a hard left turn to line up with the feeder route leading into Heathrow Airport. Radio communication was constant and Lucy answered the last exchange from the controllers with a ‘Standby’.
“Daniel, they want us to go into a holding pattern. We don’t have the fuel for that. What do I say?”
“Let’s declare our emergency right now. It’s earlier than we wanted, but our first priority is getting on the ground before we run out of gas.”
Lucy nodded and pushed the rocker switch to transmit. “Control, this is Flight 478 declaring a fuel emergency at this time. Request vectors to Gatwick Airport, please.” She looked at O’Brien as the controllers squawked acknowledgement and delivered what seemed to be terse and unhappy instructions for the change of airports.
“This screws up their entire, orderly flow,” O’Brien said. Somehow it gave him a perverse pleasure.
Lucy pulled the boom mike away from her mouth. “We’re going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out when we land.”
The ugly man named Murdock snapped his cell phone shut, clenched the muscles in his jaw, and looked at the toothless idiot leaning against the opposite side of the silver 7-Series BMW sedan. Why the Conductor sent this imbecile to help was baffling. The hulking German obviously could endure intense physical pain. He’d watched from the pub window as the man collided with the car, then picked himself up and walked away. Amazing. Still, he could have used a man with a little more sense, and one that didn’t appear quite so ghoulish.
“We have to go,” he said to the German over the hood of the car. They were parked outside one of the contract terminals at Heathrow, and getting to Gatwick this time of night would take some time.
The man lifted his large head. “Yeth? Where we go?”
“We go to bloody Gatwick airport, and very fast. Sehr schnell. Verstand?”
“Yeth. I understand.”
Compared to Heathrow, Gatwick Airport was on the frontier. The airdrome sprawled south of London, approximately halfway between the city and the seaside resort town of Brighton. Murdock drove with his side window lowered. Otherwise, he might puke from the nauseating stench of the German.
“Why window open?” The German asked.
“Because you smell,” he said.
Udo lowered his own window. “Ja. You also.”
In spite of the short notice, by the time Lucy and O’Brien touched down and taxied to the area reserved for contract airplanes, British Customs officials were waiting.
A light rain had begun to fall when the boarding steps were lowered to the slick, black tarmac. Two agents in dark blue uniforms with plastic rain covers on their hats ascended the stairs and met O’Brien on the landing.
“Captain O’Brien?”
O’Brien nodded and shook hands with the officials.
The lead individual waved his folders about and stepped inside. He glanced around the airplane and remarked in a clipped tone, “Not exactly a new Virgin Airways 747 now are we?”
Lucy stuck her head out of the cockpit door and said loudly, “No, but can you get me a pilot application for Virgin?”
The agent peeked forward with a surprised expression. “I say. Who do we have here?”
Lucy climbed out of the cockpit and stretched to her full height. She smoothed her slacks, pulled at her blouse, and grabbed the agent’s hand. “I’m Lucy Amudsen, and I’d really like to work for Virgin. Got a brother, sister, cousin, anybody who can get me an interview? The hell with this old 737. My brother works for FedEx, by the way.”
O’Brien watched the exchange. If there was an actual physical movement that encompassed the phrase ‘taken back on one’s heels’, then the customs officer was making a good attempt at the process.
“This is the co-pilot.” O’Brien indicated Lucy.
The second agent took off his hat and shook the droplets from the liner. “Henry, come on now, we’ve got business to attend to.”
“Henry who?” Lucy asked still gripping the man’s hand.
“Lucy, for Pete’s sake, let the man go.”
The official retrieved his hand. “Well now, you’ve got a firm handshake there, ma’am.
“She’s been cooped up for a while,” O’Brien said.
Henry smiled at Lucy. “Yes love, I can see that.”
The agent beside him coughed. “The crew declarations, Henry?”
“Rodney, I’ll get to it. Okay?” He focused on O’Brien for a moment before beginning a series of routine questions, all the while scribbling on his form with a yellow lead pencil. “And I see that you’ve got two physicians onboard.” He looked up. “Am I right?”
Gina stepped forward. “I’m one of them, Dr. Gina Andreotti.” She extended her hand.
She looked just as appealing as she had on the porch in Liberia a lifetime before. Her slightly wrinkled red blouse was cut low and there was nothing she could do about her cleavage. Any guy would be a fool to take his eyes off the pleasant sight and the customs agents were no exceptions.
“I’m beginning to think your captain is a lucky man,” Henry remarked.
“And this is Doctor Starr,” Gina motioned toward the tall figure walking up the aisle.
“Yes, well, if you’ll grab your things—and, Captain, if you and your co-pilot would close the aircraft up—I’ll walk you together through the inspections.” He nodded to the doctors. “We can wait a moment under the awning for the pilots.”
O’Brien locked the airplane with Lucy’s help while the others looked out from under a covered walkway. He took a last look back as they walked away from the aged 737. The airplane and whatever it contained was someone else’s problem now.
Starr watched the others as he limped at the tail end of the line. No one looked back. No one mentioned his name. He’d spoken the truth earlier. They’d forgotten about him once on English soil.
Gina, however, was very much in Starr’s thoughts. He had transferred the diamonds to her carryall. If she got caught clearing customs, well, too bad. And if she passed through without a problem he would be ready to retrieve the pouch on the other side.
O’Brien was of two minds. Either clearing British customs—always an arduous procedure—would be easy because of Lucy and Gina’s presence, or the personality and cleavage on display would slow the process.
Fluorescent fixtures humming in overhead banks of four produced a sickly, yellow light that illuminated long, wooden tables growing out of a scuffed linoleum floor. Lucy and Gina were at the head of the line and they queued behind the first table.
O’Brien glanced at his rubber-backed Seiko. Twenty minutes had slipped away since they had landed and almost an hour since declaring the emergency. If a welcoming committee was on the way they could be nearing the airport, but only if they’d been informed immediately about the change.
Agent Henry watched with an amiable expression as Lucy pushed her flight kit to the front of the table. “You American girls certainly travel light.” He unlatched the clips in a lackadaisical manner.
“That’s ’cause we start out with everything we need,” she replied. Lucy puckered her lips, and from O’Brien’s angle it looked like she blew him a kiss. “Are you certain you can’t get me an interview with Virgin?” she asked.
“If only...” The agent let out a sigh while he poked his hand into the flight kit and fished around half-heartedly. “Band aids and ointment?” He held up the plastic bag.
Lucy nodded at Gina and threw a look toward O’Brien. “The doctor here had to perform major surgery on my captain.”
Henry slid Lucy’s belongings along the table and focused his attention on Gina’s cleavage. “Like I said, your captain is a lucky man.”
Gina untied the leather strap on her carryall and opened it for his inspection. “I’ve been trying to make him aware of that,” she said.
“So you and the captain are together, are you?” Agent Rodney said. He and a pimply-faced trainee had materialized beside Henry.
Gina shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that exactly.”
Henry foraged slowly through the canvas satchel. His glances returned every half-second to her low-cut blouse. “So. Is that Miss or Mrs. Andreotti?” he asked.
“It’s Doctor,” Gina answered.
The agent took his eyes from her top. “Well Doctor Andreotti, you certainly have a heavy bag here.”
“Yeah, I’ve got some medical books and a lot of girlie stuff. If you want a volume on tropical—”
Starr coughed loudly. O’Brien turned with the others and watched as he rubbed a hand over his forehead and coughed again.
“Doc, sounds like you might have brought a bug back with you,” Henry observed.
“I might have at that,” Starr replied with the first words he’d spoken to anyone since leaving Tenerife.
“What’s that with your leg?” the agent inquired.
Starr glanced down. The wound was bleeding again. A light trickle of blood ran down his shin. “I scraped it against a sharp piece of metal earlier this morning. I know it looks bad.”
“Here now. Use some of these tissues and tend to that. We don’t want to mess the floor.” He handed Starr a box of facial wipes from underneath the counter. “Just toss’em in the rubbish bin here when you’re done,” he said. He pointed to the receptacle and refocused on Gina. “Well...” He took a last lingering appraisal. “Enjoy your stay, but London’s gotten quite expensive.”
“Now that you mention it, I’ve got some shopping to do,” she said.
“You’ve got a right taste in clothes, love.” He shook his head and pushed her carryall along the table.
O’Brien stepped forward.
“Just a flight bag, captain?”
“That’s all.”
“You people certainly travel light.” Henry waved O’Brien and Starr through with a hurry-up motion and turned toward his office. “Goodnight, Captain. You’ve still got some paperwork to fill out with the Gatwick Airport Authority next door.” He looked at Lucy. “And I’ll keep your enchanting co-pilot in mind for Virgin Airways.”
18
“Doctor Starr?” Someone yelled his name over the honk of car horns.
“Who’s asking?” he shouted back. He tried to spot the caller across several lanes of slow moving traffic. Two men were walking toward him from the parking compound. Neither one seemed concerned with the rain. One man had a limp much worse than his own.
“Thought you might like to talk to the Conductor,” one of the indivi
duals said as he moved closer.
Starr emerged from the overhang of the building and felt the raindrops. “How do you know I’m Doctor Starr?”
“Just a guess,” the man said, and shoved a cell phone into his face as he stepped next to him. Starr took the device and watched as the sweep of a headlight illuminated an ugly, bald man with rain dripping from his glistening scalp.
He spoke into the phone. “Hello?”
“Doctor Gary Starr. I believe you know who this is. Glad to hear you made it safely to London, although your change of plans at the last minute gave us a small problem.”
“The change of airports wasn’t my idea. It was the pilots,” Starr answered a bit too defensively. He immediately regretted his tone. It made him sound weak.
“Yes, well, that’s a side issue that will be dealt with in good time. Meanwhile, the gentleman who handed you the phone will now take delivery of your diamond pouch.”
Starr took in a quick breath and tried to hold down an upwelling of panic as he focused on the two men in front of him. The bald man held eye contact with a trance-like smile etched into a craven face. The hideous giant beside him had a concrete block for a body and a gash for a mouth. His face was cut in numerous places, as if he’d been put through a blender.
His voice was not as calm as he would have preferred. “Herr Schoenfeld, the pouch was hidden inside a woman’s large handbag to get it through customs. I was—”
“What did you say?” Schoenfeld’s voice went up a notch.
He gripped the phone. “I...I said the pouch is inside a woman’s handbag. She’s a doctor on staff at the clinic and she should be leaving the building any time. In fact I was waiting on her when your assistants approached.”
“So you do not presently have the diamonds? Forgive me for restating the obvious.”
“I’ll have them within the hour, Herr Schoenfeld, as soon as the woman comes out of the airport office.”
Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide? Page 15