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

by William Walker

  “Doctor Starr,” Schoenfeld’s voice went soft, “You will find that woman, you will recover the diamonds, and you will pray that nothing goes wrong. Do you understand the consequence if you fail?”

  “Yes, Herr Schoenfeld.”

  “Then tell me, what are the consequences?”

  “It is obvious. I am not a stupid man.” Starr swallowed. He should have hired a handful of his own thugs long ago, a couple of guys to take out Schoenfeld’s lackeys planted in front of him. If there was a flaw in his scheme, that was it.

  The phone went silent. Starr was about to conclude he’d hung up when the man spoke. “Let’s hope you are not a stupid man, Doctor Starr. If you are, then the gentlemen standing in front of you will make your last moments a very painful affair.”

  Starr had nothing more to say. He stood immobile as he listened for an instant longer. “He wants to talk to you.” He handed the phone to the bald man.

  The assistant put the phone to his ear and eyed him while answering in monosyllables. He flipped the cover closed and spoke in German to the man beside him before turning back to Starr.

  “You can call me Murdock, and you’ll wait with us. We have a nice sedan with a good view of the exit and you can point out the woman.”

  “I am Udo,” the huge man said. He placed a heavy hand on Starr’s shoulder and pushed him toward the parking lot. “We haf bad legs together,” he said with a laugh as they limped across the lanes of traffic.

  O’Brien shook his head exhaled with a heavy breath as they came to the last few questions in the five pages of forms and documents. He and Lucy worked on a white Formica table under florescent lighting identical to the type used in the customs area.

  “Any time now guys,” Gina said.

  The small room was wainscoted with thick layers of parchment-colored paint. The faint aroma of tea permeated the space. Gina lounged in a heavy leather recliner pushed against a wall. Starr had disappeared.

  Lucy looked at her. “Me too. I want a bath. A good long soak, maybe with some gardenia oil.”

  O’Brien twirled a pencil between his fingers as he hovered over a blank line on the official-looking document. “Okay, the outside temperature when we declared our emergency? Screw it. I’ll call it minus thirty degrees. Let’s get out of here.”

  Lucy said nothing. She snapped her cell phone shut and gave him a look. Gina came to her feet and slid the strap of her leather tote over her shoulder.

  O’Brien shoved the paperwork into a tray manned by an old, gray-haired woman in a worn, blue uniform. She had a stiff, matronly look about her.

  “Wait sir. You have to have the stamped receipt,” she said in a firm voice. She pounded out a lazy succession of black and red seals onto official parchment and handed the heavy paper back through the window.

  “What’s the best way to get to Brighton?” O’Brien asked.

  She pitched a reedy voice through the glass and pointed. “Take the train. Go outside and around the corner back through the lobby of the main terminal, one flight down. You won’t have to go past security again.”

  O’Brien took a step, stopped, edged back to the counter. “Is there another exit from the building?”

  She put her hands together on the pile of paper as though lecturing from a podium. “What, love, the front door’s not good enough?”

  “I’d prefer another.”

  She pursed her thin lips and shuffled through the pile of documents, as if the answer might be hidden in the stack. “I suppose,” she replied. “You’re such a nice, polite young man. We don’t see many like you anymore. Most people nowadays, they’re all in a hurry, and they dress so poorly.” Her eyes flicked to Gina.

  O’Brien coughed.

  “Yes, well, there’s another door at the end of that short corridor that opens from the inside only. It doesn’t lead to the car hire or taxi stand, but...you mentioned the train so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Thanks,” O’Brien replied. “Let’s go, guys.”

  “What’s this about Brighton?” Gina asked in step to the hallway. “You asked that lady about Brighton.”

  “Starr’s apartment is out. We know that, but he doesn’t. If he’s in with something criminal then someone will expect us to go there. I’ve got a cousin in Brighton. Spent a couple of summers working the Brighton Pier when I was in high school.

  “I take it you think someone is going to be waiting for us out front?” Lucy said.

  “I’d bet on it,” he said. “And Lucy, let’s drop these heavy flight bags. Right here in the hallway.”

  “Daniel?”

  “C’mon. They’re mainly manuals and they’re heavy. We may have to run.” He kicked his flight case against the wall and Lucy did the same.

  “Let me get my purse out of mine,” she said, kneeling.

  “Let’s hurry.”

  “This bag’s almost brand new, Daniel. I hope you realize that.”

  “I’ll buy you another.”

  Lucy held his arm. “Why don’t we just fly out of here? Hop a jet back to the states. Gina and I have been talking. We just want to grab the quickest flight home.”

  He nodded. “The earliest flight out won’t be until tomorrow morning. We’ve still got to spend at least one night.” He put his hand on the push bar. “We’ll get a couple of rooms in Brighton and make reservations from there. Maybe find something for you both to wear.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m sure they’ll have a ‘big girl’ shop in Brighton.”

  “Where the fuck are they?” Murdock hissed. His voice was reptilian, Starr thought, like something alive and loose in the basement of a zoo.

  He sat forward in the front passenger seat of the vehicle and screwed his eyes together as the intermittent wipers cleared away an accumulation of raindrops. He focused on the double glass doors of the Gatwick Airport Authority. Several individuals had entered, but no one had left, and certainly not Gina and the pilots.

  “They’ll be coming out,” he said. “Trust me. The pilots had some forms to fill out, and the captain mentioned the British are assholes about paperwork.”

  Murdock stiffened. “Watch what you say about the British or you’ll get your bloody nose bashed.”

  Starr leaned back and felt the hot, foul breath of the German hulk on the seat behind. The odor of periodontal disease hung heavy in the air.

  Several more minutes passed in silence. The rain increased.

  “Here now, I think it’s time to see what’s up.” The Briton opened the car door and spoke to the German. “Udo, we go into building. You bring doctor.”

  “Yeth, okay,” the man growled from the backseat.

  Starr considered himself a strong man, but the German’s grip on his shoulder had the tensile strength of a steel bar as he was walked to the front door of the building.

  The Briton tried the entrance. It was open. He turned to Starr. “Now we’ll find where your diamond whore went off to. You’d better hope she’s inside.”

  O’Brien pushed the door outward. What he observed was a rain-drenched sidewalk composed of mottled, old-fashioned concrete with puddles and cracks on the surface. A narrow strip ran between two wood-sided buildings. At the end of the walk a small parking area reflected puddles of water from a single light post. A dozen or so cars beaded with raindrops were nosed against cement wheel stops on the wet pavement. Nothing moved.

  “It’s still raining,” Gina remarked. “And it’s cold.”

  “Coming down harder, but we’ll be back inside in just a few minutes.” He led off in a very fast walk.

  “So where are all of these criminals lurking about?” Lucy huffed from behind.

  “I’m convinced they’re out there. We’ve got to focus on reaching someplace safer.” A green buffer zone extended from the parking area to the terminal walkway. They’d have to cross twenty yards of soggy grass.

  “I feel like I’m in a wet T-shirt contest already,” Gina said. “Of all days to wear this top.”

  “I’ve
rather enjoyed the view,” O’Brien said.

  “Great,” Gina replied.

  “We’ve only got to tough it out for a few more minutes.”

  “Screw you, Daniel,” Lucy shot back. She stepped in a puddle. “Shit, my Bruno Maglis.”

  They crossed the parking area and reached the grass border. O’Brien shivered in the cold rain. “We’ve got to cross here and then we’ll be up on the terminal walkway, so take off your shoes.”

  “Daniel, if I thought there was a shred of doubt about this...” Lucy started.

  “You wanna bet your life on that? Have you forgotten Liberia?”

  “Let’s go Daniel. I believe you,” Gina said. She slipped out of her sandals and threw them into her carryall.

  They crossed the grass border in less than sixty seconds and took a high step up onto the terminal sidewalk.

  “Shoes on quickly,” O’Brien ordered.

  “Okay, okay,” Lucy snapped, out of breath as she strapped on her low heels. “Yuck. My feet.”

  “Mine too,” Gina said.

  They entered the terminal through the entrance at the very end of the building. The cavernous hall seemed to extend forever. It was similar to all other airline terminals throughout the world with bright lights, shops, security guards and lots of people. A background din of a thousand different sounds bounced off the walls and floor.

  “I feel safer already,” Gina said.

  O’Brien looked up at the terminal signboards. “Once we’re on the train to Brighton I’ll feel safer too.”

  Lucy opened her cell phone again as they followed the directions to the train station.

  “Who’re you calling, Lucy?”

  “My brother. He’s probably hanging out on a layover somewhere over here. This phone works all over Europe, but I keep getting his message service.” She flipped the phone closed. “You gonna call your cousin?”

  “As soon as I have a chance.”

  The escalator in the center of the terminal was clearly marked, but required a long walk. “Anybody got British pounds?” O’Brien asked.

  “I’ve just got Euros,” Gina replied.

  Lucy shook her head.

  “Well, we’ve got to hunt for an ATM or a Thomas Cook before we go down to the level of the trains.”

  Murdock leaned against the counter and pushed the glass divider. The room was deserted, and if he killed this stubborn spinster no one would know until closing time, maybe not even then. She didn’t even have a phone in the booth.

  “I’m asking you one last time, ya old hag, where did the pilots run off to that came in here not twenty minutes ago?”

  Her hands were shaking. He could see that, and maybe she was peeing in her pants. If she understood what was going to eventually happen to her she would.

  “I’m not asking again. I’m going to come around that door and pull it open.”

  “It’s l-locked,” she sputtered. Her lips began twitching.

  “Udo, break that door open. Pull that lady out. Verstand?”

  “Jawohl!”

  Murdock turned to Starr. “How would you go about this, since your life may also be at stake if we don’t find the diamonds?”

  “Suffocate her,” he suggested in a tense voice. “Just to the point she passes out. Let her revive and repeat the process. She’ll talk.”

  “I guess you would know,” Murdock snorted.

  Udo stepped behind the counter and jiggled the latch to the booth. He gave it a pull and the handle and lock together came out of the door. The entrance to her compartment swung open with a light tug of a finger through the empty hole.

  “Now you just stay away from me!” the lady cried in a shrill voice.

  Udo grabbed her by her thin, white hair and pulled her off the stool. She screamed.

  “Shuth up old lady!” He snapped her head back and slapped her face. She fell to the floor with a thump.

  The Briton scowled. “Not so hard.”

  Her legs splayed at her boney knees. Rolled stockings were gathered around her ankles. Her nose was bleeding. “Leave me alone! I’m not telling you thugs a sodding thing.”

  The Briton turned to Starr again. “You’re the doctor. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Starr knelt by her head. “We want to find the pilots and the woman with them. She stole something very valuable from me.” He cupped his hand over the woman’s mouth, pinched her nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  She shook her head and made muffled noises. The heels of her shoes banged the floor and her eyelids began to quiver.

  Murdock leaned over as her eyes closed. “That’s enough doc. Even I can see that.”

  Starr took his hand away and waited. Her chest moved in a shallow rise. She coughed and came up gasping for air. Her eyes were wide and open and held fear.

  The Briton spoke to her in a low voice, “For the last time, tell us where they went.”

  She shook her head and drew in a series of noisy breaths. A glassy, faraway look came onto her face. “I went through the war,” she stammered. “Lost my mum and my brother in the Blitz. They were right beside me.” She coughed. “Do you understand that? Every day since then has been extra.” She spit blood onto her pale lips. “Besides, you’re going to kill me anyway. I know that now.” She seemed to draw into herself and stared blankly for a brief instant before closing her eyes. A tear leaked from a closed eyelid and ran down her cheek.

  “I’m afraid you’re right, dear,” Murdock said in an amiable voice. He nodded to Starr. “Would you be so kind?”

  Starr placed his hand over the woman’s mouth again and pinched her nose. A resilient life force seemed to radiate from the doomed woman. She kicked her heels hard on the floor and banged her sharp knees against his legs. He tightened his grip and added the weight of his body to the pressure on her face. Her energy dissipated, but he kept his hands over her nose and mouth until her heels no longer pounded at the floor. After a brief moment she lay still.

  He stood and flexed his bad leg. It was bleeding again. The woman’s sharp knees had actually re-opened the wound, and smears of his blood were on her legs. He examined his injury with an irritated expression.

  “So much trouble with one old lady and you still didn’t find out anything,” Murdock declared.

  “I think I know where they’ve gone anyway—to my apartment in London. I gave the woman the key.”

  The Briton fixed him with a cold stare. “Why didn’t you bloody well say so?”

  Starr shrugged. “We all thought they were still here.”

  Murdock studied the exit doors. “They didn’t take a hire car. We would have seen them come out the front. So they’ve got to be on the train and they must have...” he peered down the hallway. “Of course. They used the other doors. Let’s go!” He moved rapidly down the corridor. “You’re lucky that you’re the only person who can identify these people,” he said to Starr.

  Udo pushed the doctor through the exit door as Murdock twisted a smile. “But maybe not lucky for much longer.”

  O’Brien stood in front of an ATM kiosk as the minutes evaporated. The pressure of time and the sense of impending danger made the hair prickle on his arms. Where in the hell did Starr go and what was he up to?

  He was number three in the queue. A blond teenage boy plugged into a pair of headphones and carrying a Gerry backpack slouched at the front of the line. Directly in front of O’Brien stood a woman with a toddler by her side and a baby in her arms. The crowd at the currency exchange counter was worse. He tried to keep Gina and Lucy in sight as they drifted away in the direction of a clothing shop.

  He had cautioned the women to hurry for all the good it seemed to be doing. To them the threat was an abstract, a possibility, but not something real enough to scream danger. So was he the one overreacting? The puzzle didn’t fit neatly together. They hadn’t found any drugs and didn’t really have any proof regarding all their suspicions. They had hunches and best-guess scenarios. That was it, except that a
man had been machined gunned to death, obviously on Cottingham’s orders. He ran a hand through his wet hair. Nope. He trusted his instincts, and they told him a storm cloud of ruthless violence and murder was about to break over them.

  The kid punched at the ATM keyboard while bobbing to whatever obscure music was traveling into his skull. The machine coughed and spit, and he grabbed a handful of bills without counting them and floated away.

  He glanced at his watch. Trains for both London and Brighton departed on the half hour and they had only fifteen minutes. One down, one to go.

  The woman next in line might have come directly from a commune. Her black, uncombed hair fell past her shoulders and covered a portion of her peasant blouse. A short tie-dyed skirt hemmed just below her knees revealed a fuzz of unshaven hair on her legs. Her feet were strapped into Birkenstocks, naturally. O’Brien supposed she was not yet thirty but she already looked middle-aged.

  She approached the keyboard in a hesitant manner, as a slow student might fumble when called to the blackboard to solve a difficult equation. The infant in her arms began to cry and she shifted the child to her opposite side. The small girl at her legs held a tiny fistful of her cotton skirt while trying to pull a sock off the baby’s foot. The woman let out a sigh, ran her free hand through her hair, and plopped a worn canvas bag on the ATM stand.

  O’Brien interrupted in a curt voice. “Ma’am, look, I’m in a big hurry. Can I help you move things along?”

  She gave him a backward glance that lingered on his face and turned suspicious. “I’m trying to...juggle a few things here,” she replied.

  He scanned the terminal again and studied faces, but none had the look of a predator, and Starr’s bearded face was nowhere to be seen. The thought occurred to him: If they were indeed being followed, then how could they be recognized? Starr would have to be in the group in order to make the correct identifications.

  Ten minutes to go and Gina and Lucy had disappeared. He touched the cut on his face that Gina had dressed earlier. He’d taken off the white bandage and the skin felt puffy and sore. The dressing was too easily identifiable in a terminal crowded with people.