“Screw you, Daniel.”
“So,” Eric continued, “Stew and John will be walking out early to the airplane. Since John’s doing the flying he has to program the route of flight and all of the airplane parameters into the onboard computers, and it takes a while.”
“So what do you do?” Lucy asked.
Stewart jumped in, “He walks out when we’re ready to go and gets the biggest paycheck.”
“He always was kind of a bully,” Lucy said.
Eric laughed and reached for his sister, but she dodged his hand.
“One more thing,” he stressed. “Keep in mind that this is not a terminal for people. It’s for freight, and there aren’t any boarding lounges or jet bridges here. We’ll be walking out on the ramp with airplanes taxiing by and cargo tugs speeding around so keep your eyes open. It can also be extremely noisy out there. I’ll give you earplugs for the walk to the airplane. I don’t want you to lose your hearing.”
The driver turned into the freight terminal complex. It reminded O’Brien of a huge truck stop in the States. Cargo lorries were backed up against loading docks projecting from a covered framework that opened onto the airplane ramp. A chain-link fence topped with barbed wire enclosed the perimeter of the airplane parking apron on both sides of the freight building. On the opposite side of the perimeter fence, O’Brien could see small tractors pulling trolleys of crates and bulk cargo covered with a protective plastic and tied down with straps. Airplanes were moving around the staging area. It seemed everything from Airbuses to Boeing 747s were on the move. The noise was intense, even in the interior of the van. They approached the gate access point and the driver leaned from the window and swiped a card in the coded reader. The gate opened slowly on small wheels.
“We always go in directly onto the ramp,” Eric said. “The van drops us off at airside operations.” He paused. “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Lucy blurted. “How much money do you make, Eric? You never told me.”
Murdock just had to keep his speed down. The last thing either of them could afford was to be pulled over by the police. But thanks to the brainless German in the passenger seat, he needed to move the car as quickly as possible to reach the freight terminal. He glared at the dashboard clock and checked it against his wristwatch. They’d never make it in time. It was ten-fifteen and the pilots would already be inside the building. Shit!
“Wir kommen zu zpät?” the German asked carefully.
“English only now.” he replied sharply.
“Ja...yes, we are coming too late?” Udo questioned.
“Yes, we bloody well are too late.” the Briton yelled. He glanced at the imbecile and wondered if the man had the ability to pull this off. At least he’d take his goat-cheese smell with him when he left. Once again he adjusted the car air vents so as to direct fresh air directly onto his face.
Ten minutes later the Briton steered the BMW into the parking area of the freight terminal and surveyed the arrangement of the gated entry point. It appeared exactly as the Conductor had told him. A small guard shack divided perimeter fencing on both sides. He swung up to the access point of the fence and continued down a row of parked cars until he found a spot fifty yards from the fence. He maneuvered the sedan into an empty space that afforded an excellent view of the ramp. It was a perfect position, and he ran the windows down and killed the ignition.
His watch face showed almost ten-thirty. He turned to the German and ran through the procedures one more time. “When we see the O’Brien man, and Lucy and the woman?”
“Yeth.”
“When we see them walk to the airplane, you go through that gate.” He pointed. “Then you follow them to the airplane.” He handed Udo the Glock. It was a small weapon and easily concealed in a pocket. “You are wearing a captain’s uniform and you have identification. No one will stop you. Understand?”
Udo nodded. “Yeth.”
“You know what to do when you see them.”
Udo nodded again.
“Shoot them inside the airplane if you can. Understand? No one will see if you shoot them inside the airplane.”
He tipped his head a third time.
“Find the diamonds. You should have time to do that. Then walk back through the gate. I’ll be here to pick you up.”
“I understand everything,” Udo replied firmly.
“Good.” The Briton sat back, let out a long breath and leaned his head toward the open window. He began watching the ramp area. Possibly the plan could work.
Udo fingered the Glock. It wasn’t a weapon he preferred but the gun would do the job, and it was certainly small enough to put in his pocket. He surveyed the ramp through the car window. The sun had not yet broken through the clouds but at least it wasn’t raining.
Murdock inhaled loudly and sat up in the seat. “I see them.” He slapped the steering wheel. “Just as the Conductor said.”
Udo stared hard and fixed on Lucy walking with the others. “Luthy,” he mumbled. His breathing quickened.
“Go!” the Briton ordered. “You know what to do.”
Udo opened the car door and walked with stiff, measured steps toward the gate without looking back. He could see the large airplane toward which the group walked. The huge machine was the second airliner in the row and painted in orange and blue colors just like the FedEx trucks. He’d never get to Lucy and the others before they boarded the ship, but that was okay. He’d take them once inside the airplane. He frowned. If only there was some way he could have Lucy.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and at once everything on his uniform seemed to flash gold. The wings on his chest and the stripes emblazoned on his sleeves reflected with impressive stature as he walked. The identification badge hanging from the cloth strap around his neck swayed with his movement. This time he was not going to let Herr Conductor down.
He fumbled slightly as he slid the badge through the card reader. The gate did not open until he turned the badge around and slid it through a second time. Udo glanced back one time and picked out the Briton standing beside his car. He walked through the gate.
The noise was deafening. He had never experienced noise that was so painful to his ears. The screaming whine coming from airplane engines punched at him with a force and made him dizzy. He held his hands to the side of his head.
A baggage trolley came speeding out of nowhere. Udo stumbled into a quick back step as the driver cut in front of him missing him by inches. The man never looked back.
He regained his forward movement. The destination was clear but the journey was becoming difficult.
Udo approached the first airplane in the line. Colorful yellow and blue stripes ran from the airplane’s nose to the tail. Red lights were blinking on the top and bottom, like a Christmas tree.
Lucy was climbing the ladder into the FedEx airplane. He’d have to hurry in order to—his captain’s hat flew off directly toward a spinning engine. He lunged after it, a reflex action that put him an arm’s length from the gigantic open mouth of the engine. A puzzling force grabbed him, and he spread his arms as it pulled him forward. He lurched backward and abruptly seemed to be picked up off the ground. A yelp of terror sprang from his lungs.
In a split second of confused alarm Udo blinked into the death trap of the engine intake. He hit the engine cowling hard, grabbed the lip with his powerful hands and watched as his hat was ingested into the whirring blades.
A piercing, thundering whine seemed to come from the depths of hell. Udo’s legs slid sideways inside the smooth surface of the intake. He screamed as the hurricane wind sucked at his pant legs and his jacket. The force clawed at his hair and scored it backwards. There was nothing to grip, no purchase for his shoes. His ankles bounced back and forth on the curved aluminum panels until he witnessed the horrifying spectacle of his feet entering the blades.
His long, drawn-out scream of terror and pain had no sound. He hung onto the engine cowling as the grinding force shook his torso in puls
ing oscillations a thousand times a second. He waited for someone, for anyone. Or he thought he waited. He was only vaguely aware that his hands were slipping.
He screamed again when he understood that his feet were gone. The image of spinning knife blades becoming cherry red with his blood caught in his mind. His hands slipped farther as the enormous power of the engine drew him in to his knees. He screamed yet again, weaker this time as his blood drained away.
The remaining seconds of Udo’s life passed in a slow, time-warped agony as he watched himself being eaten alive by the machine. He gaped in shock as he beheld his last earthly vision, that of titanium blades chopping into the exact center of his manhood. As his blood-starved brain cells flickered in a final, cognitive connection, he realized with sadness he wasn’t a man anymore. A heartbeat later he wasn’t anything.
After a bizarre delay to an extremely unusual trip, Eric taxied the huge DC-10 away from the freight terminal. The ramp coordinators wanted his airplane out of the way, and he was only too anxious to oblige. Emergency vehicles were still headed toward the cargo ramp and specifically toward the left engine of that Crown Air 767. Someone, and it had to have been a careless cargo handler, had not been paying attention. It was a tragic incident. However, the company held regular briefings about the dangers of working around airplane engines, especially engines that were being run up to almost full power.
He adjusted his headset and moved up in line for takeoff. The whole story would come out in a few days, and then there’d be more safety briefings and bulletins that he’d have to read.
“Ready for the takeoff checklist, Eric?” John asked.
“Yeah, read it,” he replied through the interphone microphone.
Switches and levers were checked for proper position as the aircraft was cleared onto the runway. “Checklist complete, Captain,” John stated.
Gatwick tower cleared the DC-10 for takeoff and his co-pilot, John, pushed the throttles forward. As the engines increased to full power Eric had a fleeting thought: Mom and Dad would certainly be interested in hearing Lucy’s story, but he doubted they’d believe a word of it.
28
O’Brien unlocked the front entrance to his two-story subdivision home outside Washington, D.C. In the fading light he waved to his neighbor hosing down some flower beds. “It’s a little late in the day to be watering, Skip,” he said to him. O’Brien raised his voice, but he didn’t have to yell. Skip’s two-story replica of his own house sat all of ten feet on the other side of a line of parched-looking shrubs.
“Yeah, but everything’s dry as a bone,” the slightly older man said, shaking his head. “And this is supposed to be the wet season.” He twisted the faucet handle off. “You’ve been gone quite a while this time, Danny. Anything exciting happen?”
O’Brien turned to him serious-like. “Yeah, I was chased by assassins trying to kill me, I watched a guy machine-gunned to death in front of me, I was arrested for murder, smuggled diamonds out of Africa, and I fell in love. How’s that?”
Skip laughed. “Damn if you flyboys don’t come up with some good stories. Must be all that thin air up there in the cockpit.”
O’Brien grinned. His neighbor was a banker with three kids, and he was challenged to visualize anything more exciting than a traffic accident on Lee Highway. He said to Skip as he opened the door, “I think you’ve got us figured out.” He flipped on the foyer light and regarded a scattering of mail on the darkly-stained oak floor. Every bill of importance was paid online, so these were ads or first-class letters, and he received very few of those. The whole world communicated by email.
He stepped into the hallway and dropped his duffle. The air conditioner circulated dry, sterile air devoid of that particular quality that suggested a human presence. An odor of stale coffee grounds hung in the air, and maybe a whiff of mold from a dried sponge in the sink strainer.
He had flown back-to-back charters since that fateful trip to Liberia. If he added in the ten days just spent on his sailboat for emotional rehabilitation, the total time away from his subdivision home came to almost a month.
That brought up the image of Gina. The longing was deep and profound. He’d tried to reach her repeatedly but her condo had been sold and the agent would not release a forwarding address. He had been reduced to leaving messages on her voice mail, messages that went unanswered. Meanwhile, he was struck by the power of his ache. Their last kiss had been at the Dulles Airport as they separated. Their embrace was a promise between them, an instant of shared awareness that needed no explanation. But since then there had been nothing. In a week or two he’d have to start shutting doors inside him. Bit by bit he’d have to close her off. The memory was too painful to carry with him.
He shucked his jacket onto a sofa and opened the drapery sliders all around. Street lights were coming on. A big, silver moon rose over the treetops throwing illumination into the interior of the house. He decided against turning on anything more than a kitchen lamp. The evening seemed perfect the way it was.
Lucy came to mind and O’Brien laughed. They’d talked by phone several times. She was back in Wisconsin, and her parents were attempting to fatten her up again, barging into her house with food at all hours. She was trying to fight them off and losing the battle. The good news was that the black and yellow bruises on her face had faded and her wrist was back to normal.
He opened a bottle of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and poured wine the color of bloodshot garnet into a glass. A punch of Sangiovese grapes fumed his palate with the first sip. He followed that with a full swallow.
The gruesome death of the German inside the airplane engine was a big item with Eric’s FedEx crowd, and Lucy sent press clippings along as she received them. The second hireling, by the name of Perry Murdock, had been found dead in the Battersea Park area of London. Murdock had been shot twice in the head. It was enough to send a chill through both of them.
“Think someone’s still after the diamonds?” she had asked over the phone.
“I don’t know. You think they’d try and track down Starr if they were going to look for anybody.” The routine with the diamonds had played out just like Eric said it would. He’d stuffed them in his flight bag. No one ever checks these flight bags going back through U.S. Customs, he had assured them, and he’d been right. O’Brien supposed they were criminals, in a way, because of that. He didn’t feel like one, though.
“No word about Starr?” Lucy had asked.
“I think he may have disappeared forever,” O’Brien said.
“Daniel…what if he hasn’t?”
“Just be careful, Lu. Don’t go out and throw around any of your stones.”
“They’re safe in the drawer with all my undies and girlie things. It’ll be a while before I find someone to wear those skimpy things for, I guess.”
O’Brien had gone silent at that point.
“What about Gina?” Lucy had finally asked.
“I haven’t heard anything,” he said in a dead voice.
After a pause, “She loves you, Daniel. Believe me, I know that. She’s always loved you, right from that first night when you picked me up at the hotel.”
“Yeah...okay. Listen, why don’t you visit me here sometime? I’ll take you sailing.”
“That’s right. I forgot you’re a rich guy with a yacht and a stuffy country club membership. How big’s your boat?”
“You won’t sink it, unless your parents keep feeding you.”
“Up yours, Daniel,” she said happily and rang off.
O’Brien helped himself to more wine as a knock at the front door jarred him back to the present. Skip’s family sometimes took pity on him after a long time away. O’Brien often brought small gifts back for the girls, and on one occasion the wife and daughters returned the favor with a complete pot roast with potatoes and carrots on the side.
O’Brien switched on the porch lights, opened the door, and discovered Skip standing there with an offering of cookies. The banker shr
ugged and handed the plate forward. “Debbie and the girls wanted you to have these,” he said. “The girls have been digging into them and they’re getting a sugar high. And Deb…well, she doesn’t really need them.” He patted his hips.
“Skip, thanks. Come on in for a glass of wine.”
“Nah, Deb’s got dinner almost ready.” He pointed at his wife and three daughters waving from his front porch.
O’Brien waved back and yelled thanks.
His neighbor made an owlish grin. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d be welcome tonight. There’s something I forgot to tell you.”
O’Brien looked at him blankly.
“Do you know a woman named Gina something-or-other?”
O’Brien’s pulse galloped. He looked reflexively up and down the street. “Gina Andreotti?”
“Yeah, that’s her. Anyway, she came by earlier and said she’d be back. Said she knew your schedule.”
O’Brien nodded. “You mean tonight?”
He smirked. “Well, she came by about two hours ago, so yes I would assume she’ll be back tonight. She’s really quite attractive.”
O’Brien forced back a surge of excitement and felt his throat go dry. He craned his neck again.
Skip followed his gaze and pointed. “There’s a pair of headlights coming slow-like up the street right now. I bet that’s her.”
O’Brien blinked hard.
“Well, I’ll be going.” His neighbor stepped off the brick porch and looked back. “Is that the lady you fell in love with? ’Cause if that part of your story is true, then maybe you were telling the truth about all the rest.” And then, “Nah, can’t be. Goodnight, Danny.”
A dark BMW stopped in front of the house. After a moment Gina exited and stood by the car. “I’m looking for my hero,” she said in a soft, familiar voice that floated up to him from the curb. She closed the car door and walked up the stone path.
O’Brien spoke her name. It came out as a croak.
Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide? Page 26