The Undead_Day 22

by R. R. Haywood

  He knocks on the door, two raps then three, two more, one, then three. The raps quick and successive, the pauses brief but noticeable.

  ‘Can we help you?’ A voice calls through the door.

  ‘Code alpha two six three zero one zero whiskey one zero,’ George speaks quickly, his tone although perfectly polite is clipped and short.

  Inside the cabin the co-pilot turns to the captain, ‘it’s an older chap, he’s given the right code though.’

  ‘You sure?’ The captain twists round to stare at his colleague. The co-pilot nods firmly, checking the daily code issued in the security book, ‘definitely, spot on.’

  ‘Best let him in then,’ the captain remarks with a worried look.

  The co-pilot checks the spyhole again, getting a full view of the smart looking older man. He unfastens the locks and swings the door open.

  George smiles at the man and steps in, waiting politely as the door is closed behind him. ‘Captain,’ he nods at the seated man, ‘co-pilot I presume?’ He asks the standing man.

  ‘Er yes, can we help?’ the captain asks, staring at the man with interest.

  ‘I do beg your forgiveness for the intrusion but you see there is some concern with one of your passengers.’

  ‘Oh really?’ The startled captain asks.

  ‘Yes afraid so,’ George says in his clipped tone with a firm nod, ‘chap in business class, row H, seat number one. Saw him arrive at the airport, no luggage you see, roused the old suspicions. Followed him about a bit, looked nervous, somewhat furtive and worried, white chap, medium height and nothing remarkable about him except he has a very strong tan which suggests he has had a very recent spell somewhere rather hot I would say. In the airport, he neither spoke to anyone nor engaged any other persons. Watched him board and take a seat ahead of me, no hand luggage either which I thought was odd. After all, we are heading to a Greek holiday resort. But this chap, well he certainly ain't Greek,’ George pauses, smiling at the two men and making sure they’re keeping up, they both nod, listening intently, ‘I had an opportunity to speak to him, just in passing you know, got an English accent. Definitely home counties, possibly Surrey. But the thing is,’ George pauses to take a breath, ‘he’s muttering constantly, and I caught a few words here and there, what he’s saying is a prayer given before death.’

  ‘Terrorist?’ The captain asks immediately, his hand already reaching to activate the radio system. Neither of them asks who this man in front of them is. They don’t need to. The international security access code used to gain entry to any secured in-flight cabin means he is on the list. And if he is on the list then that is good enough.

  ‘Afraid he may well be,’ George replies in an almost apologetic tone. ‘Now I saw this particular fellow pass through the security procedures, he had no metallic objects and his shoes were removed and checked. So whatever he is carrying is about his person. In this hot weather and wearing only a t-shirt, I would suggest they are strapped to his legs.’

  ‘Right,’ the captain says. ‘We could be looking at a drugs mule, in which case nothing for us to worry about and we’ll alert the authorities on arrival…but I’m guessing your concern is such that you consider him to be a direct threat to the security of the aircraft.’

  ‘Well done that man,’ George says brightly, ‘didn’t want to outright say the B word but most likely yes.’

  ‘A bomb?’ the co-pilot asks in shock.

  ‘That’s the fellow,’ George says, tutting darkly. ‘Awful business eh?’

  ‘And er…what do you suggest?’ The captain asks, deferring to the man’s obvious knowledge.

  ‘Ah yes, well I have just the thing here,’ George removes a small pill case from his pocket and flips the lid to reveal a few capsules within the recess, ‘get one of your stewards to pop this into his drink and he’ll be out in no time at all, won’t feel a thing.’ George clicks his fingers to emphasise the point.

  ‘Really, wow,’ the co-pilot takes the tiny capsule in his hand, staring down at it.

  ‘Not the capsule you understand, just break the two ends and put the contents into whatever beverage he takes, I would suggest you offer a free drink to everyone in that section to be sure he takes it, say it’s your birthday or something and it’s with special compliments. Not alcohol though, he hasn’t touched a drop of the hard stuff since we’ve taken off.’

  ‘Right,’ the captain stares at the pill held by the co-pilot, ‘right…yes…well…er…we’ll see to that straight away.’

  ‘Well done chaps,’ George smiles and turns for the door.

  ‘Er…who are you?’ The captain asks.

  ‘My name is George, old chap,’ George turns and gives a tidy smile, ‘and I was never here.’ He nods, opens the door and walks out, closing the cabin door securely behind him.

  *

  ‘Feeling better, Georgie?’

  ‘Ah yes much better thank you, Marion, had a walk about and stretched the old legs,’ George says with a loving smile.

  ‘Well now you’ve retired you’ll have plenty of time to have some decent walks won’t you, George?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘I know you’re still doing the odd day here and there but officially speaking you’ve retired so you should keep busy. You remember Doreen and Arthur? Well, Arthur retired just last year and put on over a stone in weight, really doesn't suit him. Some men can carry a little extra padding, George, but not Arthur.’

  ‘No, dear,’ George replies pleasantly.

  ‘What will that office do without you I do not know,’ Marion continues, both reading and talking at the same time. A trait that George had long since become accustomed to, ‘you remember Evie and Ken? Well, I saw Evie the other day at the WRVS, she asked after you. I said you were retiring, she asked what will the office do without you after thirty years. I told her, I said Her Majesties Treasury Office for Fiscal Studies will just have to get by. Of course, I did explain that you’d be going back for the odd day here and there. You know what she asked me, Georgie?’

  ‘No, dear.’

  ‘She asked if you ever got bored working in the same department for thirty years! I said to her that it was a sign of the generation gap when people ask if you get bored at your job. I said to her, I said working in the offices for the countries fiscal studies is not something you get bored with.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ the stewardess leans in with a bright smile, ‘compliments of the captain, it’s his birthday today and we are giving every passenger a free drink. What can we get for you?’

  ‘Ooh, you hear that, George, how nice, must be a very nice man.’

  ‘Yes, dear, probably a very nice man, I’ll have a scotch please.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise, George, you know how sleepy you get after a scotch and we can’t be that far out now.’

  ‘Yes dear, change that please, I’ll have a tonic water.’

  ‘And a Pimms for me please, do they have Pimms, George?’

  ‘Do you have Pimms?’

  ‘Yes, we have Pimms.’

  ‘They have Pimms, dear.’

  ‘Wonderful, I’ll have a Pimms please.

  ‘A Pimms please.’

  The stewardess smiles, handing the drinks over before moving down. George watches with mild interest as they move from row to row. The chap in row H, seat number one smiles nervously at the stewardess and orders a drink. The stewardess drops down to mooch inside the trolley. George watches as she apologises for the delay, then pours a can of coke into a plastic glass. She hands the drink over, smiles and moves on.

  George sips at his tonic water. Watching the man stare round to make sure everyone else has a drink. He glances back at George who smiles amiably, raising his own glass. The man smiles and turns away, just seeing an old man with a tidy moustache.

  The man takes regular sips at the coke and within five minutes is passed out snoring loudly, much to the annoyance of the passenger seated next to him.

  ‘I’m stil
l worried about that negative review on Trip Advisor, George,’ Marion says as she flicks through a magazine.

  ‘Oh I shouldn’t worry dear,’ George says, resting his head against the back of seat.

  ‘Two weeks, George, we’re there for two weeks and if the food is repetitious I shall be complaining. Really, you do not expect repetitious food at a five-star all-inclusive resort.’

  ‘No, dear,’ George smiles at his wife, settling back to listen to the soothing tones of her voice as the plane glides across the sky.

  *

  ‘Hello and welcome to the Gordios Boutique Hotel, may I take your bags?’ A smartly dressed porter walks from the lobby, smiling broadly, ‘please go inside, it is much cooler and you will find a chilled glass of champagne waiting for you at the reception desk.’

  ‘Did you hear that, George, a chilled glass of champagne, I do like champagne,’ Marion comments as walks through the door held open by George, ‘but it always goes straight to my head, bit like scotch and you dear, Georgie, makes me sleepy.’

  ‘I know dear, but a nice sleep before the evening may be in order after the flight.’

  ‘Oh but it was a very pleasant flight, I say, George, did you see that chap fast asleep as we got off? He didn’t wake up once, not even when that woman dropped her hand luggage on his head.’

  ‘No can’t say as I noticed dear.’

  ‘Really, George, it’s a good job one of us is observant.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘Welcome,’ the receptionist beams. ‘Are you booking in?’

  George nods genially as Marion talks to the recaptioning while he counts the exits and in the lift, he happily listens to his wife talking non-stop. Content to be in her company, relaxed at the sound of her voice, at the soft incessant tones. Happy to now be spending time together but the end comes. A year. Maybe less before the contagion is released, unless they can find it first of course.

  He waits patiently by the door of the hotel room. One hand in his pocket, the other checking the lock on the door. Waiting until the inspection has been thoroughly completed.

  ‘Good pillows, the skirting boards are clean; you can always tell how thorough someone is at cleaning by checking the skirting boards, George.’

  ‘Does it pass your inspection, dear?’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, Georgie, it doesn't suit you.’

  ‘Sorry dear.’

  ‘I think that champagne has done the trick, I feel ready for a nap, are you going to take a nap, George.’

  ‘No dear, you carry on, I think I shall have a walk and see what’s what.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Sir, what I can get for you?’ The barman smiles in greeting, an older chap, heavy set with powerful shoulders but also a large stomach. A smoker too judging by the stained teeth and slight wheeze to his voice.

  ‘I say could I trouble you for a coffee?’

  ‘A coffee, Sir, of course, Sir, please take a seat and I bring to you.’

  George chooses a table so he can see the whole of the gardens and the various entrances to them.

  Coffee poured and he takes his mobile phone from his pocket. The phone he claimed was far too technical and modern to understand. With deft fingers, he keys in a long number and presses the phone to his ear.

  ‘Hello, Treasury Department, Office of Fiscal Studies, Henry speaking how may I help you.’

  ‘Henry, it’s George.’

  ‘George, you old devil! How’s the sunshine?’

  ‘Very nice, Henry, very warm indeed.’

  ‘Oh I am pleased, George, flight okay was it?’

  ‘Funniest thing actually, Henry, I saw old Tinker Thompson on the plane, haven’t seen him in years. Wouldn’t say if he was working in the middle east or South America but I did notice he still has that awful habit of dozing off.’

  ‘Dozed off, did he? I’ll certainly pass on that you’ve seen him, the chaps in the office will be delighted!’

  ‘Oh you do that, Henry, they’ll remember him alright, office okay is it?’

  ‘All good. Frank is lying in a bush looking for Uglius Albanius Bastardius. You enjoy the sunshine and love to Marion.’

  ‘Will do, Henry, bye, for now, old chap.’

  *

  ‘Honestly, Georgie, you and that razor,’ Marion tuts as she walks into the bathroom noticing George holding the leather and canvas strip as he runs the blade of his cutthroat razor up and down with long practised hands.

  ‘I like it, dear.’

  ‘Paula emailed me the other day, asking if you still used it, said she’d seen a lovely electric shaver set on Amazon and wanted to know if she should get it for your birthday.’

  ‘Paula?’

  ‘Paula, your niece George.’

  ‘Oh yes, Paula, the accountant.’

  ‘Yes, George,’ Marion sighs as she attacks her hair with a brush.

  ‘Nice girl, what’s she up to these days?’

  ‘Still an accountant, George,’ Marion says patiently, ‘Are you going to be long, George? I want to go down for dinner…I do hope the food isn’t repetitious.’

  ‘Almost there, dear.’

  ‘Are you wearing that shirt, George?’

  ‘That’s why I’m putting it on dear.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, George, it doesn't suit you.’

  ‘Sorry, dear.’

  *

  ‘The food was nice wasn’t it, George?’

  ‘Not repetitious then?’

  ‘How can it be repetitious on the first day? Did you like the salad I made for you?’

  ‘You didn’t make it dear, you picked it.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant, George, it doesn't suit you.’

  ‘Sorry, dear, the salad was lovely.’

  ‘This veranda is very grand, I like the bamboo furniture and oh look, George, they’re drawing the awning back, isn’t that nice?’

  ‘Very nice, dear.’

  ‘Are you enjoying your beer, George?’

  ‘It’s very nice, dear.’

  ‘I can’t believe how late it is, can you believe how late it is, George?’

  ‘It’s two hours ahead here, dear.’

  ‘Even so, it’s still very late. It’s very warm still isn’t it, George? Do you remember Julia and Ken? They came to this Island and said they had a wonderful time. Didn’t stay at this resort though, I think they were in a four star half board further down the coast. Julia was brown as a berry, but then she always did tan very well. What’s that? Is that your phone ringing George?’

  ‘It is, dear.’

  ‘Who on earth is calling you at this hour?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear, I haven’t answered it yet.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, George, it doesn't suit you.’

  ‘Sorry, dear, excuse me for a moment.’

  ‘Don’t be too long, George, we’re meant to be on holiday and I’m sure Her Majesty’s Treasury Department, Office of Fiscal Studies can cope without you for a few days.’

  George presses the answer button as he walks into the bar.

  ‘George? Are you there, George?’

  ‘Henry, what a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘George, I don’t have much time,’ an urgent voice speaking fast. ‘It’s happening now. It’s here…’

  George swallows, closing his eyes tight for a second. ‘It’s too soon, Henry…’

  ‘I’m so sorry, George.’

  ‘How far is the spread?’

  ‘It’s here. London has fallen. The police are gone… Greece is already hit. You might have extra time being on an Island but it will get to you.’

  ‘Understood, Henry.’

  ‘We’re going to be bugging out very soon. The phones are starting to go down.’

  ‘Got it,’ George listens intently.

  ‘Go for the north harbour, George. Find a vessel and cross to the mainland. Find a vehicle and get back here. We’ll RV at foxtrot.’

  ‘Understood, team?’

  ‘Frank’s headi
ng south. He’s got Carmen with him. They’ll go for Howard first.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Damn it, George, I am sorry. On your holiday too of all things.’

  ‘Stay calm, Henry. The god-botherer is south too.’

  ‘We haven’t heard from him in years, George.’

  ‘He’ll surface,’ George says with a sigh.

  A pause on the phone. A breath taken. ‘You almost made it to retirement with telling Marion, George…’

  George snorts a dry, humourless laugh. ‘Almost.’

  ‘Always said you’d never do it, you owe me that drink now, George. God speed.’

  ‘You too, Henry, god speed.’

  The call ends. George slips the phone into his pocket and stands still. Marion visible through the window, already chatting away to another English couple. Her face looks warm and soft, her smile flashing as she absorbs herself in gossip.

  Almost made it. Almost made thirty years without her ever finding out. He strides through to reception, heading directly towards the desk and the tired looking woman seated behind it.

  ‘I need a map of the Island,’ George asks in flawless Greek. The receptionist blinks, confused at the sight of the genial man who she booked in several hours ago now speaking her language.

  ‘Of course, Sir, they sell them in the gift shop but that is now closed.’

  ‘Do you have one behind the desk?’

  ‘Yes, Sir but that is our only one...’

  ‘Fifty Euros, I need that map.’

  ‘Yes, Sir, is everything okay?’

  ‘Fine thank you.’ Walking off with the map book, leaving the bemused receptionist clutching a fifty euro note he heads away from the bar to a quiet corner. Opening the map he quickly finds the location of the hotel and traces a route to the north. Then a secondary route as a fall-back.

  He heads across the lobby floor to the stairs, taking them two at a time he finds his way to their room and emerges three minutes later in walking clothes with a change of attire for Marion over his arms.

  ‘George, you’ve been gone for ages!’ Marion smiles, ‘and you’ve got changed, and why on earth have you got my clothes?’

  ‘I really need to speak with you a minute.’