by Jim Jennings
***
With Brigitte directing them and Laurence keeping quiet, the journey was un-chaotic and straightforward. Eventually however, she grew tired and Laurence was surprised to find her head resting on his shoulder. An accident? No, it couldn’t be! He hoped not anyway. The journey was long and Wesley was insistent that there were no stops. When Laurence’s stomach began to rumble louder than the engine however, he allowed a brief pit-stop where appetite and thirst were quenched. An hour afterwards, an hour in which Laurence had taken over the directions, and more than one wrong turn had been taken, they finally found themselves upon a dusty track that headed into an area of dense woodland. Wesley woke Brigitte up as moments later it became apparent that they were rapidly approaching the proclaimed ‘Site A’. About half a mile ahead of them there stood what resembled the entrance to a prison. High metallic gates were accompanied by impenetrable walls of corrugated iron that was covered by barbed wire. Two armed guard stood in front of this imposing greeting. Wesley slowed the truck down for the trio realised that a plan was in order.
‘If we go in to this “Site A” like this we’ll be killed instantly. We don’t look anything like Harrison or Philip. We need a disguise!’
‘I agree with Laurence.’ Added Brigitte, and Wesley nodded. He quickly conjured up a plan; as they approached ‘Site A’ Wesley would run ahead of the truck to the two security guards who patrolled the entranceway. He would then knock them out and undress them, so that Laurence and Brigitte could sneak into the compound in disguise whilst Wesley drove them in and then, as called for back-up. The plan was put into action within minutes of its formation. Wesley ran up to the entrance gate and put on an exasperated manner, placing his arm around the perplexed taller security guard who was exceedingly sweaty in the warm Greek sun. He turned to the nonchalant guard and asked,
‘What is it card players say when they want another card in blackjack?’ panted Wesley still in the role of the worn out runner.
‘Err, hit me?’ The guard stuttered the words out in truncated English.
‘If you say so!’ Without further ado, Wesley punched him in the face and a split second later the other guard was kicked against the wall, rendering him unconscious. He gestured for Laurence and Brigitte to join him and they promptly drove the truck toward him. Wesley stripped the guards and handed the uniforms to the pair of star-crossed classicists.
‘Are you going to radio for help now?’ inquired Brigitte.
‘Only once we know what or who we’re dealing with. That way, I’ll know what I need to ask for. Let’s get in there.’ The gate opened and Brigitte gave a tut of disapproval before driving the truck into the compound. They were greeted with what equated to a grand and complex building site, appropriate for a place with a name such as ‘Site A’. Large-scale pillars and columns were strewn about the place or in the process of being erected. Hundreds of men and women in high-visibility jackets and hard-hats were digging away into the ground or putting up large scaffolding. Around the outside of this area armed guards walked with bored expressions. Behind this there were metal sheets and wooden planks of varying shapes and sizes that were being forced together to create a stadia-like structure. To their left were rows of tiny tents and shacks that must have housed all these workers. There was even a group of bare-chested men laying out row upon row of fold-up chairs before a stage that was bare save for a tall wooden pole in the middle. Delivery vans with materials and digging equipment were parked everywhere; the sound in the air was a mixture of shouting, drilling, banging and even singing, as a group of women warbled away in a long procession through all the commotion. As Laurence observed all of this, a man in a banana coloured jumpsuit waved his hands toward the truck and pointed to a large tent on the far side of the site. Following the instructions, Brigitte drove the truck to its designated spot and asked,
‘So what do we do now, exactly?’
In a very decisive manner, Laurence said, ‘I’m going into that building.’ He looked out towards a large pyramid shaped building that was made of black marble. It was a huge and hugely impressive construction that he assumed was the headquarters of the whole operation and the location of person in charge.
‘Good idea, Laurence.’ Wesley agreed and rummaged about in his blazer.
‘Brigitte, stay here.’ Laurence said.
‘I’d feel much safer with you’ she replied, fluttering her eyelashes pleadingly at hit.
‘It’s far too dangerous. If something happened to you I’d never forgive myself.’ He argued in vain.
‘That’s sweet.’ She leant over and pecked him gently on the cheek. Wesley interrupted,
‘Alright love, this is what’s happening; I’m staying here with the box. If someone comes looking for it I’ve got the best chance of protecting it. You should go and look after Laurence; I think he’ll need it.’ Laurence felt a flush of embarrassment. Wesley produced a slim jet black phone and instructed him to call if he encountered any trouble.
‘Mine’s the only number on there. Good luck.’ He smiled confidently and Laurence felt better for it. He took Brigitte’s hand and they headed toward the magnificent building.