On Fire

by Thomas Anderson

Having just left the arrivals gate and stepped onto the main concourse of Terminal 2A at Charles De Gaulle Airport on the way to their connecting flight for Dubai, Kim happened to glance down at her phone. It had to be turned off during the flight over as they had last minute seats in a part of Coach that didn’t permit calls during flight. Now she can turn it on.

  “It’s Bog. He called,” she says, not slowing down.

  Zak is looking at a map of the airport, looking for their departure gate, back pack on his back, juggling a coat, the map, and his phone. He checks his messages and there is one from Bog, telling them not to go to Dubai without checking with him first. Zak involuntarily grimaces, then looks down the busy concourse to the sequentially numbered ticketing counters and sees a large Information Center a ways away.

  “There’s a problem with Dubai,” Zak tells Kim.

  Zak heads for Information and Kim follows. They lean against the empty end of a long counter space that stands beneath a multi-level bank of screens with departures and arrivals. Zak turns his head toward a large clock on the wall behind them. Late afternoon in Paris means early evening in Prague. He hits call.

  “Halo?” answers Bog, his voice tinged with the suspicion of a man on the run.

  Zak gives a sidelong glance to Kim.

  “Hey, cheeseball! Tell me you’re not pulling this out your butt.”

  An image pops onto the screen. Bog’s blonde hair is floating around his face in the wind, the sky and something else behind him, some kind of black statue.

  “Dude! There’s some stirrings about you going on in Dubai. You guys’ names are coming up in their security chatter. But take heart. They haven’t placed either of you on the no-fly list. Yet. But to say that the Dubai boys have gone to great lengths to provide you a warm welcome, well, that really pulls the heart strings.”

  “I’m not going to ask where you’re getting this intel.”

  “Dude, if I told you I’d have to kill you.”

  Something must have happened. Kim and Zak knew they were being watched, even tracked. Perhaps showing up at Syke’s house was all it took. More likely, their reservations for Dubai would have been easy to find, and Bog may well have been able to determine who was checking those records.

  Bog pulls the satchel strap off his shoulder. The phone camera dips and Zak and Kim see a flash of water.

  “Are you on the Charles Bridge?” asks Kim. “What river is that?”

  Bog, who is on the North side of that very bridge, leans down to get a better look.

  “I believe it’s the Vltava if I’m not mistaken.”

  He pulls the camera back and behind him in the fading sunlight glancing off the windows of the gold in this light presidential office buildings next to it on the big hill is Prague Castle, the world’s largest old keep, dating back to the 10th century. It lords over the surrounding district known as mala strana, a grouping of old residences that descend from the castles to the edge of the river.

  An orange light paints itself across the sky behind Bog. A dark and lugubrious statue rears behind him, one of a line of life size sculptures in bronze that stretches the length of the Charles Bridge.

  “What’s that behind you?” Kim asks.

  Bog looks.

  “It’s a crucifix. Dates to the 14th century I believe. The large figures on either side of it are Mary and John.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Oh. I took the airs. My friend’s apartment can get crowded. I was taking a walk through the Mala Strana gardens. It’s been a long time since I was here last. At least the apartment is near Old Town. You know, they still sing Beatles in the Square.”

  “Quaint.”

  “They are usually near the City Hall with the astronomical clock. Very retro.”

  “Save the flowers in your hair,” Kim teases.

  “For sure! That’s like, soooo psychedelic!”

  Chapter 44