by Daniel Diehl
“No airline will take a thing like that as luggage. They’re going to insist that I take it to air freight and we just can’t afford to waste hours and hours dealing with forms, bureaucracy, paperwork and all the generally being mucked about that it involves.”
Merlin looked out of the window as a uniformed skycap took an elderly lady’s luggage, piled it onto a cart and accepted a five pound note with a smile, a nod and a tip of his hat.
“I have an idea. Follow me.”
Without another word Merlin jumped out of the van, ran around to the side and opened the door. By the time he pushed the two smaller boxes aside and started jockeying the big crate toward the door, Beverley was standing next to him.
“What can I do to help?”
“Bring one of those luggage trolleys over here and hold it tight against the door sill so it doesn’t move when I pull this crate onto it.”
A minute later Beverley was sliding the van door shut as Merlin brought the crate to a halt next to the skycap station. From the second Beverley had grabbed the cart, neither of the two skycaps had taken their eyes off the oddly dressed old man, the young woman with him or the big wooden crate they were pushing and pulling onto the trolley – but neither had either of them volunteered to help. Now, as Merlin stood there smiling, the skycap at the podium stared hard at the odd old man with the waist length beard, long hair and ancient, mud splattered fur coat. It was only when his eyes traveled high enough to look directly into Merlin’s face that the wizard spoke.
“I was wondering if you would mind looking after this while the young lady and I park our vehicle.”
“Matey, there ain’t no way they’re going to let you check that thing in as luggage. That’s air freight and you have to take it to the air freight terminal.”
The smile never leaving his face, Merlin reached into the small pouch hanging from his belt, extracted a single, crisp one hundred pound note and smoothed it out on the surface of the skycap’s podium.
“I will deal with that at the appropriate time. For now, I would appreciate it if you just watch our box while we park. You wouldn’t mind doing that, would you?”
“Not at all, mate.” The skycap eased his hand toward the note and flashed a huge toothy grim. “Let me just roll it over here against the wall where it will be tucked up all safe and sound till you get back.”
Merlin broadened his smile, tore the note in half, handing one section to the wide-eyed skycap and said, “And the other half is yours when we reclaim our box.” Turning around, he headed back toward the van and signaled for Beverley to follow. Buckling his seatbelt, Merlin turned to Beverley, replacing the grin with a more serious countenance. “We’re not safe yet. I have no idea what manner of bewitchment Morgana may have conjured that might allow her to track this van. She can’t see us, but as long as we are anywhere near this vehicle I won’t feel safe. Therefore, I suggest we leave it as far from Turkish Airways as physically possible.
“I can take it to one of the farthest lots in the long term parking area. They might guess we flew the disk out of the country but they won’t have any way of knowing where we might be headed or which airline we used, and there must be hundreds of airlines at Heathrow.”
“Do you have sufficient time?”
Beverley glanced at her watch and nodded.
“I’ve got four and a half hours till my plane leaves. We should be able to get back to the terminal in thirty or forty minutes.”
Parking in an auxiliary lot nearly two miles from Turkish Airways left Beverley and Merlin at the mercy of the inconsistencies of the Heathrow shuttle service. Consequently it was nearly an hour before they returned, cold and wet, to the skycap station. The smiling skycap nodded politely to Merlin, pulled the cart with its oversized load from its corner, swirled it around and passed the handle to Merlin. In exchange, Merlin handed the man the missing half of the hundred pound note, leaned in close and whispered “We were never here.”
“I understand perfectly, guv’. No worries.”
Unlike the obliging skycap, the attendant at the Turkish Airways ticket desk was less than accommodating. After they had waited in line for nearly half an hour, the attendant handed Beverley her ticket but when confronted with the forty inch square crate adamantly refused to deal with it. She insisted it was too big to fit on the conveyor belt and therefore it had to be classified as freight. Freight had to be checked-in at the freight terminal.
“Excuse me, my dear, that is such a fetching color of nail polish. Do you mind if I have a closer look at it?” Merlin inserted himself between Beverley and the obstinate woman and began talking as though he was the attendant’s oldest friend. “I believe my granddaughter would love some just like that. Do you happen to know its name?”
Merlin’s flurry of non sequitur questions left the ticket agent simultaneously angry, flustered and flattered. Jerking her eyes from Beverley to the big box and then to Merlin she had no idea what to do or say. While she was distracted, Merlin reached across the counter and asked if he could look at her nails up close. Too confused to refuse, she instinctively lifted her hand. When he gently took her fingers in his hand, she automatically looked him in the face and was riveted by the hypnotic blue eyes that drew her in and held her mind captive.
“Thank you my dear. I’m so sorry to have interrupted you. I believe you were about to check in this young lady’s small parcel.”
With eyes as wide, blank and unfocused as a cow’s, the woman at the counter smiled absently, nodded her assent and helped Merlin hoist the crate onto the scales before struggling valiantly to move it onto the conveyor belt running along the wall behind her counter. When she returned to her station she blinked several times, shook her head to clear away the odd, slight sense of confusion she felt and smiled at the elderly African man who stepped up to the counter. She had no memory of either the young woman with red hair or her elderly, bearded companion who had left the counter while her back was turned.
Once they were well away from the Turkish Airways counter Beverley turned and smiled at Merlin. “I have to do the security thing now, so I guess I’ll see you in a few days, or whatever.”
Beverley reached out to embrace Merlin but he held her back, pointing down at the long smears of mud encrusting his ancient bearskin coat. Laughing, Beverley nodded but proffered a cheek when he took both of her hands in his and leaned forward with the offer of a fatherly kiss. When he withdrew, he pulled one hand from a pocket of the old coat and held up an envelope marked Bureau de Change.
“Take this. I’m sure Jason is running out of funds and I wouldn’t want him to have to resort to anything questionable.”
“So you did it for him?”
Merlin offered a lop-sided grin but deftly ignored the question by changing the subject.
“You make sure to call Jason from the waiting lounge so he knows you have the disk. And don’t forget to tell him when you’ll be arriving.”
“Will you be alright on your own?”
“I’ll be fine my dear. After all, I’ve been on my own for far longer than you can possibly imagine.”
A look of real concern creased Beverley’s brow and she stared hard at the old man, trying to will him to be truthful while knowing deep down that truthfulness was simply not a part of Merlin’s nature.
“Are you sure? You’ve never had to shift for yourself in the twenty-first century before.”
“I’m sure. All I have to do until you return is keep a close eye on our friend and inform you and Jason if she gets out of line.”
Touching his whiskery cheek with one hand, Beverley turned and walked toward the long line signaling the entrance to the security checkpoint. Only after she disappeared from view did Merlin turn and begin walking toward the exit sign.
Now, he thought to himself, setting his jaw and grinding his teeth, I’m going to do what everyone except Arthur told me to do sixteen hundred years ago. I’m going to find that hateful creature and kill her before she can destroy an
y more lives. And then the world will be safe even if the Ark of the Covenant is empty.
* * *
Telephone reception in the Heathrow long term parking area was terrible; the engineer stood between the two white vans turning one way and then the other, pacing up and down in the heaving rain, trying to maintain a connection long enough to relay the information to his boss, Peter Haskell.
“Yes, that’s right, gov’nor …We found it at one of Heathrow’s long stay car parks…What?...No, no. I don’t know where they went but the van looks abandoned…Two boxes. I can see them through the window…What?...No. I don’t remember…Well, they’re both roughly cube shaped. About two feet to the side…What? No. The big one isn’t in there…Yes, I’m sure. It bloody well isn’t in there…So what do you want me to do?...Righty-ho. I’ll ring the auto club and have them open the door and make me a master key…I’ll drive this one and Phil can drive the other one…Brilliant…We should see you back in West Wycombe in a few hours, then, guv’…Cheers.”
Jumping back into his van, he looked at his companion and grimaced.
“Thank God I don’t have to be the one to tell that old witch they snatched one of her precious boxes.”
“They did?”
“Yup. Seems that big flat one with the bronze disk in it should have been in there. Poor Peter, she’ll have his guts for garters for sure.”
“Know what, Colin? Why don’t you make arrangements to have one of the lads pick up the other van at the railway station in High Wycombe. I think maybe I’ll take the train home to Cardiff straight away, grab the wife and wee ones and go to my Mum’s place up in Scotland. Fuck Lou Morgan and fuck whatever she’s doing in that bloody cave. I don’t like it and I won’t be a party to it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Beverley shuffled slowly forward with the exhausted, milling crowd as it made its weary way along the corridor connecting the passport control area to the main concourse of Bole International Airport. As the crowd ahead of her exited from the narrow hallway it began breaking up and disbursing, providing a better view of the anxious faces awaiting the arrival of friends, loved ones and business associates.
Somewhere among the rows of expectant faces Jason should have been waiting but every person she saw was either black or brown, not a single blond head appeared among them. Stopping in her tracks, Beverley stared at the crowd, scanning it with her eyes. It was only when she came to the cluster of taxi and limousine drivers holding up crudely printed signs bearing the names of their expected fares that she saw a tall, Arabic looking man in sun glasses holding a piece of cardboard with ‘Bev McCullough’ scrawled across its face. Raising her eyes to the sign holder’s face, she saw him grin and motion her forward. Warily, she walked toward the man. When she was almost within an arm’s length of him he lowered his sunglasses just far enough for her to see his deep green eyes. Although she was completely confused by Jason’s weird disguise she was about to throw her arms around him when he shook his head and whispered “Don’t do anything; don’t say anything. Just nod and follow me till we get away from this crowd.”
Walking around the barrier, Beverley mumbled in a barely audible whisper, between nearly closed lips, “What’s with the fancy dress?”
“I couldn’t very well waltz in here all white and conspicuous. The cops still want me for questioning and whoever killed the desk clerk is still looking for me - and the airport is a pretty obvious place to watch.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…” Beverley fluttered one hand toward Jason’s shoe polish-covered face and hair as her eyes finally registered the teenaged boy who had followed them from the reception line, across the lobby and was now standing at Jason’s elbow, staring intently at her.
“Oh, I’ve seen you. You had breakfast with Jason one morning.”
“How did you see me?”
Ras cocked his head to one side, opening his eyes wide. Beverley knew immediately she had said the wrong thing but before Ras could press the point, forcing her to come up with something to cover the gaff, Jason interjected himself into the conversation.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Bev, this is Ras, my guide, interpreter and now my partner in crime. Ras, this is my friend Beverley.”
Ras’ grin was so wide his dark face nearly split in half, exposing a huge set of sparkling teeth.
“Wow, lady, you have the reddest hair I’ve ever seen. It’s as shiny and orange as an Ethiopian sunset.”
Beverley nearly burst out laughing but covered her face with one hand, checking herself.
“Easy, Romeo.”
Ras pulled his riveted gaze away from Beverley’s head, casting his huge eyes at the ground but the grin never left his face. “Oh, sorry, Boss. Sorry, Miss Beverley. It’s just really nice hair.”
“Thank you, Ras.”
“Look, guys, we’ve got to cut this short.” Turning to Beverley, Jason put on his serious face. “We need to pick up that disk and get out of here ASAP.” Then, after looking around to orient himself, he pointed to his left and said “The luggage claim area is down this way. Ras, you grab a trolley somewhere and meet us at the luggage office. That crate is too big to come in with the rest of the stuff so I’ll bet we have to go to the office.”
During a short exchange with the baggage handler Ras once again proven himself invaluable as a translator and salesman, and the three of them walked out the front door into the sweltering Ethiopian sun with the crated disk in tow.
Ignoring the signs stating that all luggage trolleys must remain in the immediate area of the terminal, Jason kept the cart and its contents within arm’s length at all times. He had no intention of letting it out of his sight until it was safely inside the treasury building at St Mary’s of Zion church and Axum was a long way from Addis Ababa. Rolling across the glaring, reflected heat of the parking area, Jason and Ras directed Beverley toward an ancient Ford pickup truck. The original bed had long ago fallen apart and been replaced with a crudely built wooden one; one front fender was missing and the doors were different colors from the body and from each other. As Jason and Ras struggled to hoist the crate onto the bed, Beverley surveyed the vehicle.
“I know you didn’t hire this thing and you sure didn’t steal it. You would have stolen something better.”
“It belongs to a friend of Ras. Ras talked him into renting it to me for a few days. I couldn’t risk renting something from Avis because I need to stay off the radar, so it was either this or rent an ox cart from one of the farmers. Besides, I’m about out of cash.”
“That reminds me.”
Beverley dug deep into one pocket and extracted the envelope of money Merlin had given her along with the jar of ointment. She handed the cash to Jason and unscrewed the lid on the salve. After peeking into the envelope Jason smiled, nodded and tucked it into his back pocket. Then he dipped one finger into the liniment and dabbed it on the center of his forehead. While Jason and Beverley climbed into the cab of the decrepit pickup, Ras scrambled into the back, declaring he would stop the crate from sliding around. Twenty minutes later they pulled into the ruined parking area adjoining the old railway station. Jason maneuvered the truck under the colonnaded portico along the side of the building where it would be nearly invisible from the street.
“What is this place?”
Beverley stood near the rear of the pickup, staring in disbelief at the derelict building, while Jason and Ras manhandled the crate off the back of the truck and through a small side door that they had jimmied open earlier in the day.
“Home sweet home, my dear. We can stay here tonight and head to Axum in the morning.”
“So, how far is it from here to Axum?”
“Four hundred and fifty miles, give or take.”
Beverley stared at Jason’s sweating back as he heaved the crate through the door, before casting a long, unhappy look at the truck. Finally she shook her head in silent bewilderment and followed him into the abandoned railway station.
* * *
“We have to get that stuff off of your face.”
“Bev, I don’t dare take it off. If those guys that killed the hotel clerk see me without it they’ll probably recognize me and then they’ll kill me for sure. Hell, they’ll kill you too, just because you’re with me.”
Beverley didn’t answer immediately but twisted around in the jostling seat of the decrepit Ford and stared out the back window. Behind her were Ras’ head and shoulders, the crate and at least four miles of visibly empty road stretching away into the dusty, arid Ethiopian plain.
“Now that you have the invisibility goo on, Morgana can’t find you anymore and I know her henchmen aren’t following you. There hasn’t been anybody behind us for more than an hour now.”
Jason glanced into the cracked rearview mirror and looked at Beverley before returning his eyes to the road.
“I hadn’t thought of that. I guess I’m just a little paranoid after seeing that guy with a bullet hole in his forehead.” Then, after a long pause “Ummm, actually, I don’t know how we’re going to get it off.”
Beverley scowled momentarily before answering. “What did you use?”
“Shoe polish?”
Jason’s weak smile was met with a look of wide-eyed disbelief.
“Oh, pull the other one, Jason. You’re joking, right?”
“No.”
“Men. Why didn’t you just use women’s makeup? Women in Africa are dark skinned so they use dark makeup and black hair dye. It has to be in every drugstore on the entire continent. My God, shoe polish.”
Jason’s only defense was the same fallback line used by every child since the beginning of time: “Ras did it.”
“Honestly. Look, when we get to Axum I’ll find some medicinal alcohol and see how much of it we can soak off. We can’t have you going to see the guardian of the Ark looking like that.”
Almost before the last words were out of her mouth Jason was leaning forward, staring over the top of the steering wheel, his gaze riveted on the road ahead. Following his stare, Beverley turned her attention to the black ribbon of highway running away before them toward the distant horizon. Halfway to the point where the road vanished, something big, brown, undulating and twice the width of the road was blocking their way forward. Whether it was moving toward them, away from them, or just standing still was impossible to tell but as the truck rolled forward Jason began to slow down, unwilling to take the chance of running into another of Morgana’s unpleasant surprises like the ones she had laid out for him and Merlin in Mongolia. Finally, leaning out of the window, Jason shouted toward the back of the truck. “Hey, Ras. Can you stand up and see what’s blocking the road up there?”
