Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery

by Marcia Morgan

  Hugh put down the receiver and approached her. “Everything is in place. The cargo plane lands in about two hours.”

  “When it lands we’ll probably be in the air—headed for Spain. How will we know what’s going on?” There was desperation in her tone. The waiting, worry and anxiety were becoming too much for her. Hugh was better at hiding it. Paris knew that about her husband, and it caused her even more worry.

  “I’ll check in right before we board. Then until we change planes in Madrid we won’t know anything.” Hugh could see her body tense and then go slack as she sighed in frustration. He made a last effort to put her at ease. “I’ll check in while we’re on our way to make the connecting flight, then again when we land at San Sebastián airport.” He slipped his arms around her and said, “That’s the best I can do.”

  Hugh’s gentleness caused an emotional wave to wash over her, and her voice trembled. “Olivia’s life was in my hands every day when she was small. Then little by little I had to let go—but never like this.” Paris turned away from him and walked to the window. With tears welling in her eyes, she stared down at the garden that had given her such pleasure in every season. But at the moment, summer’s bloom seemed gray and lifeless. “I don’t know how to turn her life over to a team of strangers.”

  “We have no choice, darling girl.” His voice remained tender, and that tenderness fully unleashed the tears Paris had been holding onto for days.” She walked into his arms and began to sob, her body heaving with each tearful gasp.

  He held her there, in the middle of the room, until she quieted down. He hoped that she had released enough anxiety to get her through the next few days. She took a few tissues from a box on the night table and said, “Let’s get out of here. The trains are running again and if we get busy, we can make the six o’clock. That will get us to the airport in sufficient time.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

  They finished packing, zipped the small cases and headed for the car. Hugh drove faster than usual, screeching tires several times as he rounded curves on the country road that led to the station. Paris asked for several reassurances that he had indeed arranged with the hotel to have their room held no matter when they managed to arrive. Once on the train Hugh made a call that confirmed everything was organized and in motion. He leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping to quell some of his own anxiety. Relaxation wasn’t in the cards. Every few minutes his wife would reach for his hand the hold it tightly for a minute or so. The train arrived at Paddington a bit early. They detrained and hurried to the center of the station to consider the options for Gatwick. After a short discussion Hugh concluded that in order to access the Gatwick express train at Victoria Station, a taxi would be better than taking the Tube. The commuter traffic would be building, but considering their weariness, stress level, and luggage to manage, a taxi was definitely the best choice. Within a few minutes they were on their way to the station.

  * * *

  Linus Finch zipped up his one-piece uniform that boasted the Security First company logo on the breast pocket. He had deigned to get a haircut and a shave and had reluctantly tossed aside the old wool jacket that was his trademark. He came out of the bedroom to find Fergus MacDonald struggling with his uniform’s zipper, which refused to close over his ample belly.

  “Suck it in, you bloody ‘git,’” Linus growled. “We’re in a time crunch. Where are your boys… with the trucks?”

  “They’ll be here, don’t you worry.” Fergus did as he was told and pulled in a deep breath, tugging the reluctant zipper up and over his girth. “There. Bob’s your uncle!” he said, adjusting himself and smoothing back his wiry red hair.

  Linus went to the window and checked the street. Dawn was at least an hour away and they hadn’t slept—hadn’t even tried. The instructions from their boss were to be ready and waiting to leave when they received confirmation of the plane’s arrival time. The trucks and drivers had to be ready as well. Perfect timing was the key, so he was told. He looked at the charcoal pre-dawn sky and wondered how things were going in Spain with Lenny and his charges. He knew Lenny wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all, if those were his orders. And should anything go wrong at the airport he had one imperative. He had to let the boss know—somehow. Then with one call from the boss to Lenny in Spain, the two women and Gareth Logan would be dead. He suspected that’s how it was meant to be from the beginning.

  Fergus was on the couch, head back, eyes closed, the fabric of his uniform straining across his body. He jumped when the buzzer sounded. Someone downstairs wanted to be let in. Linus went to the intercom and found it was the drivers, who had parked the two trucks around the corner. They came noisily up the stairs and once inside were admonished for taking a chance on waking the other tenants. The first question out of his mouth was to ask which of the trucks was the decoy.

  The two drivers looked at each other, and one answered, “Whichever one you want. You do know that neither of them is really armored, right?”

  “Of course. I’m no idiot. Now shut up and sit down. We don’t move until we get the call.”

  * * *

  Lyle Brett sat at the kitchen table nervously tapping one foot and staring at his open laptop. He proceeded to hack into his work account, and from there, found links to the acquisition department and information on the events of that particular day. He clicked on ‘new acquisitions’ and found a file on the Spanish gold that was in transit from Spain to London for display at the museum. He had checked and rechecked the information. The departure time from Madrid and estimated arrival time at Heathrow’s cargo terminal were part of the file, as was the hangar number where it would be offloaded.

  “Well, Paris McKinnon, you’ve done a good job, ” he said aloud, and then added a caveat. “But sorry madam, the plan has changed.” He leaned back and smiled, his expression both devious and full of greed.

  He picked up a pencil and looked at the lined tablet that sat beside his laptop. He had prepared a timetable and was checking it over one last time. The timetable accounted for traffic at that specific time of day, unknown holdups like roadwork—even school buses or the odd ambulance slowing things down. There would be the usual slow moving traffic after entering the airport proper, and other trucks would also be collecting cargo—perhaps from the same hangar. It was his nature to be precise and he liked being that way. One day in the employee lounge he had overheard a colleague refer to him as punctilious, yet he had taken it as a compliment. Now satisfied that he had chosen the appropriate time for the trucks to head for the airport, he got up and went to the kitchen. After starting the coffee maker he went through to the bedroom and got himself ready for the day—the first day of the rest of his life, so he imagined.

  Lyle emerged in the black velour tracksuit—his idea of a disguise—then began to gather up any and all tangible information that could tie him to the coming event. He stuffed everything in a trash bag and set it by the door. He would dispose of the whole lot somewhere along the way, a good distance from his flat. All he kept back was the timetable, and a check of his watch showed that it was time to make the call.

  He dialed Linus’ mobile phone and he answered after the first ring. “Yeah, is this who I think it is?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass. Just get things underway—now!”

  “Where will you be? I thought you’d want to be there—make sure we don’t fuck up.”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll be around,” Lyle said. “And you won’t fuck up because you know the consequences. If you do, the police will be the least of your problems. The last thing you want is Lenny on your tail. He’s devoid of loyalties.” He paused slightly then chuckled. “But sometimes a sociopath can come in handy.”

  Linus failed to see the humor in that observation and said he had to get each driver into his truck. His last instructions were that he and Fergus each were to ride with one of the drivers. The conversation with Linus had triggered a flush of anx
iety in Lyle. No longer in the mood for coffee, he switched off the pot then stuffed his phone in one pocket, his wallet in the other, and grabbed the trash bag as he left the flat. It was a short taxi ride to the parking garage where the unobtrusive little Prius he had rented was waiting. Before getting into the car he disposed of the trash bag in a nearby dumpster. Soon he was pulling out into the damp gray of a London dawn. Within a few minutes he received a call confirming that the trucks were underway.

  * * *

  The McKinnon’s had boarded the plane for the first leg of the trip to Pamplona and were settling into their seats in first class when Hugh’s mobile phone began to buzz. Paris sat forward in her seat and waited to hear at least one side of the conversation. He said little, mostly listened, and soon ended the call. He turned to her and said, “I’m glad they called before take off, since I have to put the phone in airplane mode.”

  “Well, why did he call?” she asked, moving to the edge of her seat and turning to face him. She seemed to be holding her breath.

  “It was my contact at Interpol. He wanted to tell me that everything is in place—also that the plane is on time. They posted information on the museum website about the number and location of the hangar where the plane will be unloaded. Confirmation came that the crates have been prepared and will be the first things to offload.”

  Paris sat back, sighed and said, “So it’s show time.”

  “They really do have this sort of thing down to a science. As long as the crooks don’t get suspicious before they start to load the crates, we should be okay.”

  “Worst case scenario, they get spooked and someone calls Spain—or whomever.” She covered her face with her hands and said, “Oh God!”

  “Don’t borrow trouble. We’ve done all we can. Did the best with what we had.”

  “I know, but the stakes are monumental. I still keep hoping I’ll wake up and find I’ve only been having a nightmare.”

  “It is a nightmare, but we’re not in it alone. Remember, Ben’s already there. And as I said, he’s intelligent and resourceful.”

  “He also may be putting himself at risk, depending on what he’s found out. We haven’t heard from him since yesterday. Last time I spoke with Ana she was still waiting for him to return.” She began to shake her head back and forth in disbelief. “It’s too much—it’s just too much.”

  The pilot announced they would soon begin taxiing to the runway and were cleared for takeoff within ten minutes. The pair settled back and fastened their seatbelts. Hugh reached for Paris’ hand and she leaned to the side, resting her head against his shoulder. Soon they felt the pull of the plane gaining speed, and then the moment of smoothness as the wheels retracted, confirming the plane was airborne.

  * * *

  It was barely light when Lenny’s alarm sounded, and he rolled out of bed grumbling. Young revelers making the most of the festival atmosphere had robbed him of a decent rest. He had been forced to trust Gareth with controlling the women while he returned to his shabby room for the sleep he had needed but didn’t get. Shaving was too much trouble. He splashed cold water on his face then rummaged through the few clothes he had packed. Soon he was ready to go, wearing his uniform of ratty jeans, faded tee shirt sporting some sort of biker logo, and the battered old motorcycle jacket that was his armor. Last but not least he pulled on the heavy Dingo harness boots that he viewed as a weapon second only to his revolver. His waist felt naked without cold metal pressed between his back and the waistband of his jeans. Gareth had his revolver. He had left it with him—just in case. Lenny would have liked nothing better than to use it on the young smart ass. The only way he could be controlled was with frequent reminders of the threat to his younger brother. Whatever works, he thought as he felt around in the bottom of the duffle for his spare weapon. He soon found the small pistol that slipped easily into an ankle holster hidden inside the top of his boot.

  Lenny’s accommodations were sparse, but the small hotel was within walking distance of the house. He pulled his phone from the charger, pocketed his wallet and left. Stepping out onto the sidewalk he felt the cool morning already giving way to another hot July day. The cafés wouldn’t be open for a while and he badly needed coffee. His sour mood grew with each step, although the distance to his destination was short. He rounded the last corner and was relieved to see the house just up the block. Picking up the pace he was soon at the door, key in hand. He went inside, re-engaged the lock then called to Gareth, who would be told only what was necessary regarding the events taking place in London. He had spoken with Lyle the night before but wanted an update on the morning’s progress and his final orders. Whatever Gareth might hear wouldn’t really matter once he had no further use for the man.

  * * *

  In another part of the city, Ben was also up at first light and ready to go. He came out of the elevator and headed for the doors leading outside. The car and baggage attendants were not yet on duty, so he collected the rental car keys from the concierge, who was doing his best not to nod off as he leaned on the long wooden counter. The night before, Ben had asked the attendant where his car would be parked and requested the closest spot possible. Its location was only a short walk from the hotel entrance, and within a few minutes Ben was on his way to the neighborhood where the small house was located. The traffic heading in the opposite direction seemed unduly heavy for such an early hour, yet thankfully sparse on his route. He easily remembered the directions from the previous day, and soon he was turning into the street, proceeding at a snail’s pace toward the house.

  On his first trip to the house Ben had stopped the car some distance away. This time he took a chance and parked directly across the street. He slightly lowered one window then inched down in the seat far enough not to be noticed but still able to see across to the front of the house. It was quiet—no people or movement for what seemed like a quarter of an hour. He heard a gate clang then sat up and checked the street. A young woman was hurrying along, heels clicking on the sidewalk—heading to her job, Ben assumed. He settled back to watch the house, and as the minutes passed there was still no sign of life. Doubt inevitably began to creep into his thoughts. He questioned the decision to focus on this house, to depend so completely on the description of a man given to him by that woman, a stranger.

  * * *

  Ana had neglected to close the drapes completely before falling into bed the previous night, thus allowing an intrusive beam of sunlight to cut a path across the carpet, onto the bed and across her face. She sensed the light and woke with a start. Her first thought was of Ben—whether he was up and had left without her. She suspected all along that he had stopped talking because arguing wouldn’t change what he intended to do, and she wasn’t to be part of it. Up in less than two seconds she went to the adjoining door and carefully opened it to peak through. Ben was gone and had probably been gone for some time. Her first thought was to retrieve the card scribbled with the address of the house he had described. Part of her wished it would be a wild goose chase, but on the other hand she hoped he was really onto something. The card was still there. She snatched it and quickly returned to her room. Ana’s next thought was of Ben’s parents. Convincing them to stay in London had been unsuccessful. Neither she nor Ben would be there waiting when they arrived, but this was no time to be concerned with propriety or manners. She was needed elsewhere, even if Ben didn’t agree.

  She grabbed her large hobo bag, a sweater, tee, jeans and sneakers, placing everything on the bed. Removing her phone from the charger, she slid it into the bag, along with a visor and pair of sunglasses. After a splash of water and a quick turn with the toothbrush she was pulling on the jeans and tee. She tied the sweater around her waist, picked up the bag and headed down to the lobby. The concierge was too busy to order her a taxi so she went outside and asked the attendant for the closest taxi stand. He insisted on walking her to the corner where he flagged one down. Ana thanked him and climbed in, handing the driver the card on which t
he address had been written. After a quick U-turn the taxi sped away from the plaza and into the bustling morning traffic. Speakers behind the seat assaulted her with music much too bright for that particular day. She asked the driver to turn it down, and he obliged, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

  Ana didn’t care about the unfriendly glance and just continued to imagine what she might find when they reached the address. The distance seemed to pass quickly, and her fear was growing, as was her intense longing for Ben. All she really wanted from life at that moment was to be in his arms, to be alone with him and away from all the trouble that had kept their relationship from evolving normally. Yet she wondered if without what had happened, they would ever have moved beyond that one rainy night in the pub. Danger can bring clarity, and for Ana it meant the nagging ache of need. She needed Ben and now believed she always would. Her thoughts raced, each unrelated to the next. Fear fed doubt and doubt urged regret. On that chilly morning they had been safe from the adversity that was about to overtake their lives. After all, the birds had cried out to them, their wings outspread as they rode the currents overhead. She thought that, just perhaps, their cries were a warning: that moment was all they had, or worse yet, all they would ever have.

  * * *

  Inside the dingy little house the tension had become volatile. Gareth came through the bedroom doorway and stopped short, not making a sound. He tried to read Lenny’s mood from the expression on his face as he listened to whoever was speaking on the other end of the phone. Gareth tried to appear disinterested and turned back to the bedroom. He stood flat against the wall and listened carefully, signaling the women to be quiet. Although Lenny kept his voice low Gareth gleaned one disturbing fact: Lenny’s boss had decided that getting rid of the women was the best choice whether or not the robbery was a success.