The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts by Joshua Elliot James Page B

quickly and a cab readied for me
by the desk clerk – we are at the airport in record time, earning
the driver a nice tip. I don’t care where I fly, I want the first
flight out of here, which the departure board tells me is the red
eye to Sydney, Australia.
    “They’re boarding now miss.” The ticket agent
says. “I’ll call and let them know you are on the way, but you’d
better hurry.”
    “Thanks.” I remove my heels and run to the
gate in time to fall in behind the last boarder and am soon settled
in my seat. Takeoff, climb to altitude and a Scotch whisky in hand
help me relax and relive the day in my mind. I must call my friends
in the morning and let them know I have achieved my goal, but now
it’s time for a nap - I swear British Airways have the most
comfortable pillows.
    Six and a half hours later the smell of fresh
brewed coffee brings me out of slumber and ready to start a new day
without stress. The flight attendant brings a cup and an egg
croissant and informs me that we have about two hours flying time
remaining. Barty and Anastasius thank me for the calls, but regret
not being able to say their goodbyes. I promise next time to stay
longer and make up for it.
    My smart phone tells me that I can expect a
twenty hour plus flight from Sydney to Rome so the space and luxury
of first class will be a necessity and I’ll buy a tablet or
notebook to help pass the time – it will amuse me to see how far I
can reprogram one of them.
    The wait for the Rome flight is three hours,
but Sydney airport has plenty to occupy passengers in the way of
shopping and entertainment. It’s a relief not having to worry about
the precious cargo I am toting and I find a stunning pair of red
high heels made from kangaroo skin and a couple of dresses I
like.

Chapter 6: Being Chased In Rome
     
     
    I won’t bore you with the twenty hour and
forty two minute flight to Rome, even the episode where a middle
age drunk tried to proposition me and was reassigned to the smaller
confines of coach accommodation. We land at La Roma airport and to
the amusement of passengers, a flight crew member announces “If you
get the insane urge to hurtle through the air in a metal tube
again, please consider Alitalia Airlines.”
    When in the arrivals building, I get an
uneasy feeling that raises the hairs on my nape, so I hop into a
photo kiosk to take a look around the terminal from behind the
curtains.
    Nothing looks out of place, but when I step
out an elderly woman dressed like a grandmother approaches and
places a phone in my hand. “Listen.” She instructs and walks
away.
    The voice says “We have Gavin – you have the
‘item’ – we suggest a trade.”
    “Who is this? Where are you?” I ask and look
around again.
    “We are here, we’ve been waiting for
you.”
    “I don’t care about Gavin – ask him to show
you the bruises.”
    “The bruises are nothing compared to what we
did to him.” Voice says. “But he’ll recover pretty normally if you
do as we say.
    “I can’t trade the ‘item’ - it does not
belong to me.”
    “No, it belongs to my boss.” Voice
states.
    “No it does not – the money will be returned
to him.”
    “He does not want the money back – perhaps
you don’t comprehend clearly. I have been charged with the safe
recovery of the item, at any cost – do you understand?”
    “I understand completely.”
    “Good, then I suggest we do this in a civil
manner and you hand over that roll on bag to the woman who gave you
the phone and she will take you to your precious Gavin.”
    I look around and see the same woman hovering
a short distance away. She smiles and nods knowingly.
    “There are others…” Voice says. “Watching
you.”
    I walk slowly, the woman shadows and I am
aware of other people moving in the same direction. “So I see.” I
respond.
    My direction takes me towards the escalator
and when close, I jump on and lug the case up the steps. I see a
man standing at the top and assume