THE SPANISH WAITER: SIXTEEN

An attempt to get away in a helicopter

THE NEXT DAWN

“It’ll be getting light soon,” whispered Murial, nudging Boney where he snored. Somehow she had managed to keep awake throughout the dark hours of night, in the certain knowledge that her two companions almost certainly wouldn’t.

They had “borrowed” a car that appeared to have no owner and be abandoned and had made themselves as comfortable as they could for the night. There seemed little chance that anyone would come and claim the car: for starters it had two flat tyres and the courtesy lights didn’t come on. The door hadn’t even been locked and altogether it had an unwanted feel to it.

Boney’s eyes flickered open when she nudged him, then closed again. “So what?” he asked in the sort of voice you might expect from a man with a severe hangover, which was something he didn’t have.

“You know, Boney!” she snapped. “We’re here and need to get back home.”.

“What’s all the noise about?” yawned Sparky, “it’s still the middle of the night!”

“No it isn’t!” snapped Murial, “ by my watch it’s almost dawn, and if we’re going to get away in that beast,” she pointed at the distant helicopter, “then we’d best we off pretty soon.”

“Boney yawned. “And let’s get this straight,” he forced between clench teeth when the yawning was done, “you know how to get that thing off the ground?”

“I know how to fly a helicopter,” she said confidently, “and that can’t be much different now, can it?”

“Is a can of sardines any different from a tin of tuna?” he asked.

“They’re both fish!” she almost snapped back at him.

“But one’s got a family of the blighters in it while the other’s just got a little bit of one,” poited out Boney in one of his rare moments of insight, “that makes them different,”

“So?” she asked, “I’ve got a certificate that says I can fly helicopters, so I can. Now come on, both of you, we’ve got to sneak up to it and hope nobody’s wide enough awake to see us. Goodness knows what security they’ve got, but there are plenty of cameras.. I’ve counted half a dozen of them, and we’ll avoid them if you stay close to me.”

“Then there’s the dog,” said Sparky, pointing at a large dog that they could just about make out in the near complete darkness.

“That’s a cardboard cut-out, silly, the sort of thing we had as kids when we made toy theatres and made up plays to engtertain our parents. It’s been watching us all night!”

“We what?” asked Boney, “made up plays? That was for the poncy kids and I never did anything poncy! I was out with my mates with pretend guns or down by the stream, fishing.”

“Same here,” muttered Sparky, “I never made up any plays! I was a proper boy, and proper boys played with guns!”

“Shut up now,” hissed Murial, “and follow me. Keep exactly to my tread and we’ll avoid detection. Step out of line and there might be a camera on you, and then who knows what will happen. Maybe your guns will be aimed at us, Sparky.”

“We’ll follow you, but if you lead us into trouble it’ll be your fault,” Boney told her, scowling.

“That’s real nice of you, Boss,” muttered the woman, “and what bright ideas have either of you come up with, eh? And until we get away we’re stuck here, still miles from Santander and any chance of getting home. And no papers, remember: and remind me, whose fault is that?”

“That’s enough of that, Miss Saint John!” snapped Boney angrily.

“We’ve taken too long arguing,” urged Murial, “come on now, or it’ll be broad daylight and then goodness knows what we’ll do! It’s got to be a good long slog to the helicopter, anyway, about half a kilometre … or even further. And we’ll have to steer well clear of the cameras. I’ve made a mental map of the best way to avois being spotted and if you follow me exactly we’ll have a good chance of avoiding surveillance.”

“Bossy boots!” growled Sparky.

“Come on!” And Murial slipped out of the car where they’d slept the night, turning her nose up at the testosterone smell of feet and farts.

She stood straight up and took careful note of their bearings. It had been no problem for her to work out what she aaw as obstacles when she was in her seat in the car and make a mental note where cameras surveyed the immediate environment of the whole area, but the moment she stood outside the car the perspective and layout changed and she had to adapt her mental calculations to that.

“Come on then,” she urged when she had decided on the best way forwards, and slowly she, followed by the other tw agents, drifted like a black shadow towards the helicopter.

They were about half way to the shadowy shape of a helicopter, barely visible in the pre-dawn light, when it seemed to them that all hell been let out as flood lights made the scene suddenly seem brighter than day, and two or three dogs yapped excitedly whilst two watchmen. who clearly must have remained alert throughout the night, appeared it seemed from nowhere.

Boney knew that surrendering was the only option left to them even though they outnumbered the human guards, but those two had weapons and they didn’t.

In one move he pulled to a standstill and ordered Sparky and Murial to d the same.

“The game’s up,” he hissed. “all we can safely do is surrender.”

He slowly raised both of his hands in the air, and both of his companions did the same

“I’m sorry,” muttered Murial, “there must have been other cameras. This place is like Fort Knox!”

“Just keep your heads!” hissed Boney, “at least we might get fed!”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” whispered Sparky, and the three of them, accompanied by the enthusiasm of two barking dogs, walked towards the guards with their hands in the air.

“We’ve been expecting you,” called one of the two guards with barely a Soanish accent, grinning as if he’d won a lottery jackpot, “we were told you were hiding in that old wreck,” he pointed at the derelict car, “and couldn’t wait to greet you. Tea or coffee, is it, before the questions begin?”

© Peter Rogerson 12/11/22

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