Robin Cook - Seizure

“It’s Monsignor Mansoni for sure,” she said. She and Daniel stared at each other.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Daniel blurted out.

“I don’t know. It’s the police who bother me, not the priest.”

“Obviously,” Daniel retorted angrily.

“Where is the shroud sample?”

“I told you earlier. It’s in my laptop case.”

“Hey, don’t yell at me.”

The line moved ahead. With the man behind them breathing down Daniel’s neck, he felt obligated to push the cart forward. Moving closer to the counter exacerbated both their anxieties.

“Maybe this is just a case of overactive imaginations,” Stephanie suggested hopefully.

“It’s too big a coincidence to explain away as mere paranoia,” Daniel responded. “If it were just the priest or just the police it would be one thing, but with both at this particular counter, it’s something else entirely. The problem is, we are going to have to make some sort of decision here. I mean, not doing anything is a decision of sorts, because in a couple of minutes, we’ll be front and center, and whatever is going to happen will happen.”

“At this point, what is there that we can do? We’re hemmed in here by a crowd of people and burdened with a truckload of luggage. Worst case, we give them the sample if that’s what they want.”

“There wouldn’t be this many uniformed policemen if they were merely planning to confiscate the sample.”

“Excuse me,” an out-of-breath, panicky voice called from behind them in irrefutable American English.

As tense as Stephanie and Daniel were, their heads shot around in unison to confront an obviously distressed cleric with wild, staring eyes. The man’s chest was heaving, presumably from the exertion of running, while beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. Adding to his distraught appearance was an unshaven face and an uncombed shock of red hair, both of which were in sharp contrast to his reasonably pressed priestly attire. Apparently he’d reached Stephanie and Daniel by forcing his way between the check-in counter queues, judging from the expressions of irritation on nearby travelers’ faces.

“Dr. Lowell and Dr. D’Agostino!” Father Michael Maloney panted. “It is imperative that I talk with you.”

“Scusi!” the man behind Daniel said irritably. He gestured for Daniel to move ahead. The line had advanced, and while eyeing Michael, Daniel had yet to do so.

Daniel motioned for the man to go ahead of them, and he gladly did.

Michael cast a quick glance ahead over the top of Daniel and Stephanie’s luggage cart. Catching sight of the monsignor and the police, he ducked down and squeezed in alongside Daniel. “We have only a few seconds,” he blurted in a forced whisper. “You must not check in for your flight to Paris!”

“How do you know our names?” Daniel questioned.

“There’s no time for me to explain.”

“Who are you?” Stephanie asked. There was something about the man she recognized, but she couldn’t place him.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. What is important is that you are about to be arrested, and the shroud sample will be confiscated.”

“I remember you,” Stephanie said. “You were in the café when we were given the sample yesterday.”

“Please!” Michael begged. “You have to get away from here. I have a car. I will get you out of Italy.”

“Drive?” Daniel questioned, as if the suggestion was ridiculous.

“It is the only way. Planes, trains, all mass transit will be watched, but particularly planes and particularly this flight to Paris. I’m serious; you are about to be arrested and jailed. Believe me!”

Daniel and Stephanie exchanged glances. Both were thinking the same thing: This distraught priest’s sudden arrival and warning was unbelievably serendipitous, which lent powerful credence to what had been a mere fearful supposition seconds earlier. They were not going to check in for the flight to Paris.

Daniel started to turn the luggage cart around. Michael grabbed his arm. “There’s no time for all the luggage.”

“What are you talking about?” Daniel demanded.

Michael craned his neck to steal a brief glance at the counter a mere twenty feet away. Instantly, he pulled his head back down like a turtle, hunching his shoulders. “Damn! Now I’ve been seen, which means we’re all seconds away from disaster here. Unless you are interested in spending time in jail, we have to run. You have to leave most of the baggage! You have to make a decision about what is more important: your freedom or your luggage.”

“It’s all my summer clothes,” Stephanie said. She was aghast at the idea.

“Signore!” the man behind Daniel said, with obvious irritation, while gesturing for Daniel to move forward. “Va! Va via!” A number of people behind him chimed in as well. The queue had again moved forward, and by blocking the back of the line, Daniel and Stephanie were causing a scene.

“Where’s the sample?” Michael demanded. “And your passports?”

“They’re in my shoulder bag,” Daniel responded.

“Good!” Michael snapped. “Keep your shoulder bags, but leave the rest! Later, I’ll have the U.S. consulate try to deal with the remainder of your belongings and forward it to wherever you are going beyond London. Come on!” He tugged at Daniel’s arm while pointing away from the counter.

Daniel looked over the top of the loaded cart just in time to see Monsignor Mansoni grab the arm of one of the uniformed policemen and point in their direction. With mounting urgency, Daniel switched his attention to Stephanie. “I think we better do as he says.”

“Fine! We’ll leave the bags.” Stephanie responded with resignation by throwing up her arms.

“Follow me!” Michael barked. As rapidly as he could, he led the way away from the luggage cart. Travelers in the immediate area who were pressed together in their queues parted reluctantly and sluggishly. While repeating “scusi” over and over, Michael was forced to push people aside and trip over hand luggage resting on the floor. Daniel and Stephanie followed in his footsteps as if Michael were blazing a trail through a jungle of human beings. It was frustratingly hard going, and the effort reminded Stephanie of a nightmare she’d been having when Daniel awakened her an hour and a half earlier.

Cries of “alt!” coming from behind them spurred them on to greater efforts. Breaking free from the crowds surrounding the check-in counters, their progress was significantly easier, but Michael restrained them from running.

“It would be one thing if we were running into the terminal,” Michael explained. “Running out will attract too much attention. Just walk quickly!”

All at once, directly ahead, two youthful-looking policemen appeared, hurrying toward them with their machine guns unslung from their shoulders.

“Oh, no!” Daniel moaned. He slowed.

“Keep going!” Michael said between clenched teeth. Behind them, there was now an audible commotion with unintelligible shouts.

Heading on a collision course, the two groups closed in on each other rapidly. Both Daniel and Stephanie were sure the policemen were coming to apprehend them, and it wasn’t until the last minute that they realized they weren’t. Both sighed with relief as the policemen swept by without a glance, presumably rushing toward the furor at the check-in area.

Other travelers began stopping to stare at the policemen, with varying degrees of fear registered on their faces. After 9/11, disturbances at an airport anyplace in the world, no matter what the cause, put people on edge.

“My car is at arrivals on the lower level,” Michael explained, as he directed them toward the stairs. “There was no way I could leave it even for a moment on the departure level.”