Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (14 page)

-Chapter 25-

Sally finished up in the bathroom and put on her best clothes—a blue, long sleeve top, and charcoal Capri pants.  She hadn’t planned for a chance at a night on the town.  Galveston and I had combed our hair, and that was about it.

We walked out the front door of the small hotel and went up the street.  It was quiet out and only a few people were on the sidewalk with us.  We located the pub
Galveston had seen earlier.  It had a complicated Icelandic name that I couldn’t pronounce, but on the sign with the name there was a beer mug with a frothy head.

The pub was partially deserted except for a few men playing darts on a back wall.  Large, stuffed fish dotted the walls and strange fishing implements hung below them.  It was dark inside and had low ceilings, but it felt just like an English pub with an Icelandic twist.  I read a sign on the wall that said beer had been banned in
Iceland from 1915 to 1989, and under the final words it said, “njota”, the Icelandic word for enjoy.

I planned to do just that, and I walked up to the long wooden bar where a young barkeep greeted me.  I looked at the selection and pointed to an Icelandic beer called Viking Gylltur. 
Galveston, Joe, and Sally picked out their own varieties, and we sat at a table near the men playing darts.

We were all beginning to relax after going through the previous harrowing days.  We laughed, exchanged tastes from one another’s beers, and watched the men continue their lively game of darts. 
Galveston even joined in for a match, but his skill was no match for the regular pub patrons.  An hour passed, and slowly the establishment started to fill up.  Music began to play loudly, and the crowd became a mix of older professionals and younger college students from a nearby university.

After about three stout, Icelandic beers, my head began to swim a little, and I decided to step out for some fresh air.  The street outside didn’t match the increasing revelry inside the building, but it was a welcome break from the pump of the music. 
Galveston had made friends with many of the locals in the bar and decided not to join me since he was in the middle of one of his grand stories.

I took a deep breath in the cold, brisk air and started to blow air out of my mouth which turned into little puffs of steam.  Everyone walked in this area of town, so the street was eerily void of traffic.  As my head began to clear, I noticed something odd.  About a block down
, I observed a blue car, sitting alone with its engine running.  The windows were dark, and I couldn’t see who was inside.  I turned my head in the other direction and saw a similar car, white in color, doing the same thing. 

“That’s odd,” I thought while peering at the blue car out of the corner of my eye.  “I wonder what they’re waiting for.”

I was acting like an off-duty police officer—always on alert, and suspicious of everyone.  I was determined not to give in to my overactive imagination.  The chances of the gunmen from Greenland finding us on this tiny street were astronomical, even if they knew we were in the city.  We had taken the necessary precautions.  We were at the hotel under a assumed name, and we hadn’t made contact with anyone outside our close-knit group.

I return
ed to the fun and decided not to mention the mysterious two cars outside to the rest of the crew.  Galveston had surrounded himself with a small group of men and women who were hanging on his every word.  I returned to our original table where Sally and Joe were still nursing their second beers.

“Are you feeling better,” Joe asked kindly. 

“Yes, much.  I’m not much of a drinker,” I began.  “I can get a little tipsy on just a wine cooler.”

“I’m the same way,” Joe added.  He leaned toward me so I could hear him over the music.  “When do you think we can get out of here?  I mean, out of
Iceland and back home.”

“I think in two days we ought to make a move,” I tried to answer honestly.  “By then things will have died down enough.”

I turned to Sally who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the last hour.  “You okay?” I asked.

She blinked once and then realized I was talking to her.  “Oh, fine.  Yes, I’m fine,” she said without emotion.  Her eyes kept darting back to
Galveston.

“Uh-oh,” I thought to myself.  “I think Sally has a little crush on
Galveston.”  She seemed to be acting a bit jealous that she wasn’t holding his attention.

We sat and watched as
Galveston stood to demonstrate a part of the story he was telling.  It was interesting theater, but my mind kept going back to the image of the two cars sitting at opposite ends of the street.  For some reason I couldn’t fight my suspicion of why they were there.  I needed Galveston to take a look and tell me what he thought, or it was going to push me to buy another beer.

I excused myself from the table and walked over to
Galveston.  He had ended his latest story and a blond, attractive woman touched his arm and laughed.  I looked back at Sally, and she had replaced the non-emotional look with a scowl.

I bent down to
Galveston’s ear just as he was about to regale his new friends with another story.  “I need you to check something out for me.  It’s outside,” I whispered.

“Right now?”
he questioned, since he was on a roll and had his audience eating out of the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, right now.  It’s important.”

“Outside and important, that doesn’t make me feel good.” Galveston got up from the table.  “I’ll be right back everybody,” he announced.

Galveston
followed me to the door, but before we went out, I explained what I wanted him to look at.

“There are two cars parked on the street.  I just want you to take a look.”

“Okay,” Galveston answered with trepidation.

We walked out onto the sidewalk, and I motioned with my head toward the location of the first car so as not to look suspicious. 
Galveston looked down the street.

“What am I looking at?” he questioned.

I turned my head and saw nothing; the car was gone.  I turned my head in the other direction and that car was gone too.

“They were there, I swear,” I pleaded.

“I believe you, but they probably were picking someone up,” Galveston concluded.  “So you say they looked suspicious?” he asked, trying to placate me.

“Yes, they both had their engine’s running.  One was there,” I pointed, “and the other was over there.”

“Well, they’re not there now.  Those beers may have gone to your head.  You’re becoming more suspicious than me.”

I didn’t know what to think.  Maybe it was just a person waiting for a date or picking up someone after work.  I still thought it was odd.

“Okay, you’re right.  I guess I’m just on edge, especially after the shooting of Tony.”

“Sure, sure.  That’s understandable.  You need another drink.  I’m buying.”

Galveston opened the door to the bar, and I gave one last look up and down the street, just in case I missed something.  I followed Galveston into the bar.  Maybe another drink was just what I needed. 

I didn’t just have one more beer, I had three.  I was feeling no pain, and the thought of the suspicious cars began to fade from my mind.

The bar patron number began to thin as time went on.  I hadn’t closed down a bar since my college days, and I had a strange sense of pride I could do it now.  Just before the bartender was about to close up the pub, I noticed we were the last people standing, except for a new pair of dart players that had come in hours before.

Galveston
had left his Icelandic social group and joined us during the last hour or two.  I didn’t really know.  I had lost my sense of time by this point.  Joe and I talked about Nashville; things to do, and places to eat.  Galveston talked with Sally, whose demeanor had changed from a bit of jealousy to a wide smile. 

The bartender announced that the bar was closed, and we took that as our indication that we had to leave.  The two dart players followed us out the door.  Even in my semi-drunken state I saw them wait until we left first.  My sight was not that sharp at this point, but I could see they didn’t look like the other patrons that had been in the bar earlier.  “Tourists, like us,” I thought to myself.

I slapped Galveston on the back as we stood on the sidewalk.

“That was desperately needed,” I said with a slight slur of my speech.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.  You are a lightweight, aren’t you?”

“I had six beers over six hours, what do you think?”

Galveston laughed.  “Now you just have to make it back to the hotel.”

We turned and began our walk to our hotel, but we didn’t make it ten feet.  Behind us I heard the hum of an engine approaching.  I turned to see what was making the sound, and my view was obscured by the large frames of the two dart players.  They had serious looks on their faces.  I stopped in my tracks.

“Uh, Galveston,” I stammered.

“I’m not carrying you back to the hotel,” he replied.

The men did not move, and I could see a pair of headlights coming up the street.

“
Galveston,” I said with more urgency.

“What?” he said loudly as he turned around.  He saw the two men looming over me as I swayed side to side in front of them.  “Can we help you, gentlemen?” he asked, knowing something was amiss.

The men didn’t speak and just glared at Galveston and me.  The car was now right behind them and it stopped abruptly a few feet back from where we were.  I wanted to run, but there was no way my legs would allow it.

The next moment was so quick that I had difficulty even processing what was happening.  The two men from the pub pulled out handguns and pointed them at
Galveston and me.

“Don’t move, get your hands up, and keep quiet,” one of the men said without emotion.

I put my hands over my head, and Galveston did the same.  Joe and Sally hadn’t heard the man’s command but saw us put our hands in the air.  They stopped walking and mimicked our movements.  They each had an intense look of fear.  Just then, two men got out of the parked vehicle and walked toward us.  They were dressed in heavy, long coats with black boots.  I feared we had just been captured by the black clad men from Greenland.

One man from the car came up behind me and gave me a pat down just as the police would with a suspect, while the other man did the same to
Galveston.  The two men with the guns never took them off of us, and if it wasn’t for the alcohol coursing through my veins, I would have been petrified.

A second car came up the road, and it was then that I knew they were the same two cars I had noticed earlier.  I kicked myself for not sticking to my suspicions, but it wouldn’t have mattered.  These men had a clear plan in place.

The second car stopped next to Sally and Joe, and the passenger in the car got out and said a few words to them.  I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he motioned for them to get in the car.  Sally and Joe did as they were told and got in the backseat of the car.  I was afraid I would never see them again.

I watched as the car drove off.  “This is how it’s going to end?” I thought.  The alcohol was beginning to give me an increased amount of bravado.  We had to escape, or die trying.  I was clearly not thinking clearly.

I waited for an opportunity, and it came when the man behind me began to reach in my coat pocket.  I whirled around while his hand was caught in my pocket and turned him toward the man with the gun, shielding myself from gunman.  I pushed him into the armed man, and we all fell to the ground in unison.  The other man with a gun tried to intervene, but between the three bodies and the heavy clothing, he couldn’t pull us apart.  I struggled to get the weapon and managed to get a hold of the barrel.  I expected Galveston to be disposing of the man next to him, but I heard nothing except grunts from the two men I had on the ground.

“Roger, stop!” I heard
Galveston yell behind me. 

I didn’t stop and continued to struggle with the men, landing a few choice punches on each of them. 

“Roger!”  I felt a hand grab me by the collar.  I went to turn around and was ready to make a punch when I saw that it was Galveston.

“What the hell?” I screamed at him.

“Quiet down,” he ordered, holding my arms at my side.  “They’re CIA, Roger.  Now calm down.”

“What? What did you say,” I stammered.

“They’re CIA.  They’re not the men from Greenland,”

The two men on the ground were beginning to get up, groggy from the unexpected struggle. 

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I saw them come into the bar and watched them for over an hour,” he told me.  “You guys really should learn to not talk into your shirt sleeves,” he told the two gunmen and flashed them a scornful look.

The two gunmen didn’t speak and looked dejected.  No spy wanted to be fingered.

“You should have told me,” I said angrily.

“I’m sorry, but I figured they would just follow us back to the hotel, not apprehend us on the street.”