CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Piccadilly line from Cockfosters ran all the way to Heathrow. Having no where else to go, Rory decided to head directly to the airport and make plans once they arrived. Kieran was more comfortable with the underground the second time around and showed little of the fear he had displayed previously. As he observed the people, the passing sights, and even tried to comprehend a modern-day newspaper, Rory wrestled with the guilt of having left Bud behind.
But all thoughts of Bud’s jeopardy aside, a very real problem remained; getting Kieran to Israel. The man obviously had no birth certificate and no identification whatsoever, which made applying for a passport rather difficult. Short of smuggling him on the plane, she was at a loss as to what to do and her distress increased the closer they drew to the airport.
Kieran, of course, had no idea what a passport was. And the first time he saw an airplane take off, Rory thought he was going to burst a vein; his eyes widened as the roar of engines shook the terminal and he grabbed hold of her, refusing to let go. Not for his own protection as he pointed out, but for hers. Rory thought there might be a little bit of falsehood to his statement, but she didn’t let on. If he wanted to protect her from the overwhelming concept of an airplane, then she would go along.
As Kieran continued to marvel at the jets, Rory was determined to organize their priorities. Providing Bud could hold off Corbin and Scotland Yard for any amount of time, the need to leave England was nonetheless pressing. Moving to the big display screens that announced arriving and departing flights, it took Rory nearly forty minutes to locate a flight leaving for Middle East.
Another few minutes and she succeeded in finding a TWA flight that departed for Israel, but it was scheduled to leave in less than two hours. Checking with the TWA representative, she discovered that the next flight from Heathrow to Tel Aviv wasn’t until the next day. Not wanting to wait that long, it was essential that she figure out how to get Kieran a passport. And she had an hour and forty-seven minutes in which to do it.
The terminals at Heathrow were spotted with bars and restaurants designed for the weary and nervous traveler. With Kieran clinging to her like an over-sized coat, his eyes glued to the windows as the planes took off, she directed him into a dimly-lit bar. Seating him along the windows where he could continue to watch the great flying vehicles, she ordered two very stiff drinks.
Kieran downed his in one swallow, smacking his lips with satisfaction. In fact, the quality of the alcohol was enough to distract him from the airplanes. “What is this liquor, Libby?”
She toyed with the rim of her glass, lost in thought. “Bacardi One-Fifty-One. It’s rum.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pleasing.”
She looked up at him and couldn’t help but laugh. “Kieran, this stuff is designed to burn a hole in your stomach.”
He smiled as she laughed, motioning the bartender for another. “’Tis the only drink I’ve had since my awakening that hasn’t possessed the taste and consistency of water. I rather like this… this… what did you call it?”
“Gasoline.”
He scowled weakly as she continued to giggle. “Insolent wench,” he growled, taking her hand and playing with her fingers. “But at least you are smiling. I have not seen you smile all day.”
The bartender brought Kieran’s drink. Kieran told the man to bring the bottle, which wasn’t a particularly strange request in an airport. Rory watched as the swarthy-skinned bartender returned to his cabinet of alcohol.
“Good Lord,” she sighed, her humor fading. “I just can’t figure how to get you to Israel.”
He downed his drink. “Because I do not have a pass-a-port?”
“Passport,” she said softly, hardly looking up when three loud men entered the bar and sat at the counter. She had explained the concept of passports while they were on the subway and he thought the whole idea ridiculous. “Without a birth certificate, you can’t get one. And I wouldn’t know where to go to get an illegal passport. Besides, even if I did, we don’t have time. We need one now.”
Kieran cocked an eyebrow in thought as the bartender put the bottle of Bacardi on the table. Presenting Rory with the check, she begrudgingly paid.
“And that’s another thing,” she muttered. “I’m almost out of money and my credit card is maxed out.”
He watched her as she struggled to sort out their problems, wishing he could do more to help. “I used to have a good deal of money at my disposal,” he said softly, caressing her hand. “But you took it from me when you uncovered my grave.”
She looked up from her glass, smiling ironically. “I know. And now I’m sorry I didn’t keep your coinage like I kept your journal.”
He met her smile, kissing her fingers as the rowdy group at the bar began toasting one other. Rory looked up as Kieran downed another shot of rum, watching the three men and deducing from their broken accents that they were returning to their native country. One man was particularly large with light brown hair and a flashing smile. His English was broken as he spoke to his friends and as Rory watched, the origins of an idea suddenly took hold.
“Kieran,” she squeezed his hand. “Do you see that guy over there? The one in the blue shirt?”
He glanced over with the customarily haughty expression that men use when inspecting one another. “What of him?”
She squeezed his hand again as her plan began to take shape. “I said I didn’t have time to get you an illegal passport, which is the only way you’ll be able to get one,” she looked at him, her hazel eyes glittering. “But we’ve got time to steal one.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Steal one?”
She nodded firmly. “Look at that guy,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “He’s about your size and coloring, and he looks a little bit like you, too. Not enough of a difference on a passport photo, I’d guess. Especially if we scuff up the print quality a little bit, just enough to muddle it.”
Kieran appeared very interested. “Indeed,” he mumbled, stroking his chin. “And just how do we steal his pass-a-port?”
Rory’s mind was working furiously. After a moment, she dug into her purse and withdrew her compact. Freshening her makeup, she took out a little bottle of expensive designer perfume and sprayed it on her neck. Kieran continued to watch her, curiously, until he began to suspect what she was up to.
“Nay, lady,” he suddenly said firmly, grabbing her hand when she tried to stand up. “I will not allow this.”
She made sure her back was turned to the counter as she faced him. “We don’t have much of a choice. Look, I’ll get him drunk and try to get his identification off him. You just sit here in the shadows and keep quiet.”
She tried to move away but he had a firm hold on her. “I told you that I will not permit you to… to prostitute yourself in this manner,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “I will not permit my wife to display herself as a common whore, no matter what the motive.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” she yanked her hand away and he stood up, towering over her. In lieu of becoming upswept in a physical confrontation, since her plan was the only solid scheme she had managed to come up with, she put her hands on his chest to soothe him. “Please, baby, please. Just sit down and let me do this. I promise I won’t let it get out of hand. Please?”
He cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly resistant. “There must be another way, Libby. Mayhap we can purchase his pass-a-port from him?”
“With what?” she shot back quietly. “I’ve got about thirty pounds on me, Kieran. After we steal his passport, we’re going to have to rob a bank to pay for our airline tickets.”
His face was molded in a permanent frown. She had sacrificed so much for him and he was only being difficult; certainly, he had trusted her implicitly since the moment of his awakening. He would simply have to keep trusting her, no matter how ridiculous the scheme. No matter how badly he wished he could simply take the man into a darkened alley and steal his passport the proper way.
… proper way?
“Lib,” he said softly, a plot of his own taking hold. “I will agree to this scheme under one condition; that you allow me to steal the pass-a-port. Buy him all of the liquor he can drink and when he moves to relieve himself, I shall take care of him.”
Rory looked thoughtfully at the counter, noting that the lavatories were across the wide hall directly in her line of sight. Since she wasn’t a particularly accomplished pick-pocket, the thought of Kieran manhandling the victim was somewhat appealing. At least Kieran would have a better chance.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll get him drunk and you can take the passport when he goes to the bathroom. They’re over there, across the hall. See the sign?”
“I do.”
“And don’t kill him. We just need his passport, not his blood.”
He nodded faintly, feeling more in control of the situation now that he was a viable player. Kissing Rory on the forehead, he moved past her and slipped by the counter without being noticed. Rory watched as he moved across the hall, pausing to linger by the large lavatory sign. With a deep breath for courage, she moved to the bar and took a seat next to her unsuspecting victim.
He was Swedish. Iarn, a name she could scarcely pronounce, was leaving England after a brief holiday with his brother’s family. When his two friends saw that their companion had found more attractive company, they said their fare-wells and quit the bar. Trapped in the intense gaze of the large Swede, Rory struggled to maintain her poise while dodging his amorous hands.
She was glad that Kieran couldn’t see what was happening, for he certainly would have recanted his pledge not to kill the man. Iarn’s hands were on Rory’s knees, moving up her thighs, when suddenly they’d be on her shoulder and into her hair. She bought him several drinks under the weak pretense of celebrating the end of their respective holidays and he drank heartily of the dark, high-alcohol-content ale.
Ale that was making him quite drunk. He was actually a nice man, a bit too aggressive, and Rory was caught off guard when he suddenly grabbed her and planted a big, wet kiss right on her lips. Over Iarn’s shoulder, she caught Kieran’s expression and suddenly he was moving across the wide corridor toward them. In a panic, she told Iarn she had to use the Ladies’ Room and seductively asked that he wait for her. She hoped it would be enough of an incentive to make him stay.
But her bigger concern at the moment was heading off Kieran’s offensive. No sooner did she leave the bar than she ran head-long into him, throwing her arms around him to halt his advance. Her frantic pleas somehow broke through his haze of fury and she managed to turn him around before Iarn caught sight of them both. Dragging him behind a bank of telephones, she pulled him into a small alcove partially hidden from the rest of the terminal.
“Calm down, baby,” she murmured, her lips against his cheek. “He’s just drunk. You really can’t blame him.”
Kieran crushed her in his massive embrace, smelling her perfume and feeling her delicious warmth against him. “Bastard,” he muttered, still not entirely composed. “To steal a kiss is surely…”
She kissed him once, twice, smiling gently when he responded. “There,” she whispered, kissing him again. “You’ve erased him. Now, will you please go back to your post? I think he’s about to break.”
“Not before I break him first,” Kieran growled, giving in to her kisses and plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. Rory gasped softly, feeling his rock-hard arousal against her thigh already.
“Kieran, please,” she tried to avoid his seeking mouth, putting her hand over his lips. “Not now. There’s no time. We’ve got to get Iarn’s passport.”
“I would rather have you,” he muttered against her open palm.
She grinned. “Be a good boy and get the passport. There will be time enough for our pleasures later.”
He sighed, displeased and eager to be done with it all. “Very well,” he lowered her to the ground. “But this had better be finished soon. The more I watch him touch you, the more I want to snap his neck.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You promised you wouldn’t kill him and I’ll hold you to it. Killing a man is much more serious these days than it was in your time. If you think I’m in trouble for breaking into a morgue and stealing a body, that’s nothing compared to murder.”
He matched her raised eyebrow. “Then you had better hurry with your plot to separate the man from his pass-a-port. I cannot guarantee my control much longer.”
“You have to,” she whispered, touching his cheek seriously. “No matter what he does, you have to stay calm. If we’re going to get back to Nahariya, this is the only way.”
He didn’t look happy. Rory pecked him on the cheek before peering around the corner of the small alcove, making sure the coast was clear. Noting all was calm, she emerged from the alcove and returned to the bar as Kieran resumed his position near the lavatories.
Iarn was extremely pleased to see her again. Rory spent the remainder of her money on more beer, struggling to keep his happy hands from groping her. Intermittently, she would glance at Kieran only to note he seemed to be more displeased by the minute. When someone put a quarter in the jukebox and a romantic melody began to play, Iarn decided he wanted to dance and pulled Rory off her bar stool.
She had been positive Kieran would come storming into the bar only to remove Iarn’s head from his shoulders and was quite surprised when no violence was forthcoming. When Iarn’s dancing feet moved aside to allow her a clear view of Kieran still by the lavatories, she could see plainly that the knight’s face was red. She’d never seen him red before.
The color of his cheeks was a supreme indication of his level of emotion and Rory was proud that he had held his anger in check so well. When the music stopped and Iarn released her, Rory quickly decided to cut her charade short for if only for Kieran’s sake.
Since the inebriated Swede could hold a gallon of liquor before relieving his bladder, she was forced consider an alternative plan. Thinking quickly, she collected her half-empty drink and ‘accidentally’ sloshed it all over the front of his expensive shirt.
“Oh!” she gasped with mock surprise. “I’m so sorry, Iarn. If you go and rinse the stains with water immediately, they should wash out.”
He stared at his shirt, unconcerned. “No matter. I am only going home soon.”
She wouldn’t let him reclaim his seat, pushing the uncooperative victim in the direction of the restrooms. “But this ale stains terribly. And it stinks. You don’t want to go around smelling like a brewery, do you?”
He shrugged, completely sotted. “I do already.”
“But this makes it worse,” pushing this guy was like trying to move a wall. In fact, it was very much like trying to move Kieran. “Please go and rinse out the stains. I’ll wait for you.”
He let her shove him out into the terminal hall, waving at her when she smiled sweetly. Staggering, sweating and all, he wobbled his way across the corridor and nearly bumped into Kieran as the man stood beside the lavatory door. Rory watched, heart in her throat, as Kieran ducked into the lavatory behind him.
Immediately, her smile faded and she hurried to collect her purse and Kieran’s duffle bag. Her chest was twisting with nerves as she left the bar, eyes glued to the door of the lavatory as she leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor.
Rory lost track of time waiting for Kieran to appear. It seemed to take forever when, in fact, it had only been a matter of minutes. A few men went into the lavatory, all of them re-emerging a respectable amount of time later, but still no Kieran. Rory paced, chewed her nails, and wondered if she shouldn’t go in. Just as she was feeling particularly panicky, Kieran suddenly exited the blue lavatory door and headed directly for her.
Rory could barely contain her anxiety. “Well?” she hissed. “What happened?”
From the pocket of his new flannel shirt purchased at Fortnum and Mason, he pulled out a small black billfold. Rory almost collapsed; snatching it from his awkward hands, she studied the contents.
“Thank God,” she murmured. “His name is Iarn Solv Britson. Twenty-nine years old, six feet four inches and two hundred and twenty pounds. Brown hair, hazel eyes… Good Lord, Kieran, this is perfect!”
He smiled, looking down at the strange plastic card. “Indeed,” he replied, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “A pleasant enough man, actually. I rather enjoyed speaking with him.”
She looked at him, an eyebrow cocked. “You spoke with him? About what?”
He grinned. “You, of course. He was quite smitten with you and I told him he was wasting his time. We conversed as I was helping him clean his shirt.”
“You helped him clean his shirt?”
“I had to do something while the privy was occupied by a collection of potential witnesses.”
“And after they left?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her away from the wall and heading back toward the ticket counters. “I subdued him, of course,” he reached into his pocket again. “And took this as well.”
Rory looked at the brown leather wallet. Casting a long glance at Kieran, she opened the billfold and counted the money inside. “It’s not enough,” she said softly. “I know you were only trying to help by stealing his wallet, but I really wouldn’t feel right taking it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You felt right enough stealing his pass-a-port.”
“That’s different,” she looked away, staring at the two wallets in her hand and wondering if she was really destined for a life of crime. “We needed his passport because there wasn’t any alternative. But his money… I have other ways of getting it, and not illegal ones. Good Lord, I’m starting to feel like Bonnie and Clyde.”
His brow furrowed as they began to pass through the crowd of people waiting in line for the ticket counter. “Who are Bonnie and Clyde?”
She shook her head; making sure no one was watching, she casually moved to the nearest trash can and dumped Iarn’s wallet into the mess below. Clutching his passport with photo I.D. and Stockholm driver’s license, she put it in her purse.
“They were a famous pair of criminals,” she muttered, her gaze searching for a phone. “Which is exactly what we’re turning into. By the way; what did you do with Iarn?”
Kieran looked down at her, his manner cool and confident. “Knocked him in the jaw, pulled his breeches down around his ankles and set him on the porcelain bowl,” he said smoothly. “Locking the door from the inside, I left him in the stall. It will appear to anyone looking at his feet that he is simply relieving himself.”
She had to smile. “You even think like a criminal, you naught boy.”
He put both arms around her affectionately as Rory spied a bank of phones. “Ah, lady, you’ve yet to see just how naughty I am.”
She giggled as he nipped at her ear, her lightening mood indicative of the fact that her plan seemed to be working thusfar. Comfortable that no one would discover poor Iarn until the man awoke from unconsciousness, by which time she and Kieran would hopefully be on a plane to Tel Aviv, she was able to shake some of the doom and gloom of their predicament. Just one final step in her master scheme was all that need be accomplished. But it was a final step that she was dreading more than any other.
The phones were somewhat private as Kieran took the small stool and settled her on his lap. Rory dug about in her wallet for her calling card as he watched.
“What are you going to do now?”
She picked up the receiver. “Get money for our tickets.”
He watched her punch in the code. “How?”
Finished dialing, she turned to look at him, the warmth of her expression fading. “By begging.”
*
Dr. Sylvia Lunde picked up the brass and porcelain phone in her small office. “Hello?”
“Hi, mother. It’s me.”
Sylvia didn’t say anything for a moment, stunned. “Rory?” she finally gasped. “For Heaven’s Sake… Rory, where are you? What’s going on?”
On Kieran’s lap, Rory felt like she was five years old again. Neglected, ashamed, prepared for the verbal lashing that was sure to come. Her mother always had that effect on her.
“In London,” she said. “I need your help.”
Ever-present liquor on her desk, Sylvia poured from a Tupperware bottle and into a dainty tea cup. “Uncle Uriah’s on his way, Rory. I can’t help you. Maybe he can.”
“No, mother, not like that,” Rory was struggling with her courage. “I need you to send me some money.”
“Money?”
“About two thousand dollars.”
Sylvia almost spilled the liquor in her cup. “Two thousand dollars! For what?”
Rory sighed, feeling her bravery wan. Kieran was gazing at her with concern, kissing her shoulder when she appeared to falter. “Please, mother, don’t ask any questions,” she said with quiet urgency. “Just wire me the money. I swear I’ll never ask for anything else ever again.”
“Never ask for anything ever again?” Sylvia repeated incredulously. “My God, Rory, you’ve already asked for quite a bit in your lifetime, countless favors and demands that have constantly taxed my patience. And now you have the nerve to demand money when you’re in trouble with the law?”
Rory began to shake, feeling belittled and humiliated. “So… what? You’re telling me that if I don’t pay you back for everything I’ve ever asked for, you’re not going to help me now when I really need it the most?”
Sylvia took a drink from her cup. “I didn’t say that,” she muttered. The cup smacked the delicate saucer as she set it down heavily. “Look, little girl; you’re in a lot of trouble and I’m not going to help you out one bit. You got yourself into this and you’re just going to have to get yourself out. What’s the money for, anyway? Bail?”
Rory was verging on tears. Not unusual when it came to her mother’s cold manner. She remained silent a moment, pondering her mother’s words and knowing the woman meant what she said. And she knew without a doubt that she couldn’t tell her the truth.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “It’s for bail. Can you please wire it to me?”
On the other end of the line, Sylvia poured herself another drink. “For Heaven’s sake, Rory,” she grumbled into the phone, taking a healthy swig. “How on earth do you get yourself into these messes?”
Rory blinked back her tears of frustration. “I’ll explain later. I know it wouldn’t do any good to tell you that my motives were true, because you wouldn’t believe me. Just… please send me the money, mother. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.”
Sylvia felt the liquor in her veins, the familiar warmth and comfort. A warmth and comfort that only served to fuel her disgust in her only child. “We’re beyond that, I think,” she said quietly. “We went well beyond amends when you embarrassed me by abducting an ancient corpse. Just tell me one thing; what in the hell were you thinking?”
Rory could feel Kieran’s hand on her back, stroking her gently. Feeling more love and tenderness from a man she had known less than a week than from her own mother. A woman who had never loved her, who had used her as a whipping post for her own alcoholism and personal failure.
“I guess I was thinking that no matter what I do, no matter what I’ve ever done, I can never be the daughter you’ve always wanted me to be,” her voice was quaking. “Good grades didn’t do it. Gifts I made for you in Girl Scouts didn’t do it. I even offered my thanks to you in my high school Valedictorian speech, but that didn’t do it either. The only time I ever saw an inkling of respect in your eyes is when I went before the board of regents and proposed my dig. And even then, it was short-lived. The only respect you ever had for me was in knowing what I could do for your career if my archaeological site was successful.”
On the other end of the receiver, Sylvia took another long, healthy swallow. “You want me to send you money and resort to insults to get it? That’s just like you, Rory. The tactics of an idiot.”
Rory closed her eyes, fighting off a harsh retort. Instead, she took a deep breath and struggled for composure. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, mother,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “Will you please send me the money now, before we start saying things we’ll both regret?”
“I’ve never regretted anything I’ve said to you,” Sylvia took another drink. “You never heard me, any way.”
“I always tried to.”
Sylvia took a deep breath, glancing at the clock and realizing she had a speech to deliver at a breakfast meeting in a couple of hours. Enough time to get the smell of liquor off her breath and recover from her daughter’s phone call. But the more she pondered Rory’s behavior, the more sickened she became.
“Damn you,” she finally hissed. “How could you do this to me, Rory? How?”
Rory sighed, a catch in her breath as she wrestled against the tears. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry, that I’ll swear before the entire university board that you had nothing to do with my actions? What do you want me to tell you, mother?”
Sylvia’s temples were pounding. “Tell me why you did it!”
Rory clenched her teeth, her chest exploding with emotional rage. “Why?” she repeated. “All right, mother. I’ll tell you. It was because the corpse I dug up was my find, my property. Uncle Uriah and Bud practically forced me to turn it over to the proper English authorities when what I really wanted to do was keep it. So I did. I kept it.”
“Is Dietrich in on this wild plot?”
“Not at all. This is all my doing, mother. My blame. And yours.”
Sylvia’s brow furrowed deeply. “My blame? How can you say that?”
Rory’s jaw ticked as she formed her careful reply. “Because I received more satisfaction and warmth from this corpse than I ever got from you,” her voice was scarcely above a snarl. “Now wire me my damn money and I swear you’ll never hear from me again.”
Sylvia tried to drink from her cup and ended up dropping it on the desk. Infuriated, she hurled the saucer across the room and smashed it against the wall. “I’ve waited thirty years to hear you say that!” she shouted into the phone, scrambling for a pen and a piece of paper, her hands shaking with too much alcohol and a myriad of wild emotions. “Tell me where you are and I’ll send it to you. Consider it my last payment to your cause, Rory Osgrove. After this, we’re finished.”
Rory was beginning to crumble in spite of Kieran’s reassuring embrace. Wondering if her mother knew what she was saying and truthfully not caring; she didn’t need the woman any longer. Thirty years of torture had finally come to a head and Rory was willing to wipe her hands of the woman who had raised her as a duty, not as a pleasure.
“Send the money to the Western Union office at Heathrow Airport,” her whispered voice was quaking. “I’ll have someone pick it up.”
Sylvia scribbled the information, her sharp actions knocking her Tupperware decanter onto the carpet. Groaning at yet another disaster, she clutched the paper in her hand. “Two thousand dollars, Rory, and not another penny. You’ve embarrassed me for the last time.”
“I hope so,” the tears spilled down Rory’s face. “Thank you for the money, mother.”
On the receiving end of the gratitude, Sylvia’s emotional state was gaining momentum. “You’re welcome to it if it will sever all ties between us,” she rasped. Then, abruptly, she seemed to slide into an eerie calm as she collected her spilled decanter. “By the way, Rory. Since this is the end of our association, I have a confession to make. I lied to you.”
More tears spilled down Rory’s face, faster than Kieran could wipe them away. “What about?”
“When you were born,” Sylvia was weaving unsteadily, grasping her desk for support. “Your father wasn’t a naval pilot as I’ve told you all these years. He was a drunken marine sergeant with four children and a pregnant wife. He bought me a round of drinks in a bar in San Diego and we made love all night, resulting in you. I don’t know what was worse; sleeping with a married man or having his baby. You don’t know how many times I wished you had never been born.”
Rory closed her eyes, struggling to keep rein on her sobs. Kieran simply held her closer. “His name was Clarence Lucas. He found me two years ago through a private detective and we had dinner together. A nice man, mother. You really should have contemplated the fact that he might try to find me someday, considering you told him you were pregnant.”
Rory tried to slam the phone into the cradle but missed. Sylvia heard the sobs on the other end of the line as her daughter wept loudly. Rory didn’t hear the sobs from America as her mother wept loudly, too.