Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (26 page)

“Hasn’t happened in a long time,” Doug said. “But when it does, look out.” Somewhere far away a big jet roared into the sky.

“Anything documented?”

“You mean is there someone you can call on the phone who would back me up? Like a shrink or something?”

“Yeah. A shrink or something.”

Doug shrugged his shoulders, frowning. “I used to see one a long time ago when I was a kid. He believed me. And there’s this police lieutenant.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you and screw up half the scheduling at this airport?”

“Don’t.” Doug shrugged.

“Tell me why I should.”

“Look, if you let that plane fly don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“The plane ain’t flying yet, mister. Because of you they took all the passengers off and they’re searching for a bomb.”

“Bomb!” Doug said. “You think there’s a bomb on board?”

“Isn’t there?”

“You think that’s what this is about?”

“Well, you’re not carrying any box cutters.”

“Listen, I don’t have any luggage. How do you think I got a bomb on board?”

“What exactly, Mr. McArthur do you think you’re doing here?” Heart Attack was sweating rivers now and his florid face was covered in white blotches. Doug could see the pulse pounding at his temples.

“I told you, once in a while I get
a feeling.”

“Sort of like
a . . . vision, you mean?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“And what happened in this . . . vision?”

“The plane went into a dive.”

“Did you see it crash?”

“Not exactly.”

“What makes you think it will?”

“I can’t explain it. I just . . . have this feeling.”

“All right, Mr. McArthur, we’re going to hold you here until the aircraft has been thoroughly searched. If nothing is found then the bird flies, and so do you. As far away from here as possible.”

“Pleasure,” Doug said, “but you’re making a mistake.”

“By letting you go?”

Doug shot Heart Attack a severe frown.  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“What I get, asshole,” Heart Attack said, his face purple now and looking like it might explode any second, “is that you have seen fit to screw up the scheduling at this airport and put a lot of people to a lot of trouble. If I had my way you’d serve time just for that.”

“You stupid bureaucratic idiot,” Doug said
and tried to stand. The flunkies pushed him back down into his seat.

“Now we’re gonna sit real peaceful-like,”
Heart Attack said, “until we get word that things are copasetic.”

The phone on the desk rang. Heart Attack picked it up. He didn’t talk
for a long time, just listened, his face blanching. Finally he said, “Yes, sir. A wallet. No, sir, nothing else. I’m sure.” Heart attack hung up and looked at Doug, his face slightly slack. The two flunkies were looking at their boss like he’d lost his mind but they didn’t say a word.

“You know who that was?”
Heart Attack asked.

“I look like a mind reader to you?”

Heart Attack’s face went suddenly red with rage. “It was the FBI,” he said.

Doug stiffened. “What did they want?”

“They’ve been doing a little checking into your background while we’ve been sitting here twiddling our thumbs. And you know what they found out?”

Doug shrugged. “Let me see now,” he said, feigning interest. “They found out that I live up in the sticks of
Maine; that I’m a carpenter who goes to work every day carrying a lunch pail. That I’ve been married ten years to the same woman—”

“That your father-in-law is
Édouard De Roché.”

One of the flunkies whistled.

Doug didn’t say a word, just stared at the man. He wondered why Heart Attack suddenly looked like he was about to
have
a heart attack?

“Against my better judgment I have been instructed to let you go, Mr. McArthur.
” He placed the object back in the soft piece of cloth, wrapped it, and slid it, along with Doug’s wallet, back across the desk. Doug picked the objects up and put them back in his pocket. “You are to be given a one-way first-class seat on the next flight to Boston. You hang tight here for another minute or so and they’re going to personally hand-deliver your ticket and escort you back to the terminal.” He smiled but it was more of a grimace. “Sorry we bothered you, Mr. McArthur.” He glared angrily at one of the flunkies. “Un-cuff him!”

The original flight was cleared and took off without Doug aboard and without further incident, as far as he knew. More than a little bit ragged-out by the morning’s events he wandered aimlessly through the terminal while waiting for his flight, which was scheduled to leave Tampa for Boston at 1:45. He found a phone kiosk and tried calling Jennings, but only got his voice mail. He left a message saying he’d been put on a later flight, gave Jennings the particulars and hung up. Unable to relax, he finally ducked into an airport café, took a table and ordered a cup of coffee.

Airport security had talked to the FBI, which meant they knew where he was. So, if what
Jennings had said about the FBI looking for him was true then why hadn’t they grabbed him? Something didn’t add up.

He put his hand in his jacket pocket, feeling the solidness of the artifact through the softness of the fabric. It felt warm to his touch, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. He remembered when the dying old priest had passed it to him, how it had glowed with heat and changed its shape. Had he just imagined that? 

There are those who believe it is the path to God.

Suddenly Doug began to imagine things. The man standing over by the door of the café was one of De Roché’s henchmen, paid to follow him, perhaps to kill him when the opportunity arose. The two men in suits sitting two tables down were FBI agents waiting to nab him. The pretty woman in the short beige skirt and white blouse sitting at the bar who kept giving Doug sidelong glances was a conspirator as well. Was she an assassin? FBI?
CIA? NSA? She looked familiar, but Doug did not know why. He did know that bad things sometimes came in unlikely packages.

His coffee gone, he stood to leave when the woman slid off her stool and approached him.

“You look lost,” she said.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” Doug said, suddenly recognizing her. She was the woman in the seat across from him on the plane.

“That was quite a stunt,” she said.

“No stunt,” Doug said, sizing her up. “Why’d you get off?”

“I had a feeling.”

“You believed me?”

“Well . . . I’m here.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Tough question.”

“How many others got off?”

“A handful. Most just wrote you off as . . .”

“A nut case?” Doug finished for her.

She averted her eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“What do
you
think?”

“Let’s just say I’m intrigued.” She smiled. Her teeth were good and she had nice dimples. Doug’s face felt warm and flushed.

“Listen,” she said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

He felt awkward, but she was absolutely right about him being lost. He needed friendly company and he guessed she was okay. “Sure.”

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

“You mean on the plane? I don’t know. Something just snapped and it was there, the whole thing.”

The woman stared at him, impossible for him to read her expression. “Lucy,” she said, offering her hand. “Lucy Ferguson.”

“
Doug McArthur,” he said taking it. “You don’t look like a Lucy.”

“You don’t look like a famous
World War II military hero.”

“My grandfather served under him in
Korea.”

“
Korea?”

“Yeah, a lot of people don’t know he was in the Korean War. They associate him with W
orld War II. Anyway, granddad said he was a great man. When my father came along he named him for the general and I became Junior. But don’t call me that.” Doug smiled. “Besides the names are spelled differently. Mine’s Mc, without an A. His was MacArthur.” Doug shrugged. “What about Lucy?”

“My mother died in child birth. My father gave me her name.”

“Sorry,” Doug said feeling awkward.

“Don’t be. Obviously I never knew her. But I . . . feel her sometimes, you know, like she’s still around
in some way.” Lucy blushed. “I know it sounds stupid.”

“No.”

“Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Lucy smiled. “Maybe?”

Doug shrugged. “You believe, right? That’s all that counts.”

“Tell me what you saw on the airplane.”

“Why do you care?”

“I missed my flight because of you. Don’t you think you owe me that much?”

He held his hands up in mock defense, smiling. “Okay, sure.” Doug felt that there was more to her inquiry than just curiosity, but he
was no good at reading minds, and the truth was, at the moment he didn’t care. He found himself enjoying this woman’s company.

Follow your heart.

There it was again, a simple mantra cycling around in his thoughts, put there by a dying priest. Had he followed his heart by getting off that airplane, or was his every move some clumsy miscalculation? Was he following his heart now by being friendly with this woman, or was his heart following him?

“Well, it was like I was viewing everything from the cockpit a
s the plane plummeted toward the ground. I can’t really explain it beyond that. I know what you’re thinking but I learned long ago to trust my instincts.”

“How so?”

“For a long time I was able to see certain things that hadn’t yet occurred. Mostly terrible things.”

“You mean like visions? Tragedies? Things like that?”

“Yeah, stuff most people wouldn’t want to see. Murders, accidents, disasters.”

“Did these things come true?”

Doug suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Some of them.”

“So you don’t see them now?”

“Not for a long time. Since before I met . . . Annie.” The revelation struck Doug like a slap. He had never consciously made the connection until now. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t he seen it?

“And Annie is . . . ?”

“My wife.”

“You don’t wear a ring.”

“Neither of us does. I’m not sure why. I love her more than anything.”

Something in Lucy’s demeanor changed. It was a subtle adjustment, but Doug’s keen intuition picked up on it. She was an attractive woman; no doubt about that. She had red-brown hair that hung in long, thick waves to her shoulders, large ice-blue eyes and full, generous lips. She carried an air of sophistication, her diction was learned and professional, and her manner spoke of breeding and education. He couldn’t pigeonhole which part of the country she was from because there was no discernable accent. Doug liked the way she looked and the way she carried herself, confident without being pushy. Self assured in her womanhood. A small pang of guilt seized his heart. Here he was, not
half a day away from Annie, the love of his life, and he was sizing up another woman. But it wasn’t really like that, not sexual anyway. After the events of the past several days he was simply enjoying the saneness of normal company and conversation.

“Have you seen things that did not directly affect your own life?” Lucy asked.

“Such as?”

“Oh, say an earthquake in
Pakistan or a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico.”

Doug thought about it for a moment, wondering where this line of questioning was leading. This woman was more than just curious. He was suddenly sure of it. She’d purposely gotten off the plane and had waited in the terminal until he’d emerged from the security office. Then she’d followed him into the cafe. Hell, the more he thought about it, the more he began to believe she’d been watching him since boarding the first plane. This
assumption was both tantalizing and a little unsettling.

“Why are you so interested in this?”

“A gift like yours is rare.”

Doug g
runted out a laugh. “I wouldn’t call it a gift exactly.”

“No? What would you call it then?”

“How about a curse.”

Lucy could not mask the inquiry in her eyes. She was definitely specifically interested in him. Doug suddenly felt on edge.
And besides, the more they talked the more familiar she seemed. He couldn’t explain why.

There will be a great test.

“Listen,” he said, looking up at the clock above the bar. “I need to get rid of some of this coffee before I board.” He stood. “Pleasure,” he said offering his hand.

Lucy stood up with him
taking his hand. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No. Actually I’ve enjoyed your company.”

“What’s your flight number?” Lucy asked.

He pulled his boarding pass out and told her.

“What a coincidence,” she said. “Same as mine.”

Doug surveyed Lucy for a long contemplative moment before saying, “Well, maybe I’ll see you on the plane.” He walked away
, leaving Lucy standing in the café watching him go.

He wasn’t kidding about the coffee. He found a restroom across the hall.

There was a guy standing at the urinals. Doug unzipped and began pissing into the porcelain bowl. The guy next to him finished, quickly washed his hands and left the room. Now Doug was alone. The place was eerily silent. He felt a little claustrophobic; something was wrong. The walls were closing in on him. He needed to move quickly. He zipped and went to the lavatory. He was washing his hands when a stall door burst open behind him. He saw it in the mirror.

Too late, he realized his error.

Doug whirled. The man held a gun with an attached silencer sleeve. He made a lunge toward the gunman. The weapon coughed as the round left the barrel. The bullet punched a hole in Doug’s upper abdomen. It felt like he’d been struck by a truck. The wind went out of him and his knees buckled. The weapon coughed again. The second round entered his chest and went straight through, spraying blood on the lavatory and mirror behind him. His knees hit the floor and he pitched forward, still conscious and completely aware of the fact that he’d just been murdered.

The outer door slammed open and for just a moment he saw Lucy Ferguson’s face.
So pretty,
he thought.
But what is she doing in the men’s toilet?
He closed his eyes.

“Christ, what a mess,” somebody said. The voice belonged to a man. The man who’d just murdered him? No, he didn’t think so.

Doug opened his eyes a fraction but he could not see who was speaking.

“He’s still with us,” Lucy said.

“Thank God,” said the voice he did not recognize.

“Hold on, Doug,” Lucy said. “We’ve got you. We’re not going to let you die.”

What the hell was she talking about? He
was
dying. Probably already dead, actually. He let his eyes close again. By degrees the pain retreated and the voices retreated, and as he died he dreamed of times long ago.