The Demon Signet (3 page)

“We’ve been sitting here for,” Marcus looked at his watch, a stainless-steel chronograph with a floating compass, “sixty-eight minutes. This plane isn’t getting back in the air anytime soon.”

Ian looked over Heather’s head, which was nestled cozily beneath his stubbly chin, and remarked, “I don’t see any other commercial airliners.”

Marcus had his iPhone out in a flash. “Albany International is three hundred miles away. Don’t think they’re coming to help us.”

“Which means,” Ian concluded, “we’re stuck here until the plane’s fixed.”

“I wonder how long that’ll be,” Ashley muttered more to herself as she checked back into the argument unfolding across the aisle. The drama of the conflict had recruited a few more participants. “The captain better tell us what’s going on.”

Indeed, no one knew why their flight to Dulles was parked in the middle of the mountains, though a few scrambling mechanics running about outside the plane did offer a hint.

As if right on cue, the captain’s voice came slicing through the backdrop of garbled protest, and everyone settled down, their words cut off in mid-sentence, anxious to hear some kind of verdict.

“Hi, folks. I am truly sorry for this inconvenience. I know you’re upset, and I certainly understand that. Um, we had a pretty serious incident, which is why we had to make this…emergency landing. The technicians here are doing what they can, but there’s no telling if or when they’ll, uh, be able to ensure that the plane is safe for flight. And if you’re wondering where ‘here’ is, we’re at Adirondack Regional Airport. I’m really sorry for keeping you in the dark for the last hour or so, but I was under strict orders to remain silent until…well, until we were sure that…uh…the incident wasn’t…something else.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” a woman cried at the tiny speaker above her head.

“Rest assured,”
the captain continued,
“the issue is a mechanical one. Just be glad we had a place to land, and try and remain patient with us as we figure out where to go from here, which, as it turns out, is the terminal. So I need everyone to fasten their seatbelts as we’re taxied.”
A pause.
“Uh, once you disembark the plane, I’m being told that there will be staff members waiting to answer your questions. Again, I’m really sorry, folks, but I know you want to get to where you’re going safely. Happy holidays and enjoy your stay in the great state of New York. Bundle up; it’s going to be chilly getting off the plane.”

It wasn’t exactly the news Heather was hoping for, but it was going to get her off the plane, and that was fine with her. As for the rest of the passengers, well, she was too busy fighting off the hordes of PSYOP agents hurdling her fortress walls to care about them. Besides, it was better for
everyone
that she got off as soon as possible.
She heard the
bing
of the seatbelt sign lighting up, and minutes later the plane started to move.
Thank you
, she thought.

“Almost there, babe.” Ian kissed her on the cheek, the dark shadow covering his jaw and surrounding his mouth tickling her and forcing her to smile.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. She squeezed his hand tighter.

****

Christmas music played happily throughout the tiny airport, but the mob didn’t notice a single note of it. Everyone was too preoccupied with the long lines leading to clogged toilets, sold out rentals, or half-stocked vending machines to let “Jingle Bell Rock” infuse them with holiday cheer.

The personnel that the captain said would be waiting for them with further instructions had, as pleasantly as possible, informed the passengers that they were basically screwed. They could either wait for the plane to be fixed—no one had any clue as to when that might be, if even this side of the New Year—or they could take their chances with the two small rental companies that operated out of the airport and
drive
all the way to Maryland. The news did not go over well, and the people started shouting questions about their luggage, food, when other planes would arrive, and a hundred other questions that received no answer. Then, in the midst of that chaos, someone began spreading a rumor that no one would be allowed to leave the airport without first clearing customs, since they’d flown in from Canada. Of course, there were no customs agents here at the tiny airport in the middle of nowhere, which meant the doors were to be locked until either the plane was fixed or the FBI arrived. Airport officials quickly defused that powder keg by reassuring the mob that customs had already been cleared in Canada. They were by no means prisoners being held by the airport and were free to leave if they wanted. Such reassurance, however, did little to relieve the crowd’s anxiety. The reality of their confinement was still the same—whether forced or participatory—in that no one was about to try hitchhiking through the Adirondacks.

“How you holding up?” Ian asked Marcus, patting him on the back as their line inched closer to the rental counter.

“Fine. How’s Heather?” Both girls were off waiting in line for the bathroom.

“Embarrassed.”

Marcus nodded as his eyes went to the four skinheads that were standing around a nearby vending machine, perhaps trying to conjure up Hitler’s ghost for instructions on how to use it. He smiled, taking a few steps closer to what would hopefully be a rental car.

Ian pondered what he’d just witnessed, completely at a loss as to how setting eyes on the racists could provoke Marcus to smile. The Nazis had been sitting three rows behind them on the plane, and it was obvious that their conversation had included Marcus for much of the flight. And while Ian didn’t understand German, he knew that Marcus did, which meant his black friend was treated to a nice, long discourse on The World as Seen by White Supremacy. “I don’t know how you don’t just lay that trash out,” he said.

Marcus shrugged. “I feel sorry for
them
.”

Ian shook his head. Anyone else, especially being as big as Marcus was, would have went straight for the three Nazis as soon as their feet touched the ground and pummeled them into pink goo right there in the terminal. But not Marcus. Never Marcus.

“You know I’m not gonna let you go over there,” Marcus said. A lawyer for a small firm out of DC and his father an employee of the State Department, the Hatfield family hadn’t gotten to where it was by caring about the ignorant opinions of racists. Marcus’ mother would be proud to learn that he hadn’t carved swastikas into foreheads today, even if some of his cousins wouldn’t be. Mama, the good Baptist that she was, was always preaching love for one’s enemies. “Love your enemies, Marcus! Love ’em the way God loves you.”
It wasn’t always easy, but with Mama’s example, Marcus had learned to persevere through most of the lingering prejudices that still targeted him. And what he’d told Ian was true, it wasn’t hatred he felt for the people who liked to joke about a slave owner “gettin ahold of yo’ great grannigger” (which was most likely what had happened), but pity. Pity for people who went through life carrying so much hatred in their hearts and who lived sorry lives in small, ignorant worlds.

Ian shook his head again, wanting more than anything to have a few words with the Reich. “Man, I don’t get it. How does it not bother you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s bothering me,” he answered, “Ashley never telling her parents that I’m black.”

Ian smiled. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Her parents aren’t like that at all. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ll be running blocks for you anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, seems I forgot to ask for daddy’s permission before popping the question.”

Marcus blinked. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I never met him, but from what Ashley tells me—”

“Yeah, I know. He’s gonna be pissed. And not only that, we still haven’t told them that we’re engaged.”

Marcus laughed. “Well, just have Heather give the ring back. Get her father’s blessing tomorrow night, fake a proposal on Christmas day, and her parent’s will be none the wiser.”

“Really?”

“Either that or he’s gonna see you as an apolitical veterinarian who’s too chicken to step up to the plate when it’s time to do the proper thing. Doesn’t matter that she’s almost twenty-nine. It’s all about tradition in that house.”

Ian winced. “Yeah, I think I’m liking your idea. Oh, but you should know, papa’s not gonna be much more thrilled with you being a registered Independent than he is with me not being registered at all.”

“Yeah,” Marcus mumbled. He checked his watch as the line continued to move. “Pick a date yet?”

“We had a tentative…”

“What, you think she’ll say no if you give her another chance?”

Ian sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

“You shoulda asked the man.”

“I know.”

They were just two spots from the counter when Heather and Ashley rejoined them.

“Are you sure you want to drive?” Heather asked. Her hair was pulled back, lips red, and cheeks slightly flushed. “What about our luggage?”

“The airline’ll ship it and reimburse us for the rental.” At least Ian
hoped
that’s what the airline would do. But he wasn’t about to spend the night in the airport. Not with starving Nazis.

Ashley stuck her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and took in their surroundings for the first time. “Should we call Mom and Dad?”

Heather swore, pulled out her phone. “They’re probably just about to leave for the airport.” But she had no signal. She swore again.

“I don’t have a signal either,” Ashley commented.

“One bar.” Marcus handed his phone to her.

As they approached the counter, Ashley drifted away from them, her boyfriend’s phone held against her ear.

“Hi, guys.” The robust man behind the counter welcomed them to his station with an exhausted posture. “Tough day, huh?” He slid a pair of black, plastic-framed glasses back up to his eyes with a meaty forefinger, fighting an ongoing battle with gravity over the slope of his narrow nose.

“We’re still alive so…guess that’s all that really matters.” Marcus leaned against the counter.

The man chuckled. “I suppose you’re right about that. Ain’t nothin’ worse than being a scar on the butt cheek of some mountain.” He snorted when he laughed, falling into a fit of self-amusement that waved his midsection up and down over his belt.

When the guy’s belly finally rolled to a stop, Ian asked him the same question that the dozen or so people before him had already asked, and indeed, he could see them all standing on the other side of the glass windows beyond the line, out in the cold and waiting for their acquired rentals to arrive. “Do you have any cars left?”

The man—HAROLD, his name tag read—frowned, his mouth turning into an upside-down rainbow of corn-on-the-cob teeth and chapped lips as his fleshy jowls sunk further toward his collar. “I’m really sorry, fellas. Just rented out the last car we have.”

Marcus turned his head toward the other rental desk and saw people walking away from it, defeated, their heads swaying back and forth in disgust. It looked like they’d be here for a while after all.

“You have nothing?” Heather stepped forward, her dazzling blue eyes sparkling beneath a film of perspiration. She hooked a strand of hair behind an ear and chewed on her lower lip like she was trying to keep from crying.

When he laid his eyes on her, good ol’ Harold just about had a seizure, almost falling unconscious on his helmet of brown, twisted hair. Ian and Marcus watched with amusement the whites of Harold’s eyes expand behind his sliding lenses.

He stuttered for a moment, his mind Jell-O in her presence. “Uh…” He cleared his throat while absent-mindedly using the baseball mitt he had for a hand to pat down a section of unruly hair. “Let me double check that for you, miss.” He turned to a computer and wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to regain whatever composure he had to begin with.

Marcus stole a quick glance Ian’s way, unable to hide his amusement. This wasn’t the first time a man was stunned into stupidity by Heather’s beauty, but poor Harold was taking it to another level.

Ian smiled back, reminded of just how lucky he was to have a Greek goddess as his fiancée. Not that he was a toad himself—his Hugh Jackman smile, brown piercing eyes, and six-foot-one frame was worthy of a magazine cover somewhere—but no one was tripping over themselves to get a better peek at him.

Harold ventured a look back in her direction with eyes so nervous it was as if he was afraid of turning to dust if she were to catch him staring. “Well, uh…” He choked, and a glistening crown appeared, haloing his forehead.

Ian leaned forward, slightly maneuvering his fiancée behind him and offering Harold a break from the glory. “Anything?”

Looking up from the screen, Harold answered, “There
is
one car that just came in.” His eyes strayed past Ian’s shoulder. “A Ford Taurus.”

“We’ll take it!” Marcus exclaimed, slapping the counter hard enough to make Harold jump.

“Give me a sec.” He picked up the phone. “Hi, it’s Harold. I have a woman…I mean, a group of people looking for—” He nodded. “I know, but—right. Well, the computer says…right.” He looked back up to the four desperate faces. “I don’t think they’d care. Sure. Okay, hold on.” Harold set the phone down on the desk. “It’s available if you want it. It just came in and hasn’t finished being prepped yet. Apparently there was an accident and…well, you don’t care about all that, do you? Anyway, it’s yours if you want it, but you’ll have to sign something saying—”

“Yeah, sure, whatever, we’ll take it,” Ian said.

Harold lifted the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, they want it.” His face darkened as he listened to the voice on the other side. “Really? That’s strange. Yesterday? Weird. Okay, thanks. Yeah, that’s it. No, I’m closing and headin’ home before the snow gets here. I don’t want to be stranded here with all these angry passengers. There’s nothing to eat, and they’re likely to roast ol’ Harold like a chestnut over an open fire.” His eyes went to the crowded vending machine. “And there’s Nazis here, too. Right. Yeah, you, too. Merry Christmas.” He hung up and smiled, his hanging cheeks lifting beneath the corners of his mouth. “Well, it’s yours. You can just go wait out by the curb with the rest of the people. It’s a red Ford Taurus, like I said.”