An Unholy Alliance by InSilva
Disclaimer: not owning any character from the Ocean's world.
Chapter Ten: MIA
Previously.
Gerard's call has been a pleasant surprise and the job itself is straightforward enough. Amsterdam is a European city he's visited a few times and knows reasonably well and he hopes to catch up with Matsui. Gerard sends over a phone and instructions and he feels wanted and young again and the love of the con burns bright inside.
As for the diamonds themselves…Gerard has left the method of transportation up to him and he has an immediate plan to secure and conceal. Nothing too uncomfortable – he's never smuggled anything in places that customs officers think to search first – but a little discomfort will be involved.
He flies out early. The trip to Europe is uneventful and the hotel is unassuming and he sets out to reconnoiter the address Gerard has provided. A phone call to the inside man leads to a brief meeting in a coffee house so that they can recognise each other. After that, it's a case of checking out the escape routes and learning the alternative routes and finding someone to facilitate what he needs to move the stones.
Bumping into Matsui whiles away a pleasant afternoon.
"Do you know what they're up to?" Matsui asks and there's no doubting whom he means.
He chuckles. "No one knows what they're up to. But everyone knows where they've been. Last I heard they were headed off to Saratoga. Why I'm not sure. But did I tell you about Cincinnati and the mayor's snuffboxes and the pageant?"
A long story ensues.
That night, the night before, he sits in the hotel room and thinks of Danny and Rusty. They are not often far from his thoughts and he wonders idly what they're planning and when he will hear about it, either directly or on the grapevine. He hasn't seen them in a long while but he knows that when he meets up with them again it will be like they've never been away.
He imagines them dropping in on him as they have done several times before. Unannounced, unexpected, but never unwelcome. Danny will be seeking out the bottle of whisky and Rusty will be investigating the fridge. He will silently hand Danny the alcohol and wordlessly pass Rusty the takeaway menus he keeps just for him. And then, over food and drink, they will sit and talk and he will listen and study them.
When they are on the con, they live their lives at such a fast pace that he fears they are using up their allotted span on this planet prematurely. The brilliance and the shine and the dazzle. There must be a finite amount of each and he does not like to think about what would happen when they run out.
Downtime. They need it. More than either of them realise or would admit. Only after an hour or so has passed, do Danny's shoulders properly relax and the edge of the buzz leaves Rusty's eyes a little while later. They push themselves. They push themselves for each other, not wanting to let the other one down and he saw it when they first started working together and nothing has changed. It is all wrapped up in the unvoiced agreement that they seem to have struck within moments of meeting that they will live and die for the con and each other.
They've always exceeded anything the other could have expected or wanted. He knows of at least a dozen instances on each side when there were alternatives. Less painful alternatives. Courses of action that other partners would take without blinking and if those other partners met up afterwards, there would be no blame attached and only a slight lessening of trust and maybe just a tad more of a gap between them.
Rusty and Danny never even consider those alternatives. Not for themselves. For the other…well, of course. And even so, even when they are cursing the other for their stupidity and their recklessness, even then, they know that there would be no other way.
He has never seen any two people so tight. He has never had the joy and the terror that that kind of working relationship brings. And although there are times when he wants to shout at the pair of them, they make his heart sing.
He sleeps well that night.
Morning of, he is up and prepared and ready. He fingers the little piece of metal in his pocket and he is set.
A couple of streets away, he gets into persona, map in hand, bewildered look in his eyes, and when he turns into the relevant street, he wanders up and down a few times, looking lost and helpless. He stands outside the office building and scratches his head, surreptitiously checking his watch. His timing is perfect as always. Heading inside, he unfolds the map to its full extent and prepares to act the confused tourist.
The armed guards set his nerves on edge but the security man is unsuspecting and patient and if this dim-witted American happens to have chosen lunch hour to blunder in and ask directions, well, it's not the end of the world.
Staff start to pour out of the building and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the inside man making his way through the foyer. With a smile and a tip of his hat, he contrives to collide with the man and the three diamonds are transferred into his waiting hand. He apologises then places them with precision and then he is out of there. Not too fast, not too slow, walking not running. He calls his pre-programmed contact who will confirm the pick up to Gerard and then starts the circuitous route that will lead him to the train station.
The back of his neck tells him he is not alone. A glance into a shop window shows him a couple of interested parties behind him. Circuitous be damned. He takes a short cut in through a baker's and out through the back and that buys him time.
The station is not far away and he makes it on to the train he means to, just about to pull out. He heads straight for the toilet and sits tight for the duration.
Getting off in Berlin, he feels more confident and allows himself to admit that he has had a shaky moment back there. He's not as young as he used to be and the prospect of being on the wrong side of someone is something he dreads a little more than he used to.
He is supposed to catch the train to Paris, to double back on himself and then a plane home. He is supposed to. But as he alights, he spots the red jacket on the platform and knows that they have caught the express train and that the danger is not over.
With agility that belies his age and foolheadedness that he has never lost, he leaps down on to the tracks and avoids the live current by inches. He scrambles over and up on to the train about to depart. There is no clue as to where it is headed but it has to be a smart move to get on it and away.
Heart pounding, he settles down in a seat and hopes that his escape has not been noted. Too much to hope for, of course, because after a little while, the red jacket is glimpsed working its way through the next carriage and they are somehow following, somehow tracking… He wonders. His phone. The phone that Gerard sent him. Gerard can't know…someone somewhere must be playing more than one side. He pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at it. He is not technically minded in the slightest but it must be possible and if he uses it again, they may be able to pinpoint him.
He hides the phone down the side of his seat and walks quickly down through the carriages, collecting a suitcase from the end luggage rack and disappearing into the toilet with it. Luckily, he has chosen well. The tourist and the loud shirt and the floppy hat disappear. He pulls on a baggy sweater and finds a pair of spectacles. He stares in the mirror. It's not going to be enough, not nearly enough and he needs to think of something else.
He feels the train's speed lessen and the crazy idea comes to him. It has to be worth trying because the alternative is to sit and wait for fate in a red jacket to find him.
Even though the train is going more slowly, the fields outside are travelling past at impossible speeds and the realisation of the craziness momentarily outweighs the other survival instinct. He closes his eyes and considers if there is any other way but none comes to him in the half a second he has allotted for this thought.
Then, resolute, he watches for the right moment. A copse of trees, a hill sloping away and he jumps. Jumping is easy. Jumping presents no problems whatsoever and as he falls through the air, he sees the door swing shut behind him and he knows it will be a while if at all before his pursuers realise what he has done.
As stated, jumping is no trouble. Landing is a son of a bitch.
He hits the ground all wrong and his spectacles go flying and his ankle twists beneath him and he doesn't roll so much as bounce hard down the hill and the trees stop him by getting in the way of his head. He lies dazed and winded and in shock and pain and unconsciousness when it comes is not surprising.
The rain wakes him up. It's dark now and he's wet and cold and he is disorientated and doesn't understand at once what's happening. He tries to sit up but his body is not having it and standing up seems even less likely. The trees appear to be a place to shelter and he drags himself further under them and lies in the damp ferny undergrowth and waits for light.
Morning arrives and his situation is not much better. There is pain in his head and pain in his ankle and the parts in between hurt too. The rain has left a chill in his bones and an ache inside that he needs to ward off because he has no exact idea where he is and being ill just does not come into the equation.
He grabs hold of a fallen branch and uses it to push himself up into a sitting position against a tree trunk. It's a start. His fingers check out his forehead and come away with blood but it's not fresh. He bends his knee and gingerly prods his right ankle. It's sore but he doesn't think it's broken. That has to be good. When he tries to put weight on it, however, there is sharp agony and he drops back to the ground. He is not going to be walking anywhere.
Very well. If he can't walk, he can crawl. He hesitates about following the train tracks. It's the sensible option because they must lead to civilisation. On the other hand, he might meet those in pursuit and he would certainly be at a disadvantage.
He turns towards the west, away from the railway line and starts to move, dragging himself over fallow ground, in search of salvation.
Thirsty. He is so very thirsty and there is no water in sight, nor even plants. All he can see are muddy fields and he struggles onwards, not letting the dull feeling inside him take over. His head hurts and every movement jolts his ankle. It is not good. He shakes himself sternly and asks himself what the other men he knows and respects would do. Danny and Rusty, for instance. They would never give up. He forces himself on.
He does not know where or when he is and the dull feeling has turned into an all-consuming fever. Still, he crawls forward because that was his plan and he needs to stick to his plan and when he gets to…well, he's sure he'll eventually remember where he's headed and then this plan will make sense. It has to. And so he drives himself on.
He doesn't know how long he's been lying in the ditch. He doesn't even know he's lying in a ditch. He doesn't know that it's only by chance the farmer has found him.
He feels himself be picked up in strong arms and he hears shouted words that he can't understand and then he is placed gently on soft sheets and he loses himself again.
The farmer's wife is anxious. The old man her husband has found is still ill, even after a few days. He has a nasty wound on his head and his ankle is swollen and the fever seems to be eating him alive. Still he reminds her of her grandfather and she wants to help him. But however much she tries, nothing seems to be bringing his temperature down.
"Hospital," her husband says finally and she sighs and agrees.
The hospital is basic and clean and the farmer hands over money that his wife has insisted he pay. A bed is found. The patient is made comfortable. And Saul is buried in a faceless ward with faceless men.