The Story Continues

‘Your kidding,” said the text. ‘Your not realy in New Orleans. ’

Now that the aeroplane was safely sitting on the tarmac, all the passengers were turning on their mobile phones, receiving messages, assuring loved ones they’d arrived safely, or would be home soon. Emma didn’t see why she should behave any differently. Even if, in Justin’s case, no such assurances could be forthcoming.

“No,” she typed back, “I’m not.”

A minute or two later, her phone beeped again. Justin wasn’t a very good speller, and not very good at showing his emotions – not very good at anything, actually, Emma thought a little guiltily – but she could still almost hear the relief in his message. “OK. God. You had me going!!! LOL. Where r u then?”

“Vancouver,” she replied.

Justin didn’t text back for a while after that.

Not that it felt like Vancouver yet, not really. Emma and David had checked their flight arrival time, and they’d been due in at half past one. “That cuts it a bit fine,” said Emma. “We’ve only got two hours to get to our rendezvous. If we’re not there on time, our contact said he’d be gone.” David assured her that two hours should be ample – it wasn’t as if they had any baggage to collect; so long as they sped through passport control, so long as they went straight to the taxi rank – no time for a breather, and pushing to the front of the queue – they should be okay. Yes. Nothing to worry about. “So long as our plane gets in on time,” said Emma.

It had taken off late. Of course it had. They were both too tense to eat the meal or watch the movie – Emma found herself pushing the seat in front of her forward, as if doing so would just make the plane go a bit faster. And then the pilot had chirpily announced that they’d made up for the delay en route, and should be landing as scheduled. (Rather too chirpily, Emma had thought, it was as if somehow he wasn’t taking their treasure hunt seriously! But at least it was good news.) David turned to her, and gave her a watery smile, and she realised just how nervous he’d been too in spite of his insistences to the contrary. “We’re going to make it,” he said.

And then they were on the ground. And were still stuck on the aeroplane – twenty minutes down, and they still hadn’t taxied to the arrival gates yet. It was infuriating. “Sorry, everyone,” said the pilot, still chirpy, “they haven’t found the right stepladder to get the baggage off yet. Shouldn’t be too much longer!”

And then, they were free, and Emma and David were running towards passport control… “And how long will you be staying in Canada?” The woman inspected Emma’s passport with agonising slowness.

“As short a time as humanly possible,” Emma promised.

The taxi driver greeted them with a big smile, the smile he saved up for all the tourists. “Welcome to Vancouver!” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay in our great city. Where can I take you folks today?”

David gave him the address of the Blenz coffee shop, and the driver tapped it into his satnav.

“Okay,” he said. “Do you want the scenic route, or…?”

“If you can get us there before half three,” said David, “we’ll double the fare.”

“Yes, sir!” said the driver, and off they set.

“David,” Emma whispered, “we don’t have any of the right currency.”

“Let’s not tell him that,” suggested David.

“There’s so much to do in Vancouver,” the driver continued, after he’d left the airport ring road, and was speeding into the city. “I’d recommend Granville Island, or the Dr Sun-Yat Sen Classical Chinese Garden. And if you folks want some place to eat, the Blue Water Café is just wonderful…”

“Yes,” said David. “Tell you what,” and he sounded as amiable as could be, no one could have taken offence, not really, “if you stop talking, we’ll treble it. How about that?”

David stared out of the window and watched Vancouver whip past. Emma idly considered turning on her phone again – and then decided that no, she really didn’t want to do that. Instead she took from her handbag all the different clues and messages that had been left for them the last few days; some of them were by now so well travelled they almost deserved passports of their own. She took out the simplest of them, smoothed it out, and frowned.

“David,” she said. “We’re working on the idea that all these clues we’ve received, they’ve all been left by the same person. The old man we met in Argentina.”

“Yes,” said David. “Why not? Well, you’re the one who saw his typewriter.”

“Run,” the message had read. Typed on the same paper, in the same manner – the keys hit a little too forcefully, the letters stamped right through the page.

But thrown in from the outside.

“Then who typed this?” she asked.

David thought about it. Then sighed. “Look, does it matter?” he said. “You’re probably overcomplicating things. The man we’re meeting at Blenz Coffee, he’ll give us answers. It’ll all be over soon.”

And Emma was about to retort, to say that something didn’t add up, that she didn’t like being led by the nose like this, and by who knows whom? – when she suddenly lurched forward in her seat. For a terrifying second she thought the car must have crashed – but no, they were still moving, they were still – and then, wham! – she lurched forward again.

“What the hell?” shouted the driver, the tourist wide smile a thing of the past.

“We’re being rammed!” cried David. And the car behind them once again sped up, trying to smash into their rear (trying to force them off the road?) – but this time their driver was ready for it, he swerved inexpertly out of their way with a screech. “You’ve got to get away from them!” David was still shouting, and the taxi driver set his teeth, put his foot down upon the accelerator. And began to weave his way through the traffic. Cars about them responded with angry blasts on their horns. “Faster!” said David, although Emma wished they’d slow down, that the whole world would just slow down – “If I go any faster, we’ll lose control!” snapped the driver. “Let me do my job!”

Emma tried to make out who was in the vehicle chasing them, but their windows were tinted black. And pretty soon they were lost in the melee behind – once the taxi had sped past all the other motorists, they’d slowed down in shock, accidentally boxing in their pursuers.

“We’ll quadruple your fare!” cried David, jubilantly, “we’ve lost them – no, wait – what are you doing? Stop, what are you doing?” Because the driver was pulling in to the side of the road. “No, keep going! We have to be there before half three!”

“You haven’t been here long,” said the driver, turning around to face them. “But you’ve certainly made some enemies, haven’t you?” He looked at Emma, then at David, judging them, studying them. Whatever it was he was looking for, they clearly failed, because he then said, quietly, decisively, “Out of my cab.”

David was like an animal cornered. “You have to continue,” he said. “We’re on a quest.”

“Look, buddy, car chases aren’t my thing. This isn’t the United States, this is Canada.”

“My friend and I are very dangerous,” said David. “And I’ve got a gun. If you don’t drive on, I’ll… I’ll be forced to shoot you.” Emma boggled at him. So did the driver. “I’ll try not to kill you, you know,” David soldiered on, “but I’m not very good with my aim, so, ah…”

Then, “The hell with this,” said the driver, and in a trice he was out of the car and running down the road away from them.

“Well,” mused David. “That didn’t work.”

“What are you doing?” cried Emma. “You can’t go around the world threatening taxi drivers!”

“All I know,” said David, “is that if we don’t reach that coffee shop in fifteen minutes, then all this is over.” And he clambered into the front seat.

“No, what – what are you doing? You can’t steal cars either! David! David! David… can you even drive?”

“Not,” said David, slamming on the accelerator, so the car shot forward, and spun on the road drunkenly, “very well. I’d hold on, if I were you.”

*

At any moment Emma thought she’d hear the sound of police sirens behind them – but no, she supposed the taxi driver had been right, this really wasn’t the United States at all. “You have reached your destination,” said the satnav with irritating calm, and David hit the brakes just outside the coffee store. “Three twenty-eight,” he said, “we made it!”

“By my watch it’s three thirty-five.”

“Well, let’s just hope our contact is going by my watch and not yours. Come on!” And David was out of the car, and running into the shop. Emma was close behind.

They looked about the store wildly. No one seemed to recognise them, no one seemed to be waiting. “Damn!” said David, and raising his voice, asked, “Excuse me, has anyone seen a man in here? Don’t know what he looks like. What age, or build, um. Mm, may have looked a bit secretive?”

Emma thought no one was going to react, and then a young man said softly, “The man you are looking for left a few minutes ago. You are too late.”

“Which direction did he go?”

“Left.”

“Great! Thanks!” And David rushed out. Then rushed back in again. “And you wouldn’t remember what he looked like…?”

“Thin. Dressed in black.”

“Excellent!” Within seconds David was back out on the sidewalk, looking down the street, through the crowds, and then – “Hey, you!” he called. “It’s us! We’re just a few minutes late, stop!” And the man turned, caught sight of David – and then ran. “No, wait! Wait!” cried David. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…” And panting already, began to chase him.

“Let him go,” said the young man to Emma. “We need to speak privately.”

“What?” said Emma. And at last she looked at the man properly. And recognised him.

“That’s right,” said the man. “We’ve met.”

“The train! You were the man who picked up my scarf. The other man who picked up my scarf. I think I’m a bit dizzy…”

“Ben. Yes. It’s been impossible to get you on your own. But listen. Whilst there’s still time. I have the clue you’ve been looking for. Solve it, and I’ll meet you there.”

Adamantine ladies!

After the crash you dared to soar

First to Heckscher’s twelfth floor

And now hold on to The Starry Night.

Follow the ladies and once there, seek out Swiss Bernard’s fourth episode.

“Adama…”

“Adamantine.”

“Right.”

“I had to pretend to be you to get this. It’s imperative you share this with nobody.”

“But what about David?”

“David should not be a part of this. We can’t talk now. He’ll be back soon. Solve the clue, come to me alone, and I’ll tell you what I know. Trust me,” he then added, almost as an afterthought – and then disappeared into the passage of Vancouver shoppers.

Emma hesitated – should she follow? But just then the crowds all turned as one in the other direction. Because there were shouts, screams. “David!” she said, and turned away from the stranger, and ran to find her friend…

David was standing by the sidewalk. He was in shock. The police were already milling about, but they had no time for him. They were talking to the driver of the car. They were examining the body in the road. A body dressed in black.

Emma pushed her way through the onlookers to reach David.

“I got hold of him,” said David. Numb. “I wasn’t going to hurt him. Why did he run? I only wanted answers.”

“What happened?”

“He didn’t say a word to me. Just gave me an envelope. And then he smiled. Just smiled at me. And jumped backwards, right into the traffic.”

“You look pale.”

“I feel sick. But it’s what was inside. Inside the envelope. I thought it’d be a riddle, just another bloody riddle. But it wasn’t. Look.”

She opened the envelope.

Inside was a photograph. The same one she’d been given torn in Rotterdam. But here it was, complete. This was Emma as a little girl, smiling to camera. A man smiling beside her, his hands on her shoulders. And the man was… “It’s my father,” she said. “It’s my father.”

“There’s another picture,” said David.

And so there was. She looked at it.

David as a boy. Perhaps a little older than the young Emma. A little more uncertain that he wanted his picture taken at all. Smiling awkwardly. But the man standing beside him, so much more confident, so proud, so paternal… It was the same man. It was the same.