Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 5: A Watched Plot Never Foils

Belgium may not have been the best idea. As Dave pulled into the customs office, it was clear Belgium was a far cry from neighboring France. A brown duck in a guard's uniform waved them aside, a Walther submachine-gun slung over the duck's shoulder. Dave pulled over. Dr. Weisehund stirred and awoke as Dave lowered the driver side window.

The duck spoke French. This was not the elegant, romantic French of Paris or Calais, but a more reserved and officious French. Ah, to be caught between France and Germany. Dave had an ear for language, but French eluded him. Luckily, Weisehund was fluent.

"He wants to see your papieren. Your passport."

Dave fished out the required documents, careful as to not make any untoward motions that would prompt the Belgian duck to action. The duck looked over the passport, looked closely at Dave, then the passport again. He spoke more French.

"He wants to know why you are coming to Belgium," interpreted the doc.

Heightened security made sense. In hindsight, Dave should have known all along to avoid this border. France was for tourists. Belgium was industrial. The ports of Brussels and Antwerp shipped German and Belgian tech to the British isles. Shipments of that nature could very well lure a certain kind of criminal. Dave was not exactly subtle in his Bugatti. "Inform him as best you can," said Dave.

Weisehund shot him a questioning glare.

"Tell him whatever. He'll likely search the car. Might as well tell him who you are. You have ID, right?" asked Dave.

The light of recognition flashed in her eyes. She nodded curtly, then spoke with the duck. Dave assisted in handing over her documentation. Suddenly the duck's attitude grew more polite. He waved them in with a fond farewell.

"The Institute has several offices in Belgium. They hire a good deal of personal security as you have seen."

"Best not bite the hand that may sometime in the future feed, eh?" said Dave with a wink.

"You observed my tone. I made no suggestions that we were looking to hire."

Dave nodded. "Nor did I suggest you did. He must really hate his job if he is looking at every suit as a potential employer."

With that, Dave took back to the road. There was some drive ahead of them yet. Weisehund admired the Belgian countryside, mostly farms this far inland. Eventually the lull of the engine put her under a spell. She drifted off into slumber. Dave pressed on, his injured ankle throbbed. His ribs hurt. The pain just reminded him he was alive, so very alive. Dave switched his CAF player to New Wave. Duran Duran's "Chaffeur" came on as if some omen. If only a different woman had claimed the passenger seat. Dave pressed on the gas and shifted to a higher gear.