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.

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 4: Return Trip

Dave Crockett Coontail awoke to the violent buzzing of his cellular phone as it shimmied across the bedside nightstand.  He answered cheerily as he had slept his requisite six to seven hours.  "Lieutenant Dave Coontail speaking," he said.

"It is nice to see you awake.  From what I hear you had a late night," said Dr. Weisehund.

"So, the Society is watching me.  That's reassuring.  I thought I felt some eyes at my back."

"I was not involved.  Members of the board thought it prudent to observe you during your stay in Berlin.  I just happened to hear some office gossip.  You are enjoying the club scene, then?" she teased.

"Very much so.  No Lou Reed songs, though," said Dave, not missing a beat.

"More is the pity.  Anyhow, to business.  I am calling to give you forewarning that the project will be completed some time this afternoon.  You are to keep your phone on your person at all times.  I shall call one half hour in advance of the time we are to depart.  Is that understood?"

"Ich verstehe.  Alle ist klar.  I will keep the phone close to my heart" said Dave.

"I expect nothing less.  Aufwiederhoren."  She disconnected.

Dave set the phone aside, yawned, and stretched.  He stood and scratched an itch at his bottom.  The clock radio displayed the time at 11:03.  Germans.  Even her phone call was on the hour.

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 3: Germany

The next couple of days found Dave working on the new car.  The powers that be assigned him a team.  Of the number enlisted to assist him Dave selected just four.  Anymore would have just been in the way.  Each member, including Private Dean, had an interest in cars.  Each had experience as a mechanic, a weekend racer, or the like.

Private Dean must have had a criminal background as a carjacker and chop shop employee.  She helped Dave to remove the doors and shell that he could apply a layer of kevlar.  They removed the racing seats as well that Dave could wrap them in kevlar.  Afterwards, an assistant added foam cushions and set about sewing microfiber covers.  Dave suggested a charcoal color to keep in line with the rest of the interior.

The armored seats were something new.  Dave had never thought to do that before.  However, should the armor at the rear of the vehicle fail, the double layer of kevlar would protect the driver and the passenger.  Armoring the Bughatti took up the better half of a day.  Since it was a mid-engine car, the firewall was behind the seats.  Armoring the firewall provided even greater protection against pursuing vehicles.  However, armoring the front of the passenger compartment required some ingenuity and a lot of time.  Armoring the floor, though optional, proved less difficult as Dave just laid a layer of kevlar below the carpeting.

Earlier, he had phoned the manufacturers of the bullet resistant glass and gave them the dimensions for the windshield and windows.  He wanted superior protection at the front and rear.  The sides would be less armored as he still wanted to lower and raise the windows.  The car was not to be equipped with guns.  He was already pushing the curb weight of the vehicle.  If one needed to fire at the enemy there were three basic steps.  See window.  Lower window.  Fire out aforementioned window. 

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 2: Reassignment

Dave went to the same posh hotel where he had last left Aldous.  The Bugatti would be safe there.  Dave had managed to clean himself up some in the men's wash room before checking in.  As per usual, he generously tipped the porter that carried his large duffel.  The porter thanked Dave by name (thus committing it to memory for future services and additional tips).  Dave showered, washing the last couple of hours off his body.  In a bathrobe, Dave retrieved some ice from the hall.  Back in his spacious room, he rigged up an ice pack and set it against his ribs.

Flicking on the television, he flipped through a number of channels.  The hotel had international cable.  Channels from Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Germany, were at his fingertips.  He stopped on a German dubbed version of Kubrick's "The Shining."  Jack Nicholson speaking in German was a whole other nightmare.  Dave loved it.  Sadly, fatigue was setting in.  The near loss to Mr. Harris had somewhat lowered his usual confidence, and with it, his chipper nature and boundless energy.  He was tired.  During a commercial for the new Audi, Dave got up, dumped the ice in the sink, relieved himself, and slipped back into bed.  Having watched the rest of the movie (through fits of nodding off) to the closing scene of Jack's creepily smiling face in the old group photo (we all remember, don't we?), Dave clicked off the set and laid his head to rest.

Dave Goes to Europe

I had some loose ideas about what Dave had been doing in England while Barett and Rick were in France and Utah was in some undisclosed location.  Upon Brett's request, I decided to write a serial story of Dave's accounts.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave any comments.

CHAPTER ONE: Arrival

From the M1 Dave spotted the expansive city of sheffield.  It was hard to miss.  With a population around 500,000, Sheffield stood among London as not only one of the largest cities in Britain, but of the whole of Europe.  Sheffield spread out around the convergence of five rivers.  Among these were the river Sheaf, from which Sheffield got its name, and the river Loxley, the family name of the legendary Robin Hood.  All this fresh water had a unique affect on the geography.  Despite being regarded as an industrial city, there were many trees.  The setting sun painted the green hills with hints of orange, red, and yellow.  The smoke belching from the center of town caught the rays of the sun as well, coloring them in varying hues of purple and orange.  The inner city sat within a shallow basin.  Upon a ring of hills were a number of homes either facing the city lights or overlooking the vast expanse of trees.

Having been let go from the Royal Army's training program, Dave had free reign to choose someplace to settle as long as it was in England and he could still be contacted.  The Yorkshire area afforded the best access and was an obvious choice.  Dave had considered the city of Leeds, but chose Sheffield instead mostly upon the few things he knew of the place even before coming to the island country of England.  Dave knew it was a steel and mining town, but that was common knowledge.  just recently he discovered that the city's reputation for steel went as far back as the middle ages.  Even back then the locals were known for crafting quality cutlery.  Later on, a method for bonding silver to copper had been developed and had since been regarded as Sheffield plate.  A statue composed of this metal stood within the downtown area.

However, steel was not the reason Dave selected this location.  It was Sheffield's culture that drew him there.  Despite the mines, foundries, factories, and warehouses Sheffield was known for art and music.  Sheffield had twice the artists and musicians per capita than pretty much any other English city.  Among those musicians were some of Dave's favorites.  It was the birthplace of synthpop, and although London was the point of genesis for so-called industrial rock, Sheffield had its own wave of angry, electronic music.  The list included not only the Human League and the Thompson Twins, but Clock DVA, Nitzer Ebb, Cabaret Voltaire, the list went on.  Primarily the local music had an electronic touch, highly danceable.  However, good ol' fashioned garage rock and indie was popular as well.

Dave led his Fiat off the motor way and into the city proper.  He had grown accustomed to driving on the opposite side for the most part.  Left and right turns were still foreign to him.  If it wasn't for the fact e was on the other side of the road he would likely have ran right into someone while taking a right hand turn.  Fortunately there were not many one way streets.  Out of habit or instinct Dave found his way into the shoddier part of town.  It seemed the city was in a state on rejuvenation.  Old structures were either being demolished or renovated.  He drove past the shiny and new buildings, past the buildings under construction, and into the heart of the city, the old factory district.  The amount of traffic had thinned progressively until Dave was alone on the road.  The streets and curb side were littered with trash and abandoned vehicles, many no more than the skeletal remains of their former selves.  The brick buildings were blackened from years of smog.

Just then a figure darted out into the road.  Dave engaged the brake, but still manage to hit the pedestrian.  It was a rat in the attire of the poor.  His street clothes were ragged and dirty.  He looked like someone allergic to water.  The rat braced himself against the hood, or bonnet, of the fiat.  Without looking at Dave for even a moment, he stumbled and limped off in a hurry.  He was soon followed by another figure, a red squirrel from the looks of him.  He crossed the road at a casual jog.  He soon caught up to the rat and commenced beating the poor fellow.  Dave pulled over.  He got out.  He crossed the road in pursuit of the rat and squirrel.