Chapter 4
World traveler
As I got out of the security zone and onto baggage claim two chunky white men in their late 30s with about a week's unshaven faces walked up to me. They looked like drug dealers. One of them whispered to me “George, it is game over” and said I have to come with them and that they both had guns. I froze and thought for a few seconds if I could do anything. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to shout for help but I realized these guys meant business and the bullet a few inches from me inside the loaded gun would get to me before any help could. The man who had whispered to me pointed at the exit and three more guys similar build and looks standing there. I was thinking this may not be in the movies where they will take me away and somehow there will be a magical escape. They might just kill me anyway I thought. I was near the exit of the baggage carousel belt where the unclaimed baggage goes back into the loading bay. I saw suitcase coming. I told the guy I needed my bag there was cash in it. A lie as the cash was in the bag I was carrying already. I grabbed a metal studded bag which looked quite light and slammed it into the guy and pushed him to the floor. I managed to run off. I jumped up on the moving conveyor and dived into the opening, into the loading bay. A bewildered worked who had been busy loading bags looked at me. I saw some stairs leading to a door. I asked him if it as open. He said it was. I ran for it. I instinctively zigzagged and ran with my head held low for a few moments. I rightly did so. I heard shots. I got to the door when a shot graced by left thumb, then another under my right arm. I felt an electric pain but didn't look, instead I closed the door behind me. I was back out on the departures area. I ran out towards the ticket desk. No trace of the man who had followed me and fired a shot in the parking lot then more shots. I felt an immense pain in under my right arm like being stung by a hundred very angry wasps. I was sweating but it felt much more than just sweat under my right arm. I placed my hand to feel what was going on. My hand returned covered in my blood. Lots of it. The blood was pouring. I was at a realrisk of bleeding to death! I checked my shirt was turn just under my armpit. I saw bits of my skin off. It appeared the bullet hand entered the back part of my armpit area and exited from my lower shoulder front where it was really bleeding. I looked for anything to wrap around it. Nothing in sight. I remembered the scarf from Prada. I fished for it and tookmy handkerchief placed right on the wound then wrapped the scarf around my armpit to hold the handkerchief in firm place against the bleeding wound. It actually made a good seal seal. The bleeding stopped.
Now, what do I do? I saw a familiar face, the lovely Melissa was at the Delta counter again. There was one other ticketing agent free though Melissa had already noticed me. “Hello again sir, where are you off to tonight?” “I need to go to um-mm, Europe!” I was doing my best to hide the pain from the wound.
Melissa looked bemused and intrigued. “Anywhere in Europe in particular?” I had no idea, so I didn't say a word “Okay We have an 11 pm to Brussels that gets you there for noon local time.”
“Perfect.” Melissa typed away on her keyboard.
“Round trip? Business Class?”
“Yes please”.
“That comes to... 3530 dollars exactly. When do you plan to return or should I just set open?” I asked for an open ticket and fished out 100-dollar bills, 35 of them then a twenty and a ten.
“Credit card problem, I need to pay in cash.”
“No problem!” and a smile from Melissa who took the cash into the office. Clearly cash transactions are so rare today that the actual money would go into a safe or something. “Have a nice flight and hope to see you again.”
The nice exchange at the ticket counter and the excitement I now had a ticket to some at least temporary freedom made me forget to see if any of the hit-men were after me. The airport was fairly quiet at this time. I saw the large American stars and stripes hanging from the ceiling near security control. I felt sad and happy at the same time. I was leaving my home country for no fault of my own. But happily I was working towards a way out. This moment right here is one of those where you have to go beyond the ordinary in order, against the manual so to speak to survive. The ordinary would be to turn myself over to the FBI, and surely the wheels of justice would eventually free me. The other variables, notably the mafia, would see me dead long before the wheels had already done their first turn. I got a seat near the gate, 35. I looked out and didn't see a Delta jet, instead a large Airbus from Brussels Airlines. Code-share with Delta. I started thinking for a moment, what if I should go back and just tell the FBI that the mafia was after me. How injured was I? I should really get to a hospital. But how soon would the mafia find and finishing me off? Then off to jail. How long would I then need to stay in jail for? No, I would die. The Mafia has a contract on me, and especially in jail life and death can be bought with money more easily than on the outside. Then I started thinking that the FBI must have protected cells. My mind went back and forth. One moment I was about to rise to head for the exit. Next I felt the gravity of the seat. Then a voice came on a speaker:
“Brussels airlines to Brussels Zaventem is now ready for priority boarding.”
I got up and walked straight for the gate attendant and nearly didn't stop but continued. The pre-flight champagne was served. I could think it over on the flight I told myself. I was thinking that if handing myself over to the FBI was the best idea, then I could just take the next available plane back to New York. But there was to be no thinking. After take off I thought to watch a movie. An elderly man sitting across from my seat pointed dried blood on my jacket arm and the visible hole. He I was alright. I told him “well I was shot believe it or not, the wound is held together with a hankie and a very expensive scarf. The man is a brain surgeon returning from a seminar, in New York city, on new HDAC inhibitors in the role of preoperative treatment of malignant brain tumors. He said I should get it disinfected and cleaned out or there was a high probability a serious infection would develop. He said he could do it for me, it would take a few moments. He called a flight attendant and told him what was going on. The attendant returned with a surgical kit. I took off my shirt. Fortunately there weren't any other passengers in the nearby seats and the curtain to economy was shut. He looked at the small bottle of disinfectant and asked for some brandy or anything with a high alcohol content and a bottle carbonated water and some small towels. The attendant came back with a bottle of Irish Whiskey which was 77% alcoholic content and a plastic bottle of carbonated water as well as some some napkins of the hot napkins-before-take-off type. The doctor carefully removed the Prada scarf and my handkerchief. The Prada scarf had some blood on it. And the handkerchief was soaked. He warned me that next it would probably hurt but it wouldn't be for long. He poured some of the carbonated water onto the wound. It sure burned. Next, he carefully cleaned off the wound. He never asked me who had shot me or why. I guess he was one of those doctors who didn't care too much to ask questions but just focused on the healing. Next he placed my hand on a couple of napkins and poured some Whiskey all over the area. He got wound dressing from the surgical kit and wound the dressinglike cable on a spool around my thumb and over part of my hand. The attendant help him tidy up and we were done. “You have a typical smaller entry wound and a larger flesh exit wound. You are lucky that the bullet exited and it didn't damage any arteries or organs. I advise you seek up a hospital when you arrive, this will do for now.” He said. I didn't worry about the wound much or anything I was soon sound asleep and slept through dinner and woke up as we descended through the clouds above Brussels. The doctor was busy finishing breakfast. He saw that I had woken up and asked me how I felt. I felt fine. My and was stinging a bit from the wound but much less than before. I thank him again, grabbed the money bag and went towards immigration. Just past customs I saw some shops and a show repair stand. I walked up and asked the man if he could fix my suit so it at least didn't look like a billboard for gunshots. He had a needleand thread and a patch which he sewed on from the inside. Good job. I forgot to look out for the mafia but surely they wouldn't know I was here.
I remembered a story I had read in The Daily News I found on the subway about this guy who the mafia had chased all around Brazil and all the way to Argentina where he had been hiding out, and they got him. The immigration officer said nothing and just stamped my passport and made a gesture for the next in line. I got a cab and asked the driver to drive me to a Sheraton downtown. The meter started and 35 Euros later out of habit, I handed him one of my credit cards. I saw my card going into the terminal and then I remember that it would most likely be declined. But I let him run it through the machine just to see if by some kind gesture the authorities back home had lifted the sanctions on me.
“Je suis désolé monsieur, votre carte de crédit a été refusée.”
I handed him four $20 bills and asked if that would be OIK. The man looked at the bills and said OK.
As I was about to get out of the taxi, Inoticed the same car, a silver Audi which had just entered behind us at the airport was just behind us. I got back in and said to the driver: “For another $100 could you pick me up downstairs from the parking garage in 5 minutes.
“Bien sur, no Problem, merci.” I got out of the taxi and walked to the swing door entrance of the Sheraton. I saw in the partial reflection of the glass 2 men coming out of the silver Audi, not far behind me. I hurried to the front desk and asked how to get to the parking garage. “Down the stairs near the lavatories, sir.” I pretended to go into the restroom. The men watched me. A bellboy came with a large cart. Then, as he passed I was hoping my dash down the stairs would be blocked by the bags on the bellboy's trolley. “Sortie Parking” said a sign 2 flights down. Now to find the cab and hoping he would still want his $100. After some frantic running back and forth I saw the cab, near the exit. I jumped in and I handed the man more dollar bills and asked him to drive to a cheap hotel near the airport. I looked anxiously behind for any cars following. Fortunately, none. The driver pulled up by Ibis Budget Aeroport with a big electronic sign which said “59 EUR.” I gave the driver a good tip. He smiled and was clearly happy.
”Voici. Ma carte si vous avez besoin d'un chauffeurencore.” The hotel seems like a decent budget hotel, clean, modern and chic.
“A room please one night and can I pay in dollars cash?” The lady took out her calculator and asked me for $75. I got a magnetic key card and opened the door to a rather basic but very clean room on the 5th floor overlooking the airport parking. The room had a bunk-bed, a window that could only be opened a couple inches, a small shower and a small wall mounted TV. I desperately needed a shower. Over two days since my last shower in LA and with despite dowsing using a lot of deo spray the caveman smell was coming on. Clean but without any clean clothes I had no choice but to put my smelly ones back. I found my cell-phone in my trouser pocket and decided to give Daniel a call. But I couldn't dial “SIM ERROR”. My phone must be blocked too! I ran downstairs to ask for Wi-Fi, so I could make a WhatsApp call. $10 later I had a Wi-Fi access code. Daniel picked up after 3 rings; “I've been trying to call you man!, I was at the US embassy today, the FBI says I, together with a co-worker are under suspicion of grand theft and fraud. They interviewed me via video link and told me to return to the USA urgently for further questioning. They also asked where you are”. I told him I was in Brussels and also about Natasha and the drug mafia, the chase and being shot at outside JFK and being followed by Sheraton here in Brussels. Daniel was thinking about where I should go whilst we tried to clear our names.
“The problem with this particular mafia is that they are so smart and well organized.” Even if I could convince the FBI I needed protection, and they would also get information on Natasha and the money locations it would be very difficult for them to keep me safe. Daniel finished thinking. “You need to get someplace where they can't just can't get to follow you that quickly. A place away from Europe that requires a visa and has strong borders”. He went on to see that he has a friend in the West African country of Ghana who could help look after me whilst we figure out what to do next. “I'll give my friend Osei Mensah a call.”
“Ghana? This trip to Belgium is my first-ever trip outside the USA!”
10 minutes later Daniel called back “Write this down. Go to the Ghanaian Embassy. You have to hurry because the visa section closes at 3. Ask for an express 24-hour visa. You will need to fill out my friend Osei's details on the form I am sending you them now.”
I picked up the card and called Albert, the cab driver. He picked me up after only a few minutes.
“Ghanaian embassy.”
I walked into the complex, took a queue number and sat down. The walls have had portraits of all the presidents since Independence from Great Britain in 1957 starting with Dr. Kwame Nkrumah as the republic’s first president. As I filled out the form I noticed the question if I had been involved in any criminal activity. “No”. I hadn't. Ever. I was able to pay cash with U.S. dollars and was told the visa would be ready for collection after 10am tomorrow.
Albert drove me to the airport. At Brussels airlines they told me that there was one flight for 11.30. That is cutting it very fine! With my ticket booked, Albert was driving me back to the hotel. We talked about things to see in Brussels. I decided to stop at the EU headquarters. Daniel spoke of how he had been there once. Albert said the same silver Mercedes had been following us for the past 10 minutes. It had to be them! How do they keep finding me? Nevertheless, I wasn't going to let this stop me. The European Parliament. I decided to get out of the cab there. The driver told me today they have sightseeing tours. Though security would be extra tight as the British prime minister was on approach for one of the many Brexit negotiations talks. Perfect. I could hopefully disappear there, after a barrage of security, including metal detectors. Access to the front was blocked, so I had to walk the last few bits. It was raining. The Audi was still behind me. I saw the two men get out. They walked what must have been 200 yards behind me. Now I felt angry. I walked back right towards them. There was police and press all around, so I felt safe. I got within a few yards of the men and shouted:
“What the h*ll do you want with me”. They laughed at me but didn't answer. In anger, I ran back towards one of the entrances. A police officer stopped me and asked where I was going. I told him about the tours. I was directed to an entrance with a revolving door. Sure enough there was airport-style security. I looked back. The two men were standing across the street smoking. Then, after the metal detectors I had to show my ID. Good thing I had my passport on me. I paid and got a ticket. I was assigned to a group of 20 people. The first stop was a small movie theater where we were shown a movie on the history of how the European Community was back then until today's European Union. The film ended, and we walked out to begin the tour of some of the many parts of the massive buildings. We continued with a number of large meeting rooms and then on to a viewing gallery over the massive parliament hall itself. Brexit fever was high. The host told us the hot topic was the breakdown in talks about the post-Brexit rights of the 2.9 million European Union citizens resident in the United Kingdom and the 1.3 million United Kingdom citizens in the other EU countries. As the short film was over, and we exited, I asked the men again. One of the leading players in Brexit, a former leader of the UK Independence party member, UKIP, and a currentmember of the European Parliament for the same party, UKIP, Mr. Nigel Farage was speaking it out. The host of the tour group was bemused and told us this was knownas “the Nigel Farage show,” though it would probably end when Brexit Day comes March 31st 2019. Mr Farage was leaving the party due to its current leader embracing Tommy Robinson a self-styled neo-anti something immigrant figure of British fringe politics, and Mr Farage was staying true to the out-of-EU cause and perhaps forming a new party down the line if as he puts it 'Brexit isn't delivered on time.'
The Farage show lasted for a few minutes, followed by responses from a few other members of the European Parliament. A break came up for us to get sandwiches and other refreshments in a nearby cafeteria.
I went to the restroom. It had been days since I got rid of a big load and it was way due now. Suddenly, as I was in the stall with my pants down on the toilet, the door opened. It was the two men! I shouted for help but one of them held my mouth. They were big guys. The other guy got a syringe out and prepped it with some liquid. He managed to get heavy duct tape over my mouth and made the tape turn several times around my head. Whatever they were about to inject into me it wouldn't be good! Surely enough in a heavy accent the man said I was going to die but it would be very quick. I tried to wrestle but to no avail the guy had a firm neck lock on me. The man held my arms whilst the other got closer with the syringe trying to find a spot to insert it. I used what I had; my head and head-butted the guy right in his left eye. He lost his grip on my arms for a short moment. I felt I had one load of fecal matter left in me. I thought to myself: this is it I must expunge what's left and use it. Fortunately, the final load of feces splurged out. The smell was rancid. What a way to die, I thought. I got my hand down in the toilet and fished out the feces and threw it in his face right between his eyes. I had some left for the other guy's face too, and he dropped the syringe. I ran for it. As I exited I tripped over a trash bin but managed to avoid hurting myself by regaining my balance. I pulled my pants up, leaving a fat stain from some of the excrement left on my right hand. A bit of silver duct tape was hanging from my neck. I was going to shout in the corridor but instead just ran and ran. A few bewildered people looked at me. I ran back towards the viewing gallery. I got into a long, slightly bent corridor. There was a small entourage coming my way. I recognized this guy. It was Mr. Farage and a few others talking quite loudly with British accents. They looked at me with amazement. Mr. Farage looked startled and said; “I thought I had seen it all, what goes on here, but this really takes the biscuit!”
His colleague, a tall press officer, helped me get the tape off. “Where is the Brexit, I mean exit?” I asked. The man nearest to Mr. Farage told me to carry on and take the first elevator down. I thanked them and told them there were two killers in the building. I really needed to wash my hands. I found a door which I hoped would lead me to some place where I could wash my hands. I tried a few doors away. I was stopped by a security guard who said this section was not available to the public. I showed him my hand and told him it was an emergency. I was directed to a nearby rest room. I thoroughly washed my hands. It was way too late for my pants and the rest of the region. And it stunk. At least I was alive. I went back out into the corridor. More people were coming. A tired looking woman with gray hair followed with a tall man in his 50s and a bunch of aides and security guards. One of them pushed me aside and told me not to move until they had passed. I recognized her from the TV. The British Prime Minister Theresa May. (I later looked up the man on Google, and it was the chief negotiator for the EU, Mr. Michel Barnier.) And there I was unable to get anywhere smelling of my own excrement. To my horror I felt my unwiped buttocks had now smeared the bad stuff all over the backside of my thin pants and it was seeping through. It left a small mark on the wall I was pressed up against. I pointed it out to the guard, who said he would have it taken care of. Some story to tell people back home if I could make it alive. I looked over towards the end of the corridor and could see a couple of levels down. I saw the two men heading for the exit. All I had to do was to get out somehow. I checked my phone to get a map up but it was out of battery. I waited 10 minutes. Fortunately there were plenty of cabs outside. I got in one, and the driver gave me a newspaper to sit on and got me back to the hotel. To my relief, no one was following me. After a long cleanup at the hotel I went to bed.
