17 April 2012
PART 5
On the fifth ring, Stewart’s dad answered. “Please tell me you have the blueprint.”
He looked down at the painting in the footwell. “I have the blueprint, we’re safe Dad. Are you-”
A crackle echoed into Stewarts ear, followed by an unfamiliar voice. Even though it had a slight accent to it the demand was clear. “If you want to see you’re father anytime soon,” it interrupted “you will do exactly what I say,” It was clear and well spoken with a slight European accent that Stewart couldn’t identify. It must be his father’s attacker, he thought. His stomach churned. “Ok,” Stewart agreed, “just don’t hurt him.”
“We will be in the centre of George Square in ten minutes. Bring the blueprint.” The line went dead. Stewart took his cell phone off speaker and turned to Mrs. Turnbell sitting behind the driving wheel. A frown had developed across her brow as she played with a ring around her index finger.
“We should go to the police, Stewart.”
“We don’t have time. Let’s just hand over the blueprint and get dad back.”
“Why is this bloody blueprint so important?”
“I think it’s the location of the painting they want.”
“He will be pretty upset when he figures out we have it then.”
“Well, we can’t just give him the painting too or all this will have been for nothing.”
Mrs. Turnbell sighed “Right,” she said. Reluctantly indicating the SUV into the next lane for George Square. Stewart wiggled his toes, feeling a swelling pain running up each foot from the sarcophagus lid. He began to wonder why both the Art Director and the attacker were after the blueprint. If it was the location of the painting they were after, he should probably get it somewhere safe. Resting against the leather seat Stewart looked at the slender muscles in Mrs. Ts forearm tauten slightly as she changed gear. He would have never imagined her capable of knocking someone out. Stewart guessed she was in her early forty’s. He never had the guts to ask though. His Dad always taught him to never ask a woman her age. Especially one he was courting.
Turning into George Square the rain had turned into an invisible drizzle. The noise of the windscreen wipers occasionally broke the silence inside the SUV.
“Do you see them, Stewart,” Mrs. Turnbell said, circling the square.
Stewart looked out the window onto the middle of the square. It was the central square in the heart of Glasgow’s cosmopolitan centre, with statues of the poet Robert Burns and Queen Victoria. The square had many grand historic buildings that stood at each side with the large Glasgow City Council building standing proudly at the top of the square. The middle of the square, where Stewart was looking, had often been a meeting place for political gatherings, protests and New Year celebrations. Today though, it was being used for a music concert with a large crowd that made finding his father even harder.
They circled the Square twice before his dad was spotted. “There!” Mrs. T blurted out. Stewart followed her finger, searching the faces in the crowed. He strained to scan each individual. Then he saw him. It wasn’t his dad’s face, it was the soaked shoulders of his white shirt from the rain that caught his attention. Standing with his back to the SUV, his father turned slightly to talk to a man in a dark blue trench coat. His attacker. The attacker was looking at his watch. It was time.
The Merchant's Coin • Opuss № I