‘All of the passengers are in good spirits, and I can help them if they’re not, but I haven’t seen the German-Swedish man called Peder yet, he … lost his fiancé; I grabbed him but missed her and took Carter next. Sounds like he’s not happy with me.’

  ‘Perhaps you can offer to place him back on the plane,’ Rolf suggested. ‘With his fiancé.’

  ‘She’s grey ash, nothing left,’ I sighed out. ‘And I can understand his hurt; it’s called Survivor Syndrome, feeling bad about surviving when others died around you.’

  ‘He is German?’

  ‘They said he is, yes, but living in Stockholm maybe.’

  Sabotage

  The British Embassy official appeared at the door. ‘Ah, here you are.’ He came in and closed the door, which was odd. ‘There’s … some bad news, I’m afraid, but till tomorrow it will be kept quiet.’

  ‘What … news?’ I puzzled.

  ‘A Swedish Airlines technician who worked on the plane he … was apparently seen to break down in tears at the news of the loss of his parents and his wife, they were on the plane.’

  ‘And he worked on the plane?’ I asked.

  ‘He did, and … he’s disappeared and … a friend of his now suggests that he deliberately tampered with the aircraft.’

  I felt a hammer blow to my chest, a hot flush on my face. ‘He … he brought down the plane, because … his fucking wife was on board?’

  ‘Looks that way, yes, they were about to separate and there had been police calls to the house, and the wife’s parents had been threatening him with legal action over a loan he took from them. And … he failed to fill in certain aircraft forms and logs, the airline about to crap their trousers – they’re liable for claims.’

  I turned to Rolf, who was looking horrified.

  ‘It was deliberate?’ Rolf gasped.

  The embassy guy responded, ‘It seems that way, yes. Please don’t say anything to anyone outside the hospital for a day or so, but … it will hit the news tomorrow we think, the Swedish authorities are not prepared to sit on it.’

  He let himself out.

  I sighed out, ‘So much for the hand of God, it was the hand of that fucking technician.’ I walked out, and to the old lady’s room. There I found a middle-aged couple, who beamed at seeing me, then caught my expression.

  I stepped to Hilly and held her hand. ‘I have some … bad news.’

  ‘What has happened?’ she puzzled as she looked up and studied my face.

  ‘Police are investigating, and … it looks like a man in Sweden deliberately tampered with the plane to make it crash.’

  She shrieked, a hand to her mouth as the tears began, the couple closing in to console her.

  I left them alone and stepped next door, to the Swedish man. He was alone.

  ‘Hey Buddy,’ he offered me.

  ‘There’s … some news. A … Swedish technician is being sought by the police … for making our plane crash.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘His wife was on board, and … they were going to divorce.’

  ‘That … bastard!’

  ‘The news will be released tomorrow.’

  ‘I find him,’ he threatened.

  ‘You get well first, and you get in line, because I’ll find him first.’

  In with the mother and daughter I closed the door, the father puzzling that. ‘There’s some … news, and … a Swedish technician at SAS Airlines is being sought by the police for … deliberately bringing down our plane.’

  They exchanged stunned looks.

  ‘It was deliberate?’ the father gasped.

  ‘It looks that way, yes, a statement to be made tomorrow. You’re asked not to say anything to anyone till then.’

  Outside, I asked a nurse for the room of Peder, having avoided him up to now. Inside, I found him alone, so I sat where he could see me.

  ‘You. Go … away.’

  ‘You blame me … for not saving your fiancé, I can understand that, and you have Survivor Syndrome, unable to deal with the fact that you are still alive. But your fiancé was murdered -’

  He puzzled that. ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Yes. Swedish police are seeking a technician that worked on the plane, he tampered with it, his wife on board, a wife about to divorce him.’

  I stood. ‘If you wish to blame someone to make yourself feel better, you can blame him.’ I left him to consider that.

  In with Carter, he open his eyes. ‘Hey, any tasty nurses about?’

  ‘I … have some news, and … it’s not good news.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Our plane was tampered with.’

  He stared at me for several seconds. ‘Tampered with? No one … knew we were flying!’

  ‘We were not the target, a Swedish technician getting divorced tampered with the fucking plane, his about to be ex-wife and her parents on board. He’s now missing, on the run and being sought by the police. Apparently he told someone that he’d bring the plane down.’

  Carter stared at the floor. ‘Losing my career for an accident is one thing, but this little shit nearly ended my life because of a spat with his fucking ex!’

  ‘He did. And the airline pay-out could be huge; it’s mass murder. News will hit tomorrow, so try and deal with it in your head now, and think about a few months at the hotel in Corsica, cold beer and some nice girls.

  ‘The government will release you, then you can come work for me, after a long rest somewhere nice.’

  ‘They said something?’

  ‘That you’d be pensioned off, yes, unless you make a miraculous recovery of course.’

  ‘I don’t see that happening, not anytime soon, and if someone kicked me in the hips I’d be out for the count.’

  ‘So get used to the idea of working for me,’ I told him. ‘Government pension on top.’

  ‘What would I be doing?’ he asked.

  ‘You could do security guard work in Corsica, gun on your hip, no need to wrestle with someone.’

  ‘Well … yeah, no need to wrestle them, I’d shoot them.’

  ‘You have time, so don’t make any choices yet, heal some first. We’ll move to a place on Lake Como for a few weeks, then head back.’

  An hour later I returned to the old lady, the twins and Ingrid heading back to the hotel with sour faces, very sour faces. I sat and held her hand, her family gone for the day.

  ‘It is … hard to accept,’ she finally stated.

  ‘For us all.’ I waited.

  ‘I … will be OK, I … just need to deal with the news, that my family were murdered.’

  ‘The man, the aircraft technician, he was getting divorced, his wife on our aircraft with her parents.’

  ‘My god, to be so cruel.’

  ‘Human nature, I’m afraid. I just wish I could have taken his wife off the plane, just to piss him off.’

  ‘She must have been sat at the front, near my family.’

  I nodded. ‘You’ll have to walk around with a spear in your side for a while, and … it will be hard to deal with. An accident is one thing, but sabotage is … harder to deal with.’

  At 10pm, as I lay staring up at the roof, my phone trilled, and I had forgotten that I had turned up the volume today. It was Luc Haas.

  ‘Luc?’

  ‘The twins called me, so I called my old friends at Interpol, and this little fuck technician flew out the country, to Spain, then Panama. We don’t have an extradition treaty with them.’

  ‘Does he have money?’

  ‘No, he will run out of money for hotels quickly.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Marc Haussen.’

  ‘What … religion is Panama? Catholic, yes?’

  ‘Yes, Catholic.’

  ‘Then I … may have an idea. Keep me informed of anything you find out please.’

  ‘I can go there and look for him?’

  ‘And get arrested, or get me into trouble when people claim I sent you to murder him.’

  ‘I make sure his body is not found!’ he snarled.

  ‘No, don’t do that, keep your hands clean. I have a call to make.’ Easing out of bed was painful, a minute taken to catch my breath. At the nurses’ station, I asked if they knew who the visiting bishop had been. They wrote down his name.

  ‘Can you get me a phone number? It’s important.’

  They found the name of the seminary that he would be staying at close by.

  I called it using a hospital phone.

  ‘Pronto,’ came down the phone.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘This is Ricky Roskov, at the hospital, I need Bishop Armani.’

  ‘It is late.’

  ‘It is important, get him now!’

  ‘Moment.’

  I waited a good three minutes.

  ‘Mister Roskov?’

  ‘You the bishop I met?’

  ‘Yes. What is the problem?’

  ‘The police in Sweden are now searching for the technician that worked on my plane, and they now know that it was sabotage.’

  ‘Sabotage?’

  ‘Yes. The man made threats, then after the crash he fled to Panama. I ask that you contact your people in Panama, to ask the President of Panama to look for the man, a case of mass murder, extradition treaty or not. They will be awake now, four hours behind us.’

  ‘I spent time there myself, and … I will make a call to an old friend.’

  ‘This wanted man is called Marc Haussen, not sure how to spell it, but there will not be too many fresh arrivals from Sweden. Have him sent back if you can, and I would owe you a favour.’

  ‘We don’t extract favours.’

  I bit my tongue and held off saying what I wanted to say. ‘We all need a favour now and then. Make the call please.’ I placed down the phone and ended the call, wondering if the mighty Catholic Church would assist me. And when they would come to extract the favour.

  Back in bed, the same busty nurse came around, but I was in no mood for an arse massage, or a dance with her tonight. I told her I was tired after my day’s activities, and she left me alone.

  A statement to make

  In the morning, I woke to find the pain worse, but after a few minutes of slowly walking around the room I felt better, a few glances at the large silver crucifix as the Jesus figure stared down at me.

  A different nurse massaged my arse and hips today, which helped greatly – at least to take my mind off things, and my breakfast today was tasty, which made a change.

  The twins appeared after breakfast, a welcome sight. Rita began, ‘It is on the news in Sweden, the story of the aircraft technician, everyone in shock there.’

  I nodded. ‘I can imagine, yes, you don’t get many terrorist attacks, and that’s what it was.’

  ‘This man has fled to Panama they say, but also that the FBI is now involved because an American man died.’

  ‘Good, maybe they can put pressure on Panama, but I asked the Catholic Church to assist in the search for the man.’

  ‘The Church?’ Rita puzzled.

  ‘Panama is Catholic, and the bishop I met yesterday – he worked there he said, he has connections.’

  The Sun newspaper reporter walked in.

  ‘You still here?’ I asked him.

  ‘This is the big story, now this development in Sweden. Any comments?’

  ‘Yes.’ He readied his notepad. ‘I don’t blame Swedish Airways, SAS, for the action of one criminal, one terrorist, and I will fly with them again. No one should blame the airline or Boeing, this was not a mechanical fault or a badly designed aircraft it was the criminal act of one deranged man – so it seems.

  ‘I will not be taking the airline to court, nor seeking additional compensation, my anger lies with the man responsible, and this could have happened to any airline.

  ‘The airlines have to trust their technicians, ground crew and pilots, any one of which could cause a plane to fail and to crash, but maybe they can alter a few procedures and make sure that technicians working on aircraft at night always work in pairs, and that a supervisor checks their work afterwards.

  ‘That may add a few hours to the overhead costs of running an airline, but that’s nothing compared to the lives lost, and the hundreds of millions of Euros paid out in compensation.

  ‘I hope that the European Union looks at the matter very quickly, a simple law that changes a procedure - technicians to work in pairs, and maybe a few years from now other families will be spared the same grief.

  ‘I can also report that the Catholic Church here in Italy has offered to help with the search for the man behind the crash, Marc Haussen, and that the Church is in contact with their fellow bishops in Panama, to make requests to the Panama Government for assistance.

  ‘If the government of Panama shelters this terrorist, this mass murderer, then they are no better than terrorists themselves, and all European travellers and business investors should avoid Panama.’

  ‘That should wake them up,’ he laughed.

  ‘Put it on Reuters,’ I suggested.

  He had been gone fifteen minutes, a coffee enjoyed with the twins, when the Holy Roman Empire came calling, and with the heavy mob behind them.

  The same bishop entered the room after I had waved him in. But I rudely remained in bed. He began, ‘We have been in touch with our counterparts in Panama, who have made their representations to the government there on our behalf, and the Pope has sent a message.’

  ‘Thanks for your assistance,’ I flatly stated.

  ‘We do it for many reasons, not simply your request, and Italian citizens died on that flight as well.’ He glanced at the twins. ‘There is … another matter.’

  I faced the twins. ‘Can you give us ten minutes, please.’

  Puzzling the need for secrecy, they walked out past the heavy mob.

  The bishop began, ‘We think we know who the mother of the baby is, and the father, our private detectives have been searching in parallel to the police. Given the interest in the child, we were … keen to find out the story.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And the story is...?’

  ‘The parents of the baby are from the Czech Republic, warrants outstanding for their arrest, the father suspected of murder there. The mother, Luka, she was abused by her father and she ran away, became homeless, was forced onto drugs and into prostitution.

  ‘The man, Gabby they call him, beat her and drugged her, then let men … have their way with her. The pregnancy was caused by an unknown father it seems.

  ‘She is now in hiding not far from here, the man missing, but we know that he headed towards Germany.’ He studied me for a moment. ‘I was wondering … how you would handle the matter?’

  It was a very odd question to be asking me. ‘I would have assumed that the police handle the matter, and ignore me and my wishes.’

  ‘They may do, but … what would be your wishes in the matter?’

  It was still a very odd question to ask, and I suspected some skulduggery here. ‘The girl is innocent, she did not chose to be abused as a kid, and she ran away to stop the abuse. Becoming homeless was inevitable, so was being forced onto drugs and into prostitution; it’s an old story.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned … she is without sin, and I would meet with her, pay for her rehabilitation, and someday show her the baby.’

  He considered that. ‘You would state that publically?’

  His question shocked me, but I hid my reaction. ‘What I say … is what I believe, there is no second version of what I say and do. I always stick to the truth.’

  ‘Then I think that the police will pick her up, study her life and her story and … finally decide that she was the victim here. Since that is the truth … none could challenge it.’

  ‘We are in agreement,’ I told him with a false smile, knowing full well that they wanted to push the narrative of the “Hand of God” here. But since the girl was genuinely the victim … I was happy to go along with it.

  With the heavy mob gone, I had time to sit and think, to think about the politics here - the religious politics; they did not want their nice story of the miracle baby to be tarnished.

  That baby appeared a few minutes later, crying, but she settled quickly in my arms.

  ‘You, my little chubby lump, are the centre of political and religious double-dealing, but since it’s all basically true we have to go along with it. And someday soon you’ll meet your real mother.

  ‘Hello, you asleep? Bloody marvellous. Here I am making an important speech and you fall asleep on me. Are you related to the twins or something?’

  Those twins returned an hour later, the baby asleep on me, Rita taking more photos.

  ‘How’s the grumpy old man?’

  ‘He has massage and the ultrasonic; you have it so he must have it. He is now determined to walk and he exercises his legs.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I commended. ‘But tickling his feet is good for the nervous system.’

  Handing the baby to the twins for a feed, I eased down and bent and stretched, a few loud gasps labelling the problem – my body had not healed yet, not even close to healing yet.

  Walking around the room, I felt better, and soon I went for a walk, now knowing the layout and knowing who was where. But first I asked about a warm shower, and they agreed that it was OK. I grabbed Frieda, she would assist, and the nurse would place waterproof pads over my stitches.

  Stripped naked in the shower room, Frieda naked and the nurse shooting me looks, the nurse put the pads on before Frieda led me into the shower.

  The warm water helped greatly, and it was good to get the grime off, because as nice as the bed baths from the nurses had been I desperately needed a shower. And Frieda’s cleansing of my cock and balls was taking my mind off the pain.

  Out and dry, and in fresh blue hospital gown and trousers, I walked back with Frieda, sure that I was smelling much better. Rita was sat with a nurse and feeding the baby, Frieda immediately jealous. I left them to argue quietly.

  In with Rolf, I tickled his feet to some loud screams, and loud appeals that I not tickle his feet. Sat, Ingrid heading out to get me a coffee, I sighed out. ‘The Holy Roman Empire has identified the baby’s parents, and … it’s a bit of a horror story. The girl was abused as a kid in the Czech Republic, ran away, got into drugs and prostitution.’