//------------------------------// // Chapter 18: The Woman in Black // Story: On Getting to the Bottom of this "Equestrian" Business // by McPoodle //------------------------------// Chapter 18: The Woman in Black June 28, 1985. Zero Minus 2 Hours. “British Armed Forces Prevent Human Sacrifice at Stonehenge”, the headline of The Sun read the next day. The photo accompanying the story was so poorly done that the baby supposedly being prepared for sacrifice on a toppled plinth must have been ten feet tall to be in scale. The paper had been left behind by its original reader, probably in disgust. Gus Guiseman dropped the newspaper in shock. “I forgot to get anything for Celestia or Luna!” he exclaimed. He was standing with the rest of the American tourists in the Terminal 3 Concourse of Heathrow Airport, awaiting the arrival of Pan-Am Flight 103 to New York City. He had a good excuse for his forgetfulness—it wasn’t even dawn yet, and the hectic events surrounding the concert the night before had completely exhausted him. “Don’t worry,” Gwen assured him. “I had Ashley pick up a few things before we even got here. They’re packed in the luggage.” Gus pouted. “I really ought to get something myself.” Gwen smiled. “You just want an excuse to browse the duty-free shops. Well go along, but keep an eye on the time. The plane should be here within an hour.” Gus began the long trek back into the main part of Heathrow. Gwen then looked over at Meridiem and Gnosi. “Do you mind following him? I’d rather not have this be the fifth plane we miss over the course of our marriage because Gus got sucked into a science magazine.” & & & After briefly getting himself lost in an issue of Omni, Gus wandered through the various shops, seeking out something that wouldn’t be too tacky. He eventually found a small stuffed owl that made a startled “hoo” sound when you turned it upside down; which just left Celestia. He turned a corner when he suddenly found himself face-to-face with…her. The short hunched woman in the stiff black dress had been showing up for years at the lectures he had given during his numerous visits to Japan starting in the mid-1960’s. She was always in the back of the hall, wearing a veil over her face, and yet he always had the feeling that she was staring intently at him. Not once had she ever approached him before or after a lecture, or even left him some sort of note explaining her presence. He could almost trace the passage of the years in the way her physical condition deteriorated over time, her straight posture bending over, her faint shaking becoming more and more noticeable. And now, half a world away from her home, here they were face to face. Through the veil, Gus saw one eye go wide. The other eye could not match this action, as it was physically unable to. The entire left side of the woman’s face was scarred with deep red lesions. Gus stepped back in shock, but then it all became clear. Her age, those particular injuries—she was one of the survivors of the atomic bombings of Japan in 1945. She obviously had wanted to confront him over his part in her suffering. And Gus was perfectly willing to put up with whatever she had to say. His conscience was clear; if having her berate him in a public place would help set her mind at ease, he was willing to endure the mother of all tongue lashings. But instead, all she did was shove an object into his hands, and quickly hobble away. Gus looked down at it. It was a tall white umbrella with a blue trim. Again, Gus recognized this object: the woman had always carried a white umbrella of some kind in each of her visits—it started as a fashion statement, and ended up as a cheap cane. “Wait!” he cried out. “Don’t you need this?” The woman said something that was hard to make out with her accent and the damage to her mouth. But it might have been “Keep it. And please—don’t give it to me again. It’s not worth it.” Gnosi and Meridiem ran up to him from the next aisle. “Professor, are you all right?” the young woman asked him. Gus sighed. “I’m fine. I just hope she got what she wanted out of that encounter. Did Gwen send you two to keep an eye on me?” Meridiem nodded guiltily. Gus looked down at his shopping bag, then up at the clock. “This will just take a minute.” With the two students in tow, he went back to where he found the owl and bought a matching mourning dove, then returned to the concourse, swinging the handle of his new white umbrella back and forth with his free hand. Something about the object felt wrong, but he couldn’t put a finger on what. & & & Back in the concourse, Gus sat down with a frown. He handed his bag of purchases to his curious wife without a word then started to study the inner mechanism of the white umbrella. Gwen looked over at the umbrella for a moment. “You didn’t get that for Delver’s girls, did you?” “No, I guess it’s for me,” Gus replied. Gnosi, who had also been staring intently at the umbrella ever since he first set eyes on it, finally spoke up. “I wonder if that woman was at Kensington Gardens yesterday.” “I don’t remember seeing her,” Meridiem replied. “But there were a lot of people at that park. And they’ve probably been selling that umbrella there since the beginning of the year.” “Kensington Gardens?” Gus asked. He finally examined the outside of the umbrella. Written around the edge were the words “All Prams Come from Kensington Gardens. 1735-1985.” “A ‘pram’ is what the locals call a baby carriage,” Gnosi helpfully explained. “Yes, I know that. What has me mystified is why an umbrella obviously manufactured this year is already in such awful condition. I can’t even open it fully.” “It must be a cheap souvenir that got caught in a rain shower or something,” said Gnosi. “Well, you can always have the one I bought—it’s still in its plastic wrapper.” “You’re offering me the umbrella you bought for yourself?” “No offence, but if all ‘Kensington Pram-iversary’ umbrellas are that badly made, then I think I’m better off with the worn umbrella I have at home. That woman’s nowhere around—you could just toss it.” He gestured towards a nearby trash bin. “What woman?” asked Gwen. “Somebody who had cause to be mad at me. And I think I’ll hold onto this broken one for now.” A few minutes later, the group was approached by a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man in a thick pea green coat. The man was flanked on either side by men in black suits. “Excuse me,” the man in the coat said with a Russian accent. Gus winked at his wife. “They find me everywhere,” he whispered to her. “Yes, I am who you think I am,” he said. “Would you like me to sign something?” “What?” the man said in confusion. “No, I’d like to speak to your Markist friends over there.” “Oh,” Gus said, visibly deflating. Gwen snickered. A moment later her eyes went wide as she recognized the man. “How can we help you, Sir?” Delver asked. “I was wondering what the procedure was for joining your faith.” “If you’re boarding this flight, I happen to know that there is a Harmony Center in JFK that can help you. And if you’re sitting in my vicinity in the plane, I’d be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.” “Thank you for your time.” “The name’s Delver. I’m a Markist bishop. We Markists exist to make the world a happier place.” “That is certainly what I have heard…Father Delver. I would appreciate speaking with you. But if we don’t see each other again, I wish you a pleasant flight.” “The same to you, my friend!” Gwen waited until the trio of men had returned to their corner of the waiting area to address the others. “Do you know who that was?” “Who?” asked Gus. “Marshal Ustinov, the head of the Soviet army! I heard he just defected a few days ago.” Gus looked appraisingly at the large man and his obvious American handlers. His presence on this flight had just made it a target in the eyes of the Soviet Union.