Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Lugh gazed with admiration at the crystal blue sea from within the chartered British Airways 747. It was the only part about Earth he’d seen since his return that felt close to matching the beauty he had seen in Avalon. He was seated in the section of the plane with the Prime Minister and his essential staff that in normal circumstances would serve as the first class cabin. The other half was used to seat the Chancellor of the Exchequer and his essential staff in what was normally the plane’s business class section.
He looked out at the plane’s wings, taking in the unique craftsmanship that was brought about in its creation. They looked like two arms jutting out to both sides. There were rotors that spun with great speeds, powered by a fuel of the dead. Lugh was in awe that these humans had the capability to make such a beautiful machine. Still, for all its engineering brilliance, it paled in comparison to the excitement and rush of flying, which he had started to miss in his human form.
One of the co-workers seated next to him glanced over Lugh’s shoulder, amused by his naïve attitude. The guy was a standard pencil-pusher named Robert Starks. “You look like you haven’t been inside a plane before.” He chuckled, nudging his shoulder lightly. His casual smile turned into one of curiosity as he leaned back in his cushioned chair. “You really have never flown in a plane before, have you?”
“Yep it is. You got me,” Lugh chuckled nervously, turning away from the window toward Starks. “Back in Wales, there was hardly much of a need for air travel. The bulk of government travel came through trains.”
“If you start getting air sick, son,” Robert uttered. “The bathroom is in the front next to the PM’s office.”
“Thanks.”
Starks smiled and nodded before returning to a copy of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. Lugh meanwhile returned to his prior thoughts. Part of him wondered how and where in Valencia his associate would appear. He also wondered if he would need to use his powers of persuasion on the Prime Minister before he is set to speak. His thoughts were interrupted again by a soreness in his legs that had accumulated over the five hours onboard. Annoying human appendages, he thought, unbuckling his seatbelt.
Lugh stood up and slipped past Robert out to the walkway to stretch his legs. As they regained their natural function after a minute of moving about, he heard a heated argument emanating from Prime Minister Temple’s seat a few feet away. He hid behind an empty row of seats still within earshot of the leader as the argument went on.
“General...General,” the Prime Minister paced around a row of seats, gripping the red wireless phone in his hand. “The military will be well taken care of, I promise you. I know you have heard a lot of things in the press about how you guys are going to face big cuts in my speech. Believe me when I say this- they are all rubbish. You’ll be taken care of. You have my word on that.”
Lugh tried to figure out what the person on the other line was saying for context as the P.M. continued. “I agree. But a strong army and a strong economy do not have to be mutually exclusive. Just—Just listen to the speech in two days and judge for yourself.”
As the Prime Minister slammed the receiver down, Lugh slid out of view back to his seat. He did his best to contain his smile, thinking of one crucial sentence: “A strong army and a strong economy do not have to be mutually exclusive.” I do not believe I will need that extra persuasion after all, he thought buckling in and looking out at the beautiful plane.
The massive 747 touched down on runway 2B of Valencia Airport two minutes after 1 P.M. local time. The cabin of the plane jolted when the wheels landed with a quick shaky thud before smoothing out over the rest of the runway. Lugh looked out of the window at the airport’s terminal and its brown ribbed architectural roof as it came into view, glistening in the afternoon sun.
The dignitaries and staff stepped out through the forward doors a short time later, followed by the pilots. On the ground they found a gathering of press from all over the world clamoring to be the first to speak to them. The first to de-plane was Chancellor Reynolds and his staff. They were quickly swarmed by the press pool, barraging the Chancellor with questions on various topics ranging from Greece to the Eurozone’s long-term viability.
The Prime Minister and his advisers and staff followed shortly after from the plane’s staircase to the same interrogative glare. It took a few minutes for both leaders to arrive in the area where their Spanish equivalents, President Rodriguez and the Minister of Economy & Finance, Georgette Chacon, were standing. They were joined by two dozen photographers and cameramen who had gathered for the photo-op.
“Welcome to Valencia, Prime Minister Temple,” President Gutierrez proclaimed with a toothy smile. They then shook hands to the flash of photography bulbs. “I hope your visit is exquisite.”
A few moments later, as the two men stepped to the side, the Economy & Finance Minister welcomed her English colleague with the same greeting in Spanish. The handshake was also greeted with the sparkling flashes. A few moments later, the applause died down and the four of them proceeded to make their way out to their respective convoys in front of the runway.
Further away from the scene, Lugh moved through the indecipherable chorus of reporters next to him clamoring for some type of scoop for their editors. Amongst the chorus was Ghede who was dressed in her trademark all-black attire with her cane gripped in her left hand. She took out her notepad and pen and scribbled down a couple of notes from a brief conversation she had with Ms. Chacon. After writing it, she placed the notepad in her jacket and slithered up the line past her human counterparts who hardly turned a head at the scene.
Ghede moved past the group following the line British bureaucrats up to the four leaders and their respective staffs as they made their way into the terminal. She spent a few brief moments writing statements from of a couple of mid-level workers for the Chancellor. Small things that were hardly newsworthy at the moment though might be useful in a bigger story. Finally, she saw the Prime Minister a couple of feet away. There was a young man in a black suit coat with a white shirt and brown tie standing next to him. Tucked underneath his arm was a black folder with the seal of the British Government emblazoned on it.
Could that be Lugh, she thought. In her many years of covering politics, this Lucas was too calm. It was a trait that Ghede had not observed in many of the low-level governmental staff that she had interacted with. Especially in someone as relatively new to the upper crust of British government as Mr. Pearson had. Ghede thought about confronting the normal looking man, but chose instead to calmly scribble it down on the notepad. She then looked up and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
As she did, Lugh heard a strange humming behind him and stopped mid-step. He stood in the middle of the walkway next to the terminal for an extra minute, looking out at the assembled members of the press. There is someone familiar watching me, he thought.
“Oi, Luke,” the annoyed co-worker barked out, interrupting Lugh’s train of thought and nudging him inside the terminal. “No time for sightseeing right now.”
Lugh looked back at the spot one last time, which was now occupied by somebody from Agence France Presse before moving on. “You look like you saw a ghost there.” The co-worker casually remarked walking next to him as they entered the terminal.
***
Five other people assigned to the Prime Minister’s staff had gathered a short time later outside the airport inside his limousine along with Lugh. One of them was from the Press Office who was assigned to keep track and outline the Prime Minister’s schedule during the course of the summit. There was another person from the same office assigned to write and disseminate the official statements from the government out to the press back home. There were also two translators from the Home Office who specialized in French and German who were part of the half dozen people, split amongst the Prime Minister’s car and the Chancellor’s car, who comprised the government’s translation staff.
The fifth member of the group was also a translator specializing in Chinese. She was a short-haired woman who looked at first glance like a prototypical nerd. All without the social awkwardness that is commonly associated with that archetype. “This is your first international summit I see?” She asked as Lugh looked out the window at the scenery of the city.
“Yes it is,” he turned away from the window to address the long-time worker. “I started a little over two weeks ago. I am originally from Wales.”
“Chief must think you’re quite clever to get sent to a G20, Cardiff,” she chuckled, putting her arm around his back. “Let me give you some advice: Don’t try to do too much. Nine times out of ten it just gets your arse kicked.”
“I will keep that in mind.” Lugh acknowledged watching as her arm dropped to her side. He turned his attention back to the window at the different sights Valencia had to offer.
There was the Old Quarter and the Mercado Circle that was filled with locals and tourists who were buying ceramics, fresh vegetables and fruit from vendors. There were the sandy beaches where people sat on tapestries in order to take advantage of the afternoon sun or to frolic with friends and family in the sea. Lugh pondered how grateful these people will be once they see the good he and Charon would soon bring all of them.
“Why can’t we just take care of our own business and let the rest of the continent fall where it may?” the French translator mused with a bitter chuckle.
“Because, Jensen, doing that damn near lost an entire generation,” the Prime Minister forcefully replied. “Do you want to suffer the same fate?”
“Of course not, sir,” Jensen replied, stepping back from his earlier bravado. “All I’m saying is that we can’t go through the same song and dance here again. Something has to change for the better.”
“Believe me, son, it will,” the P.M. asserted as the others looked on attentively. “I can feel it in my bones. The winds of history will soon be blowing behind our backs. You shall see, gentlemen and lady.”
Lugh looked into the Prime Minister’s eyes for a second. He noticed there was an extra spark to them. It was a special gray and blue glow that hovered in the middle of the man’s cornea. He smiled widely and raised his fist exuberantly. “Indeed we shall, sir!”
His co-workers seated all around Lugh did not share his exuberance. They each flashed him an incredulous look, holding in their angered protestations out of respect for their boss as the limo moved down the street. Lugh briefly glanced at his fellow workers and flashed a pleased grin before returning to the sights of the city until arriving ten minutes later outside the Hotel Conqueridor.
The hotel staff stepped through the glass doors to welcome the visiting British and Spanish diplomats. The bureaucrats stepped out of their respective cars and entered the four-star hotel, gazing at the beautiful interior of the lobby. The doormen and bellhops moved with grace and precision to collect the suitcases from the back of the five limousines and immediately moved behind each individual worker up to their rooms.
Lugh was the last one to emerge from the Prime Minister’s car with his lone carry-on in hand. The air had an unquestionably foul smell to it. He remembered the stories the Greek Gods’ would tell about the unique smells of Mediterranean coastal towns before the Industrial Revolution. Even while he was locked away in his cell he could recall each of the sweet smells from perfect memory. It was the lone luxury he had had during his long incarceration.
Oh, how he missed them!