The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Seriously? He’s honestly telling us there are no internet cafes in the whole of Bruges?” Nina stamped down the steps from the Tourist Information. “How is that even possible?”

“Well, none that that guy knows about, anyway,” said Sam. “We’re just a couple of years too late, by the looks of it. Everyone expects that you’ll just use your phone these days. It’s a shame that he wouldn’t let us use his, though.”

“Mmm. And of course the bloody libraries are closed today. Did you catch what he was saying about that? Some kind of holiday? Not that it matters why, the point is that they’re not an option and I am not spending another night just wandering around Bruges. I’ve done that once in my life and that was enough.”

Sam nodded. “Fair enough. I’m not sure the Order would take too kindly to us hanging around all night anyway. It would be better to be on the move.”

They stood there, at an impasse, both trying to figure out what to do. There were fewer tourists in the square that day, put off or driven indoors by the damp weather, but it was still a busy corner. A young American, walking backwards across the cobblestones as he stared at his smartphone screen, trying to fit the full height of the belfry into the picture. He slammed straight into Sam, then apologized and went on his way. As Sam watched him go he noticed a handful of other tourists doing similar things, umbrellas in one hand to shelter their technology and very little regard for spatial awareness.

“Let’s get a coffee,” said Sam.

“What? We’re not long out of the pub, why are we having coffee now? We’ve got to figure this out, Sam.”

“Trust me.” Sam led her across to the busiest of the café-bars, full of damp people hiding from the elements. They walked up to the bar, past a couple of empty tables.

“You don’t want to sit down?” Nina asked. “I’m sure it’s table service, look—”

“No, its fine, you’ll need to see what you want first — look, they’ve got a really good selection of beers and the like. Step up on the rail there, then you’ll be able to see.” Ignoring her confusion, Sam put a hand on her back and pushed her forward until she did as he said and stepped up to peer over the counter. He appeared to know what he wanted. He leaned nonchalantly on the bar while he waited for her.

Nina barely noticed what was on the refrigerated shelves. Her mind was too busy trying to make sense of Sam’s behavior. ‘Is he planning to ask the café owners if they’ve got a computer he can use?’ She wondered. ‘Or is he genuinely just being really weird?’

“Don’t see anything you fancy?” Sam asked brightly. “Well then! Let’s try somewhere else.” He grabbed her arm and marshalled her briskly towards the door. “How about that place we went to yesterday, would you rather go back there? Or we could try that place we walked past on the way here…”

As soon as they were out, Sam stopped talking. He did not release her arm, though. He steered her down the first side street they came to, then came to a halt.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Nina was completely confused.

With a triumphant, mischievous look on his face, Sam held up his right hand. Hidden in his palm, half pushed up into his sleeve, was someone’s iPhone. Swiftly he took it out and swiped across the screen. “You wee beauty,” he sighed happily. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have locked again yet. I got it just after the guy put it in his pocket, he’d only just stopped looking at it. Thank God for delays on phone locks!”

“You nicked someone’s phone? Just like that?” she asked.

For a second Sam wondered if she would disapprove, but when he looked at her he saw that her expression was only quizzical.

“Miss-spent youth,” Sam explained. “Had to be good for something. You knew about that, you’ve seen me shoplift before.”

She snorted. “Anyone can shoplift. Nabbing things from people’s pockets is far more skillful!”

“Well, if I ever get caught I’ll get you to argue with the judge that it should be respected as an art form. Right… I don’t know what I’m doing with these things. Where’s Google? Here. Right. Got it. Have you got those co-ordinates there, Nina?”

She handed him the card with the co-ordinates written on it. With great care he tapped them into the phone, waited for the result, then looked suspiciously at the device and tried again. For the second time, the map showed him the same answer. He showed it to Nina. She had her notebook poised, ready to write down their destination.

“Wow” she commented as she scribbled. “Peter Street. This is going to be a challenge. There’s nothing in that area that isn’t at least moderately posh and well-secured. It’s not where I’d have chosen to embark on a life of theft, not at all. I suppose we should just be grateful that it’s one of the buildings across the road and not the British Museum itself that we’re going to have to get into.”

“I don’t know,” said Sam, “that would probably be easier. Have you got the full address? Right. Wait there. I’m going to go and hand the phone in back at the bar. We might be about to nick somebody’s precious objet d’art, but that doesn’t mean we have to ruin someone’s holiday.”

Stowing away on the train from Bruges to Brussels proved to be remarkably easy. There were no ticket barriers at either station, only an on-board inspector whom they were able to play cat and mouse with for the duration of the journey.

“I haven’t done this since I was about fifteen,” Nina whispered as they hid in the toilet to let the inspector go past. The cubicle was small and cramped and the proximity was awkward. In an attempt to distract herself from the confined space and the temptation presented by their bodies being pressed up against each other, Nina kept babbling.

“We used to go down to Glasgow, this little gang of kids from my school, and we’d always end up spending all our money on cheap booze and not having enough for the train home. We’d catch the last train back to Oban and hope nobody bothered to get on to check tickets. Or we’d stay over in Glasgow and then have to dodge the inspectors in the morning when we were hungover, which was worse.”

Getting themselves aboard the Eurostar at Bruxelles-Midi was a trickier prospect. Not only were there ticket barriers to pass, there was a security checkpoint where they would be required to show their passports — and their passports would need to match the names on their tickets.

“This is going to be impossible,” Nina muttered. “We might have an easier time trying to stow away, though I’ve no idea how we’d go about it.”

Sam clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Such a defeatist, Nina! There’s always a way. Look.” He nodded in the direction of a slim, dark-haired woman who was standing in front of the departures board checking a Eurostar ticket.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Nina’s eyes widened. “What, drag her down a dark alley, clock her over the head and emerge wearing her clothes and waving her passport? That’s insane.”

“Have you got a better idea?”

“She doesn’t even look that much like me!”

“So? Who looks like their passport photo? She’s a woman with a similar haircut and face shape. I’ll bet you anything that’s as far as they’ll look. And it’s not going to be difficult to find a man whose passport photo looks a wee bit like me. So what’s it to be? Find a dark alleyway somewhere in the train station, or shall we go for the easier option and steal their tickets and passports?”

Nina sighed. “Get their wallets too,” she said. “We don’t want them being able to prove their identities too quickly when they report their passports missing.”

“I will,” he nodded. “This time I think we’re just going to have to commit ourselves to ruining someone’s holiday.”