Roseanne's Summer Vacation- Chapter 33
The city of Władysławowo was another location in the Land of Po besieged by tourists. It was situated at the very beginning of the Hel Peninsula, a 35-kilometre-long sandbank stretching to the West and separating the Bay of Puck from the Baltic Sea. Murphy decided to go there because he needed a treeless spot for takeoff.
Unfortunately, it was a pain to find any place that was exposed enough and had no people in the vicinity. Murphy didn’t want to circle the whole day, so he just settled for a side entrance to the beach. As soon as he stopped, a crowd composed of elderly people and kids gathered around the helicopter.
“Excuse me, are you going to do paid tours around the bay?” a tourist asked, but Murphy ignored him.
He unbolted the helicopter from the trailer and put on a leather jacket. It didn’t escape his attention that kids were snapping photos all the time, but he ignored them, too. It didn’t matter anymore if his face would end up in the hands of the authorities or not. Even if they identify him, he will be out of the country by that time.
“Mister, mister, here’s 100 Po credits. Take me to Gdańsk,” said a lady with warts all over her face. Murphy remained silent.
Then some fat guy tried opening the cockpit. Murphy came up to him and took out a stun baton. The fattie instantly collapsed on the ground from the shock.
“Oh my god! Somebody call an ambulance!” The tourists began running frantically back and forth while Murphy jumped into the cockpit and powered up the engine.
The helicopter blades began spinning faster and faster. A little sandstorm ensued as a result. After a while, the aircraft ascended from the trailer and flew away in the direction of Gdynia.
Murphy chuckled and said over the headphones, “Catch you later.” He realised, though, there was nobody with him to understand the reference.
Ever since he saw Blue Thunder as a small kiddo in the summer of 1983, he knew he wanted to become a pilot. He learned piloting as a teenager at some shady flying school, under the eye of an alcoholic Vietnam vet. His first job was smuggling cocaine in and out of Mexico when he was a teenager, but the DEA shot down his dilapidated MD 500 helicopter and busted his ass. When he got out on probation, nobody wanted to employ him as a pilot.
Well, shit, Murphy thought, at least Bureau 39 could appreciate my resume. They are crazy sons of bitches, no doubt about it. North Korea and Russia together are like a coral snake—yellow and red, you’re dead; but they’re committed, you’ve got to give to them. They will do anything in search of the mighty buck.
He maintained the course. The helicopter flew over the bay that was basking in the glow of the afternoon sunlight.
***
The railway station in Gdynia was consumed by its usual hustle and bustle whenever a new train arrived at the platform. Roseanne ran inside; her legs were burning from exertion, but she didn’t stop. Past the ticket tills, there was an entrance to the lost-and-found office. Roseanne looked at a notice on the glass. They were closed already.
“Damn it, who the hell works only up to 3 p.m.?” she asked out loud.
There was no time to waste. She took out Natasha’s Beretta and broke the lock on the door with the pistol butt. The door gave in.
The sight behind the counter resembled a junkyard. Roseanne had to sift through a stack of papers, scattered wallets, and damaged baby pushchairs intertwined with bicycles. She found the military backpack eventually and checked if the hard drives were still inside.
“Stop right there! Thief! We have a thief!”
Roseanne looked up and saw a railway security guard standing in the doorway. She wanted to avoid the fight and getting caught. The only other way out was through a window. The office was on the ground floor, after all. The girl put on the backpack and jumped out before the guard could cross the counter.
The idiot kept whistling for reinforcements, but it was too late. Roseanne dived into the bushes and emerged by the courthouse, which the group passed by two days ago. Having found the shortcut, she hurried back to the hotel.
While running, she checked her phone. That kidnapping scumbag hasn’t called yet. She had to save Mr Orville, but how? Her mind tried coming up with anything that could be called a plan, but it wasn’t a spy thriller—this was real life!
For the moment, Roseanne knew she had to find out what was written on these hard drives. And she had to do it fast.
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