Fugitive: Chapter Eight

A John Constantine tale

John was grateful this was not the first time he’d ever driven through Europe. He was accustomed to the ebb and flow of traffic and was able to navigate it easily. St. Gallen was a picturesque town, famed for the Abbey Library of St. Gall. He was not surprised to get a phone call right as he exited the highway for town.

“Well done, John. Well done,” came the same, accented, German voice from before. “The end of your directions will lead you to the Hotel Dom in town. A room has been booked under your name - so relax, enjoy, order a lavish meal to your room. But stay in your room till morning. We’ll be watching John and we’ll know...Tomorrow this will all be over. Sleep tight.”

Sure enough, Hotel Dom was in the heart of town along the Webergasse 22. He saw signs for the Abbey along the way. A valet took the car and the man at the front desk seemed excited to see him. No surprise when they led him to his room - an opulent space on the top floor. While there was a computer in his room, he had to assume it’s traffic was being monitored. With so few choices, he took the advice of the kidnapper and ordered a lavish meal.

John was ready. Ready to die for Angela, if he knew she would be safe. Steak, lobster, and fine wine. He rarely ate this well but seeing it as a possible last meal, he decided to enjoy it. Maybe a huge room service bill would be the only way he could get back at them. As he was just about to take his first, luxurious bite, the door was kicked in. “Polizei! Unten auf dem boden!!”

He knew this had been too easy…

His German was rusty but it didn’t take much to guess what they were saying. Away from the table slowly and down to the floor. A knee was jammed into his spine and his wrists were cuffed. Getting yanked to his feet hurt, but he was sure they felt it appropriate all things considered. A few men searched the room. One man, probably the one in charge, came right at John. This one removed his helmet and goggles. “Sorry to spoil your dinner, John,” came a voice too familiar.

“Where’s Ange-,” but the words were cut short by a crack to his skull from behind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Time doesn’t mean much to you when you are bound, and gagged. At least how the world was for him when he came to. His head was on fire but he needed to push past the pain if there was any chance of saving Angela. He was in a chair, cuffed to a table, with a covering over his head. A door shut, a couple chairs were scraped across the floor, then the blinding light of the hood being pulled off.

John had been in interrogation rooms before and this one was no different. Concrete walls, fluorescent lights, metal table and chairs. But this was the first time he had ever had a priest in the room when being interrogated.

“This is Father Beniglia, who flew in from the Vatican, to inspect the Shroud and see its safe return to the Holy See,” a man at the head of the table said. By the suit he wore, John guessed he was someone in charge here. The priest merely nodded in agreement. His eyes darted back and forth from John to the Shroud laid out on the table in front of them. The priest gave new meaning to the phrase - “if looks could kill”.

“I am Kapitän Keller. Chief of Polizei here in Sankt Gallen. You will nod for ‘ya’ or ‘nein’ - understand?” the captain asked. John nodded - ‘yes’.

John sighed, hanging his head to take a deep breath. This was going to be a long night...if it was even still night. That’s when he noticed the bar he was cuffed to was loose. A trap?

“And Leutnat Meier you have met, ya?” the captain asked, motioning to another officer, who’d been standing behind John all along. John nodded very slowly in response, weighing his options. He could rip free, knock out the captain with the bar, and maybe wrestle Meier’s gun free. But to what end? Surely he was in a police station with dozens of cops, the media may have even been outside. And what then? He’d be the lunatic who stole the Shroud of Turin and was now taking hostages. No. He’d bide his time. If Meier had him here it was part of the plan. But why?

That’s when John got an idea as to Meier’s plan…

Without flinching, Meier withdrew his firearm and shot his commanding officer right in the head. A moment later, the priest was dead too. The Shroud was now splattered with blood. Meier simply pushed the old man off it, rolled it back up, tucked it under his arm and went to John.

“Now for part two...you will take me hostage and we shall go to the library, ya? Angela is there, waiting for you. If I lie when we get there, kill me if you wish.”

Before John could say anything, Meier ripped the bar free and pulled John to his feet. Then he jammed the Shroud under one arm and uncuffed John. Meier simply grinned. “Hilfe mir! Hilfe mir!! Help me!!!” John had no other choice but to grab Meier and put the gun to his head as the door to the interrogation room crashed in.