The Search For Pandora's Box by Jim Jennings
Having reconvened as agreed outside Laurence’s room, the trio headed to find some breakfast in a silence so awkward that it was almost painful. Brigitte longed to protest about the course they were following whereas Laurence longed to profess how he felt for her while Wesley just wanted some coffee to keep him going. They breakfasted quickly and efficiently, only the occasional slurp of coffee or crunch of toast breaking the complete quiet. After eating their fill, they made their way to the cargo bay of the ferry by way of some cold and poorly-lit stairs that continued to descend for so long it seemed as if they were on a journey to the centre of the earth. They eventually came to an imposing door, with a handle like a helm of a ship. Wesley struggled with all his might, which was not inconsiderable, but he couldn’t get it open. Laurence opted to lend a hand or, as it transpire, both his hands and, after a mighty heave, the bolts of the door eventually turned and opened, revealing a black abyss of nothingness. Wesley groped the extreme inside left of the darkness and flicked on a switch, which showed a scene that wasn’t a great deal more attractive than before. Below them lay row upon row of white vans which looked identical to each other. It seemed to Laurence that finding the truck would be as easy as finding an honest politician.
‘How are we supposed to find the right truck?’ He asked desperately.
‘Didn’t you make a note of the registration plate?’ Wesley asked, staggered.
‘Umm…yes. But when I say yes…I mean no.’ He grinned innocently at Wesley, whose face had turned a deep shade of red as he bit his bottom lip in an attempt, no doubt, to stop less than kind words coming out.
‘I, on the other hand, did.’ Brigitte said, triumphantly taking a piece of paper out of her bag and placing it in Laurence’s grateful hands. He blazed a smile of deep affection at her. Wesley ruined the moment by snatching the paper out of Laurence’s hand. Then, he read the number out loud and ordered Laurence to head off in one direction, Brigitte in another and he himself through the middle.
‘We have about half an hour until the ship docks into Athens. We can slip away with the other vehicles when they depart. Let’s split up and move out.’ Wesley announced, and Brigitte and Laurence acquiesced. They hurried off at a pace down into the vans below and scattered to look for the truck, but they were not alone.
Twenty minutes had elapsed when Laurence once again found himself in the company of the delightful Brigitte. They shared a smile and he asked whether she had had any luck finding the truck,
‘None, how about you?’ She said. It was evident from how she spoke that she was extremely tired.
‘Same, but then I did forget the numbers of the number plate pretty much immediately after we set off.’ He shrugged his shoulders and she gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been in a bad mood today. It’s just that…Well, I’ve been in a bad mood today. Wesley spoke to me like I was nothing.’
‘I know what it’s like to feel like nothing. But Wesley’s a good man. And trust me, you’re not nothing.’ He returned her pat, rather nervously, before leaving his hand on her arm. Was this the moment? Should he make his move? Did he dare? He looked into her eyes and they looked deeply into his and told him that he should make his move, that he should dare. Her demure cheeks flooded with tell-tale signs that she was happy. Laurence’s heart was beating at about two hundred miles an hour, but he leant towards her ever so slowly. She went up onto her tiptoes and arched her swan like neck toward his.
‘Well, well, well; if it isn’t our old friend, Laurence Swift.’ Brigitte spun around and backed into Laurence’s body, resting the back of her head on his chest, almost able to hear his still pulsating heart. The pair’s eyes, so full of love a moment ago, were now occupied with a mixture of fear and horror. Five feet away, a badly bruised Harrison and a heavily bandaged Philip paced towards them.
‘Yeah, if it isn’t Laurence Swift’ Philip chimed in, his hand resting on the spot where Wesley’s dart had fallen earlier in the day.
‘But it is!’ Laurence replied, exuberantly.
‘What are you doing next to our truck?’ Harrison shouted. Laurence and Brigitte turned in perfect synchronicity towards the truck to their left. So they had been next to the right truck, Harrison’s Ford Transit, the whole time! The fools!
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see any trucks!’ Laurence shouted back, trying to sound cool and innocent simultaneously but just, as ever, sounding stupid. Harrison and Lesley showed each other confused faces and then returned their gaze to the fearing couple.
‘Sorry to interrupt your smooch, but we’ve got a delivery to make.’ Then Harrison clapped eyes on Brigitte’s handbag and licked his lips like a famished dog waiting for his dinner. ‘Hand over that bag, miss.’ He held forth his sweaty palm. Laurence didn’t want to do anything; not out of cowardice, but because he feared the slightest misstep could put Brigitte’s life in jeopardy. She knelt down and slung her bag off her arm, placing it delicately on the floor in front of her. As Harrison approached and took up the bag with childlike glee, Brigitte pulled out her umbrella and turning it round so she held the material in her hand, she pulled out the elongated handle and smacked him in the face with it like a baseball player stepping up to the home plate. If Brigitte had been a baseball player, the strike she delivered to Harrison’s face would have undoubtedly been a home run. Philip turned and sprinted off, but Laurence was on him in a shot.
‘I’ve had just about enough of you, you fiend!’ And as he chased after him he caught himself in the rope that lay on the floor next to a lifeboat and fell to the floor. Philip heard the crash of man on floor and turned to see Laurence’s ankles tied up by the coils of the rope. He paced toward him and the knife with the handle made of a rabbit’s foot was again pointed at Laurence’s direction, but this time at his throat.
‘I’m going to enjoy this, you ponce.’ He pulled the knife back once more, but a similar fate as last time befell him. Laurence groped the floor around him for anything that could be used as a weapon and he found the oar to one of the lifeboats. He rolled to his right side as Philip stabbed the floor and, swiftly getting to his feet with the oar in his hands, cracked the spoon of the oar over Philip’s head, sending him flat into the floor and knocking him out cold. Brigitte rushed around the corner and Laurence gripped the oar in his hands as if he were about to march into battle with it.
‘Laurence are you alright?’ She called out to him sincerely.
‘I’m alright. Philip on the other hand…’ He looked down at where Philip was resting.
‘What happened?’
‘Oh nothing really. Just an oarful accident.’ He laughed a very happy laugh, threw the oar to the ground, or, more accurately, on Philip’s head, took Brigitte’s arms in his hands, swung her round toward him, and kissed her passionately. She was initially surprised, but then she sunk into his grasp and kissed him back.
‘Oi, you two!’ Laurence immediately dropped Brigitte onto the floor at the sound of Wesley’s voice. ‘What happened here?’
‘Oh, just an oarful…’He started, but Laurence wasn’t able to finish delivering his pun a second time.
‘Come on, the truck is this way.’ He hurried onto the truck, where Harrison still lay nursing his face, which Wesley promptly kicked hard. Laurence helped Brigitte off the floor and they looked at each other. They then ran off, without saying a word to one another, to where Wesley was searching through Harrison’s pockets. ‘Aha!’ Wesley turned and dangled a set of keys in front of him. Laurence gave a pleasantly surprised smile. Things were actually going according to plan. The front of the truck had three seats, and Wesley took that of the driver, with Laurence in the middle and Brigitte on the end by the glove-compartment, which she proceeded to search for clues. Inside they found a road map of Greece, a sheet of directions and a set of instructions. With great intrigue Brigitte took the blue sheet of paper that was marked ‘Instructions’, in her hands and read it aloud,
/> ‘Proceed with extreme caution to Site A as indicated on map. Do not stop for anyone or anything, even the police.’
‘How are we supposed to find the right truck?’ He asked desperately.
‘Didn’t you make a note of the registration plate?’ Wesley asked, staggered.
‘Umm…yes. But when I say yes…I mean no.’ He grinned innocently at Wesley, whose face had turned a deep shade of red as he bit his bottom lip in an attempt, no doubt, to stop less than kind words coming out.
‘I, on the other hand, did.’ Brigitte said, triumphantly taking a piece of paper out of her bag and placing it in Laurence’s grateful hands. He blazed a smile of deep affection at her. Wesley ruined the moment by snatching the paper out of Laurence’s hand. Then, he read the number out loud and ordered Laurence to head off in one direction, Brigitte in another and he himself through the middle.
‘We have about half an hour until the ship docks into Athens. We can slip away with the other vehicles when they depart. Let’s split up and move out.’ Wesley announced, and Brigitte and Laurence acquiesced. They hurried off at a pace down into the vans below and scattered to look for the truck, but they were not alone.
Twenty minutes had elapsed when Laurence once again found himself in the company of the delightful Brigitte. They shared a smile and he asked whether she had had any luck finding the truck,
‘None, how about you?’ She said. It was evident from how she spoke that she was extremely tired.
‘Same, but then I did forget the numbers of the number plate pretty much immediately after we set off.’ He shrugged his shoulders and she gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been in a bad mood today. It’s just that…Well, I’ve been in a bad mood today. Wesley spoke to me like I was nothing.’
‘I know what it’s like to feel like nothing. But Wesley’s a good man. And trust me, you’re not nothing.’ He returned her pat, rather nervously, before leaving his hand on her arm. Was this the moment? Should he make his move? Did he dare? He looked into her eyes and they looked deeply into his and told him that he should make his move, that he should dare. Her demure cheeks flooded with tell-tale signs that she was happy. Laurence’s heart was beating at about two hundred miles an hour, but he leant towards her ever so slowly. She went up onto her tiptoes and arched her swan like neck toward his.
‘Well, well, well; if it isn’t our old friend, Laurence Swift.’ Brigitte spun around and backed into Laurence’s body, resting the back of her head on his chest, almost able to hear his still pulsating heart. The pair’s eyes, so full of love a moment ago, were now occupied with a mixture of fear and horror. Five feet away, a badly bruised Harrison and a heavily bandaged Philip paced towards them.
‘Yeah, if it isn’t Laurence Swift’ Philip chimed in, his hand resting on the spot where Wesley’s dart had fallen earlier in the day.
‘But it is!’ Laurence replied, exuberantly.
‘What are you doing next to our truck?’ Harrison shouted. Laurence and Brigitte turned in perfect synchronicity towards the truck to their left. So they had been next to the right truck, Harrison’s Ford Transit, the whole time! The fools!
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see any trucks!’ Laurence shouted back, trying to sound cool and innocent simultaneously but just, as ever, sounding stupid. Harrison and Lesley showed each other confused faces and then returned their gaze to the fearing couple.
‘Sorry to interrupt your smooch, but we’ve got a delivery to make.’ Then Harrison clapped eyes on Brigitte’s handbag and licked his lips like a famished dog waiting for his dinner. ‘Hand over that bag, miss.’ He held forth his sweaty palm. Laurence didn’t want to do anything; not out of cowardice, but because he feared the slightest misstep could put Brigitte’s life in jeopardy. She knelt down and slung her bag off her arm, placing it delicately on the floor in front of her. As Harrison approached and took up the bag with childlike glee, Brigitte pulled out her umbrella and turning it round so she held the material in her hand, she pulled out the elongated handle and smacked him in the face with it like a baseball player stepping up to the home plate. If Brigitte had been a baseball player, the strike she delivered to Harrison’s face would have undoubtedly been a home run. Philip turned and sprinted off, but Laurence was on him in a shot.
‘I’ve had just about enough of you, you fiend!’ And as he chased after him he caught himself in the rope that lay on the floor next to a lifeboat and fell to the floor. Philip heard the crash of man on floor and turned to see Laurence’s ankles tied up by the coils of the rope. He paced toward him and the knife with the handle made of a rabbit’s foot was again pointed at Laurence’s direction, but this time at his throat.
‘I’m going to enjoy this, you ponce.’ He pulled the knife back once more, but a similar fate as last time befell him. Laurence groped the floor around him for anything that could be used as a weapon and he found the oar to one of the lifeboats. He rolled to his right side as Philip stabbed the floor and, swiftly getting to his feet with the oar in his hands, cracked the spoon of the oar over Philip’s head, sending him flat into the floor and knocking him out cold. Brigitte rushed around the corner and Laurence gripped the oar in his hands as if he were about to march into battle with it.
‘Laurence are you alright?’ She called out to him sincerely.
‘I’m alright. Philip on the other hand…’ He looked down at where Philip was resting.
‘What happened?’
‘Oh nothing really. Just an oarful accident.’ He laughed a very happy laugh, threw the oar to the ground, or, more accurately, on Philip’s head, took Brigitte’s arms in his hands, swung her round toward him, and kissed her passionately. She was initially surprised, but then she sunk into his grasp and kissed him back.
‘Oi, you two!’ Laurence immediately dropped Brigitte onto the floor at the sound of Wesley’s voice. ‘What happened here?’
‘Oh, just an oarful…’He started, but Laurence wasn’t able to finish delivering his pun a second time.
‘Come on, the truck is this way.’ He hurried onto the truck, where Harrison still lay nursing his face, which Wesley promptly kicked hard. Laurence helped Brigitte off the floor and they looked at each other. They then ran off, without saying a word to one another, to where Wesley was searching through Harrison’s pockets. ‘Aha!’ Wesley turned and dangled a set of keys in front of him. Laurence gave a pleasantly surprised smile. Things were actually going according to plan. The front of the truck had three seats, and Wesley took that of the driver, with Laurence in the middle and Brigitte on the end by the glove-compartment, which she proceeded to search for clues. Inside they found a road map of Greece, a sheet of directions and a set of instructions. With great intrigue Brigitte took the blue sheet of paper that was marked ‘Instructions’, in her hands and read it aloud,