Of Images and Angels 4

Where could they go?
One of the few night trains slowed, and then stopped just a few minutes after they climbed the platform. The cars were nearly empty. Yet because of the bicycle, they took jump seats on the foyer where two train cars were joined together. They readied their rail passes but the conductor never came. That happened often enough not to worry them.
Preston really wanted to gather a few personal items from where he was staying, but decided not to risk it. Angie seemed totally unconcerned about any property she might have accumulated anywhere. She convinced Preston they could rest for at least a few hours. By then they could come up with a better plan. They switched trains a couple of times, then she signaled it was time to get off when the train stopped in a quiet neighborhood. He must have dozed because he had no idea where they were. She led him off and along some very quiet broad streets, until he realized they were headed toward Duinrell again.
They bypassed the park and eventually ended up out in the wooded dunes area. It was obvious she knew exactly where to go, turning down trails he hardly saw in the darkness. She dismounted her bicycle and turned up a draw between two large dunes. Just beyond the saddle there was a rather flat spot obviously well used for camping. She walked across this and up the far side of the bowl. A few meters farther was a blind of trees where she simply plowed through the underbrush. On the other side was a tiny open space in the trees, which had suffered little from human traffic recently. She leaned her bike against the trees and walked to a sandy hump on one side. Digging in with her hands, she pulled out a plastic trash bag. She opened the collar holding it closed and pulled out a neatly folded tarp. She spread this on the ground and invited Preston to lay down on it and roll himself up on the edge.
He scarcely remembered anything until he realized the sun was well up in the eastern sky. That’s when he discovered Angie’s red curls were on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. She was on her side with her free arm laying across his stomach.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he murmured. She stirred to life. Looking up into his eyes, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and then rolled away and began putting her shoes on. He realized his were off, and began poking around for them. They were under his backpack, somewhere down at his feet. As he began to put them on, he was about to say something else but she spoke up.
“I know who can help us,” she said with all the assurance she could muster. She went on in a quieter tone. “We had a man volunteer to teach for the Catholic school where I worked a few years ago. He had retired from some foreign service job. The students used to joke he was a Russian spy, but he seemed to know an awful lot about the various clandestine services of different countries.”
She pulled up the tarp and Preston helped her shake off the sand and fold it back neatly. As she took the last fold from him and he help open the bag, she added one more thought. “He said in the most solemn way possible that if I ever really needed help with something too big for me to handle, I should contact him. The school is not that far from here.”
“Can we talk about breakfast on the way? I still have my American appetite for a farmer’s breakfast and all this activity is making me even hungrier than normal.” Preston was still pretty stiff but starting to warm up the joints with a little stretching.
“Well, Den Haag Centraal has several real restaurants nearby,” she offered. “That’s on the way to the school.” Still dragging her bicycle, she led him to a small station where they boarded. It was a short ride with several stops, but the central station in The Hague was massive. Angie made a quick phone call from one of the public phones at the station, then came out with a smile. He chose Granny’s Cafe because it was close and had food already waiting. Once full, he was ready to sleep again, but knew his aching joints would get no rest today.
Angie paused a moment, and then locked her bicycle in the caged storage area near most train stations. She tied a brightly colored piece of cloth on the front wheel and mumbled something in Dutch about someone else coming to find it. They boarded a bus heading south. Preston couldn’t keep track of the municipal names as the bus wound it’s way along. Angie woke him a bit later and almost dragged him off the bus. He stumbled along beside her as they walked a few blocks and turned in at a metal gate. It was an older building, but for the time being, clearly used as a school. She led Preston up some steps, through ancient double doors and half-way down a long corridor to an open doorway.
She left him standing in the hallway waiting while she went through the social rituals of greeting, chatting a bit, then asking about something. The receptionist consulted a paper chart in front of her, then gave a quick answer of two short sentences. There was more socializing and she handed the receptionist her bicycle key. The woman paused a bit, then said “okay” and took the key. Returning to him in the hallway, she led him down the hall farther, and then up some stairs to the floor above. About three doors down she paused and looked through a tiny window in the door into a darkened room with flickering lights. Preston gathered it was a video presentation. Someone inside must have seen her, because Angie simply stepped back and waited.
An older fellow, very obviously a sophisticated gentlemen, opened the door just a few inches and whispered something to her. There was some quick back and forth even Preston couldn’t hear. He handed her a door key, smiled and turned back into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Angie grabbed his hand and dragged him back down the stairs and down two floors to the basement. It was much quieter here, none of the background hubbub typical of schools. On the left side were two swinging doors, followed by three sets of double doors, all closed. Preston guessed that was the kitchen and dining area. On the other side of the hall were two storerooms and a large wooden door. Using the key, Angie opened this, glanced inside, and then pulled Preston behind her before closing the door. He surmised it was a teachers’ lounge.
He sighed, took one of the more heavily padded chairs along one wall. Angie sat next to him and took his hand. He was almost asleep when the old gentleman joined them. The man spoke in precise British English, “Don’t get up, at least not yet.” Apparently he had more than one key, but Angie handed back to him the one she had. He accepted it without a word, then turned to Preston.
They shook hands; “My name is Hendrik Venkman.”