Of Truth and Angels 8

“I think it’s time to remove this hair coloring,” Preston suggested as they started filling the tub.
He looked at the small on-demand water heater common in most of Europe. “This has to be the smallest one they could find.” They had to turn down the flow a bit or it passed through too quickly to be warmed much. Preston decided it was also time for another hair cropping. Angie was glad to help, having already declared a preference for the shorter look on Preston.
They rolled into the hammock that night looking very much like their passport photos again.
The work of processing the images and videos had never been so hard, and with only one computer at that. They reviewed their results again the next morning. Aside from Gordy, they picked out about three dozen people they felt were most likely candidates for attention from the association. Preston loaded a selection of images on his cellphone for quick reference, using humorous pseudonyms for those they couldn’t actually place with a name.
On a hunch, Preston suggested that they pre-pack their stuff. Then they put on hats and left their hideaway north bound. A narrow track eventually brought them onto a slender paved road leading into a village. They passed through along the main route eastward. On the eastern end of the village stood a very old monument that served as the bus stop where they caught a ride down into the northern end of Dinant. Only as they left did they find a sign pointing back into the village with a name: Sommière.
They had donned for the day their hiking gear and broad-brimmed hats against the summer sun. With sunglasses, they both appeared completely different from the previous day, aside from their relative sizes. The bus turned right onto the main route and chugged up a slight incline, stopping to let them off next to a large parking area. At one end was a low, narrow arched passage under the railroad tracks, letting them onto a paved walking path along the river bank. At the water gate they took the walking bridge across and found themselves almost in front of the grocery shop. They wandered over to where the tourists clustered on the north end of a large parking area just off the river bank.
A large tree offered shade at the entrance to a tiny round building. Through the windows, it looked like a library or information booth. Angie and Preston rested a few minutes, discussing their plans for the day.
“What would you bet they moved the limo parking for today?” Preston offered.
“You would win,” Angie countered.
There were far more boats than usual, including several with police markings.
“Maybe we can squeeze into the crowds on the bridge again,” she suggested.
They eventually wandered over to a sandwich deli and got some ham and egg sandwiches with coffee to go. They strolled slowly back toward the walking bridge over the canal lock, eating as they went. Both times across, the lock was pretty busy, as was the pedestrian traffic, so catching the narrow walkway over one gate or another took some patience. They strode slowly along the quayside toward the main bridge in Dinant. They engaged in plenty of lallygagging and acting like tourists.
Space on the main bridge was at a premium. Eventually, Preston handed Angie the better camera and hoisted her up on his shoulders. This worked well enough, giving her a better line of sight over the crowd. The pleasure boats had already tied up just south of the bridge. One was obviously the center of all the attention, very fancy with multiple decks. The other was slightly less opulent, but receiving no less attention. It was this second one Angie focused on the most, while Preston scanned for interesting photographers.
This time the limos were closer together, in three convoys with the usual police motorcycle escorts. With all the boats crowding the water, there wasn’t all that much water visible to the casual observer. Preston had no trouble recognizing Gordy. When he realized Gordy had not boarded with the rest of everyone’s entourage, it made him a little nervous. It was the final excuse he needed to bring Angie down and head west off the bridge. Preston glanced back a few times but lost sight of Gordy, despite the man’s height.
They went back the way they had come and sat on the west bank itself for awhile, feet hanging down on a grassy slope that dropped quickly to the water. They reviewed the footage and still shots for quite some time, matching faces to their previous list. Preston made note of a few new faces. He decided to upload everything via his cellphone broadband connection.
When it appeared things had settled back to a less intense pitch on the other side of the river, they wandered back over the bridge. There were a couple of cafes featuring live music, so they tried to pass the time. They ate some lunch and wandered around a bit, never getting too far from the open plaza near the bridge. As it got warmer, they shed the outer shirts, exposing matching gray tank tops underneath. They rolled up the t-shirts and stuffed them in their fanny packs.
Eventually some of the smaller boats began to return. Cameramen were disembarking and vying for good shots to catch the barges approaching from upriver. The police boats cleared some space against the quay, while the officers on the shore started blocking traffic. It seemed the conferees were going to disembark and walk up the street to the Hall of Justice again.
Meanwhile, the entourage boat edged against the quay first and tied up. The well-dressed occupants got off quickly and swarmed the quay where the fancier boat approached. Preston decided to tether his camera this time and stream the footage live to their upload link. It was downright hot, so the crowd wasn’t quite as thick this time. Preston was hoping he and Angie could get some footage with both cameras without bringing attention to themselves by her riding his shoulders again. They managed to get some very good line of sight on the entourage.
Once the VIPs disappeared down the gauntlet toward the Hall of Justice, and the supporting staff thinned out, Preston walked over to the last of the huge stone flowerpots sitting on the walkway at the east end of the bridge, on the northern side. He was holding the camera down where they both could see it. They were discussing quietly who was visible.
Suddenly Angie was shoved roughly aside, off the walkway and into the street, where she fell on one knee, the other leg splayed out to catch her from going face down.