"Hellboy," Liz said, "we need to meet the embassy guys. Now more than ever! We need — "
"We need a drink," Hellboy said. "My mouth tastes like a butchers slop bucket."
"There'll be a drink at the embassy."
"You think?" He shrugged, turned around, and looked across the airport. "Damn, those bastards made short work of this place. Sergeant, I guess you and your buddy will be wanting to get off."
"I think so," the sergeant said. "I've got a lot of friends who work in Terminal Three, and ... " He looked across at the wrecks of the passenger jets, unable to say any more. But nothing needed saying. Now was the time for clearing up and helping, not sitting down and weeping. The weeping would always come later. Right now, shock still had these men in its grasp, and it was the buffer they needed against the awful truth.
Hellboy and Liz went back through Terminal Four to the arrivals lounge. The place was almost deserted, except for a man lying across three seats, snoring. "There's always one," Liz said.
"Lucky guy."
Outside, police had sealed off the pickup area, but Liz spotted the embassy guys standing behind the makeshift barrier, waving a large red card as arranged.
"Hey," Hellboy said, "they're playing my song."
"Are you OK?" Liz asked.
"Sure. Why?"
"No reason." Liz looked at Hellboy, and he would not meet her gaze. His eyes were distant. His quips were automatic, and he kept wiping at the blood even now drying to a crisp across his skin. They walked on in silence.
"Hellboy," the taller of the two men said as they approached. He held out his hand. "It's been a long time."
"Jim, good to see you again. I had no idea you were working for our embassy out here now!"
"Just an adviser." He glanced at Liz and smiled, but she could see that he was a haunted man. He looked so tired, his eyes deep and brown, the skin of his face sallow and seemingly hanging from his bones. Even what had just happened to Heathrow Airport seemed not to have shocked him.
"Liz Sherman," she said, holding out her hand. Jim Sugg shook, his own hand cool and damp.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Sherman."
"Call me Liz."
"This is Peter Fray. He works at the embassy." The man with Sugg smiled and nodded, but he did not offer his hand.
He's the sensitive, Liz thought. Maybe he's scared of what he'd see if he touched us. Fray was looking at Hellboy constantly, but he did not seem able to keep his attention on him for more than a couple of seconds without looking away again. Hellboy seemed not to notice.
"We need to get away from here," Sugg said. "Much as I hate to mess with the law, they'll be wanting to talk with you about all this, and once they've got you, they'll quiz you forever. And from what Tom Manning told me, there's a lot more to discuss."
"Oh yeah," Hellboy said, nodding. "So much more."
"Well get to the embassy, you two can get cleaned up, then we'll do our best to organize a meeting with the minister of defense." Suggs voice was a tired monotone. He actually sounded bored, but Liz knew it was a lot more than that. Either he was guarded and protective of his thoughts, or he had seen so much that nothing surprised him anymore.
"You're the ghost hunter," she said. Hie words came out without her thinking. She supposed she was testing him.
Sugg looked at her, and for the first time she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. It suited him, and she was glad. "That's a term I prefer not to use, but yes. I look for ghosts."
"Why?"
"To prevent them from coming to look for me. Shall we go?" Sugg turned and walked quickly toward a big black Mercedes, Fray following.
Liz glanced at Hellboy and raised an eyebrow. Hellboy only shrugged. They walked to the car together, sat in the back, and were glad when Sugg's security card seemed to get them past the dozens of police roadblocks already set up in the area.
"Get attacked by dragons, set up roadblocks," Liz muttered.
"Hey, kid, what else are they going to do? It's not something they're used to dealing with every day."
"I guess not." Liz closed her eyes and surprised herself by dozing.
* * *