"Q.E.D." Part 11
Nikolas shifted in his cramped seat, trying unsuccessfully to getcomfortable. How can something that looks so large from the outside,be so small on the inside? he wondered. It was the first time he hadever flown on a commercial flight, and so far, he wasunimpressed.
He was proud of himself, though. He managed to elude his uncle'shired watchdog with little effort, sneak back into Windemere, grabhis passport and credit card and pack a small bag. Once at theairport, he purchased his ticket, grateful for his adult appearance.The clerk at the counter didn't even check the birth date on hispassport, and raised none of the usual questions one would ask a boyhis age traveling to Europe alone.
"Thank you, sir," the clerk had said, in very bad Greek, obviouslyhaving noticed Nikolas' country of origin.
"You're welcome," Nikolas had replied, in perfect English.
He stared at the tray in front of him, a mosaic of small, cellophanedrectangles containing mostly colorless, but unfortunately, notodorless dollops of food. If I count the peanuts, he mused, I'd havea four course dinner here, with the peanuts being the 'piece deresistance'. His hunger overcame his initial revulsion and he tried afew bites of each dish, missing Mrs. Lansbury's cooking terribly. Hepiled the containers of discarded food into a tower of culinaryshame, to await its proper burial at the bottom of the flightattendant's garbage bag.
He looked up enviously at the curtain which separated "coach" from"first class". The credit limit on his "platinum" Visa card couldhave easily accommodated the price of one of those premium seats, butthey were already sold out, and he was in too much of a hurry to waitfor the next flight.
"Not very hungry, eh?" asked the man seated next to him, as he passedNikolas' half-eaten dinner to the flight attendant.
"No, I guess not," replied Nikolas.
"This your first trip to Europe, son?" The older man's accent hintedat a southern residence, perhaps Texas or Oklahoma. Although heseemed nice enough, Nikolas was not in the mood for a chat.
"No," he replied. "I used to live there." He stared at the back ofthe seat in front of him, wishing the man would go away.
"Really? Well, I'll be darned. Where did you live? Greece?" the manpersisted.
"Yes."
His interrogator continued. "What city?"
"Athens," he lied.
"Really? That's where I'm headed. I'm attending a medical conferencethere." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Doctor Bill Malcolm: Ears, eyes,nose and throat."
Nikolas raised an eyebrow and crooked one corner of his mouth into ahalf-smile at this introduction to a man who suffixed his name with alist of body parts. "I'm Nik," he replied, shaking the man's beefyhand, and wondering absently if the owner of those thick,clumsy-looking fingers was a surgeon.
"Well," Doctor Bill Malcolm said, "since you're from Athens, maybeyou can recommend some good places to eat..."
Spotting a means of escape, Nikolas lunged at the flight attendantpassing by with an armload of headphones for the inflight movie. Hehad missed the announcement of today's feature film, but at thispoint he didn't care what it was. He placed the headphones over hisears, effectively ending the conversation.
Raised to value print over film, Nikolas soon became bored with themovie and switched the dial on the armrest to the "Classical" musicsetting. He leaned his head against the window, watching as entirecanvasses of white cloud and gray ocean passed beneath him.
How like my life now, he thought. A blank slate, wiped clean by hisuncle's words. He had prepared his whole life for his role as 'TheCassadine', only to find himself thrust into another for which he wastotally unprepared. His uncle had told him what a liar hisgrandmother Helena was, and until this day, he had never been givenany reason to doubt him. But in the space of an hour, Nikolasdiscovered what an effective liar his uncle was, and that he had beendeceiving him all along.
While he was convinced that his grandmother was probably no better,he still wanted to find out what she was up to, and he no longertrusted his uncle to provide him with that information. He knew thecaves as well as his uncle did. He would hire a boat and sneak intothe compound through the underground passages that latticed theisland. Then, he would search for evidence of his own.
He felt his heart rate increase as his body responded to his sense offear mingled with excitement. He was tired of having his lifespoon-fed to him by a guardian who considered him too young andfragile to handle the truth. He wanted to establish his own identity.He wanted to paint his own canvas.
But from this height, he could not see the waves breaking on thesurface of the water, and he was unaware of the storms raging underthe clouds.
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"He is coming," the voice said, as if reading from a street prophet'ssign.
"Here? Are you sure?" she replied.
"Yes. I saw him board a plane to Greece."
"Good. Is the other operative still with him?"
"Yes. He is watching him as we speak."
She smiled into the receiver. "Does Stefan know he is missing,yet?"
"No. I'll have to tell him soon. He's expecting an updatetonight."
"Wait another hour. Then tell him. He won't be able to catch him atthat point."
"Stefan... he will be... unhappy with me when I tell him that I'velost Nikolas."
"I will see to it that you are protected," she lied, hanging up thephone. "Nikolas," Helena said to herself, "you are making this fartoo easy for me."