Only coercion, and a beautiful government agent, could force Harry Thursday out of retirement. This time to find the mythical Mask worn by the Minotaur over three thousand years ago. The history of the mask resurfaces during the time of Count Bruno...
Voices spoke in German, Harry didn't understand any of it, but then his head ached something awful. He bounced uncomfortably with his hands tied behind his back, lying down on the back seat of a car as it rolled along. He listened first, trying to hear sounds of the city, traffic, bells, anything that would tell him of where he was going. It was useless – the car was quiet. He groaned and tried to sit up.
"Stay down," he was told, and a hand pushed his head back. A bit of light seeped in through the opened end of the bag and he tried to peek out. It hurt.
"I can't breathe," he protested.
"Halt die klappe," said the hand. Harry struggled to free himself. What did he say? He struggled more. The hand shoved hard.
"He said, 'Shut up,'" the voice came from the front seat.
Sit still or I'll put you back to sleep," said the voice belonging to the hand. It laughed then. "I can't breathe," he said mockingly with a German accent and laughed some more. The car bounced over rough roads and someone had put the window down to let in fresh air. It smelled good, like spring.
"Please let me up. I won't fuss anymore."
The hand gripped tighter on his head pulling his hair and farted. "Asshole," said a voice from the front seat. Other windows went down.
"Let him sit up," said another voice. "We're far out enough now." The vice-like grip relaxed, and Harry sprang to an upright position and immediately leaned towards the fresh air pouring in. The man sitting next to him, the man with the hand pushed Harry away from him and towards the door. "Amerikaner," he said disdainfully.
Harry did as promised and said nothing for a while until it appeared to him they wouldn't be stopping soon. "Well, I want to thank one of you for the lump on the back of my head." Silence.
How many were in the car with him? Two at least but was there a third in the front seat?
"Where are we going," he asked carelessly. "Max, are you here? Is this your doing?" The driver said something in German to someone close to him. There was a chuckle again and this time from the shotgun. More conversation in German. Three voices laughing.
"Did you have a good time last night American?" said the hand. "I hope the girl did."
Harry kept silent and waited for his fate. Asshole. The road felt rough and sounded like it was paved in gravel and pitch, and then it turned in long slow uphill curves, like a mountain, or large hill. They began to switch back and forth and his ears pressurized. After five minutes the car sped up. The tires whirred on occasion when they rode over a crack or dip in the surface, and Harry could hear trees swishing as they passed them, and then they stopped. He counted thirty trees, there were more though. The air felt colder, and he kept his chin on his chest trying to catch air from the opening.
They came at last to a halt, and without speaking the driver opened his door and got out, and the passenger with him. Someone was waiting for them and they talked outside. Harry found it hard to make out the language. The back door opened, and the hand got out.
A woman's voice; "Get him out and put him with the other."
Harry expected his door to open so he could get out, but instead, the hand grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled him across the seat and out through the far door lifting him like he was a child.
"Take him upstairs," said the voice. He was led around a structure. He tried to visualize where he was. Cool air, a strong breeze blew from across the way. He heard what sounded like wood creaking on wood, a great movement of something in constant motion. He heard ocean waves muffled in the distance, but that couldn't be possible. He had the feeling though, that they were in an open space with a big sky above, and he sensed a drop off in the distance like an overhanging cliff.
The hand guided him around the building, and as they entered, he felt the presence of something pass his head nearby. The creaking grew louder, constant.
Inside was dark and the floors were hard-packed soil, solid to the touch and soundless underfoot. The Hand guided him skillfully from behind through tight spaces and up a wooden stair, into a room with wooden floors, up more stairs – he counted twenty-three, and into a room where he fell over a large soft lump on the floor.
He sneezed from the dust, felt it on his face, and tried to wipe his mouth on his sleeve.
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