The Merchant's Coin PART 9 “Stewart, sit down before they see you!” Mrs. T tugged on his jacket. The policeman handed the dirty cloth over to the military man and placed the police drivers hat squarely on his head. Mrs. T yanked him down into the seat. “Sit down before you get us killed!” she snapped. Exchanging a glance with Mrs. T the large shadowy man in the military attire climbed into the driver’s seat of the blacked out Sedan. “You people will never learn,” he said. Wrapping his bowling ball like fist over the automatic gear stick and shifting it into drive. The journey was spent in silence as the man concentrated on the road. Occasionally taking a moment to make eye contact with Stewart from the rear-view mirror. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading; yet, he never broke the rules of the road to get there. “Where are you taking us?” asked Mrs. T. The man never answered. Glasgow’s city landscape disappeared from view after half an hour. It was replaced with green fields as far as the eye could see on one side and the occasional building on the other. Another hour passed the car turned off the main road. It seemed to be heading toward a large hanger building in the middle of a concrete square that curled into a long runway. On the other side, directly opposite the hanger Stewart made out a small office building with a single billboard sized window on one side and a set of double doors on the other. A man in similar military fatigues appeared outside the building as they approached from across the redundant airfield. Coming to a stop, the man outside opened the back passenger door for Mrs. T and Stewart. “Inside.” He pointed through the doors of the building. Mrs. T rested her arm around Stewart as they walked inside. The room was dusty with nothing more than two chairs and a desk. On the other side of the desk sat a man in a grey suit, with neatly cropped hair that grew greyer at the sides. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He stood up as Stewart and Mrs. Turnbell entered the room and offered a half smile. “Please, take a seat. My name is Mr. Moyer,” he said, sitting back down with a fountain pen in one hand. “What is going on? We don’t understand why we are-” Mrs. T was suddenly cut off. “Shhh!” the man behind the desk spat, sending them both against the back of their seats. Hitting the palm of his hand against the desk Moyer’s face grew redder. Stewart swallowed trying not to catch the man’s spit that flew across the desk. Moyer then paused and took a breath running a hand through his hair. His frown then changing into a practiced smile as he sat back in the wooden chair, “You must understand that I am here to ask the questions. Not you, so please,” he paused “let me do my job,” another pause. Moyer stared, waiting in anticipation that either might say something, “Ok, lets begin.” He said, leaning forward and pulling a pad of paper toward him. “Where is the coin?” Silence. Stewart felt his mouth drying up. “What coin?” he asked, cautiously. Moyer let out a long, exasperated sigh, “Don’t play silly with me. We know you intend to use it.” Mrs. T began to laugh. Stewart’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head and reached for her arm. Was she crazy? These guys are dangerous. Moyer tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “And what is so funny, my dear?” he asked. Mrs. T hung her head back, chuckling nervously. “This is so ridiculous! We have no idea what you’re talking about!” Moyer began to laugh with her and shook his index finger. “You are playing silly again. We witnessed you conspiring with him in the Square.” “With who?” Stewart said. Moyer gave Stewart one of those looks before answering. A look that said, don’t lie. “The Merchant man.” “Merchant? If you are referring to the man in the trench coat, he took my father hostage! He was after a blueprint my father found in a bloody art gallery. We don’t know him.” The man looked to Stewart and Mrs. T as if viewing a rally in a tennis match. “A blueprint? Hmm, maybe you are telling the truth,” he shrugged, “but I cannot risk it. I need to process someone for this mess. We do not tolerate those who flip or intend too flip” he said, scribbling something down with his fountain pen as he waved his other hand. The two military men standing outside appeared in the doorway to escort both the student and teacher outside.