Repatriation

In cop shows on the TV the criminals always say, ‘I knew you were a cop, I could spot it a mile off.’ But I didn’t have a clue that the three British men sprawled across 8 chairs in the departure lounge in Warsaw airport were cops, until I sat behind them listening in to their conversation. It soon became clear that the fourth man was an undesirable, someone who Britain was sending back from whence he came, whence he came being one of the Baltic States and the three men were his police chaperone.

I thought I travelled a lot but these guys were talking about doing round trips to far-flung places and never leaving the airports; just dropping off their human cargo before starting their journeys back.

The one thing I couldn’t work out was what the undesirable had done. He wasn’t in handcuffs but they were obviously guarding him and making sure he got back ‘home’ without any mishaps. He had probably served his time in jail and was being repatriated, but why did they need to escort him all the way home? Why not just take him to Britain’s backdoor, door give him a boot up the backside and watch him leave? 

I got on the plane to see the 4 men spread over the two rows behind me. That was great I thought, I could listen in to more of the gossip and see if I could get any more information. But they were being a lot more circumspect on the plane and in fact the conversation had dried up completely. In the silence I soon forgot all about the 4 men and 20 minutes into the flight I was enjoying a little snooze. I was dreaming semi lucid dreams when I was violently woken from my slumber by an arm around my neck from behind and something sharp stabbing my face. 

You’d think that men so experienced in escorting people home would know not to fall asleep on the plane. You’d think if they were guarding someone then they would be… well on their guard. That’s what you’d think. But no, all three men were now woken up from their sleep by my screams. The idiots had given the miscreant a chance and he’d taken it.

It’s a strange feeling being a hostage. I was scared to start with but after the initial scream I was probably the calmest person on the plane. The criminal was shouting and yelling about not wanting to go home, the police were frantically trying to calm the situation while shooting each other accusing glances, while the cabin crew were beside themselves with fear.  Meanwhile I was listening to the hum of the engine and wishing my assailant would relieve the pressure on my windpipe just a tad. The seatbelt signs came on and the captain came over the tannoy telling people there was a minor incident and they should remain seated. I remember thinking I was glad he thought it was minor, I was thinking it was pretty major.

It was all over as quickly had it begun. The copper sitting next to my attacker thrust an elbow into the man’s ribs. The surprise and the force meant that he let go of my neck running the sharp object up my face; drawing blood but not causing any lasting damage. One of the other policemen pounced on the criminal from behind, while the third copper grabbed me and pulled me out of harm’s way.

One of the cabin staff took me down to the business class seats and tended to my cut, she then handed me a welcome, small bottle of whisky. 

Just as we were about to land the same woman came back to me and said,

‘I’m sorry sir, that will be 4 euros for the whisky.’

I swore to myself then that would be the last time I flew a budget airline.

if you enjoyed this story please check out my novel, search for Maggie’s Milkman Gareth Davies on Amazon or Smashwords.  Or find all the details here Thank you.