Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  I ease back into the soft seat feeling child-like, perched for a bedtime story. Shutters on the windows are closed but the sun shoves its way through the wooden slats. In the next room, the clunk of a wooden spoon in a pot is comforting and the kettle screams, sputtering to a boil, warming the atmosphere.

  "As Vin may have told you, your father was in the Army, but not just any division, he was in the Special Forces sent on very secret missions. But, it wasn't an ordered mission that caused us to cross paths, it was him, his pure character. He was honest, real. The kind of man that could look you straight in the eye and mean every word of what he said. Dependable,” he chuckles, “to a fault. A man served with your father. He knew your father was a good man. A rare man, Caleb, rare. Most of all, a brilliant man. He was a thinker, Caleb, a strategist. He loved, absolutely loved chess and could think five moves ahead of any opponent. Did you know that, that he played chess?"

  My mind lapses back to entering my father’s study and sees a chess board mid-game on a small circular table. He played himself.

  "No, no, I don't think so. It was a long time ago. Every thing’s a blur."

  Trust no one. I will hold everything I can. I won't let him in. I don't know Richard. Not yet. Why does he use an old land line? Yes, he is an older man but it's rather convenient to not have your calls traced.

  "I know, son, it's alright. Anyway, after your father and his platoon got out of the army, jobs were scarce as for many soldiers, many. But, this man never forgot your father’s loyalty and when military jobs came open, he would call your father to fill them. Strange loyalty he had. Yes, very strange. It was touch and go, but your father would do anything to keep food on the table and a roof over you and your mothers' head. He even sold his boat, his beloved boat when things got rough. He really loved that boat.

  “Later, this man got engaged in a project, a big one. Of course, your father was the first one he thought of to head security. He called him, and your father’s old platoon buddies as well. But this project was different." He puts his cigar down. "It was top secret, hidden from everyone. It was buried, as it should have been, deep in a fog-covered forested valley. No roads. We had to be air-lifted in and out. I hate flying."

  He coughs raspingly, catches his breath, continues.

  "I hate flying. Always have, bloody gut-wrenching it is... anyway, before the crack of dawn we, the scientists, were dropped off. Stayed in that God-forsaken place for weeks. Oh, we had everything we could need of course, living quarters, but nevertheless, such a lethal place.

  “Seven of us climbed out of that helicopter. We felt like ants walking to those gigantic arched steel doors painted with anti-reflective paint. I held my bag tight and the women clutching their purses. It was invisible to the naked eye with the overgrown brush purposely left to hang casually over it. Sometimes dripping with poisonous tropical spiders and insects, I got bit once. We chose to stay inside.

  “Getting in wasn't easy. There was a two-step key process. Fingerprint matching scanner to unlock the doors. Once inside, you stood in a five by seven steel cage that will not open unless the large arched doors are closed behind you and you pass the retinal scan. They thought of everything. Yes, everything. We felt trapped like an animal until those steel bars lower into the ground with a beep letting us enter.

  “State of the art, that's what he said it would be, and certainly, it was, just that. We were all impressed. All excited. All inspired." Richard’s eyes light with the memory.

  "All I want to know is what his name is and-"

  "I'm coming to that, I'm coming to that. Please. You must know everything, Caleb."

  He's entreating. I will yield.

  "We were told we were creating something that would help the world’s peace. The other six, masterminds from all over the world. Experts in their field. Together, for the first time to construct something that we were promised would help all of our countries. The science, perfect. The people, not. So many personalities all stuck together and for so long. Inevitably, we clashed, but never in the science.

  “We learned to steer clear of speaking politics, may have burned the bloody place down with that one, you know. So many people, so strongly opinionated about the politics of their countries. So proud of who they are. Anyway…"

  Getting himself back on track.

  "When the project was...well, done, I saw a change in my best friend, the head scientist. Got engulfed in it. Didn't want to leave and spent a lot of time talking alone to the man whose name you want so badly." He lifts his cigar and puffs a few times, looks down at his lap, brushes off an invisible piece of lint.

  "I got concerned. We all did. With good reason; soon afterward, my best friend approached me with an offer not to be refused. An offer that would financially set me up for life. We would acquire the shares promised to the other scientists. I was told it was inevitable, because no witnesses to this project were meant to remain. But, because of our friendship a deal was cut with the man so I could live. Everyone else was intended to be-"

  "Killed like my father," I blurt out.

  "Yes." He looks downward as if he were guilty. "Caleb, I refused. I couldn't live with such a thing. We all had our differences but they, they became my friends. We all came to appreciate our differences. Mostly, we saw our commonality. We all had family. We all cared about humanity and we knew the power of our data and records. We knew that such data in the wrong hands, could start war as easily as bring peace. Secretly, I told the others.

  “Secretly, I told your father. The scientists and I decided to ensure against this. We agreed to record our own data and split it between two external hard drives and none of us would know where both drives were hidden. We wiped the computers.

  “The day came, before we got the chance to hide the drives, he struck. Without warning. On a simple Tuesday morning. We were just getting started. The prototype engaged and doing well. The very guards that protected us, that smiled at us every morning, stormed the lab."

  Tears well in his eyes. He is telling me about the moment while living it.

  "Caleb, your father-"

  "No, no! You say that and I'll knock your head off! My dad would NEVER-"

  I stood.

  "Your father tried to stop them. By himself. In a way, I guess that was part of his master plan."

  He lowers his eyes to the floor. I sit. Vin enters and places a tray of tea on the table sensing the tension in the room. He goes back into the kitchen, quietly talking to someone.

  "Caleb, in the chaos," his voice lowering to a whisper, "I gave your father both hard-drives. They sprayed us. Trying to make it look like we were attacked by rebels. I could hear the scientists groaning and writhing on the floor. Officer Promise hunkered over me, protecting me from the shots being fired. Your father got me out of there. I knew he was the only one I could trust. I thought I would be killed even if I made it out of that blasted forest.

  “But, your father told me he would get both of us out of there and he did. I remember distinctly telling him... 'They'll be looking for us.' I watched all of the other scientists murdered. There was no one left but the soldiers that murdered us.

  “I watched his eyes sadden while he pressed that detonator. The explosion knocked us both off our feet. We hid in that forest, I don't know how long. It felt like forever. I trusted the man implicitly.

  “I marveled at his survival skills but most of all, his humanity. Saved my life, from a ruddy deadly snake. Then, made it our dinner. We talked. We laughed. He made me forget we were two steps from death. Eventually, he got me here, to this place, and told me I can never return home. He made me promise to keep an eye on you if anything happened to him. But it had to be from a distance. My direct presence would have sealed your fate for certain.

  “As far as your father’s murderer is concerned, I died in that explosion. But I had to keep my promise to your father. Even if it meant risking my life. He was that kind of man. What he did with the hard drives, I begged him not to te
ll me."

  Richard lowers his eyes and taps ashes from his cigar and continues. A gap is filling for me, or is it? So far, his story fits into the pieces of what I do know. Trust him, perhaps.

  "There's no denying that, son. I'm sorry. But your father knew what he was taking on when he took those hard drives. He'd never put another man's life before his own."

  "The project, was it that stuff you put on my face."

  "Many things were discovered in the course of this amazing project. It was a healing element input into the.... Be assured your father did NOT die in vain."

  "The what?"

  "Some things are better left unspoken."

  "All these years? So, why does this man want to kill me? I don't know anything about these drives. I assume that's why he's chasing me."

  "No chance of loose ends. Uncertainty. It's the largest fear of the guilty. A father and son relationship is deep, Caleb. Deeper than anything else. Clues, hints to what he was involved in, that may have been passed by the stories of an ex-army man to his son. He can't sleep at night wondering if his dirty secret could get out."

  He leans toward the tea tray and pours two cups of tea into clean white teacups. I watch how Richard handles the cup, spins the handles, uses the sugar.

  "Help yourself. It will make you feel better."

  I imitate it seamlessly. He'll never guess that was my first time drinking from a proper tea cup. It is warm and comforting. I settle back into the seat, full from all of the information. How do I know all of this is true? Why should I believe this man?

  I don't know. Was he really just an honorable man following through on a promise made amid chaos? Was he something else? But, what would he have to gain? Maybe he thinks I know where the hard drives are.

  I look suspiciously in the teacup. An uneasiness settles in my head and the comfort of the little cozy room slips away and suddenly, I want to run. I want to leave this place and forget everything I learned.

  I can hide from him, start a new life in this new place. The door is there. I see it. I try to hide my dis-ease.

  "So," I try to sit back but I feel uneasy. "What now?"

  I want to break the awkward silence and eliminate any building suspicion of my planned escape.

  "Now, Caleb, you have to decide whether all of this is fiction or nonfiction. You feel like fleeing and are assessing your survival options. You're wondering if I am lying or if you really can trust me implicitly."

  He's either brilliant or there is something in the tea.

  "I'm no mind reader, your suspicions are justifiable, a typical side effect of the treatment. But, I had to tell you the whole truth because there is an important reason I believe you are here. One you may not want to hear."

  "You're right. I don't want to hear it."

  Tired of playing civil. I put down the teacup spilling the tea onto the tray. My heart is beating faster.

  "I'm sorry... you've been very kind a-and I appreciate you bringing me here and but...I just, I think I just need to be alone for a minute."

  I decide to escape.

  "Caleb. Your heart is racing. Your thoughts, tracing on self-preservation. It's not you, son, it's just a side effect. You’re sweating and will feel nausea very shortly if you do not eat soon."

  "NO! Get out of my mind...please," I yell, leaning forward.

  The truth is, I don't know if I'm fighting side effects or fighting trusting him. After all these years, feeling the absence of a family and having questions, now, I want to run from the answers. Richard walks over to me, bends and places his hands on my shoulders.

  "It's going to be alright, Caleb. Hold on. Breathe, it will pass."

  Half of me wants to push him away. The other half wants to hug him. Something in me wants to rest. Truly rest.

  "Breathe."

  I take a few deep breaths and the anxiety begins to subside. I am starting to feel nausea but won't say it.

  "It's okay, son, you’re going to be okay. You are supposed to be here now. Trust me."

  My thinking clears and I am still decidedly going to leave. But, not now. Just a little while longer. Just a few more moments in a place with answers. A few more moments with people who seem to want to help me.

  New York savvy has makes me look curiously at anyone who says 'trust me'. I always thought, if you have to say it, you aren't it. Maybe it's not true of Richard. I almost hope it's not true of Richard.

  Home. It feels good to be around people who seem to like you, even if it is fake. Nothing about him is threatening. His Italian shoes comfortably worn. His cigar fingers dip where he has continuously held cigar after cigar in the same place and his eyes seem to hold kindness and mystery. The dip in the sofa where he undoubtedly sits repeatedly.

  "Dinner is served," calls a woman with from the kitchen.

  "Go, go ahead, son, steady now."

  Richard pats me on the back as I walk toward the arched kitchen door. Vin goes into a room, drinking a glass of water. His shoes are off and he looks comfortable.

  Italian sausage in meatballs, the smell rushes up my nose. The woman, svelte with her apron bow just at her lower back. A black satin cap covering her hair and palazzo pants skirting her flat shoes. Long sleeves rolled up and her turtleneck turned down neatly. Her back to me, taking large plates from the cabinet.

  "Vinnie, come when you’re ready."

  "Two minutes," Vin calls from the room.

  He sounds like a brother getting his last few minutes on a video game. A chair is already pulled out for me at the rectangular chocolate heavy wood table. A place is set with silverware and a clear crystal goblet clearly chilled and heavy filled with water.

  A table set for me? In a flash, I am in my kitchen, fourteen years old, humble ranch house on five acres surrounded by trees just off the lake.

  A room, long forgotten, hidden in the crest of my memory reappears, dragged to the forefront of my mind. The positioning of the table, the placement of the stove to the left with a window above it. Exactly like home.

  The mat beneath her black shoes matches her apron with flecks of red in it. It mimics the piece of cut carpet beneath my mother’s feet. My father had the house carpeted and asked the carpenter for a box cutter and personally cut the mat for her.

  While she stood at the sink, he picked her up, giggling, tossed her over his muscular shoulder, dropped the cut carpet in front of the sink then placed her on it. 'There, now every time you stand here, you will think of me.' What I see was the back of mom’s hair swinging as dad rocks her in a hug side to side. The woman speaks to me.

  "Yes, I think that's good for you."

  She covers the pot, lifts her right hand, grasps the cooking cap from the front and slides it off. Her hair, it... flows to her shoulders, the same length of my mother’s, and the exact color of the hair of the woman in my nightmares.

  In my nightmares I never see her face. She's coming toward me with the plate filled with food. I stand watching my dream blazing before me. The red-haired woman dangles like a desperate creature from her husband as he is being wrenched upward.

  In a flash, the red-haired woman's face transforms to my mother’s, walking toward me with her hands out as if approaching for an embrace. I can't see the plate of food in her hand. My reality is blending with my fears.

  What's happening to me? I have to grab something. I feel like I'm falling.

  "Rich-art! Come...quickly!"

  "Gretchen? Is everything alright-"

  I hear footsteps coming closer.

  "Vinnie, come help."

  I'm on my back. I see the plate of food splattered on the floor beside me. Everything goes dark.

  "Let’s put him on the sofa."

  A cool compress feels good on my forehead. My eyes are shut but I hear them whispering.

  "No, I don't think it is a good idea, Rich-art," says the woman.

  Her accent is thick.

  "What choice do we have, dear? It must be done," Richard replies.

  "But loo
k at him, this boy has been through enough. He couldn't..." she says.

  "What is the alternative? Think, Gretchen. Allow that madman to destroy everything our countries have worked toward?"

  "That is NOT this boy’s burden to bare!"

  I open my eyes slightly, hearing water trickling from the cloth she is wringing into a glass bowl on the table. She is on her knees beside the sofa I am laying on.

  "Gretchen," says Vin, "No one else is in the position he is in. No one else can get nearly close enough."

  "Vin is right, we can't be selfish about this," says Richard.

  Gretchen folds the cloth, shaking her head.

  "Has it been so long you have forgotten! You know what he will do to this boy if he finds out. You know what he did to my... only son."