Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  Caleb thinks, then asks the obvious. I think he knows the answer.

  "How did you get them to let you go?"

  A promise that when the Beaston was perfected, they would be given the data. Words in the wind. It was the only way they'd let us leave, alive. Also, I agreed to let them take credit for the killing of the... my men.

  The vision is bigger than any one person, you see. The Beaston had to evolve but it needed-"

  "-them," says Caleb.

  Yes, Caleb. Their dedication, their resolve, restraint, loyalty.

  "You claim to have admired them, then killed them. The Beaston isn't the monster, you are. You created it. Face it."

  I did face it. They brought her into my cell. Tirashi, Amir’s wife with her son. They made me listen to her. We would have been dead but your father managed to convince them we would keep our word.

  She had such hate in her eyes for me. I couldn't blame her. She told me how Amir waited for years for them to finally have a child. Now, he had one and he'd never see him grow up. She made me look at him. See his tears. I felt for her, I did, but she would have done the same to save her child. Without hesitation.

  Your father made me believe he was in. I guess I wanted to believe it too. Dread was already in. Now, I know it was a survival tactic. I should have expected it, but I didn't see it."

  "So later you kill him. Use him to get you out of a tight spot then-" starts Caleb.

  "Every man has a motive. I had no reason to kill your father, son." I say.

  "I'm not your son."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Caleb Promise

  I listened. I sat still and listened. Resisted the urge to kill him and listened to him. He was empty. A shell of a man. Telling the story aged him five years. He grabs the hilt of his cane, leaning on his desk. He's confessed to the equivalent of treason and the murder of his entire platoon. Either he trusts me implicitly or he's going to kill me when this is all over. It's probably the latter.

  Strangely, there was something solvent about Wilkes. If pure, his loyalty could build worlds.

  "Caleb. That's it. The piece of your puzzle. Now you know I had no motive for killing your father. None. That's all you really wanted to know anyway, right? It's your turn."

  I know he'll be intrigued. I put the glasses on the desk. Wilkes doesn't touch them. I'm surprised. There is nothing on the video that gives away the drives. But, disclosure for disclosure. It keeps the gate open. He presses a button on his desk and Ron comes into the room.

  He gestures to Ron. The message is so personal that I feel invaded. Again. I have no choice. Now I have to watch while this guy puts them on.

  The pin-sized light on the arm of the glasses turns red instead of green. His body stiffens and he falls to the ground, face first. Pin sized holes on each of his temples release drops of blood. Razor sharp wires shot out from the arms. I guess he failed the retinal scan. Wilkes doesn't look surprised at all.

  "For your eyes only, huh? Prom, you never cease to amaze me.” Looking up at the ceiling. “What did it say?"

  "You trust me to tell you the truth?"

  "In good faith. I told you the truth. Yes, it's code of honor among men."

  The door opens and an armed man removes the glasses, places them on the desk then drags Ron’s body out with blood now flowing out of his temples, with his eyes still open. His new shoes leaving a drag mark in the carpet. Another suited man steps into the room, dressed like Ron, formal, and stands at the door discreetly like a butler. He's expressionless.

  "More coffee, Ron."

  I look at Wilkes. I think he forgot that he killed Ron.

  "I haven’t forgotten, Caleb. They are all Ron to me. They come and go so frequently, why learn a name? They know the risks." he says to me. "I'm waiting."

  "It was dad. He said his death was no accident."

  Wilkes pulls a cigar from a wooden box on the desk, snips one end and pierces a hole in the other and lights it. He takes a long draw as if forcing his patience.

  "He said he loved me and he was sorry he left me. That's it."

  "You're breaking the code."

  I fiddle with the lock in my pocket. If I don't disclose it, my boots may be leaving drag marks in the carpet. He probably already knows I have it. This may be a test.

  Rage is sitting on my chest. Waiting to burst free. Wilkes' impatience is growing. He grasps the hilt of the cane again.

  "I thought you to be a man of honor like your father. I misjudged you. You do have one thing in common with your father. You can't bluff because you're not a liar by nature."

  With cigar clenched between his lips, he presses a series of buttons on a small black tablet. The snow-capped mountains whisk away, leaving a smoky glass wall. I can see something appearing. The glass is clearing slowly. There is light behind the clearing fog but I still can't make out what it is. It's clear. I can see it and my heart sinks.

  A woman lying in a glass domed incubator with monitor lights blinking, covered by a clean white sheet. There is a nurse, her back to us, washing her hands in a sink. I didn't feel myself walk to the glass. I just sort of ended up there. I pass his desk and look at that silver envelope holder. I am closer. I can see her clearly.

  "Impossible-" escapes my lips.

  "In my world this is very possible."

  Wilkes walks over and stands beside me. I feel the suited man approach behind me.

  "How?" I ask.

  "No more answers. Talk or she dies, again."

  It's my mother. Rage wins. I grab the envelope opener and put it to Wilkes’ throat.

  "I want to see her!"

  "You’re in debt, young Promise."

  I squeeze his lapel tighter and hear the cock of the gun and feel the nuzzle press the back of my head. This Ron is faster than I thought. Wilkes sees it. How bad I want to kill him.

  "That's something your father always knew how to control. Tsk-tsk, young Promise. It will get you nowhere."

  Sharp pain. Ron couldn't resist. I'm on one knee near the bottom of his cane. At least Ron hit me and didn't shoot me. What is Wilkes doing? I can hear the nurse speaking through an intercom.

  "Sir?" the nurse says.

  I know that voice.

  "Do it," Wilkes says.

  What does he mean 'do it'. She's filling a syringe.

  "Caleb, you may want to say goodbye."

  She's the same nurse that was in Lou's room just before he died.

  "NO!" I yell at the nurse.

  I hit the glass. I stare at her through the glass. It looks exactly like her! He thinks I'm just in shock but I'm looking. Looking for that tiny scar on the back of her right hand. The one she got on my first fishing trip.

  I cast the line and hooked her hand. Is this truly her? Mom was an Audrey Hepburn fan. She never pierced her ears. She wore clip-ons. Mom never really lived in her time. She was made for an earlier time when grace and beauty was in subtly and modesty. Are those piercings in her ears or shadows? I can't tell. So that was not her lying there motionless, although part of me wishes it were.

  The clincher, a tiny glass bottle of morphine half empty at the nurse’s station. Why would you have to give morphine to a woman who is in a coma? I need him to believe he has something on me.

  "Banging won't help you. Think, young Promise, think. You know how to stop this," says Wilkes, puffing on his cigar.

  She's looking at Wilkes for the all clear to suppress the syringe into her I.V. tube.

  "Do it, Marge."

  "Wait! Okay! He left me a clue to where it is but I haven't figured it out yet."

  Wilkes looks into my eyes and holds his hand up, signaling Marge to stop.

  "You give me everything and we're the best of friends, you cross me and I'll dump you and your mother in a shallow grave. My cause is that important to me."

  "I get it, okay," I answer.

  "Good, sit down."

  "That's all for now, dear," Wilkes says to the nurse.

  The fake snow-
capped mountains re-appear on the glass.

  "I value human life, but one life can't stand in the way of a new way to war. Where is my data?"

  "Just let me think."

  "You have three minutes, Caleb."

  He exhales impatiently and sips his coffee. In the back of my head, I can hear Richard's voice begging me to bring the hard drive to him and Gretchen. I know I have to backtrack and slow down in order to figure this out.

  I'm fourteen again, hearing the sawdust scratch the rustic wood planks beneath my sneakers. Playing cards with Rose.

  Through the open doorway I can see mom curled on the sofa, back propped against dad’s chest. His arm around her shoulders, they look at the pages in a book. She turned pages gently with delicate hands and freshly polished nails in her favorite shade of red, just cradling a book with calm and love on her face as if she were looking at a new-born baby's face.

  She respected books. They took her places they couldn't afford to go. She was finding their dream vacation destination.

  "Where!" yells Wilkes.

  Wilkes has one more time to yell at me. If I didn't need him, I'd choke him out.

  "Where?" Dad asked Mom lovingly.

  "Baby," mom said, "this one just made number one. Steeped in art history and guess what?"

  She turned the page of the book.

  "What?" Dad asked.

  "It's-" she begins.

  I say it with her, "-the safest place on the earth."

  I close my eyes to see the book in her hand. A lit dome. Arched bridge. I can't see the name. Wait. I know it. Can it be? Yes. It is.

  "Time's up."

  I hear the click. Ron cocks the gun.

  "The Vatican!"

  I could take that gun right out of his hands. But not yet. I'm not finished. Wilkes' sly smile becomes him. Now he really looks like a snake.

  "The Vatican." Wilkes repeats it with surprise. "I never would have guessed. The plane. Now."

  G6-50, the pilots stand formally at the front entrance greeting Wilkes as "Mr. Secretary." Immaculate, butter soft tan seating.

  Dread and the tall man follow behind us and sit at a table near the door. Wilkes leads us to the table and seats near the rear.

  "First time?" Wilkes asks me.

  He's kidding, right? Small talk. Never. All of the window shades are drawn and a stewardess places two menus on the table in front of us.

  "Just like your dad-"

  "Why do you keep saying that? Just like your dad?" I blurt.

  "Well, the way you talk, soft spoken, observant, always locked in. Your dad was my chief strategist for a reason. He mastered being present, without being intrusive. He could soak in a room and within minutes know the weakness of every man in there, thus, knowing how to defeat them. Do you have 'that', Caleb?"

  "You tell me," I reply, looking at him side-faced.

  Smiling. “I think you've got these guys figured out. You know, I personally had no children. Lost my wife to cancer at thirty-two years old. You could say, I always wanted a successor. If you're anything like your father, you're a good learner. I'd welcome the chance to work with the great Officer Promise's blood-line."

  He speaks about me like I'm a breed of dog.

  "A few days ago," I tap my pointer twice on the table, "I was jobless, homeless, robbed, suicidal, chased by the police and wanted for murder. I have nothing...but my self respect. Think I'll keep it."

  Dread and the tall man are playing cards.

  "Get to know me, Caleb, always know your opponent." He fixes his tie and jacket. "I know you, I have been watching you."

  "Then you didn't see much!"

  I rather have my hands in my pockets. I won't touch this coffee. I’ve had my fill.

  "I saw enough. Your father wouldn't have approved. Your drinking, the toy store... Elizabeth."

  "I didn't have anything to do with that."

  My fists are tightening.

  "That's not what the N.Y.P.D. think. I know you didn't do it, because I did. Your father rammed his fists in his pockets just like that whenever he was thinking really hard."

  "You knew they'd blame me."

  "Not at all. Elizabeth was a problem. She almost got you fired which would have pulled you out my world. It figures, you never take cabs and of all nights-" Wilkes shakes his head and picks up the menu.

  I think, then ask. Why not?

  "The florist?"

  "Mine. Though, not truly professional. Impatient. Think she got bitter because you kept rejecting her. She couldn't be trusted. She had to go."

  "Joe?" I swallow hard, feeling like a pawn on a board because there is only one other person whose name I don't want to say.

  "Mine, keep going."

  He's enjoying this. He would.

  "Judy?"

  "Mine. Well, not anymore. She put the tracker on the coat. Amateur. Got that poor thief killed for nothing. Cost me clean up. Come on, come-on."

  The dead homeless man on the stretcher in the news. It was the coat that killed him. I thought so.

  "The toy store guy?" I need to be sure.

  "No, no, that pathetic creature was definitely real, couldn't make him up. You're getting warm," says Wilkes.

  He wants to hear me say it. I feel my stomach sink because there was only one other person that mattered. I don't want his name to be on that list.

  "Yes. Say it. You want to know."

  "Lou."

  I feel my jaw tighten.

  "Bingo. Yes. My first recruit. I paid the mortgage off on that roach trap diner for him. Unfortunately, he got too vested. He had to go."

  A chill creeps up my spine that only comes when the evil enters a room. My hatred for Wilkes boils.

  "You can't grow without facing cold hard facts. I value human life, but one life can't stand in the way a new way to war."

  I can feel my breath deepen. I want to kill him, now.

  "I will watch you die."

  I slam the table and Dread and the tall man stand up.

  "No. Now, gentlemen, it's alright." Dread and the tall man sit again. "Let's stay calm and think. You wanted answers, didn't you? Didn't you? That's why you're still here. Knowledge is intriguing, isn't it? The more you get, no matter how distasteful, how wretched, the more you want, until one day knowledge is not enough. You begin wanting power to change things. To be that variable that induces an outcome. When do you stop being the helpless observer and become the agent of change?"

  "This thing is your agent of change?"

  "No, Caleb. I am the agent of change, it is my muse."

  "What-r-you looking at!" Dread's still smirking at me.

  "It's alright, Dread, please, have another sandwich."

  He lights a cigar. A cell phone rings behind him. The new Ron approaches the table cautiously and whispers into Secretary Wilkes ear. He takes the cigar out of his mouth to take the call.

  "Yes.” Smiling. “As we speak."

  He hangs up the phone.

  "Minutes to landing, Sir," the pilot says over the intercom.

  Wilkes takes out his cell phone and presses in a five digit code and a red digital clock. He turns the cell phone toward me. A count down starts on the bottom of the screen.

  "Swipe right," Wilkes says.

  I do it. A live video of my mother's encasement.

  "What is this?"

  "A push."

  The clock reads forty-five minutes. It's counting down.

  "We land in five minutes. You bring me my data or every life support system will shut down, one by one and you will be able to bury her. For real this time. Then, I'll bury you."

  My jaw tightens and I can feel my teeth bite down.

  "Temper, temper, young Promise. I'm the only one who knows the code to cancel the order. Kill me, she dies. Disappear, she dies. Cross me,"

  Wilkes holds his hand up to his ear.

  "She dies." I say.

  Wilkes snips the tip of another cigar.

  "Dave and Dread will accompany you. Give
me what I want and you two walk into the sunset to start over somewhere. I really don't care where."

  We exit the plane. It's cold. A caravan of Wilkes’ goons are waiting for us. Seeing this place makes me realize I haven't seen anything yet. A drive surrounded by a fleet of Wilkes men in cars quickly gets us to The Vatican.