Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  “What? Great, I dropped the fob in the snow. Figures." says Jason. “Got it. Thank God for this key inside the fob.”

  I hear him open the car door and toss something big onto a seat, start the car and pull out of the parking space with wheels spinning in the snow.

  “By doing that, you stirred the nest. Hang on while I put you on speaker." he says.

  “Jason, I had to. It was killing me.”

  “That, Leo did tell me. He knew something was wrong when you started grabbing the wrong bottle a month ago. Why didn't you use the reserve? You were never truly broke.”

  “Yeah, and blow my cover by using mysteriously appearing money. Besides, how better to validate suicide and get checked for what ever they did to me when I was abducted without raising suspicion that I knew.” I say.

  The town is quiet and I’m following my guidance device to the river side. I keep glancing in my rear view mirror to see if I’m being followed.

  “Smart. Alright you improvised. I need that drive in my hand or destroyed. One or the other but…”

  “Spit it out Jason, what is it?”

  “You weren’t fully trained for this kind of thing. It could get messy and you’ll be alone. But I have no choice but to ask it of you. I need you to do what ever it takes to get or destroy that drive. Preferably get it.”

  “Done.” I say. “Jason, do I have a sister?"

  I hear his brakes screech.

  “A sister?” Jason asks.

  "Alright, alright!" Jason yells. I hear cars honking on him. "What makes you ask that?"

  Jason isn't denying. He's either fishing or knows the answer. I thought we were past this.

  "Caleb, it's vital I know everything that's happened. No games."

  I look in my rear view mirror and in the far distance I see Policia lights getting closer. The town is small, streets are slim. Thankfully no one's outside. I accelerate.

  "I have no knowledge of a sister and that’s the truth. When I first approached you in the orphanage I told you everything I knew. I knew something stunk about Wilkes but I didn't know what. This case has spread into something bigger. Truth is, Caleb, I trust you more than any one in my department." Says Jason.

  "I know what happened in Afghanistan," I say.

  He's quiet. I expected as much. I'm almost there. I can see the waterline.

  "We really need to talk.” I hear his tires screech from a fast turn. “Did you find it?"

  "Yes. And I'll get it back.” I hear a loud noise. “What's that?" I ask.

  "I got hit from behind. This snow. This guy just rear-ended me."

  "Jason! Don't get out. Go! NOW!" I yell.

  I can hear his wheels spinning. It must be the snow.

  "Are they gone?" I ask increasing my speed. The Policia are getting closer.

  "No. Still behind me. Keep talking, my battery is dying," says Jason.

  "This girl claiming to be my sister, she knew everything about the mission. Everything. She embedded two years ago. She's not Wilkes', not Richard’s, not yours. She said she’s MI-6. Jason, whatever Wilkes has been planning, it's happening tomorrow."

  "Where? We got no intelligence on this." His voice is anxious.

  In my rear view window, two police cars just turned on their sirens. I floor the accelerator.

  "Yes, you do. You know what, you just don't know where. It’s the World Peace Summit."

  "Is that a siren?" Jason asks.

  "Not that I hear," I say, tearing around the corner clipping the curb with the rear tire the Policia sirens blaring behind me.

  I hear him skidding around turns as well.

  "Get off my tail!" Jason says to the vehicle following him. "As a security precaution. Hand selected media will be notified morning of. No one is informed of its location."

  "No one? Really… hmm." I say.

  I think he heard my sarcasm.

  "Despite your delusions of grandeur, you far from invincible. Damn. I but you’re the only one I’ve got. How will you get in?" Jason says.

  I hear what sounds like a bullet piercing Jason's window. I'm all too familiar with that sound. Three more shots sink into his trunk.

  "You still alive?" I ask, swerving to the left on my winding road. The Italian Policia Sirens still close to me.

  "Yes!" yells Jason.

  "Run a light!" I yell.

  "What! Are you nuts?"

  "Run it, Jason. Do it!"

  I hear him accelerate then car horns honking at him.

  "I did it! He's still there!" Jason yells.

  I'm running out of time. I have to go through the town. The streets are skinny. Only passable for two compact cars. Slowly. But, this is not a compact. I can't slow down now. What is that? A truck coming from the right.

  If I can pass it in time it will block the police. Almost there.

  "Get out of the way!" I yell at a man stepping off the curb in front of me.

  "Move!" yells Jason. "This idiot just cut me off."

  I can hear the gunshots behind him. His engine racing. A few feet more and I'm free of the police. I made it. The truck is blocking them.

  "I can't get this car off my back," says Jason, more glass breaking.

  "Is your seatbelt on?" I ask him.

  "It is now!" Jason says. I hear the click.

  "BRAKE!" I yell accelerating past the truck just in time.

  I hear Jason's tires skip then a crash. Silence. The truck stopped just in time, blocking the Policia behind me. I make a hard left and a right toward the water.

  I look in my rear view. I have lost them.

  "Are you there?" I ask. Nothing. "Jason, answer me. Are you there?" Still nothing. "Come on."

  I hear something scrambling over the cell phone mouthpiece.

  "I am going to kill you when I see you," Jason answers finally.

  "Look in your rear view. Is he still there?"

  "Yes. But I don't think he'll be shooting anytime soon. He’s hanging out of the windshield."

  I pull over and park the vehicle in a side alley, cross a grassy field to the water and step into a motorboat tied in the River Tiber.

  I did use that little gold key once. The perfect opportunity arose when I was homeless. I went into the bank with my wonderful little gold key. That safe deposit box held cash, passport and a cell phone. Emergency run gear Jason stashed for me.

  I used the phone in the bathroom, and set up for the next stage of this mission. I made arrangements for this boat, hotel and new clothes and a way into the World Peace Summit.

  It was evident that the odds were stacked against Jason. When I saw them pull that hospital shooting and explosion off as a terrorist attack, I knew I might not be able to depend on his resources to extract the drive without becoming collateral damage just like my father. So, I made other arrangements that I can’t tell anyone about. Not even Jason.

  I simply put the phone back into the safety deposit box and made sure the bank security guard gave me a hard shove out of the door so not to raise suspicion for any of Wilkes men who may have been watching me.

  "Jason-”

  "-Stop talking. I hate you right now. I think this is called fleeing the scene."

  I hear him slam his car door.

  "What have you been doing all these years? Big Agent." I say mockingly.

  "I work at a desk, Caleb. A desk. This back… I’m going to need therapy I can feel it." Jason mutters.

  "That's obvious."

  "Shut up...okay, just... skip it. I need to know who that was." He says.

  "You've got a picture of his face."

  He's quiet.

  "The traffic camera when I ran the light," says Jason.

  "Yes," I reply.

  I climb into it and start the ignition.

  "What is that? Are you on a boat?" Jason asks.

  "Ditch your cell. Don't go home. You know this stuff, right?"

  "If you recall, I trained you," says Jason.

  "Pull that footage and get back to me. I t
hink there’s a bigger player here." I say.

  "You need to tell me where you are going. Where is the World Peace Summit?"

  "I will. As soon as I’m sure. Oh-" I say looking at a blinking dot on a tracking device. The dot is moving.

  "What?" asks Jason.

  "Don't get killed."

  "Shut up."

  I think Jason truly likes hanging up on me. I don't feel alone anymore. Strange how things changed. He was there all along but it wasn't him that I lost. It was me. The dim view I had of my life just a few days ago. I’m going to bring this guy down. We, my father and I will strike as one sword with two blades and bring this to an end.

  I can breathe here. It feels good to feel like myself again. Shedding that skin of grief wasn't easy. Embracing new things. This is the first time I drove a boat since I was a kid. Funny, it's like riding a bike it all came back to me. Twenty minutes to my train Switzerland bound.

  The train announcer is speaking in Italian. Thanks to Wallie, I understand most of it. I can't help but smile to myself. His father was very specific in his Will. I guess when you know you’re dying for a year in advance you have time to think about all these things.

  He set up the trust for Wallie. Specified his living quarters in the remote Monastery for Wallie's safety, which Wallie hated, and chose his diet.

  All the furnishings from his room at home were brought in. I guess like any father, he wanted him to feel at home. How could he know? He couldn't have guessed, he isolated him. Being called the golden boy, not picked for teams, nothing. Maybe that's what drew me to him. I hate seeing people being picked on, bullied, alone.

  Every week without fail his three tutors came in. While me and the other orphans learned masonry, repairing broken stone walls, Wallie disappeared into the garden or a classroom with a tutor toting books and charts.

  He always looked as if he wanted us to rescue him. I would have, if I could. He wasn't bullied. One of those tutors was his Win Chun master. I guess he knew he'd need it behind all the other things he gave him. He was taught French, Spanish, Italian and Mandarin. As a result, so was I. Thanks, Wallie.

  I still can't find my compartment. Pushing through people, I see this girl staring at me across the room. I have to pass her to get to the next car.

  "Excuse me, Sir, do you know where the service desk is?"

  "Non parlo inglese," I say.

  I push past her. She smells like food. The service desk was right behind her. She has no luggage. Looking at her in the marque reflection, she's still standing there. She hasn't asked anyone else. As I thought. She locks on me again.

  The long corridor on the train has windows on one side and the other has a series of identical slender doors. I’m looking for my cabin and purposely pass it twice to see if anyone is following me.

  All looks clear. I duck and step into the door to my cabin. I lock the door behind me. Finally, I can exhale. I’m glad I booked a cabin. I didn’t think of it at the time when I was booking it from inside the bank bathroom on my cell phone, but I can exhale finally being alone.

  Basic. Clean. But that window is a view into another world. Feels good to put this back pack down. It feels good to slouch down in the seat and stretch my legs out. It’s only supposed to be a forty minute ride.

  Once, in New York, I fell asleep times on the F train in Manhattan. Strange. I awoke feeling just as tired as when my eyes shut. I wonder if sleeping in this chamber alone and feeling somewhat secure will be different. The truth is I don’t want to sleep. I want to absorb every moment of this beautiful place and it’s views.

  This mystery has unraveled well. I have gotten many answers but not to the biggest question of all. I know why my parents were killed, but not who. The who is as important as the why. To me at least. Right now, I need to rest my mind.

  The scenery passes quickly. Lately my life is as adventurous when my eyes are open as when they are closed. I shut my eyes but I can't shut out the flashes of the past few days.

  I must have dozed off because the intimidating figure of the Archbishop with smoke rising behind him jolts me awake. Where am I? Oh, yes. The hum of the train calms me quickly. I can see the heels of someone standing against my door.

  What is that noise? Teenagers. They're getting closer. I can tell from their laughter getting louder but the shadow from the person’s heels is still there. Standing outside the door.

  "Excuse us," says a giddy teenager.

  Whoever it is, they didn't move. The girls are scooting past them. But one girl’s shadow is large. She stops.

  "Buddy, this isn't gonna work."

  It's a man. He steps to the side and she passes him.

  "Thanks," she says sarcastically.

  The train announcer speaks and I can hear a conductor shouting 'biglietto', (ticket). What's that? Just outside the window. A crowd of people stirs. I'm done running. I open the door and turn quickly in the direction he went toward. I'm facing the train ticket agent.

  "Biglietto, Signore," says the ticket agent.

  Whoever it was is gone. There's no one in the corridor as far as I can see in either direction.

  Arriving in the Switzerland is more than I imagined. The training in the Monastery prepared me to think and plan but it didn't prepare me to see everything that I have seen. Jason couldn't have trained me for how going to these beautiful places would stretch my thinking. Break my borders and parameters.

  I couldn't be taught how it would make that little room in the cheap hotel feel like a prison. The moment of being homeless does make me feel grateful. Very grateful. I chose this hotel for practical purposes. I am, by nature, practical. It was in the right location. It just so happens to have every amenity known to man. I couldn't help but be taken a bit by the balcony.

  Alright, it also served a whimsy. I figured, if I managed to live long enough to get to this stage, I wanted to treat myself as well. Besides, when this is all over, I’ll probably be staring at the crack in the mirror in my old room again.

  "There you are, Mr. Driven, your key," says the reservation agent at the desk, "we will have your luggage collected..." she gestures to a bell hop to come, "...and help you unpack."

  "No luggage. I'll be shopping. Have the concierge call." I have always wanted to say that.

  She looks impressed. Mr. Driven is Jason's creation. The fake passport and identification all tucked neatly in that safe deposit box. I could have taken it a long time ago compliments of that little gold key. I could have vanished and never looked back. But, that wouldn't bring me any closer to the answers I seek.

  "Well, Mr. Driven, if you require any assistance with your packages upon your return, please let us know." She smiles as I walk out.

  She's flirting with me. Funny what money prompts. I wonder would she still be smiling at me and fluttering her eye lashes if I were dressed in my bus boy uniform? Frivolity gets put aside when struggling to survive.

  Jason set up an account for me years ago. Seven figures sitting in a bank account for years. The debt card locked the banks safe deposit box. That little gold key. I finally used it. It held cash, the debt card for the bank account, a fake passport and cell phone. I never used it. I couldn't take any chances knowing I was being watched.

  However, the umbrella of homeless is invisibility. The perfect opportunity to get to the safety deposit box and use the bank’s bathroom to make my phone calls and these travel arrangements, return the phone to the safe deposit box then, just make sure the security guard gave me a vigorous shove out of the door.

  I haven’t shopped in years but needed to look the part to get into the event. The Bradutt's Palace in St. Moritz is just up the street. It was the secret location of the World Summit.

  Chen was very thorough in the report he sent to my phone. He doesn’t leave things to chance. An undercover agent specializing in martial arts Wing Chun specifically, he came to the monastery in Asian pajama attire posing as a spiritual guide for me to help me through my depression and draw me out of
silence.

  Secretly, in the center of the garden hedge-maze, he trained me. Vigorously trained me. He was embedded into the hotel staff years ago.

  His report stated that the hotels regular staff weeded out. Everyone employed within the last three years was been given a paid vacation leaving senior staff for the event. From chefs to valet, scouring background checks were completed months ago. All requests for personal chefs were denied due to conflict of interests.

  One kitchen, multiple chefs stringently loyal to their leader may offer temptation that can't be prevented. Like curious reporters, I did my homework. I got suspicious when the entire hotel showed 'booked' on line for months in advance.