Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  "Alexandre-" the First Lady interrupts.

  She turns quickly and drops her arms. He stands facing me as Mr. President continues.

  "My wife will be taken to our plane and returned to France. Toute de suite. You are not to leave her side until she is seated and safe."

  "Her baggage, Mr. President?"

  "It remains here," Mr. President says, looking firmly but calmly into my eyes.

  An unspoken understanding between us is established. He wants it to appear that she is still there.

  "I can arrange a garment befitting the circumstances. I will bring it personally," I say.

  "Bon," says Mr. President. "Chen, if you need anything, let me know directly."

  He nods, lowering his head slightly. A gentleman's indication that he is finished speaking.

  "Very good, Mr. President."

  I turn to leave.

  "Chen."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  Facing him fully. My arms comfortably by my side.

  "Thank you," says Mr. President.

  "It is my privilege to serve you, Mr. President," I say.

  "I am NOT leaving!" Ines, the First Lady says firmly.

  I avert my eyes as the President gently places his hands on her shoulders, leans his head back slightly, pulling on their deep understanding of one another.

  "Ines, I feel it, in here." He touches his heart. "There's evil at work here," says Mr. President, placing his forehead on hers, "and I need you to go. With you safe, my senses are sharp, my eyes keen. With you here, you have that part of me. And, you know I can not leave."

  I couldn't help but hear. The rationale, indisputable, his gentle words cutting her defence but paramount was the fact that clearly there is no possibility of changing his mind. She trusts him implicitly. It's obvious. Her fire quenched by his love. She exhales and surrenders her will. He embraces her as I did my wife.

  "Say it," Mr. President says.

  "So said, so done," she replies. "I will be praying for you, my love."

  He looks settled, as every leader should be.

  "I have no doubt," Mr. President says.

  She turns and nods at me, an indication I'll get no struggle. For that moment, they let me into their world. I'm grateful.

  Ines, the First Lady, is the opposite of my wife in every respect but their connection reminded me of why I loved waking up every day for forty-five years.

  That warm foot I lay mine across in our bed every night. They made me miss that foot.

  I went quickly. The Abaya fit her well. I was surprised at her willingness. I can see concern in her eyes all the way to the airport. She steps onto the plane with a warm cape covering her.

  She hesitantly steps onto the plane. I enter behind her.

  "First Lady," says a female crew attendant.

  "First Lady, I thought perhaps they would bring you comfort to have a familiar face," I say.

  She smiles.

  "First Lady, I wish to keep my word to your husband."

  She sits and puts on her seatbelt.

  "It was my privilege to serve you. Safe journey to you."

  I begin walking to the exit when she stops me and holds out a card. Her personal card with phone number on it.

  "Chen, should you see cause, call me."

  "I shall."

  On exiting I hear her speak to her personal assistant.

  "As soon as we get home. I want you to pay all of this man's debts and secure his retirement fund."

  "Yes, First Lady."

  From the car, I see her glance out of the plane’s window, lift off the head covering, close her eyes and pray.

  The drive back to the hotel is swift, gratefully so. I am summoned to the room of Ex-Secretary of Defence Wilkes. I only met him once since he checked into the hotel. Him, I could forget. Her, I will never forget. An ungodly coldness follows her. It enters rooms with her, yet doesn't seem to bother her. She sees things in and about people they don't want to divulge. Perhaps she will look at me and see I'm a servant of God first and then of this hotel. I can't help but wonder if her eyes will see through my intent. If she does, so be it. But, I am much more useful to Caleb alive.

  The cold, perhaps I'm the only one who feels it. Now, I must feel it again. I pause outside the door. I'm in no rush to be in the presence of such evil. I can hear Wilkes speaking to Gretchen through the door. I'm sure Caleb may need what I hear.

  Wilkes Room

  "They all checked in. Snug as bugs in a rug," says Wilkes.

  "You sound like a father talking about his children," replies Gretchen.

  I can hear the rustling of her gown as she walks across the floor.

  "You couldn't resist," she says, "the Hitchcock Suite."

  I can smell her perfume seeping from beneath the door. I can picture him sitting in the firm cushion of the golden yellow armchair beside the balcony door, flanked by the royal blue drapes with golden decorative inlay making him feel like royalty.

  "My dear, you look lovely," he says.

  "Thank you, my sweet. My fingers just can't do the latch," says Gretchen

  "I will gladly do your latch for the rest of our lives. There, all done. Your hands, so delicate. Your pale nail polish, so tasteful for the occasion. I can't help but notice everything about you. I had years to imagine, now here you are. My reality. I fought to chase thoughts of you and Richard from my mind."

  "You didn't have to. There was nothing but business between us," she says. "Now, tell me, what have you been rehearsing in that little brain of yours? You said, when we're alone, and safe, you would tell me your master plan," she says.

  I hear her kiss him. I hear... someone around the corner. I can't stand here much longer listening. I will have to go in. Just a few more moments.

  "And I always keep my promises to you. Alright, I intend to offer the world leaders a chance to make a peace pact amongst themselves. No one leaves until it is done. If common sense prevails, they will leave here with negotiations begun. If not, whichever nation refuses, receives a visit from the Beaston as incentive to negotiate." Silence. "What is it, my dear? Are you ill?" he says.

  "No, no. Nothing like that, I just wonder..." she starts, "these are brutal leaders who may welcome such an act. They are professionals at making promises they don't keep. My prior employer understood that all too well. World peace you seek?" says Gretchen.

  "I'm concerned with peace for the United States. It's about us now. We've meddled and toiled trying to create peace among other nations for decades. Time after time proving useless. Then being dragged into it, begged by leaders having to answer back with war, and OUR soldiers, just boys, lives lost. It's our turn to look out for us now," replies Wilkes.

  "My love, last night, I got another idea that may well suit both of our desires. After all, we are a team. You and I having created this wonderful creature. We're like parents, so I propose-" Gretchen says.

  No, not now. They are coming up the hall, looking directly at me. I bend, purposely putting my back to them, pretending to tie my shoe. By the time they pass, I get back to the door. I caught them mid-sentence. The beauty of this hotel, from the hall, you can hear everything in each room.

  "Gretchen," Wilkes interrupts, "I'm afraid you've mistaken your position. You are my love, my inspiration, the one I trusted to realize my dream but the Beaston is not our child, it is mine. The entire project wouldn't have existed if it weren't for me. I stood the inquisition for its birth, not you. I masterminded the funds, not you. You did what you were commissioned to do, and gratefully so, but it was a piece of the puzzle, certainly not its entirety. I explained that to you when we first spoke. Do you remember, dear?"

  "Yes, but I thought, after all this time, and after my role with Richard-" she says desperately.

  "Richard was my friend. He just couldn't see the light," says Wilkes.

  "But I reeled him in. Kept him on the project-" replies Gretchen.

  "-But failed to get his data." I hear a lighter flicker
and smell cigar smoke coming from beneath the door. "Really, what are we doing? Look at us. Disputing after all this time. Where is that butler?"

  I have to enter. A few more moments.

  "Gretchen, I am grateful. But, those decisions were yours. To reach this end, sacrifices were made by both of us. I betrayed the loyalty of my President. A man I truly respect but who didn't see what I saw on those battlefields. A man who may one day thank me for this. I could have gone to prison. But we need this. Without it, what would we do? We needed a new way to war," he says.

  "The United States, you mean," she says sarcastically.

  "Yes."

  I knock on the door.

  "Enter," Wilkes says.

  I open the door.

  "Good evening, Sir, Madam. I am your butler, Chen. How may I serve you?"

  "What of my guests?"

  I can feel Gretchen's cold creeping up around my feet. She's looking at me intently, examining every thread on my uniform.

  "Sir, I am not at liberty-"

  "The President of France and his wife?"

  "Apologies," important I don't pause, "I am restricted from-" I begin.

  "I see. I had to try, you know."

  Gretchen's chill is crawling up my legs. Her gown is pure white Italian silk with black swirled embroidery. It hugs her waist but is a bell gown. Her paleness suits her. Hair drawn back into a decorative bun at the nape of her neck.

  "Is there anything I can get you, Madame?" I ask, looking directly into her eyes. She smiles with her mouth only.

  "No. Chen, is it?" Gretchen asks.

  Her eyes intentionally piercing. She looks as if she recognizes me but can't place where she knows me from. Wilkes is in his own world, puffing away on his cigar.

  "Gretchen, let's not ruin the evening with this needless chatter. We'll be in the Fiji Islands before afternoon."

  "You're right," She smooths her dress. "You're right. It doesn't matter as long as we're together."

  I don't see any sincerity in her response. There is a knock on the door.

  "Get that will you,... Mr. Chen," says Gretchen.

  I turn to get the door.

  "I've ordered a little something for us. You haven't eaten all day," says Gretchen.

  She disappears into the bedroom.

  "I'm not hungry," says Wilkes.

  She picks up her new shoes placed beside the others. She still doesn't see the tiny black tracker stuck to the instep of the other shoes Caleb told me he placed, when on the ground near her feet outside the Vatican. His training proves profitable.

  I close the door and look over the uniform of the server, bent over the cart with two plates covered by ornate lids with cutlery perfectly laid. He's not of the hotel. The fit of his uniform is off. Our uniforms are tailored to fit. Perfection at every turn. His hem is too high and his hands, rough. That of a tradesman.

  He purposely diverts his face from view.

  "May I assist?" I ask.

  He doesn't answer. I lift a water glass and purposely spill it on his hand.

  "My apologies, Sir," I whisper to him, taking a spare pair of white serving gloves from my breast pocket. He removes his glove. It affords me the opportunity to see his hand. The same hand Caleb told me may bear a tattoo.

  He looks at me, noticing that I saw it as he slips on his glove.

  "Really, dear, I'm not hungry at all."

  "You need this," Gretchen says, walking behind the server to the door.

  "Please, allow me," I say, opening the door for him.

  The server turns to Gretchen with a pleasant demeanor. Then, to me. The tea towel, hanging perfectly on his left forearm and his hands are gloved for serving.

  "Is everything satisfactory, Madam?" the server asks.

  "Oh, I'm afraid not, you've forgotten the cream for my coffee."

  "I shall return with it," he says.

  Wilkes can't touch that food.

  "Looks good, Gretch. I think I may have some," Wilkes says lifting a roll to his lips.

  Her chest beginning to heave with anticipation. He lifts the roll and he notices the time on his watch.

  "Look at the time. We must get going." Wilkes drops the roll. Gretchen exhales deeply. "My dear, tonight, my dream is realized and all my hard work goes for a greater good."

  I hold the door open for them.

  "You need to rethink this," she whispers to him as we walk down the hall. "They won't see it that way. Perhaps diplomacy is not the best tactic."

  I press the elevator button and face the doors as we wait.

  "Diplomacy got me you," Wilkes says.

  They enter the elevator first, I press the button to the lobby and stand facing the doors. I hear him kiss her. The doors close. Wilkes continues.

  "I can't wait for you to see the house in Milan, I told the decorator, if she's not done by tomorrow for our move-in, she'll never work again. Everything is perfect. I've decided something, Gretchen. I want you by my side tonight. I know you don't like the fanfare. You've been behind the scenes all this time, but I want the world to see you by my side." He says.

  "I'd really rather not, dear, I-" says Gretchen.

  "For me?" he presses.

  "I can't. I love you but I can't, it's just not me-"

  "Okay, alright. Please, don't cry. No problem."

  The elevator doors open. The lobby is full. A few hand selected photographers and I step aside letting Mr. Wilkes have his moment in the spotlight. If Caleb is able, it will be Wilkes' last.

  I wish my wife were alive to see this. The glitter of the night. My butterfly. She fluttered through our small flat. All we could afford, yet she smiled every day, gratefully. In the end, she was small, frail. I promised her better days. I failed.

  I miss her. I couldn't give her the finery she cooed over in the society magazines, only a promise that we would make a better life as far from Liuzhou as possible. Breathless from running up the steps to our flat with our traveling papers in my hand, and a promise of this job hung on my tongue when I saw she flew away without me. Her wings lay on our bed. It was the longest trip of my life.

  Today, my butterfly is here. Watching these dignitaries pose photos in the elegant vestibule of the hotel. Handshakes, smiles and pats on the back. Do they really know the power of their decisions?

  Guards with wired earpieces in their left ears stand firmly facing him. He's taller than when I saw him as a boy. He looks well. His tie is crooked. No handkerchief. Trying desperately to hold casual conversation with the guards, who are growing suspicious.

  He sees me. His pause and small grin. I push the large glass door open. I clear my throat.

  "Sir. The Prime Minister asked for you. Please, come with me."

  The guards are doing exactly what I expect. The door closes behind us. Wait, why are they following us?

  "Stop," says a guard to Caleb. "Your identification?"

  "I am Chen, the head butler. He's been requested."

  "I'm not speaking to you," says the guard.

  We don't want this attention. More guards are approaching behind us. Caleb puts his left hand in his pocket embodying his attire as if it were his norm.

  "I left it in my other trousers. I'll gladly get it. If you could explain to the Prime Minister why I will be late to see her," says Caleb.

  Caleb was very believable. The guard looks at me. I purposely glance boldly at my pocket watch, hand still holding the door open.

  "I will gladly do so. She'll appreciate it was done to protect her," says the guard.

  This may get ugly. I recall Caleb doesn't like obstacles. The guards hand is on his side arm. The other guards are following suit. I got here just in time.

  "It's on you," Caleb says turning around.

  If I recall, that is one of the first moves I taught him before striking. This would blow our element of surprise. Just then, someone walks through the door I am holding open.

  An Archbishop walks through the door I am holding open. I feel a warmth followi
ng him.

  "Thank you," says the Archbishop to me.

  It's funny. His attire reminds men immediately, a greater power exists. To challenge them is like challenging God. The guards must feel it too.

  "Sir, she's waiting," says the Archbishop.

  The guards look at each other, then step aside, lowering their hands from their guns, letting Caleb pass.