Damascus Road

by Charlie Cole

  “Good morning,” I said.

  Isaac looked up at me and said nothing at first. He took off his glasses and set them on the table. He rubbed at his face.

  “You didn’t shave,” I noted.

  Isaac grunted at me.

  “I make you uncomfortable, I take it,” I said.

  “That’s a fair statement,” he conceded.

  “I mean the Senator no harm,” I said. “I don’t want to cast him in a bad light or bring him bad press. I’m not attending publicity events with him or drinking in public. No one needs to know that I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?” Isaac asked.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” I asked.

  “He told me you were having some troubles,” Isaac replied.

  “Aside from that?”

  Isaac scowled at me over his glasses. I smiled back at him and flipped over my cup, ready for coffee.

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Marlowe?” Isaac asked.

  “I’m an entrepreneur,” I said. “I make my own opportunities.”

  “That’s intriguing,” Isaac said. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” he sighed.

  “My wife called me that,” I said. “It’s sweet.”

  “You’re married?” Isaac asked.

  “That’s an ugly rumor. Shame on you.”

  Isaac sighed and threw up his hands. The waitress smiled and filled my cup, quickly taking my order. I sipped the brew and grimaced. Pierre would be disappointed. I could see why Isaac got his coffee from down the road.

  “Isaac, look at me.”

  He glanced up from his paper, and I leaned forward.

  “What?” he asked.

  “My father served in the Army.”

  “I know.”

  “What you may not know is that he led men into combat,” I continued. “He was a grunt before he was a general.”

  “Your point?”

  “The man can recognize an ambush when he sees one,” I said.

  Isaac stopped with his coffee cup halfway to his lips.

  “You think the threat is real?”

  “I think a man who can work while under fire from enemy troops doesn’t panic when he gets a threatening letter,” I said.

  “That actually makes sense.”

  “He also wouldn’t go out on a limb and ask his wildcard son for a favor unless he was up a creek,” I said.

  I had Isaac’s attention now.

  “I’m here to help my father, so don’t fuck with me, Isaac.”

  “Okay, I understand.”

  “May I see the letters?” I asked.

  Isaac reached into a worn briefcase next to his chair. He laid a folder on the table and flipped it open.

  There were six letters inside. I spread them out in front of me and read each carefully, meticulously taking my time.

  “What do you see?” Isaac asked.

  “These people are frustrated but not angry. They’re afraid,” I said. “They don’t like what the Senator stands for or his policies, but they don’t want to be discovered. They cut out letters and pasted them together like a ransom note. Something they saw in a movie once. There’s no anger, no rage.”

  “You’re looking for anger?” Isaac asked.

  “I understand anger.”

  “Oh.”

  “This guy’s a quack,” I said, flinging the fifth letter back at Isaac.

  “Is that a technical term?”

  “Yes, try to keep up, will you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Where did this one come from?” I asked, holding up the last letter.

  “That one arrived in a pile of promotional material we ordered,” Isaac said. “I called the printer, guy I’ve known for years, but they had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “Was it in the packaging? A sealed envelope?”

  “No, we found it the day after delivery. The note was between the flyers,” Isaac said.

  “He’s been in the office,” I said. “That’s your guy.”

  “How do you know?” Isaac said.

  I picked up the note and read it.

  “Thou art the man,” I read. “Do you know where that’s from?”

  “Sounds vaguely familiar,” Isaac shrugged.

  “It’s from the story of King David in the Bible,” I explained. “It’s said by a man named Nathan, accusing the king of past sins.”

  “So?”

  “Righteous anger,” I said.

  “Oh.”

  Isaac’s phone rang. He answered it, and I turned to my breakfast.

  “Hello?” he said. “No…what? Who is this?”

  I looked up from my omelet and saw the expression on his face.

  “Of course, he’s right here,” Isaac said and held out the phone to me.

  “Who is it?” I asked around a mouthful of eggs.

  Isaac shook the phone at me.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “James Marlowe?” said the voice. It was male, deep, mid 30s. I didn’t recognize it.

  “Mom?” I said in mock surprise.

  “I presume you received my note.” Humorless.

  “I did.”

  “Then you know what you can call me,” said the voice. It was a test.

  I sighed.

  “Nathan,” I replied.

  “Very good,” said Nathan. He sounded pleased.

  I stopped the passing waitress without saying a word and took her order pad and pen. I smiled warmly and she did the same, playing along. I scratched a note quickly and spun it around for Isaac to see.

  Find out where my dad is.

  I tossed my phone to him and he started dialing.

  “What do you want, Nathan?” I asked.

  “I already have what I want.” Dead fact. No question. No gloating.

  Isaac’s face was dead white. I gestured a question. What?

  “The Senator’s been kidnapped,” Isaac said. “Two agents are down.”

  I stood, walking toward the exit, fishing for my car keys in my pocket. Isaac was close behind.

  “If you have what you want,” I said. “Why call me?”

  “Because it’s the same thing you want,” Nathan said. “I’m willing to share if you’re willing to play nice.”

  “Do you know me?” I asked.

  “I know you well enough to know that you’ve probably already found out that I have the General,” Nathan said.

  I looked back at Isaac. Nathan knew our moves even as we made them.

  “Bully for you,” I said. “We’re not that close.”

  Isaac tugged at my jacket, trying to dissuade me, but I pulled away.

  “Were you close to your brother?” Nathan asked.

  I stopped.

  “Tom?” I asked.

  “If you’re not already in the car, get there,” Nathan said. “I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”

  I broke into a run for the parking garage, Isaac yelled at me to slow down and explain.

  I found the car quickly, got behind the wheel, and backed up. As I dropped the car into first gear, Isaac pulled open the passenger door. I gave him half a second to get in. He did, sweating and gasping for air. I let out the clutch, crushed the gas and squealed the tires on the Cuda heading for the exit.

  “What’s going on?” Isaac said.

  “Who is this guy?”

  “What?” Isaac asked.

  “Nathan… the guy on the phone,” I explained. “Who is he?”

  “That’s why you’re here,” Isaac said. “To tell us that.”

  “That’s why I’m…”

  “What?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” I said. “He wanted me here.”

  I pulled out onto the city streets and navigated the Cuda through the thick of the traffic, eager for open road. The phone rang.

  “Nathan?” I said.

  “James,” he said. “In the car?”

  “You know I am.
”

  I steered around a guy on his cell phone looking for an address.

  “Did you call the police?” Nathan asked.

  “If you know me,” I said. “You know the answer.”

  A chuckle from Nathan. Dry but genuine.

  “Where’s my father?”

  “I’ve heard you’re a changed man, James. Let’s see, shall we?” Nathan said. “The cathedral. Fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  “If you bring police. If you try anything…” he said.

  “I won’t.”

  “If you try anything. The next thing the General will see will be hell fire.”

  And with that, Nathan was gone.

  “Where’s the cathedral?” I asked.

  “It’s the Basilica,” Isaac explained. “It’s across town.”

  “We have ten minutes.”

  “We’re not going to make it,” Isaac said.

  “Where?”

  “Back that way,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

  The traffic light changed from red to green. I pulled the parking brake hard, cranking the wheel to the left. The Cuda slid into the intersection in a tight u-turn. I released the brake and hit the gas. The tires screeched, and we rocketed forward, back the way we had come.

  “Car…car!” Isaac screamed, pointing.

  It was a red Ford pickup truck actually. I gutterballed the car to the right and passed him. The engine growled, raising in RPMs, the power of the car straining to be released.

  Isaac pointed, and I drove. The Cuda growled, and I felt the acceleration in my gut, the engine screaming in protest. I pointed the car in the right direction and let it take control.

  “Oh my God!” yelped Isaac.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “What?” Isaac said, clutching the dash.

  “You take the Lord’s name in vain one more time and I’m going to toss your ass out,” I said. “And to be honest, I don’t have time to stop. So shut it.”

  Isaac started to bluster, but I paid no attention. Traffic had come to a stop ahead, and I couldn’t bicker.

  I steered up onto the curb, the tires hitting with teeth-rattling force. Our heads jerked at the impact. I nursed the gas, praying for a clear sidewalk. I got what I needed to the end of the block then careened out into traffic again.

  “There! On the left!” Isaac screamed, pointing.

  Opposite side of the street. I hit the brake and cranked the wheel, skidding in front of oncoming traffic, sliding into a U-turned skid that left us parked in front of the cathedral.

  I opened the car door to a hail of car horns. I had nothing but apathy for them. Nothing else mattered. I ran up the steps, hearing Isaac trying to catch up behind me.

  I threw open the door to the cathedral and walked inside. The thoughts flooded my mind. While faith was new to me, I had yet to step foot into a church. I had no claim to this one. The size of the place took me aback. I saw pews and brass and gold-leaf. But I felt the sacrilege of using a place like this to meet the man who abducted my father.

  “Jim…” it was Ellis.

  He stood in the front of the cathedral, near what I could only imagine was called the altar. It brought a feeling of dread.

  “Dad?” I said. “Who did this?”

  He lifted his head and I saw the blindfold hidden under sunglasses. He could not see.

  “Don’t come any closer, or he’ll set off the charge,” Ellis said the words without inflection, as if he were made to memorize them. I saw the blocks of explosives and wires wrapped around his chest, under his jacket. I was no expert, but to my eye, they looked authentic enough.

  “Do I know him?” I asked.

  Ellis shook his head sharply left, right, quick. No. But he didn’t say it.

  “His name is Nathan,” Ellis continued. “And I have sinned.”

  He answered my question without using the words. Nathan was close. I fingered the knife in my pocket. Stainless steel, razor-edged, and patient. I shut down the train of thought and tried to focus.

  “What’s the sin?” I asked, the words tumbled out of my mouth before I gave them a moment’s thought. What had he done? What could a man do to drive another to do something like this?

  “I have sent the innocent to their death,” he said. Again, toneless and even.

  I started forward, wanting to grab him. I wanted to hug him, even though the feeling railed against everything I knew.

  “Jim, if you touch me, he’ll kill Isaac,” Ellis said.

  I stopped. I did not hear Isaac. He was not behind me. My heart fell. I was stretched too thin in too many directions.

  My phone rang in my pocket and I flinched.

  “Marlowe” I answered.

  “James, brother of Christ,” said the voice. It was Nathan.

  “What has he done?” I asked.

  “It’s not your place to ask that, James.”

  “It’s my place to intercede for the lost,” I said. “You know that. Please don’t do this.”

  Silence.

  Ellis turned to his left and walked out of my line of sight. I started to follow.

  “Let him go,” said Nathan.

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” he snapped. “You have no idea of the sins that man has committed. You have no idea what he has done! He deserves to die! He deserves to burn in hell!”

  I swallowed hard.

  “We all deserve to burn in hell, Nathan. Why did you call if not to negotiate with me?”

  “If you want to intercede there is a way,” he said. “The General was to die on Eads Bridge. If you get there first, I’ll let you plead your case.”

  “How do I know you’re not already there?” I asked.

  “You’re a true believer, James,” Nathan said. “Have a little faith.”

  The phone went dead.

  I ran for the door, shoving it open, nearly falling down the steps. I hated the idea that I could die over something so stupid as tangling up my feet when Ellis was depending on me.

  That was when I realized that Isaac was nowhere to be found. I looked up the street then down. Nothing. I saw a college student walking, listening to his music.

  “Eads bridge?” I asked.

  He told me. I slid behind the wheel and fired the ignition. I pulled out into traffic and rocketed down the road. I checked my pockets between shifting and found the earpiece to my phone. I slipped it on and drove.

  Nothing moved fast enough. I crushed the gas pedal, clutched, up-shifted, and gas again. My phone rang. I hit the button without looking.

  “Nathan?”

  “It’s Isaac.”

  “Nice time to bail, man.”

  “I was trying to find a cop, Jim,” he said, irritated.

  “Good plan, glad you’re not here. I’d have a lot to confess later.”

  Isaac scoffed.

  “Listen, I’m on my way to Eads Bridge,” I said. I told him where I was and he told me how to get there. “I need something else.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to find the names of anyone who died under the Senator’s command in the last few months of his command,” I said.

  “I already know the answer to that,” Isaac said. “There were two men who died under Ellis’ last command.”

  “Who were they?” I asked.

  “One was Gibson Pollack: served in Iraq and died of complications after serious injuries in combat.”

  “Who was the other?” I asked.

  “Your brother, Thomas Marlowe,” Isaac said.

  The news hit me like a baseball bat to the chest. I couldn’t breathe. I knew that Tom had been in the Rangers. I hadn’t realized that he’d been under Ellis’ command at the time.

  “Okay,” I said. “Anything else on this Gibson Pollack?”

  “I ran the name back through the system and came back with something.”

  “Well?”

  “He’s the nephew of Blake Harrison, his opponent in the p
residential race,” Isaac said.

  “You think Harrison has anything to do with this?” I asked.

  “If there’s anything that could make someone take extreme actions like this, that could be it.”

  “The bridge is coming up,” I said. “Gotta go.”

  That’s when I saw him. Ellis was standing in the middle of the road. The bomb that had been strapped to him was gone. Cars streaking by on either side of him. Horns honking. Ellis reached out a hand plaintively, tentatively reaching for safety. A passing car’s side mirror clipped his hand, snapping bone. He howled in pain, clutching his hand. His eyes still blindfolded, he shuffled in place, unable to flee.

  The phone rang, and I hit the speaker without answering.

  “I won,” said Nathan.

  I didn’t bother to answer. I dropped the phone and aimed the car for my father. I pulled the parking brake and skidded the car across traffic. I bailed out of the passenger door, banging my knee on the shifter. Paying it no mind, I ran for Ellis.

  “Dad!” I yelled. Ellis turned, and I hit him in a running tackle like a linebacker. Air rushed from his lungs, but I had no time to stop. I ran as fast as I could manage, trying to get to the side of the road. Behind me, I heard a horn sound and a moment later the shrieking crash of metal. I had Ellis over my shoulder, running for the shoulder.

  That’s when I saw the Cuda tumble through my field of vision, plowed over by another driver. If Chris Beck had wanted me to use his car to save my dad, he could hardly ask for more.

  I looked at Ellis and pulled off his blindfold. His eyes were wide with fear. His bottom lip trembled.

  “Are you going to be alright?” I asked.

  He started to nod in an automatic affirmative, stopped.

  “What?”

  Ellis clutched his chest and stiffened. He was having an attack. Panic attack or heart attack, I did not know. I couldn’t say. I loosened his collar, my eyes darting around for wheels. Anything, quick. I couldn’t wait for an ambulance.

  I stood and waved down a car that was slowing for the accident. I tried not to think about the Cuda. The vehicle was an SUV, but only one driver was in it. A woman.

  “I need help!” I called, lifting Ellis to his feet, while trying to wave for her to stop with my other hand. She braked, reluctant to stop, but doing it anyway out of guilt or compassion or both.