Skillful Death

by Ike Hamill

  “Yes, and I told them everything. I’m sure they did the same to you, and I’m also certain they’ve hypnotized you before. That must be how they got you to reveal those secrets from your past.”

  “What secrets?”

  “The ones the psychic reminded you of. Didn’t you kill a dog?”

  Oh, right, I remember that now. In fact, hypnosis was one of my theories at the time.

  “Yes, you’re right. So you think they hypnotized us?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that explains why you’re angry with me?” I ask.

  “Who said I’m angry?” Bud asks.

  “Well, maybe not angry, but at least confrontational. You said something about how my story has holes in it?”

  “Sometimes I think you may know more than you reveal,” he says.

  “This is your home turf, Bud. I don’t know anything about anything. You grew up here, and you brought us here.”

  “And yet it was your idea to leave the U.S. and come to Belarus. And somehow you figured out where we should park, and which direction to hike. And you threw away our GPS and maps, so we would have no choice but to find this place. You seem to be a driving force in getting us here.”

  “All because you wanted to come. I work for you, remember?”

  “You knew about my house in Vermont, and you were there to make sure that I was chased from the house to get me moving. Just when the Providentials wanted to get me to return to my village, you arrived and facilitated the journey.”

  “You’re crazy. I’ve been acting at your behest this entire time,” I say. “And why shouldn’t I? You pay me well.” He pays me well, but not great. Don’t think it hasn’t dawned on me how much money he has set aside for my office. Sometimes the amount of money I save on his annual budget is more than my entire salary. You might think that I’d be entitled to some of that money I work so hard to save. Michael said something about a reward. My allegiance to Bud is firm, but part of me wonders, how much of a reward would they offer if I helped them?

  “Yes, I pay you fairly well for the job I ask you to do. I used to have a money manager who invested some of my assets. One year, he garnered a seventeen percent return on my money. It was a good year for the market, so his return wasn’t extraordinary, but it was good. He had negotiated a bonus structure based on the percentage return he achieved. For his seventeen percent, he was rewarded with a bonus equal to twenty percent of his salary.”

  “I really don’t see the point to this story, Bud,” I say.

  “Just let me finish,” he says. “Because of his performance, I doubled the amount of money for him to invest the next year. I also gave him an eight percent raise on top of his bonus, but that wasn’t enough. That year, he achieved a five percent return in a slow market, but he wanted me to double his salary.”

  “Because you doubled your investment?”

  “Perhaps. So here’s a man who does the same work two years in a row. Certainly he has more capital to invest, but he’s doing the same work. He gets an eight-percent raise, and does his job one-third as well, but he wants to double his salary. When people judge their compensation, they don’t think about what would be a rational amount to make for the job they’re doing. No, they think about how much money they are ‘making’ for the boss. It’s unfair to everyone involved. Do you understand?”

  “You think I make too much?” I ask.

  “No, but I think perhaps you believe you make too little.”

  “That’s silly,” I say, even though I had that thought just seconds before. “I negotiated my salary, and we both agreed on the figure.”

  “If someone came along and offered you ten million dollars for information about me, would you consider it?”

  “Not until I gave you an opportunity to counter the offer,” I say. Bud gets my dry sense of humor most of the time. Perhaps not today.

  He frowns.

  “No,” I say. “I wouldn’t sell you out for money.”

  “Even if they offered you more than you’ll make in your lifetime working for me?”

  “No.”

  “Even though what they’re offering is commensurate with how much money you’ve saved me over the years?”

  “No,” I say. “Bud, you can take me at my word on this. If I wanted more money, I would have asked. Hell, if I wanted more money, I could have embezzled it easily enough.” I have no compunction over this statement. I firmly believe that my allegiance to Bud, regardless of the inequity of my financial situation, is unflappable.

  “You sound upset,” he says.

  Of course I am.

  “Of course I am. You ask me if I’d sell you out for money? I’ve risked my life to help you.”

  “Upset is good. I trust upset much more than I trust angry. Forgive me. I’ve lived a long time, and been betrayed for much less,” he says.

  I guess I can understand that. With as much money as Bud has, people must be trying to take advantage of him all the time.

  “So after they hypnotized you, what did they say?” I ask. “Are you going to negotiate with them to get them to stop hunting you?”

  “I’m not sure. They didn’t seem at all surprised that I showed up here. They’ve been chasing me for years, and yet when I come here on my own, they’re not shocked? It seemed rather odd. They haven’t made any demands of me yet. All they’ve done is ask questions and collect information. I suspect that this is not the same group that was hunting me.”

  “Really?” I ask. “But you said that they’ve hypnotized me before. If they weren’t hunting you, then why did they probe my memory for information about you?”

  “That’s a fair question,” he says. “I don’t have an answer.”

  “What happens next?” I ask.

  What happens is nothing. We sit and look at each other in the dim light. We talk about small things, but we don’t spend a lot of time talking about the last few days. It’s like anything that happened after we left the car is taboo. The door swings in and Michael’s head is surround by a halo of backlight.

  ♣ ♢ ♡ ♠

  As far as I know, they leave Bud in the cabin when they take me next door. Michael walks with me under a canopy, through another building and then out a back door. This new building is slightly bigger, and it has a table with chairs. They put me at the head, with Michael at my side. In addition to me and Michael, there are three more people seated around the wooden table.

  “Has he agreed?” Michael asks me.

  “To what?”

  The man down on the left throws up his hands in disgust. “To our terms,” he says. “Did he agree or not?”

  “I don’t know what your terms are,” I say.

  “Why does he think we are fools?” the man at the end asks.

  This is frustrating. It feels like every time I walk into a room I’m being accused of something.

  “Let him explain, Lev,” Michael says to the angry man. Michael turns back towards me.

  “Explain what? I don’t know what you people expect of me.”

  “Malcolm,” Michael says, putting his hand on top of mine. “Please tell us the nature of your conversation with Bud. We’ve all been waiting to hear of your efforts.”

  “With Bud? We just talked about why you hypnotized him. He doesn’t know what you want either. Why don’t you just tell us what you want?”

  The four men seated around the table exchange glances at each other. They seem to be having a silent conversation. Everyone turns to Lev.

  “Malcolm,” Lev says. He seems much more calm now. “You approached us with a very unlikely proposition. Nobody here thought you had even the smallest chance of success. Despite those odds, we went out on a limb to grant you this opportunity. Now, to our surprise and delight, you’ve accomplished many of your goals. So close to the finish, you’re playing games with us? Do you think you can extort even more money from us?”

  “We’re not that close to the finish,” Michael says. “Let’s not forget, we d
efined this moment as the halfway mark. He has returned Constantine to us, but we do not have a willing Circe.”

  I have four guys sitting at the table with me. How would I play this if it were a poker hand? You know the old saying—“Look around the table. If you don’t spot the mark, then you’re the mark.” Am I the mark here?

  Lev is playing me hard, trying to draw me out. He’s maintaining that I know why I’m here. In fact, he just stated that I’m the one who approached them. With this statement, he could expect me to spill what I know as defense against the accusation that I’m the mastermind.

  Michael, on the other hand, is downplaying my role. He’s resetting the expectation that I’ve accomplished the bulk of the work. Again, this assumes that I’m the driver behind this play.

  What about the other two people at the table, the silent ones? They’re giving me less to read. The one on my left is nodding when Lev speaks. He aligns himself with the strong position. From that alone, I’m guessing that this man has no leverage at the table. He’s all bluff.

  The other guy, the one closer to Lev, is silent and open. His hands are on the table, his arms aren’t crossed, and he has made no gestures towards his face. I can’t see his legs, but by his posture I would say he’s flat-footed or on his toes, and his legs are open, not crossed. He’s taking in everything and giving nothing. That’s the man with the real power at the table. Lev is the driver, Michael is the safe-haven, the dope on my left is nothing, and the guy in the corner is the real guy.

  “We need you to set a timetable to finish with Constantine,” Michael says. He pats my hand.

  “Stop,” I say.

  We haven’t been threatened directly, but I’ve seen plenty of guys with guns since we got mixed up with these people. I feel the same way about guns as Chekhov—one of these guns is bound to go off in the third act. I’m going to take control of this situation while the safety is still on.

  I turn to the silent guy nearest Lev.

  “I’ll deliver, and I’ll do it for the price we negotiated,” I say. I have no idea what I’m supposed to deliver or for what price, but I know how to bluff a table.

  The man narrows his eyes but doesn’t respond with speech or gesture.

  “But I need more latitude with Constantine,” I say. I say the name the way they do, stopping on all the hard sounds and swallowing the soft ones. At least I hope I sound like them.

  “What kind of latitude?” Lev asks. His voice is different—lower.

  “I need to get him back to the forest, back where he’s comfortable. He needs to feel like he’s really home. You’ve got him stowed away in a cabin. That’s not how he grew up. At the very least, he should be in a horse barn.”

  “We can’t let you wander around the forest. We have a schedule and a war to fight.”

  A war? That’s news to me, but I keep my face from registering the surprise. I mask it with feigned irritation, but not too much. You can’t overplay this type of thing. “I’m sensitive to the deadlines,” I say. “But I know what I’m doing. I got him here, and I’ll finish the work if you’ll simply give me what I need.”

  Their faces aren’t revealing anything. I decide to push harder.

  “Did I ask you to hypnotize him?” I demand. This statement could be taken either way. I wait for their response.

  Michael replies, “We didn’t see the harm in finding out what he knows since…”

  I cut him off. “You’ve made him wary. That’s the harm.”

  The powerful man shoots a look to Lev.

  “You have to understand,” Lev says. “The open forest is outside of our control. We hold the village center, the orchards, and surrounds. Constantine grew up near the stream and out near the cedar groves. Those areas are all enemy territory. If you return there, you’ll be outside of our protection.”

  “Am I an idiot?” I ask. “Would I willingly put myself in harm’s way if I had another path? You can pay me what I’m owed and we’ll part as friends. If I don’t have the tools I need, then there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

  “Make no mistake,” Lev begins, “we’ll sever this relationship.”

  “Then do,” I say. I start to rise from my chair. If you’re trying to bend someone’s will with a threat, you have to be willing to carry out the threat. As I stand I’m not hoping that they’ll stop me. At this point I’ve made up my mind—regardless of the consequences, I will walk away from this table. I’m not even one-hundred percent sure what I’m walking away from. I only know one thing: I have something they want and I have this one chance to convert that desire into my freedom.

  It’s the voice of the powerful man that stops me. Had Lev or Michael spoken, I probably would have kept walking, but hearing his voice for the first time arrests my feet.

  “If you go, you’ll succeed or you’ll die,” he says. He’s not trying to intimidate me. It’s a simple statement of fact.

  “I understand that,” I say.

  Michael stands and leads me to the door. He talks in my ear, like he’s being helpful. “You can leave by the west gate. The enemy isn’t watching that gate at the moment, so you’ll have the best chance of slipping off. Return in three days to let us know of your status.”

  59 FORESTLING

  SECURING HIS FREEDOM DOESN’T restore Bud’s trust in me. Michael returns our packs and shows us to the edge of the camp. Once Bud is through the gate, he sprints across the road and runs into the forest. I run behind him to keep up. He floats between the trees, making no sound, disturbing no branches, and leaving no trail. I might as well be a rhinoceros. Even my backpack clangs and jingles. Before long, I’m panting and aching.

  Bud slows down when he gets to a stream. He picks his way along the shore, leaping from rock to rock before he looks back and sees me, trudging up through the shallows.

  He stops and regards me with naked disgust.

  “A five-year-old could track you,” he says.

  “Okay? What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “You could attempt to keep your sloppy feet from stirring up all the mud. Once it washes away, you’ll leave a bright, shiny trail, showing exactly where you walked.”

  “We’re not going to get out of this by losing ourselves in the woods, Bud. We have to think of a solution. You hid for years. What did it get you?”

  “They have the best strategist the world has ever known,” he says. “They have the best of everything. Can’t you see? That’s what the Providentials are.”

  “I’m afraid that I understand nothing.”

  “And yet you’ve somehow negotiated our release.”

  “That was a simple bluff. When you’re at the table with desperate men who believe you hold power, then all you have to do is agree.”

  “Is that a quote?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “From some brilliant general?”

  “No. From a once-decent poker player.”

  “If you’re going to follow me, only step where I step.”

  “I still don’t see the purpose of stealth. If they want to find us, they can search the forest,” I say.

  “This forest still holds secrets,” he says. “I’m going to visit one of them and I don’t want to leave a trail there.”

  ♣ ♢ ♡ ♠

  Bud leads me through the forest. I’m sure I’ll never learn his stealth, but after hours of practice, I can follow in his footsteps. Choosing how to place your weight seems to be the key of not leaving a trail. Before him, the underbrush parts. Behind him, it weaves together seamlessly, leaving no trace.

  As the sun begins to set, I’m once again bone-tired from hiking. This time, there’s no talk of hunting food, starting a fire, and setting up a tent.

  Birds swoop down from the trees and screech at us. Bud smiles. He brings us to a little creek that cuts a line through the trees. The banks of the stream are filled with a floating cloud of mist. I can barely see the flowing water, but I smell sulfur as we approach. Bud turns and follows the ba
nks upstream.

  I remember this creek from his narrative. The villagers were scared of the mist because it will asphyxiate you if you breathe too much of it. Bud sticks close to the bank though, and I obediently place my feet where his have landed. The shoes that Michael’s people gave us are good for hiking. I barely feel the sharp rocks which make up the banks of the stream. Where they breach the mist, they sparkle like rainbows trapped in coal, like the jewelry I found in the city.

  In the dim dusk light, Bud turns and puts his finger to his lips. I’m not sure how much more quiet I can be. I focus on not making a sound as we resume walking.

  It’s nearly dark when Bud holds up a hand, signaling me to stop.

  “Who’s there?” a voice calls from the forest. The voice sounds strained. It creaks with age.

  Bud stalks towards the voice. I see him disappear into the gloom, but I don’t want to follow him. I know I will only give away his position.

  “Who would come to visit an old man at this time of day?” the voice asks.

  I decide to circle the voice. Perhaps there’s a way I can help Bud.

  “Night has already fallen,” I say. Based on Bud’s stories, I’m assuming something about the owner of the voice.

  “So it has,” the old voice says. I think he’s moving.

  I stop next to a big tree, trying to get a sense of how far away the old man is.

  “Are you so blind that you cannot tell when the sun has set?” I ask.

  “I see well enough that I don’t rely on the sun’s light anymore,” he says. He is moving closer, but I can’t make him out yet. He knows the terrain, and the darkness is only a disadvantage to me. I creep to my right, trying to keep my distance from his voice.

  “So who would come to visit? Who?” he asks. He’s moving farther away from me, so I don’t answer. I want to give Bud time enough to do whatever it is he came to do, but I’m not anxious to meet the owner of the voice. I let my eyes drink in the darkness. There’s a glow in the trees off to the left, which is probably the moon rising beyond the canopy. I turn my head and try to use that glow to see any moving silhouettes.