Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  The tall man, Dread and I, get out of the vehicles. It's cold but the Basilica is alive. An orchestra playing the Festive Eucharist with a children's choir singing. A part of me wants to experience this, soak in the strings and harmonious music but I can't.

  The people look so happy. So content. They look as if they know they belong there. A nun bundled, with a simple smile, hands each of us pamphlet.

  "Christmas Mass, three o'clock in the Basilica. Archbishop Agnioli presiding," it says on the cover.

  All of these people. Nationalities from all over the world. The scope of Wilkes’ intentions begins to settle in. What if I don't stop him? What if the Beaston lives? What if one day, he deems them a threat to 'his' way of life? I can't imagine being responsible for murders.

  Years ago, I had no control over their living or dying. Now, I do. There is one life that grips my reasoning. Can it get in the way of millions? Even if that one life isn’t really my mother. Strangely enough, I want to believe it is her. But, my eyes know different.

  We enter St. Peter's Square, circular, with a large but tasteful stone fountain in the center. Dad chose this place for a reason. He wanted me to know God is watching over me.

  The Vatican symbolism is poignantly imposing. It represents the purity and the goodness of Jesus Christ and Christianity as a whole despite man’s flaws. The papacy meaningful in its comfort as described by Karl Marx, "the opiate of the masses."

  I'm refocused to ground level, my eyes drawn upward to the building's architecture. A mother correcting a boy. He looks about ten years old.

  "Jimmy! Keep up. Pick your head up, you’re gonna walk into a pillar staring at that thing! Charles, talk to him. That thing shouldn't be allowed. Anyway. Roaming is an art."

  The timer is running. I know there is a clue where to go, something. I've got the numbers and this funny looking key thing inside the lock.

  "Sorry mister."

  The child bumps into me and his device falls at my feet. On first glance it looks like a video game. It’s not. It is a Global Positioning System device.

  "Mo-om, you're going the wrong way," the boy says, bending to pick it up.

  "Here you go," I say, handing it to him. Suddenly, I got it.

  "Hey!"

  "Sorry, sorry, can I borrow it for a second, please?"

  "Sure. Just don't break it, alright?"

  How could I not smile at that? I do the number game in my head and pray it is feasible. I press some buttons. My hands are trembling slightly. Withdrawal. I can’t wait until the withdrawal ends. It does doesn’t it? I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve quite. It may be affecting my personality. One minute I feel happy to be finding out what I'm finding out, the next I want to kill someone. Or, maybe that's just who I really am.

  I can barely press the buttons. The timer is counting down in my pocket. Her fate is in my hands. I doubt if it is mom, nevertheless, she is alive and I’m sure Wilkes won’t hesitate to kill her to make his point and ensure his wonderful plan goes through.

  I have never had anyones life depend upon my actions. Who ever that is, made up to be my mother, it is a life. I will use it to my advantage. Let Wilkes believe he has something over me.

  "Give-r here. Just tell me the numbers," says the kid, wide eyed. Honest. Pure. Me, so many years ago.

  "Thanks." I hand it over. "41, 90, 12,45."

  "Sounds weird," he says, whistling through a missing tooth. "Oh, I got it."

  "What?" I ask.

  "The number's in longitude and latitude are like 'point' something. It's 41.90, 12.45 like that. See?" He holds the device up with a toothless smile. "Got another? This is fun."

  "Let's go," Grunts Dread. "Enough games."

  "Can I see it really quick?" I ask him.

  He hands it to me with excitement in his eyes. I clear the search then hand it back to the little boy.

  "I appreciate it," I say.

  I look directly into his innocent eyes. The boy nods and is quickly ushered away by his eager caffeine-filled mother.

  "Where to?" Dread asks.

  "Don't speak to me again. Traitor." I walk ahead of them.

  Dread pulls my shoulder and turns me around to face him.

  "Wilkes ain't here to protect you. Just remember that. You can find the drives just as well with a bullet in your leg."

  "Enough. Both of you," interrupts the tall man. "Where to?"

  "The Vatican Library," I say, almost nose to nose with Dread. Fury blazing in both our eyes.

  Walking through the crowd, I needed more.

  "He's going to kill me, isn't he?" I ask the tall man.

  "Probably. You'll be the first to know."

  "Think you’re safe? You and Dread. You're his witness to all this stuff. You think he's keeping you around. From my understanding government guys always tie their loose ends. You're swinging in the wind, my friend."

  "I have proved myself loyal. He knows, he's got no need. I'm in it for the long hall. What's so funny?" asks Dread.

  Dave is trying to hold back laughter. This is getting interesting.

  "Proved yourself? You’re a gun. That’s all you are. Not a brain. Brains are indispensable, guns aren't. You lose one, you buy another. You've learned nothing," says the tall man.

  "You know something, speak up," Dread grunts.

  Time to throw some dirt throw in the game. Old New York trick. You throw the dirt and see where it sticks.

  "Alright, just forget it. It's probable that he won't kill you, Dread."

  "Shut up, Caleb! Dave, if you know something speak up. I put my neck on the line plenty. What did that bastard tell you?"

  The tall guy sets up for the lay up. Approaches the basket, and... shoots.

  "Wilkes said nothing, just rumors from Ron. You know, man, I don't deal with that stuff personally. Ron's his right hand and his right ear."

  A three point shot.

  "So Ron wants me out, huh? Should have known that pencil neck would turn. But you said nothing until now!"

  It looks good. Divide and conquer. Now to be the voice of reason.

  "Look. We're in this together. He's got my mom, wants you dead, and who knows what he has planned for you?" I say discreetly.

  "Caleb's right. Hate to admit it but he's got a point."

  Swoosh! A three pointer.

  "Speak for yourself," says the tall man. He taps his ear. "Did you hear that, Sir?" the tall man asks Wilkes. He has an ear piece in allowing Wilkes to hear everything.

  Why didn't I think of that? Oh well.

  "That clock’s ticking. Let's go!" says the tall man.

  Dread shoves me in the back.

  "You're on your own," says Dread.

  Dread doesn't seem concerned about me trying to disappear in the crowd. Perhaps it was because he would just shoot me in the back.

  In the library, I flip through every corresponding book only to find nothing. The numbers don't line up with anything anymore.

  I can't help but look at those horrible digital numbers counting down. Perspiration drips from my brow and my hands begin to shake. Withdrawal?

  I slam the last book shut on the dark wood table and it echoes so loudly, others at the neighboring tables look up.

  "Nothing. None of these." I run my hands through my short spiky hair. I forgot I cut it for a minute. "I need to go," I say to them.

  "Are you kidding me?" says the tall man.

  Dread looks at me.

  "Let’s go," he says.

  I walk toward the stalls in the back of the bathroom and the tall man shoves me against the wall. I turn. Fists clenched.

  "You playing with me, boy?" The tall man grabs my collar. "I don't like games! I've been waiting too long for this! Besides, the longer it takes you to find it, the longer I have to wait to kill you. Where is it?"

  The tall man tightens his choke hold. My veins bulge on my temples.

  A short high pitched sound and I feel Dave let go. I need to wet my face. Cold Vatican water. I feel c
leaner already. Dread shushes me and pulls the ear piece out of Dave's ear, presses something on it and hands it to me.

  "There, you can hear Wilkes but he can't hear you," says Dread.

  "Took you long enough," I say, pulling my jacket down into place. I search the guys military vest and there they are. Three small clear gel-based trackers. They stick to anything and are virtually invisible. I shove them into my pocket. Dread didn’t notice.

  "I was starting to wonder whose side you were on." I say to Dread who turned around to open the door to the large handicap toilet stall.

  "All that mouth, I was giving you a chance to see what you’re really made of," says Dread smiling.

  "How in the world did you work with that guy?" I ask.

  "Wasn't easy. I wanted to kill him like six different times," replies Dread.

  "Three minutes," says Dread, taking the tall man’s cell phone and checking his pockets.

  "What are you looking for?" I ask.

  Dread looks at me simply and answers. "He owes me five bucks."

  "Are you kidding me?" I say.

  I dry my hands with paper towels and hesitate to throw them away.

  "Is it really her?" I ask him. If anyone would know, he would.

  "Caleb, I don't know," Dread says.

  Frustration gets the best of me and I hit the mirror, shattering it into the sink.

  "Dread, I need to know is it really her! It affects everything. You worked there. How could you not know?"

  "I told you, I don't know. Never got close enough. Never even been in that room. Only see her like you did, through the glass. Thick glass. All I know is that every morning like clockwork a nurse goes in, not Mrs. Spooky, another nurse. She's in there all day just sitting with her, cleaning her, you know, patient stuff."

  "That's not good enough."

  "It's all I got, and you’re running out of time."

  The bathroom doors opens. It's a nun. Dread and I look at each other. She glances at me, face dripping wet, at Dread, standing in the doorway of a stall and then at the tall man slumped on the toilet seat.

  "What is this?" she asks.

  Her hands tucked into her habit. Great. Dread couldn't resist.

  "Keep standing there and you'll look like him," Dread says to her.

  Is he crazy? She'll call security. What's she going to do? I can't read her. She looks familiar. Of course, she's the nun that handed me the doctored pamphlet in the Basilica.

  "I'd like to see you try it, oaf."

  What? Wait, is it? It is. I should have known by the big brown eyes. Jean. Otherwise known as the hall prostitute. She looks so different not slathered in cheap makeup. Quite a transformation.

  "Did you find it?" Jean asks.

  "Not yet," says Dread.

  "Caleb," Jean says, smiling at me.

  She hurriedly pulls a small kit out from under her habit, opens it on a shelf in the bathroom and turns Dread around. She lifts his shirt. She has to remove his tracker.

  "Like my new tattoo?" says Dread to her while she cleans the surgical spot.

  "Shut up," says Jean.

  "What else do you have under there?" Dread continues.

  "Shut up and be still," she says.

  She's focused, always focused. I don't think she knows how much seeing her every day squatted in that dank hall made me respect her. I felt less lonely, for a while.

  "Jean, we have a problem," I say.

  "Speak."

  I hold up the phone to her, showing the live feed and large red numbers counting down. She squints to see it.

  "You’re kidding me. Is that-?" she says, with her eyes glued on the live feed.

  "Yes. If I don't hand it over to him, she dies, again," I say.

  Jean shakes her head, drops Dreads tracker into a small pan. Puts surgical tape on Dread's opening and spins her finger in a circle in the air to me to turn around. She waves a long black device over my back and it beeps. She begins to remove it.

  "Sh-" she says, clearly hearing something.

  The restroom door opens again. An elderly man proudly wearing his new a floppy-rimmed hat with camera swinging from the long black strap around his neck walks into the bathroom. He looks at me, at the sink, Dave in the stall and the nun holding a small black kit with sharp scalpels in her hand. Dread looks at him unyieldingly.

  This man has age and wisdom. You can have one without the other, you know. He backs out of the lavatory and lets the door shut gently. From inside the lavatory I can hear him speaking.

  "What's the matter, dear? I thought you had to go?" says the old man’s wife in the hall.

  "False alarm, let's go. Just, let’s go," says the old man.

  "But, dear..."

  Jean locks the restroom door, then finishes removing my tracker, waves the long black sensor up and down the front and back of me.

  "You’re clean. Caleb, I know how hard this is but we can't give it to him. We can't. That's the whole mission."

  "I know that's the mission, Jean. For two years, I've known that's the mission." I look at her. “That's why you have to get her out," I say.

  "What? No." She shakes her head and snatches off her surgical gloves.

  "Dread has the co-ordinates. You take care of this, when your clear with her, we meet at the rally point," I say, looking for her confirmation.

  She's not on board. She snatches the veil off her head and roughly takes off the habit.

  "No. Caleb, we stick to mission. That's priority. I'm sorry but it is. Remember when we first spoke, look at me, Caleb. Do you remember?"

  "Yes."

  How could I forget? I see it like yesterday. She played me like a fiddle. I felt sorry for her sitting in that drafty hall and offered her pizza and a night in a bed, alone. I let her into my cheap room and as soon as the door shut she told me who really sent her and who she was and why she was really there. Jean, disguised as a prostitute, said she was sent to protect me and help me get the mission accomplished. She was always watching, gratefully so, especially the night she distracted Jerry for me. To throw everyone off my scent, she had to kick my butt that night she stayed in my room for hours convincing me she was truly sent to help. It was the logical thing to do but to this day, I think she enjoyed it. My bruises, the loud television always running in her non-existent pimp’s room gave the perfect illusion and reason for her being in that hall all night. But even she couldn't stop my spiral downward. She could only watch.

  "Caleb, I made it clear, he sent me to make sure you stay on mission-" says Jean, pleading in her eyes.

  "I remember-"

  "-and that you keep the big picture first. This is the big picture. If Wilkes can't contain this. If he gets this data, more will be made, and they will be used for genocide and whatever else they see fit. Millions of lives are at stake. Not just one."

  "You almost sound like him," I say.

  "What? Caleb, what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that if we stop looking at one life as being valuable, it's too easy to see none as valuable. How is her life less valuable?"

  "You’re not thinking clearly because this is your mother, may be your mother, we don't even know that for sure, do we?" Jean says, looking at Dread.

  I don't want to admit it to her but I must. Dread says it for me.

  "No."

  She drops her hands and tilts her head. Her point is made. Still. I will not budge.

  "There's this," Jean says. "We got new intelligence. Something big is in the making. We believe Wilkes is looking to cut a deal for the data. We don't know where or when but it's soon. All the chatter points to it. He can't get this, Caleb."

  I hear her. Every word. But he told me. I take lead.

  "This is the plan. Jean, you get her, I get the drive. You let me know when you have her and are clear. Then, only then, we turn it over the President as planned."

  "And if I can't get her?" says Jean in frustration.

  She looks at Dread. I know her. Nothing supersedes mission. Sh
e's looking for a mutiny. I expected it.

  "Either of you think of crossing me, I'll drop you both. We rise together or fall together. That's the deal." I turn to Jean. "You will get her. I know you can."

  There go those eyes again. Finally, Dread speaks.