Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  "To truly see what is in a pot, you must stir it. Today, you saw what is in yours. It is not any man’s place to judge. Do not be the first to cast the stone. Give no place to the devil. Go in peace," says the Archbishop.

  Their eyes lower and they nod. I think they would react to him even if he didn’t have a robe. He has a calm presence that is identifiable. Slowly, the Israeli Prime Minister extends his hand to the leader who tried to buy the Beaston. One by one, the others follow suit and even embrace.

  "No country can effectively stand alone. We all need allies," says the Israeli Prime Minister.

  "My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. In the moment, I..." the leader who took Gretchen's offer says.

  "No need." Says the Archbishop.

  I look them over.

  "You need clothes," I say.

  The leaders look down at their clothing, then at me. I open the door of the room where their assistants are waiting... sleeping. I smile.

  The assistants wake from the sound of the door opening and the puzzled looks on their faces at the appearance of their leaders is comical.

  The Archbishop and I step away from the group exchanging jackets, shirts, and ties with their assistants. Madame Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is using her assistant’s makeup.

  "My debt is paid, young Promise," says the Archbishop, fixing my lapel. Clasping his hands behind his back again.

  "Did you ever ask yourself why of all people your father trusted me with the drive?" asks the Archbishop.

  I glance over his shoulder. The leaders are calmly entering the elevator.

  "No, I figured it was because you were a priest or something. God fearing and all that," I say.

  "I was in seminary when your father and I met. At that time, he saw something in me I struggled to see in myself," says the Archbishop, pausing, going into a long stare.

  "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?" I ask.

  “Not today, no," he says, smiling.

  "What if it's still alive? What if I...-"

  "-Failed?" the Archbishop fills in.

  "Yes," I say just above a whisper.

  “No good father gives his child a task they can't complete. Is your father a good man?" he asks.

  "Yes. Of course but-" I say.

  "-If it lives, then the task, Caleb, may have been to test you. Can you kill evil even if it has a part of you in it? The creature only existed because evil exists in men's hearts. You are not responsible for that.

  “The task was for you to become everything you were called to become and your father, somehow, knew this would break your shell. Have you changed?"

  The last few days and all of its emotion comes to the forefront of my mind. I swallow.

  "Yes, I have," I say.

  "Then you have not failed, young Promise. One can't fight something out here, if one has not first defeated it within ourselves. It is hard to attack something that we embody," says the Archbishop. "That's why they could not kill the leader who offered to buy it."

  I run my hands through my hair and put them back into my pockets.

  "You’re going to look for it, aren't you?" he asks.

  "I have to know it is dead," I say.

  He turns and his long robe brushes the floor. He walks toward the elevator. All of the leaders are gone. It is just he and I. He pauses.

  "You may call upon me, should you ever need me. You know where to find me, young Promise," says the Archbishop stepping into the elevator.

  I watch the elevator doors close and walk back through the forum room doors. Lines of Wilkes’ blood still streak across the stage leading to the opening of the pit. I enter the code on the main panel.

  Immediately, the thick smell of blood and rotting meat is stifling. Cautiously, I look down the pit into the darkness. Parts I can't even identify. I almost vomit but hold my stomach.

  The pit is black. Pitch black. The cold, unnatural. Chilling to the bone. Strangely, I don't feel fear. I feel anxious. The explosion marred the Pit. Debris, steel and stone covers the floor with blood and bits of fur. It couldn't have survived. Could it?

  I reseal the pit and get on the elevator, dialing Jason. Finally a signal and seven missed calls from Jason come into my phone log.

  "It's me," says Jason. "Why haven't you picked up?"

  "I was a little busy," I say.

  I can hear a television in the background. It's loud. He's muffling the sound of our call.

  "BREAKING NEWS, an earthquake was felt in the Swiss Alps town of St. Moritz. It shook a large local hotel, The Badrutt. More importantly, it threatened to start an avalanche. Thankfully, the local weather experts that monitor the mountain's weather said that if it were any other time of year when the caps are loaded with snow, an avalanche would be very likely..."

  "Dr. Thomas, how rare are earthquakes this time of year?" asks the News Anchor.

  "Extremely..." says the Meteorologist.

  Jason turns the television down.

  "Jason, I know who your rat is," I say.

  "Hang on Caleb, Sam's calling-" says Jason.

  "-wait, Jason!"

  "What?" Jason says.

  "It's Sam," I say.

  He is quiet.

  "How do you know? Can't be," he asks.

  "Trust me," I say.

  "She's been with me forever, Caleb. Who is your source?"

  "I can't tell you. Trust me. It's valid," I say.

  He's quiet. Jason doesn't know the meaning of quiet.

  "I'll get back to you," says Jason.

  A few minutes later he calls me back. I hear a door lock in the background. Other than that, silence.

  "What's going on, Jason?" I say.

  "Tell me you have nothing to do with the so-called earthquake in Switzerland."

  "It's over. Jason. But I still don't know who our mystery man is. Whoever he is, he has a connect with the tattoo," I say. A loud bang like a door being kicked in and gunfire.

  "Jason!"

  Nothing. He's silent. Was he shot? Is he dead?

  "Say something!" I say. Only footsteps, heavy footsteps running. Standing in the vestibule of the hotel, behind me the media is taking photos. I'm not here. I can see Jason's face lying on the floor. My stomach feels like there is a rock in it. A slam of a door.

  "You were right," Jason says quietly.

  "Where are you?" I ask.

  "In the room across the hall. I told her where I was staying. She's the only one that knows. I watched her, Caleb. They shot the stack of pillows wearing a wig I left under the blankets. She walked in calmly behind them and pulled the blanket back like she was unwrapping a burrito. I can't believe it."

  "Director White is clean," I say.

  "Oh, so she really does just hate me," Jason scoffs.

  Glad to hear him joking again. I know how close he and Sam were.

  "What's next, Agent Jason Smith?"

  "Chen will take you to the Airport."

  "Airport?" I ask.

  "You've done your bit," he says.

  I must be heading back to New York. That's home for me. I can bet on my feet there. Jobs aren't scarce for someone like me willing to work. I feel a fresh start coming. Oh, but Italy did something to me. The feel of Europe is different. I can't stay out here though.

  I have no roots here. At least in New York, I can start over. The bearded drunk is gone. I won't touch alcohol again. The new Caleb promise can survive in that roach-ridden cheap hotel at least until I can afford better.

  "What will you do?" I ask.

  "I'm going dark for a while. Then, I'm going to get my wife."

  "Your ex-wife you mean. You said she caught you cheating and walked out."

  "Things aren't always as they appear, Caleb. If anyone, I expected you to know that by this time. Find Chen. I will be in touch," says Jason.

  "Jason... thank you," I say.

  He hangs up on me. I can't help but smile.

  Jason Jones

  I am rather disappointed.
I need to be still. I think best when I am still. When things are still. I sit on the chair in the corner of the hotel room. It's firm. No one has probably ever sat in this seat. I don't like sitting on beds. They are for sleeping.

  What Intel did I feed Sam over the years of working with her. How much of it ended up working against me? If I continue along this line of thought, I will no doubt grow bitter, paranoid. I have to stop now.

  Caleb made one miscalculation. This is not over. When people such as the person behind this scheme find their plan thwarted, they find another way. They don't see it as failure, just a learned experience to improve the next plan. He's young. He will be fine. But, he needs time to heal more than he knows. I've got him by a few years physically, but by decades, mentally.

  I can't wait to see my wife again. I still remember proposing to Amber knees shaking on the beach. It has been two years since she left, or rather, I made her go. This case was dangerous and I was not the typical agent.

  Most of us aren't married or have horrid marriages. We forget how old our kids are and live in a world where time moves based on case progress. So, faking our separation was easy.

  We finish one another's sentences and I've learned to love sitting beneath her chenille throw watching action movies. A paradox. I knew she wouldn't need much prompting.

  Two years ago, on a sunny spring Saturday in the kitchen of our townhouse in Washington D.C. I paid off all of our bills. Amber had the job of her dreams and we were trying to have a baby.

  I looked into her eyes standing right in front of the stainless steel refrigerator and hugged her. I put down the pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice on the cabinet behind her. Sinatra playing loudly, as usual, I whispered in her ear, "We need to pretend to break up. Smile."

  Our home was bugged with video and audio, we were well aware of the invisible intruders in our lives. Beyond being incredibly beautiful, she is intelligent.

  She smiled as I instructed. We danced slightly and I further whispered...

  "Stick your hand in my jacket pocket and go with it."

  After a few moments of chit-chat and giggles, she does it and pulls out a pair of women’s red underwear that is clearly not her own.

  The rest of the plan spins into action and she never even asked me why. The next morning, I hint to her to walk out on me, she was already taken care of financially. I handed her a wallet of credit cards paid off and an account with fifty thousand dollars.

  My teary drama scene for the cameras littered with me begging her forgiveness with promises to take care of her financially so my continuing to pay the credit card bill wouldn't look suspicious.

  The drama, though an act, had one real part to it. Our tears that fell at our last glance at each other as she turned back from me with her hand on the doorknob of our dream home. She knew I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for our betterment. Immediately, I missed my best friend. Now, I'm closer to having her back. One step closer.

  Caleb succeeding, eliminating Wilkes and Gretchen was progress but the unknown player seems a larger threat. He or she is who Sam was working for, at least I think so. I hoped, well, the lonely part of me hoped Gretchen and Wilkes were it.

  Amber's safety depends upon me cleaning this thoroughly. I could, would, never unite with my dear Amber until I stamp 'CASE CLOSED' on that file. For now, I go dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  New Beginnings

  Caleb Promise

  In the distance I can see a private plane. Me, on a tarmac in Switzerland. Who would have guessed.

  "Chen, you drive like a madman," I say.

  He laughs.

  "Only for you, Caleb," says Chen. He looks at me briefly. "Are you whole?"

  Small power-pack of wisdom. The Swiss Mountains in the distance and frost covering parts of the car windows. I run my hand through my hair and put it on my knee.

  "That's a trick question. I feel whole," I say.

  "No more drink."

  "How did you know?"

  He smiles and whips the car into a stop beside a private plane.

  "You look terrible," says Chen.

  "You know, you don't have to be honest about everything," I say looking down at my new clothes. Covered in dust, small rips and my hands bruised. I don't really mind. These aren't 'my' clothes. Blue jeans and leather. That's me.

  "What's this?" I ask, referring to the private plane with steward standing beside it.

  "Jason said to bring you here. That’s all.” Chen says.

  "You're getting into heaven, Chen, for sure. Do me a favor and give him this." I reach into my pocket and hand him the little gold key and a stack of money. "That's what's left over." I say.

  Chen takes the money and I have no doubt it will make it to Jason. I ascend the steps of the large private plane. The engines are running and I have to admit, I'm walking slower than normal trying to relish every moment.

  This is probably the last time I'll ever experience such luxury. A broke boy from a small town on his way to a rat-trap hotel. I'll get used to Jean not being in the hall, eventually. Right now, I want to take in this moment.

  It is more personalized than Wilkes plane. Newer too. I step onto the plane.

  "Welcome, Mr. Promise," says the steward. "I'm Edwardo. If there's anything you need-"

  The seating format in the plane is similar to that of Wilkes plane. He sat on that side, I’m going to sit on the opposite side. I choose a captain style seat with a table beside it.

  "Ed, call me Caleb, and lose the Sir. Okay?" I say.

  "Yes Si-, Caleb," says Edwardo.

  He looks uneasy with my instructions. He turns toward the tea station.

  "Whose plane is this?" I ask him.

  "I am not authorized to give that information, only to make you comfortable. Have you eaten, Caleb?"

  Through the window, I see dignitaries board their planes eagerly but composed.

  "Have you eaten, Edward?"

  "Excuse me? Um... no, Caleb. I was called to duty rather unexpectedly."

  I look down at his shoes. Those black server’s shoes. Just like mine that tracked Lou's kitchen night after night.

  "Bring us two sandwiches," I say, "ginger ale for me, get what you want."

  "Yes, Caleb. Thank you," says Edward.

  He's surprised. I lean back in my seat. The television is playing BBC World News silently. I turn it up. It is coverage of the World Peace Summit. The sandwich is good. Turkey with spicy mustard on rye bread, lettuce and tomato. This would cost at least seven dollars at the deli in New York. I wash it down with the cold ginger ale.

  "It was a prosperous meeting. One we should have had sooner," says the President of Spain.

  "I agree. A bond has formed that we pray will never be broken," says the President of France.

  News clip after clip plays of the leaders offering positive feedback about the meeting. One after the other smile, posing for photographs. No one will notice some of them are wearing their assistant’s ties because they don’t match their suit.

  I close my eyes while the plane ascends and quickly fall asleep. For the first time, I sleep soundly. No nightmare. No dream control. I don't even try. Just a calm comforting sleep.

  My dream, simple. The picnic field my parents used to take me to. They are seated, happy and smiling, I am as a little child. I can feel the warmth of my father’s hand on my head as he tousles my hair. Suddenly, I'm a grown man again.

  "Well done son," my dad says. "We wrestle not against flesh and blood. Keep doing the right thing, Caleb. Be good. Be pure."

  I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  "Caleb... Caleb, we're landing. Please, buckle your seatbelt," says Edwardo.

  I open my eyes. Ed is smiling kindly and there is a blanket on me, pulled up to my chin. Edwardo clears his spot where he was eating.

  We land. The doors open, sunlight pours into the cabin. It's cool, but not cold. This is not New York.

  Where am I? This is a private runway. It is defini
tely not a loud New York airport. A custom Maybach is on the runway with a capped driver seated behind the wheel. Standing at the open plane door, I lean over to Ed.

  "Where am I?" I ask.

  "Biarritz," says Ed.

  I begin walking down the steps of the plane and realize Ed is not.

  "You coming?" I say over my shoulder.

  "No, Caleb, I am only the plane's steward."