Damascus Road (5 page)

Ellis sat forward, fire in his eyes, his face flushed.

“It’s about someone knowing more than they ought and coming
after me,” Ellis said. “I can’t have it. I can not have it. Whoever they are,
they know far too much. They could ruin me and ruin this election. Ruin this
country’s future, for that matter.”

Ellis slumped back in his seat, deflated.

“The sins of the father,” I said.

“So it would seem,” he nodded.

“Why me?”

“Jim…you have…an aptitude for improvisation,” Ellis said.

“You’re too kind,” I replied.

“I mean this in the best possible way,” he went on. “You
have lived that life on the other side of the law. You’ve stolen cars, escaped
police custody—“

“I know my record, Dad,” I said. “There’s no need for you to
remind me.”

“You impersonated your brother for two weeks in Ranger
training at Fort Benning when he sprained his knee just so he wouldn’t be
dropped,” Ellis said. A smile cracked across his face. I hadn’t realized he
knew.

“We were twins after all,” I said. “And if you’ll recall,
that didn’t end exactly the way I had hoped.”

“Your brother graduated top of his class from Ranger school,
earned his tab,” Ellis said. “The rest is, well, tragedy of war.”

“Tragedy of war,” I repeated. “It certainly was that.”

“Will you help me?” he asked.

I took another bite of my steak, but the flavor was lost to
me. All I tasted was flesh and blood. I swallowed hard.

“After this is over, we’re going to talk,” I said. “About
everything.”

“Agreed,” Ellis said.

“And we’re going to talk about what happened with Tom,” I
said. “And Mom. Okay? All of it.”

Ellis opened his mouth to object, but stopped short.

“Fine,” he said.

“Bon appétit.”

We ate our meal in relative peace after that.

“I arranged for a room for you,” Ellis said. “It’s in my
hotel.”

“You were that sure I was going to say yes?”

“Not at all,” Ellis confessed, “but if you did, you’d need a
place to stay. I couldn’t just turn you out onto the street.”

The thought that he wanted me close was not lost on me.

I navigated the ‘Cuda back through the city and into the
parking garage of the hotel. My bag was in the trunk. We walked inside
together. I expected to walk to the front desk, to check in like every other
palooka on the planet.

“Here,” Ellis said. He was holding out my key to the room.

“Oh, thanks,” I said. What else was there to say.

“I’m right across the hall,” he smiled. “Good night.”

Ellis left me standing in the hallway, holding my key.
Without much recourse, I turned and let myself into my room. The bed was bigger
than I needed, but looked comfortable. The bathroom was startlingly white with
a coffee pot next to the toilet of all things.

I dropped my bag in the empty closet and sat on the bed. The
remote for the television was on top of the set, but I was too bone weary to
retrieve it, nor did I have a lot of interest in seeing what was on.

Instead, I pulled open the drawer of the nightstand. I
reached in without looking and touched something cold and smooth. My hand
recoiled, and I looked in the drawer.

Inside, resting atop the King James Bible was my balisong
knife. Stainless steel in construction and razor sharp to the touch, my father
had bought it for me during one of his trips abroad to Batangas, Philippines. I
was a teenager when he had given it to me, and I carried it for years.
Somewhere along the line, Ellis and I had crossed paths, and I had left home in
a huff. I remembered my car keys, but the balisong had been left behind.

I picked up the knife in my right hand, the Bible in my
left. I remembered the heft of the knife, the cold steel against my palm. The
handle of the blade was actually two pieces, concealing the blade in inset
grooves when closed.

I flipped the blade open in a slow, awkward movement.

Click-click-click-clack.

I reversed it, closing it.

The feel of the knife was familiar, like a bike you used to
ride or your favorite dish at a restaurant that you haven’t had in a while.

I opened the blade again.

Clickclick-clickclack.

Oh yeah.

I closed the blade, folding it back into the handle.

Open.

Clickclickclickclack.

Flipped closed.

Open.

Closed.

The blade was liquid metal in my hand, twirling in a
razor-bladed blur. Opened and closed and back without pause, without
hesitation. Tumbling over my fingers, index, middle, ring and back again. Open
and closed. Just like old times.

I slammed the closed knife down on the nightstand. The lamp
rocked back with the impact, teetered, then settled back on its base.

Nothing…was ever going to be just like old times again. I
nudged the knife back into the drawer with the Bible and pushed it shut.

Sighing deeply, I sat on the bed, kicked off my boots, and
laid back on the pillow. I cracked open the Bible and started reading.

My sleep was interrupted by the sound of a door closing. I
sat up, head blurry with sleep, still fuzzy, getting my bearings. A hotel room.
Bible open on my stomach. I rubbed my eyes. I had fallen asleep reading.

Sitting up, I pulled on my boots, then walked to the door. I
pulled it open to find Ellis in suit and tie. He nodded a greeting, neither
warm nor cold, but more acknowledgement of me reporting for duty, albeit
disheveled and in my clothes from the day before.

He was flanked by the Secret Service agents.

“Hauser. Truman,” I said. They nodded. My presence was duly
noted.

“We’ve got an event today,” Ellis said. “I’m speaking at the
auditorium today. We’re going to get there early, conduct sound checks, the
usual.”

“That’s a bit of exposure, isn’t it?” I asked.

“We’ve got it handled, slick,” Hauser said.

“That’s what we’re here for, sir,” Truman continued. I
remembered him from the election office. He had tried to stop me from entering.
He was cool, smooth. Definitely the senior agent.

“I appreciate your work, gentlemen,” I said. “Thank you.”

Ellis obviously hadn’t told them that I had agreed to help
him. Of course he hadn’t, because he hadn’t told them about the threats. In the
end, it worked out just fine. There was no way I was going to stand post with
federal agents.

“Isaac has the documentation that we discussed earlier,
Jim,” Ellis said. “He’s aware of the situation.”

“I understand completely,” I said.

Ellis turned and walked for the elevator, agents in tow.

“Senator?” I said.

Ellis stopped and turned.

“Yes?”

“With all due respect, sir, watch your six,” I said.

“All the way,” Ellis replied. He caught my meaning which was
good. “Isaac is in the restaurant. Ground floor. He’s waiting on you.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. And with that, he was gone.

I walked back into my hotel room and changed quickly. I wet
down my hair, combing it back into some sort of order. Rebooted, rewashed and
recovering, I was as ready for the day as I was going to get.

The Bible lay on the bed. I picked it up and slid it into my
jacket pocket. I left my sling behind and opted to go with just the cast on my
arm. It felt good and strong now. I’d need to get the cast off sooner rather
than later.

The balisong knife lay in the drawer of the nightstand. I
picked it up and weighed its heft. Without a second thought, I deposited it
into my pocket. A man was more than the tools he took with him.

I pocketed my key and exited the room. I walked past the
elevator to the stairs and jogged down them to the ground floor. I exited into
the lobby and walked straight for the restaurant.

Deep in the restaurant sat Isaac, alone with his thoughts,
reading his morning paper, glasses low on his nose. I navigated past the line
waiting to be seated, dodging a waitress with a serving tray full of entrees,
and dropped into a seat across from Isaac.

“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.