1 #10
Soriano sat across from me, travelling backward, peering out through the bulletproof glass. The lights of a passing town flared and receded. We didn’t speak.
It was a bullet train of the kind that never existed on my home continent, and it glided so smoothly that after a moment I forgot we were moving.
It felt like being suspended outside of time.
Soriano fell asleep, his head drooping, arms folded, but I sensed that he was never far from leaping to his feet, ready for combat.
The thought made me weary. I drifted into an uneasy sleep, and woke when Soriano touched my shoulder.
“Come with me,” he said. He unbolted a series of locks and I followed him out of our car and into a narrow hallway, empty now.
We passed through into an adjoining carriage, this one more of a regular train car, but entirely empty, between rows of seats.
The train was slowing, I realized. As we reached the end of the second carriage, I heard piano music, quite close.
I couldn’t identify the composer, but it was familiar, and virtuosic.
That next carriage had been stripped of seats, and was being used for transporting goods.
Crates were stacked halfway to the ceiling, and at the far end, a piano had been tethered to a luggage rack.
The pianist was a small man in an oversized coat, bent low over the keys.
“Are we in a World War Two movie?” I muttered.
“Mozart,” Soriano said. “This is one of my favourite sonatas.”
The pianist glanced at us, and I saw that I’d been mistaken.
She was a woman in men’s clothing, a small person in a large scarf, somewhere in her fifties.
She had beautiful eyes. I thought her face looked kind.
The train lurched to a stop, and through the music I heard the hiss of a hydraulic door.
Someone was standing between cars with a flashlight.
I couldn’t see their face in the shadow, but they used the light to gesture toward an open door.
“We’re leaving the train?” I asked. “What time is it?”
“Just after four a.m.,” Soriano said. “Careful on the steps.”
I descended the metal steps. We were nowhere, in the woods, somewhere far from any station.
Clear night, full moon, but the forest was made of shadow.
Soriano came down behind me. “Here,” he said, “move quickly,” and he took my hand.
Piano music leaked out into the dark, then the doors hissed shut and the music was gone.
Soriano led me down over the gravel, into the blackness of the pines.
The train began to move, slowly at first and then picking up speed, gliding onward without us.
“You must think I’m insane,” Soriano said, “and you must think you’re in danger. But I pose no threat to you, Ari, I hope you realize that.”
“I’m too old for this,” I said, although I wasn’t sure at that moment what “this” was, exactly. I liked holding his hand, which was a useful data point. Aligning myself with him wasn’t the worst play, I thought.
“See, that’s the kind of thinking that’ll get you killed,” Soriano said. “No one’s ever too old for any given misfortune or inconvenience, just remember that.”
“What are we doing?”
“I have to tell you a story to make this make sense, but I promise to be brief. I was in a unit, a long time ago.”
“What kind of unit?”
“A private unit,” he said. “This way, Ari. A unit of discreet gentlemen and one lady with considerable expertise in firearms and explosives, dispatched as needed on an international basis.” I was walking carefully, thinking of how much I didn’t want to sprain my ankle in the dark.
The ground was uneven underfoot. “We would perform the duty for which we’d been dispatched, and then disperse.
My commander, he would point to each of us in turn and say air, land, sea, and the thing he said to you was how you’d leave that country, whichever country you were in, and make your way home. ”
“Does this story have a point, Soriano?”
“It does, Ari, it does. I realized at one point, and this may be eccentric but stay with me here: Why not all three? What better way to throw someone off the trail, if a person happened to be tracking you?”
“We’re returning to Paris by boat?”
“Yes, because we set out by air and then took a train.”
There was some kind of logic here. A flight, then a train, then a hike through the forest, then a boat. Why not.
“What about our luggage?”
“It’ll be sent to my apartment.” We stumbled out onto a dusty road, pale in the moonlight. “Et voilà, la France profonde,” Soriano said. Across the road there was an enormous building, set back a little in the field. No, not a building. Ruins.
“I don’t know what that means.” My eyes were adjusting. The ruins had once been a cathedral, I saw now, a tower and a shattered dome rising into the night.
“You should learn the language, if you’re going to stay here.” He stepped out onto the road, peering into the darkness.
“I’ll learn French.” I sat at the roadside. “What are we waiting for?” I heard an owl call softly, somewhere nearby, and then a pale shape flew from the ruined cathedral.
“We’re waiting for my car,” Soriano said. “It’s close.” He came to sit beside me, and a moment later a small black car pulled up. The driver was a thin man in a dark suit and a white shirt. He opened the door for us without a word.
“Please,” Soriano said, and climbed in beside me. A moment later we were driving in silence through the countryside, headed north.
“We could’ve stayed on the train,” I murmured.
“But if anyone’s after us,” Soriano said, “they’re looking on the train as we speak.”
There was a gap in the logic here—if our hypothetical assassins knew about our train itinerary, might they not also know about the car?
—but I was too tired to chase it. My thoughts were drifting in a way that meant sleep was close.
I opened the window and fought for wakefulness in the rush of cool air.
We were close to the ocean. We were moving through the dark streets of some provincial town now, passing a bakery with warm light in the windows, a man moving about inside.
The other windows of the town were mostly dark.
“You awake, Ari?”
“I am, Soriano.” I liked saying his name. Perhaps I could take it, that was my next thought. I’d been Ari Smith for a while now, since Ohio, and there was a certain pleasure in the thought of switching names again.
“We’re almost there.” The car turned a corner and the ocean was before us, deep grey to the horizon. The first colours of sunrise streaked the sky. The car drove out onto a pier, wheels vibrating on the uneven wood, toward a midsize yacht.
“We’ll move quickly again,” Soriano said. “Forgive me, it’s a habit. The car stops, you open the door, you walk briskly out and directly onto that boat, and I’m beside you all the way. Do not stop for any reason.”
The car stopped and I stepped out into the beautiful cool air.
I walked up the gangway and moved rapidly across the rear deck, in through a door that opened to receive me.
Soriano came in behind me and closed the door.
We were in a very small but expensive-looking living room, or so it seemed to me—there must be some nautical term for this room, I thought, but I knew nothing about ships—with deep carpeting and armchairs, a miniature fridge, paintings on the walls.
A young man who I assumed must be the captain nodded to Soriano and disappeared up a narrow flight of stairs.
“If you’d like to sleep,” Soriano said, “there’s a bedroom through there. You can have the bed, I’m quite happy on an armchair.”
I glanced at him and he looked quickly away. What were we to one another? I’d agreed to come with him, but the parameters of our association were unclear.
“I’ll stay awake for a while,” I said, and took a seat by the window. The glass was tinted in a way that rendered the sky and the sea unnaturally dim. I was bone-tired.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury: You get more than one life.
The transition between lives is sudden or slow.
Sometimes it’s a night flight to Paris, sometimes it’s waking to the news that your country is ending, sometimes it’s soldiers flooding the streets.
Sometimes it’s the FBI crashing through your Santa Monica rental house in a wave of black uniforms, pressing your face into the carpet while they snap cold metal on your wrists, you have the right to remain silent.
Sometimes it’s a prison sentence, sometimes it’s a boat.
I gazed out at the seascape, at the choppy waves of the Atlantic under a dove-grey sky.
Sleep was very close again. The sound and vibration of the engine were all around me.
In a half-awake, half-dreaming state I saw a translucent periscope rise above the waves and fade out, some ghost submarine from long-ago memories of war movies.
“Wake up,” Soriano said gently. Some time had passed. I’d been back in the motel room in Ohio, observing Felix’s grace as he carried an AR-15 across the room and placed it with reverence in the arms of the girl with the feather in her hair, the girl dressed in black who was pretending to be drunk.
The boat was pulling into an industrial port in a landscape of warehouses, an unobtrusive rusted-steel pier that looked comically small beside the massive cranes.
(Involuntary memories of a parking lot by the Port of Houston, listening to distant gunfire with Felix in the gathering twilight, a white bird flying overhead.) “We’ll stay inside till the car pulls up,” Soriano said.
I followed his gaze and saw the car approaching, a grey sedan cruising slowly down the line of container stacks.
“How do you know it’s the right car?”
“I think you should marry me,” he said.
“What?”
“We think exactly alike. Watch.”