The road to Damascus

Kay puzzled over the cryptic footnotes. Jebel Howah, Jazirah, Rubrah… She looked at Mr Woods in the bed beside her and struggled to square the mystical content of the battered old journal with the shrivelled figure before her. Hadn’t he mentioned something about a Damascene moment in the bathroom that time? Lowering him naked beneath the harsh strip lights, he’d wept at the pathos of it all and she’d felt compelled to match his vulnerability by telling him her husband was having an affair. It was the first time she’d said it aloud and the tears fell without warning, mingling with his own in the tepid bath water. ‘Better than Epsom salts,’ he’d said with a wry smile and they’d both laughed. Then he reached up and held her smudged face in his shaky hands and said something about a journey to Damascus. She’d assumed he was speaking figuratively, only now she realised he’d actually been there – inhaled the same dusty air as St Paul himself.

Kay had only left the country once and that was to go to a funeral in Ireland. It hardly counted. But, no, this wasn’t where she dreamed her own road would lead. Lonely and washed up, working in a care home; her spirit as broken as her fingernails. The work was OK, mostly making cups of tea and wiping arses; and the old dears were delightful. But there was something about seeing them sitting out their days on threadbare armchairs in a sea of greige that pressed down heavily upon her; the gloomy old grandfather clock in the communal area chiming for them all. She had come to dread the nights when she’d lie awake panicked at the empty years ahead, or lack of them. 

Minarets, mosques and souks rose up from the yellowing pages and the air became infused with jasmine. Hard to believe the frail creature before her had ever been anywhere but this care home where bored young girls spoke to him like he was deaf and retarded and they knew best. The truth was he had lived more lives than they ever would. She flicked through the journal and a pressed Iris fell to the floor, accompanied by a letter in Arabic in what she guessed was a woman’s hand. The rigid lines of the single kiss at the end seemed at odds with the sensuous curves and undulations of the rest of the script, but it was the words ‘Your Sariehah, for always’ that made her catch her breath. Even all these years later, the ink faded, the paper bloated, the language indecipherable, she could feel the urgency of the love, the passion bursting forth from the foreign font. And he had cherished it all this time. She thought of her own husband, and felt… nothing. All this time he’d been pretending to be a dull middle-aged man who had given up on his dreams; too tired to talk, let alone get naked. And the truth was he loved another woman, or at the very least was infatuated with her, needed her, wanted her, made her feel alive.

A calm flushed through Kay’s veins like valium as she took in the reality of her situation. Her husband was a spineless, cheating bastard, but it was her impotence and denial that had allowed this to happen. She thought of the journey she hadn’t taken. Years ago now, but it still stung. The post was only for six months, but he’d made it clear he wouldn’t be there when she got back. So she’d never left – spiritually she had never been present since. Now here was Mr Woods’ life, laid out in this treasured journal, bulging with adventure; the red and purple sunsets every bit as vivid even now.  

When the night porter arrived that evening, he found Mr Woods cold as Syrian stone, a single pressed flower between his fingers. Weeks later a postcard arrived from Istanbul. The orderly, a foreign chap, pinned it up in the dining area. Kay liked to imagine it displayed among the polite thank you notes and sympathy cards, a window onto another more exotic life. Hers.   

BG 

Averting her gaze, Niles slid the parcel across the sticky surface of the scuffed pine table. Cautiously, she lowered her eyes and began to study the package. It didn’t look like much. Hastily wrapped in plain brown butcher paper, it was the size of a box that could have housed a softball or maybe a large grapefruit, except that it wasn’t heavy enough. Nervous, she tried to clear her throat before whispering, are you sure? I mean, seriously, Niles, why’s it gotta be me?

You know why, Maggie…he pleaded…because there just isn’t anyone else…

There was an approaching rumble, and her cup clattered against the saucer. Hastily, she took one last gulp of the now cold earl grey, before bending down to retrieve her leather Gladstone bag. By the time she had righted herself, Niles had gone. Maggie shuddered, carefully placing the nondescript box in her satchel, then quickly tossed her cashmere coat around her shoulders. She glanced down at her watch, and under her breath, muttered to herself… the train into London leaves in 5 minutes. If I hurry I can catch it.

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Or at least that’ll be what they expect me to do, but it’ll never happen. She thought. She knew the box would be safer in London; it would be where those who were interested couldn’t find it as much. If it was still in Stratford, it would be a lot more dangerous. Getting into London was also going to be risky. She was going to have to use most, if not all the skills that she had been taught, to make sure she could keep the box safe. She knew she couldn’t trust anybody. Nobody, what so ever. She didn’t like this lifestyle, she wasn’t ‘free’. When you’re running and hiding most of your life, nobody is ever free.

She went to reception. She smiled provocatively, fluttered her eyebrows and asked the male receptionist if he could check all the car park CCTV cameras. Stupid me! My friend was here a few minutes ago, but I think he’s gone, and I need to ask him something, it’s always the way, isn’t it? It’ll save me getting wet, as it’s a bit stormy outside. He is driving a big silver Mercedes. Could you look in the car park, please, if you have any other cameras, maybe he’s waiting somewhere around here. I tried to phone him, but I think his phone is off.  No, that’s not his car, nor that one, its registration is VG13 UYH. That’s a shame, not to worry; I’ll send him a text, thank you so much for your help. Oh, I nearly forgot, can you get me a cab please, yes to the station. Yes Stratford. I’m in the Romeo and Juliet room, thanks.

She walked round the corner and opened her bag. She looked at the box and smiled. She took out another phone and made a call. Ems, it’s me. Yes, this is my new number. I’ll come up now. She went into the room. Hello babe! At last! They hugged. Yes, he’s gone and I hope I never see him again, stupid American w*****! But I’ll be happy to see him again, when he’s on a slab, and then I will confirm the kill. The things I do for my effing country. Well I couldn’t see him in the car park. I’ll get it confirmed later. Em pressed herself closer, hugged tighter and tried to passionately kiss her, wanting more. Ems, don’t, we haven’t got the time now, but we will later, I promise. We can spend as much time as we want, doing everything we want. The sooner we do this, the sooner we’ll be richer and free. They think Maggie is catching the train now. Em laughed, and said: can I also call you Maggie? I know, I hate that name but it’s the name they gave me. Every time he said the name, and he said it lots, I cringed inside. Sometimes all I could think of was Thatcher.  Anyway Niles bought the ticket, 11:35 from Stratford to Marylebone, so they may be waiting, in fact they will be expecting Maggie to be on that train, but I checked, if you’re late, they’ll still take that ticket, but you get the next train. That’s at 12:03. I knew this would happen. We need to stick to the plan, and at the moment it’s all going to plan. She makes another phone call. Hello, is that Richard’s taxis? Hello Rich, I’m going to Warwick Parkway, I’m at the Shakespeare Hotel, Chapel Street. About 10 minutes? Thanks, if you park out the front, I’ll see you better, bye. She turns round, Ems, are you sure you’ve got everything, just like we discussed? Can I remind you of how dangerous this is? Em smiled and nodded.                        Her old phone buzzed. It was a text from Niles, asking if she had left yet. She texted back, saying yes. That’ll confuse them and undermine him a little. That reminds me. She took the sim card out of her old phone. I’ll destroy this later. The hotel room’s phone rang. The cab is here? OK, on my way now, thank you. Em, HURRY! Get to the station now! You’ll need my coat, they swopped coats, have you got the other package? Well done, they do look the same. She put the contents of her bag and the original package into her blue Nike rucksack and gave Em the Gladstone bag. I know, but he gave it to me, just like the coat, so they’ll recognise it, as they know the bag. Remember it’s Fulham you’re going to. ** Delaford Street. Yes, I’ll be in the safe house in East Finchley, ** Hertford Road. But don’t tell anybody. They both laughed. Em left the hotel.   

She made a phone call. Patrick, it’s me, this is my new number. Yes, I have what you want. No, ha ha, I haven’t sold it! It’s not as if we can put it on Ebay or Amazon. I need you to confirm if we have a signal and where his car is. Oh good, the Tracker I fitted is working then, not like last time, she sarcastically commented. Yes, she’s on her way, so he’ll see her at the station. She’ll get the 12:03. That reminds me, that’s another grand you owe me. I knew I would win that bet. That’ll be great, yes. I can’t wait for you to take care of him. I’ll love it when I see him on the slab; you’ll be the first to get the confirmation. It’s all going to plan so far, what’s the bidding been like? I know some don’t want to pay, try and relax; you’re in Warwickshire, not Michigan. Really, that much?  Wow, the highest bidder being? Ahh, the Japanese? Interesting. I bet they get sniped. You know which house I’ll be at, yes, she’s going to be in Fulham. I’m waiting for the taxi, yes, the normal firm, I’m going to Warwick Parkway, I’m staying in the safe house in Finchley. Will you stop worrying Patrick! I’ll contact you when I’m in London. I need to go, my taxi is here. She got into the taxi, hello Rich, change of plan mate, I’m going to Ian’s garage, yes, Mr D’s in Warwick. How’s the family Rich? Good, you keeping busy with the taxis? Good, yes well I was going to collect, but now I’m needed to deliver a car. Yes, looks like the sun is going to come out. Thanks mate, say hello to Yeni, I’ll pop over when I have the time. She arrived at the security gates and punched the code in. She buzzed the buzzer at the garage door and then stared into one of the security cameras. Hello Ian, long time. The large garage door silently swung open, she walked in, the door silently closed. She was met by this 6 foot tall tattooed, clean shaven biker looking man, short hair, defined muscles, wearing steel toe capped Magnums, oily cargo style military black trousers and an Iron Maiden tee. He put a staff lanyard round her neck, with a welcoming smile. I need a vehicle, she said, something fast but discreet. She was on the ground level of the garage. You have a choice, 2 wheels or 4? Said Ian, with a big grin, showing his gold crowns. I think I know what you’ll choose and I’ve written it down in my diary. They went to the office. Are you thirsty? She sat down and nodded. Ian made her a coffee. I knew this was different, he said, as soon as I read your rushed email. OK, it won’t go through the normal channels, I’ll make sure nobody misses the vehicle you choose, won’t be a problem, but you’ll have to scratch my back when it needs it. She nods again, and said great coffee. She had always been wary of this man, and she was told that he had killed someone. It was said in self defence.

He killed them with their dagger, after they tried to stab him, but he took it off them and killed them. That’s how he became known as Dagger. But she knew his looks were deceptive, as he had always been kind and reliable and had helped out in the past. Now I have seen you, he said, you’re acting different. He turned round in his chair, opened a locked cabinet and took a tablet out of a pack, then locked the cabinet. He placed the tablet on the table in front of her. He stood up, walked over to the small sink, and put some cold water from the fridge into a glass, and placed that by the tablet. This will help, they are strong, so you’ll have only one. It’ll sort your head out, quickly. She took the tablet. Thanks, she said, but how the fuck did you know, are you psychic? He laughed and said, I knew you were going to say that. You’re hungry also aren’t you, I hope you like tuna with pasta, there’s a couple of packs in the fridge, the proper forks are in the drawer, better than those weak plastic shite forks they come with. She walked over to the fridge, past the dog’s bed, she asked where Sabre was. Ian said at the vet’s, I’ll get her later, nothing to worry about; she’s going to be a mum. Let me know if you want a puppy. Em may have one, she said, I’ll ask her when I can, she smiled but there were so many conflicting thoughts going through her mind. Ah, the lovely Em, how is the little ticking time bomb? Oh, you know, you don’t know what you’re doing from one week to another, no feedback on certain cases, etc. etc., but when I see her, we’ve always got loads to catch up with. I do know, Ian said, that’s why I got out of your lifestyle, I know where I am and what I do; but you’ll never be a millionaire. I’m happier, but I do miss the rush. Anyway, you’re probably in a rush. He picked up his black A4 oily, well thumbed diary. There were some keys inside, she noticed, as it didn’t close properly. I know what’ll lighten you up; it’ll bring a smile to your face. He beckoned, she followed him, out of the office, Ian punched a code into the security door lock. They walked past 4 post ramps and tool boxes and laptops, past some work benches full of various car parts and through some other doors, into a large open warehouse space, with pillars holding the floor above and in between each pillar was a car, some under covers. I know how you love your vehicles, it’s all your mum’s fault, after all you were very nearly born in a sidecar. I heard about it in the old days, when I was out in the field. She looked lovingly at the black DB9. You don’t want that, he said, with a big smile on his face, you’re not going to be in Chelsea, you’re supposed to be incognito. They carried on walking, past more cars, she said the names out loud:     Vantage, RS 4, RS 5, RS6, M3, M5, XKR, XFR, ooh you don’t see many of these, pointing to 4 identical E types. GT3, Carrera, R32.

It’s a bit quiet in here, isn’t it, nobody else on duty? Ian said: well I knew you were coming, so I sent most of the boys and girls to have lunch, but there may be a few uniforms floating around. She stopped when she was next to the F Type. You can’t have that either, he said, besides it’s the only one we’ve got and it’s reserved for a good customer. They got to the end of the floor, Range Rovers, Discoveries. All very nice, she said, but they don’t quite make the grade. What did you think I would be happy with? Ian laughed, I’ve saved the best ‘til last, we have another floor underneath us. They took the lift down. As the doors opened, her mouth dropped. There was the same massive floor space, crammed full of motor bikes. All makes and models she could think of, some old, some new, some under covers. She had a massive smile. Thought so, said Ian. They walked down the middle of the floor. Again, she named every one, until they got to the KTM Adventure 990. There were 4 next to each other. She stopped, this one is available? Pointing to the blue one. Ian started quoting a few figures: only 113 horses from the crank as standard, but just like all the vehicles here, this one’s been tweaked.  Brembo anti-lock, upgraded seat, bags of torque with a top speed well beyond twice the legal limit. U.K and Europe sat nav and with 200 miles to a tank, even when ridden hard. It has surprised a few of the cars upstairs, when we were testing at Long Marston. Now, are you sure? There are a few nice other bikes a bit further on, some nice Harleys, or you could have something quicker. No, she said, I’m sure. Ian looked disappointed, she smiled, I wish I bet you, dammit, I should have bet. He opened the diary on that days date, placed his index finger on his legible writing, in black ink, and there were the words: KTM 990, blue, London plates. Ian’s phone rang. Hello Beth, OK, Karen’s here for the Porsche? I’ll come up. He threw the bike keys at her, she caught them, they both smiled. Serviced last week, tanked up today, running as good as new, good to go. Locker number 9 is available, the key is on there, you’ll find a Bluetooth lid in the helmet racks, just before the changing rooms, you’ll find your size in leathers as well. There’s a loo in there also, I’ll be in the office, I need to do some official work. Ian walked away. She changed quickly and was ready to go.                                                                                           

She found Ian in the office, on the phone. He gestured for her to sit down, his eyes followed her. She put the lanyard on the table. Yes Alex, the F Type was ready for you yesterday, his eyes dropped onto the pages of his diary, pointing to a day, then he wrote in the diary. That’s perfect, see you then, bye. So you’re going to wear that old rucksack? He said. Yes, she said, a girl needs her makeup and other essentials.

I can’t use a normal bag, so I have the next best thing. Ian picked up the office phone and started talking: Beth babe, can you do a perimeter, yes, a few should do, and check if that thunderstorm has passed here and see where it’s going and what the weather is going to be like in North London, brilliant, talk soon, I’ll be on the mobile.

Ian stood up; I’ll come and open the gates for you, and see you off. I’ll get confirmation that it’s all clear in a moment or two, we’re checking the perimeter roads, just to make sure no one’s waiting for you. They hugged. Be careful, he said, when all of this is over, we’ll get you and Em over and do some real work, we’ll get you on some training courses, so you know some more useful things. She smiled, thanks for everything, we’ll see. She handed him a CD sized jiffy type light brown envelope, with a second class stamp on it. I need you to post this tomorrow. He nodded, no problem. Sometimes we still have to do things the old fashioned way she said and I’ll let you know about a puppy. He had the call back from Beth, it was an all-clear and the storm had passed and it was going to be sunny. She rode out of the garage, on her way to London. 

The journey’s route was via Banbury, off the motorways, but she double backed on some junctions, covering her tracks, so the journey took a bit longer, less chance of any CCTV cams. She was looking forward to the welcome from some old friends, good food and the thought of a good night’s sleep in a safe bed with her favourite Egyptian cotton sheets. This made her smile. The journey to Enfield was completed before dark, but as she rode through Enfield, she saw the places she knew, and she realised that they had changed. They had changed lots and it didn’t look good. Graffiti, litter, were only two of many things she would comment on, when she was able to talk.  

Chris A. (to be continued: work in progress)                         

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