Mr. Angelopoulos

                                                       
                                                    MR. ANGELOPOULOS
 
    

     The porter pulled Charlie up the stairs, smiled, patted him on the shoulder and took his bag. “Congratulations, my man. That’s never happened before. Come in.”

     He opened the door to the car and held it. Charlie walked in. When his eyes focused, he was astounded. The room was furnished with old, overstuffed sofas and chairs. Side tables were lit by brass lamps and piled with magazines and books. The windows were crowned with stained glass, framed with linen curtains and topped with glowing light fixtures. The man who had saved him was sitting at the opposite end of the room in a leather chair. The suitcase was on his lap. His hands clasped the handle. “Please, take a seat.” He commanded in a deep voice as he patted a chair. “How about a cocktail?”

     “Thank you for your generosity.”, Charlie mumbled “I didn’t think there were any good Samaritans left in this cold, cruel world.”

     A distant smile formed on the man's face. He looked out the window. “Cold, cruel world. I haven’t heard that expression in a long time.”

      “Please. You saved me. I had to catch this train. You’ve done enough.” Charlie looked past him to a narrow corridor opening to the back of the car. “I’ll just make my way back to the technocrat car.”

     He was offered an impatient look. “There is no way to another car. This is my private car. It’s attached to the train but not a part of it. If you want off, you’ll have to wait until the next stop.” A brilliant smile bloomed on his broad face. “Or jump.”

     The sun was low in the sky. The train picked up speed as it cleared the station. The lazy click clack of the wheels on the rail turned into an insistent beat approaching a frenetic clatter. The gentle swaying of the car was now rocking in a quick trot on its way to an all-out gallop. Charlie smiled and sat. “Thank you again. I will have a drink.” He looked up at the porter. “May I have a double scotch on the rocks?”

     Samuel looked down and nodded. “Any particular brand?”

     Charlie reached back many, many years to a time when he'd seen a label on a bottle of whiskey. “Dewar's if you have it.”

      Samuel nodded and turned “The usual for Mr. Angelopoulos?”

     As Samuel disappeared into the back of the car, the man set the suitcase on the floor and offered his hand. “Now that you know my name, may I ask yours?”

     Charlie took it. “My name - I am Herman.”, he stammered. “John Q. Herman.”

      Mr. Angelopoulos glanced at Charlie's bag. “Not much luggage. You must have left in a hurry.”

     Charlie offered a faint smile. “I’m on my way to my daughter’s wedding in Portland.”

     “Congratulations. I’m going all the way to Seattle. You are welcome to remain my guest if you wish.”

     “Thank you. But I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll just move up at the next stop.”

     “This train is a limited. There won’t be a next stop until Portland. Even if they haven't figured out who you are, when they do, they’ll figure out sooner than later that if you weren't on any other transportation, you’re probably on the train in which case they will be waiting for you in Portland. If you get off, you won’t be going to any wedding.”

     Charlie was dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

     Mr. Angelopoulos didn’t look up as Samuel handed him his drink. “The only place on this train you are safe is in my car. They’ll search the train in Portland but they won’t board my car.”

     “Dewar’s on the rocks for you sir.”, cooed Samuel as he set the drink down on a table before turning and stepping out of the room.

     Mr. Angelopoulos raised his drink. “They won’t find you, so they’ll assume you’re traveling south or east, or maybe not traveling at all. In any case, I suggest you beg out of your daughter’s wedding in Portland and when we get to Seattle, hop on some seldom run ferry to some obscure island in Puget Sound. Go north, the San Juan Islands.”

     A bead of sweat ran down Charlie’s temple as he lifted his drink. “That’s quite a scenario considering you don’t know anything about me. What makes you think I’m on the run?”

     “Mr. Angelopoulos reached over and touched glasses. “You're scared to death.”

     Charlie took a deep swig. “And how do I know you won’t turn me in at Portland.”

     “You have two choices. Relax and enjoy the ride or jump.”

     Charlie sighed and took another belt, relishing the magic of a good scotch. “OK. But don’t expect anything from them if you do. They’d just as soon kill me as catch me. Hell, you’d probably be lucky if they let you go for being an unwitting accomplice.”

     Mr. Angelopoulos took a sip of his drink. “They will not board my car.”

     Charlie smiled wryly. “Why? Are you a part of the operation? Are you one of them?”

     Mr. Angelopoulos offered a wicked smile. “Actually, you could say they are a part of my operation.”

     Charlie sighed and sagged in his chair. “Saved by a cryptic stranger riding in his own private car on the back of a train. It could have been worse.”

      “Yes. It could have been so let us relax and enjoy the journey, get to know each other because it will get worse, very much worse indeed.”

     Charlie swirled the ice in his drink and laughed. “Well, that’s been a given for years. What else is new?”

     During the entire time in the car, Mr. Angelopoulos had kept at least one hand on his suitcase. He ran his hand down its side. “I'll give you a hint what isn't new. A thousand years ago, Saint John wrote in the book of Revelation of the second coming of Christ, the end of times, the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. His story has always been with us for we have always been at war. The very victims of war, if they recover soon wage war themselves. For forty years the world faced nuclear annihilation and when we finally put it behind us, we waged war again, against ourselves and now against mother earth. Saint John speaks to us all. ‘Once more to war?’, he asks. ‘Once more and forever?’ A couple of days ago, an important CEO was sacrificed on the altar of Wall Street. The simmering kettle is beginning to boil, not with a second upheaval or a third occupation but with Armageddon itself. I noticed you can't seem to take your eyes off my suitcase. You're mad to find out what's in it. Well, take a look. Here, I would like you to meet some friends of mine."

     He lifted the suitcase up and with a grunt, whirled it around and balanced it on his lap. With one hand on the handle and the other on the bottom, he flipped the lock and slowly opened it. Charlie leaned forward in his seat and peered into a swirling blackness.