Saboteur: A Novel (12 page)

The light on his phone lit up and
he looked. It was Naomi:

Late at work again!!! Sorry…thinking I’ll be home round 8.

He tossed his phone down against
the table.
Shit
. He really did need
to talk. He picked up his phone again and dashed off a text to Samara:

Coffee at
630?...
Woody’s… then dinner with me and Naomi at 830? She’ll
come late from work…

He hit send and walked out on the
deck overlooking the bay. It was time to get Naomi and Samara in the same room,
for everyone’s sake. Why did he get butterflies in his stomach every time he
texted with Samara? He already knew the answer. He remembered her message and
typed again:

Chad will be a great man one day…wait and see…I shall return in any
case…

He watched the sun fade to a soft
orange. The ocean looked endless, and glistened. He needed to get back in the
classroom. The last few days had been completely frenzied. He always wondered
if anyone understood how much his love for his job had to do with his need for
escape. It was ironic, the notion of escaping in front of a packed room of
absolute strangers, but that’s exactly how it felt to him.

His phone lit again.

See you in 30 min.…I promise no traps…no phone booths…

Sam

He was eager to share what had
happened to him, even though he knew Samara wouldn’t be happy to hear it. He
typed again:

Coffee at Woody’s with
Samara in 30 and then meet for dinner at 830…? Short notice I know, but let’s
do it…

Me

He hit send and went to the shower
to get ready. It had been another stressful day and he needed to wash it off
before his evening began. It had nothing to do with his meeting with Samara he
told himself. Of course not, he just needed to freshen up and his wife was
coming for God’s sakes. What could be safer than that?

Chapter 25

Sullivan watched through the double-sided glass of the
mirror as Rodriguez took a crack at the boy. She sat very close to him, exuding
almost maternal warmth. He had already said more to her in five minutes than he
had to him in an hour. The boy claimed the man in the hat had given him a
five-dollar bill to deliver a message to his friend across the street, that
they were ‘playing a game.’ It annoyed him a little. He was usually very good
at talking to children. This wasn’t the usual case though and the boy was
clearly still in shock. His face was too closely associated with that shock
probably. His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from a
safe line.” It was Tackett. “Tierney will be watching for calls between us.
Meet me at Aero Club at 7 for a drink.”

“Ok, sure.”

Since it was going to be a social
visit this clearly didn’t fall into Tierney’s warning against involving Tackett
in the case. He still needed to talk to him about the professor, about the
strange clue.

“See ya’ then--”

He looked at his watch. The big
briefing was in only five minutes. He sat alone in the dark room just for a
moment thinking of the professor. He had genuinely liked the guy. What was it
that he could be lying about? Was it the blood sample? What were the odds it
was another professor Jensen had written about in his notes? Or was it
something else entirely?

Rodriguez broke his concentration
opening the door. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yep, on my way.” He grabbed his
stuff dashing out the door trying to catch up to her.

“So I heard you guys can get
married now, out here anyway.”

“What?”

“Congratulations, I think it’s
aweso--.”

“I’m already married stupid,” she
said pointing to her ring. Man, you are just all kinds of awkward, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you could
already--”

“And stop yelling.”

The pair walked into the conference
room, which was already full. Tierney was at the head of the room going over
papers of some kind with one of the suits from downstairs. Legal. You could
tell by the grimace on his face.

“Everybody get situated please,” he
said. “Nine blocks from here at 242 A Street at approximately 11:47am, a safe
house, formerly managed by this department, was hit with explosives, which were
most likely detonated remotely. Complicating this situation, members of this
department have continued using this residence for departmental purposes, in
spite of the fact that we stopped paying rent on it more than eight years ago.
We are still attempting to contact the owner, who now lives out of state
apparently. One of your peers has been put on suspension pending investigation
of his role in the illegal continuation of police activity at this location. In
his place Detective Sheppard has been promoted to acting sergeant. Let me
remind everyone that this is an internal matter and is not to be discussed
outside the doors of this station. There is reason to believe that the suspect
in this case has had contact with the department before. We have developed a
sketch from testimony given by two eyewitnesses. One eye witness was a
seven-year-old male who was paid by our suspect to deliver a message to one of
our own detectives in the vicinity only moments before the blast occurred. That
detective, Detective Sullivan, also made a partial ID, but was at such
proximity so as not to be able to elaborate with any concrete facial details.”
Tierney was now reading directly from his notes. “Both witnesses place our perp
as a: 45-55-year-old male, slim or slender of build, 5’10”. He was dressed to
blend in as a tourist, with a safari style hat, tan in color. He also has a
long, prominent scar running across his neckline. There is some reason to
believe that he was sending a message of some sort to this department, rather
than trying to incur loss of life. Detective Rodriguez along with Detective
Sullivan had also been in or near the house before the incident and was most
likely observed by the perpetrator. This further corroborates our suspicion that
the perpetrator or perpetrators wanted to destroy the residence only.”

There was mumbling across the room.

Tierney interjected more loudly to
squelch it. “The Bomb squad is still analyzing materials from the scene for
leads on who might have put it together and whether we are dealing with
domestic or international style terrorism. Make no mistake the person or people
we are dealing with are very dangerous and they must be caught before their
already criminal actions escalate further. Their capture is priority number one
for this department. Please know all overtime requests related to this case
will be honored. Thank you. You are dismissed.”

Jesus
, Sullivan
thought,
they made it sound like he and
Rodriguez had been on a date.
The other officers looked at the two of them
and snickered. Sullivan could feel their eyes on him. Rodriguez walked out
alone and quickly. Still no mention of case 1032 though. Tackett had it right;
Tierney really was an angler.

Tierney suddenly approached him.
“Now I get to go talk to the press, detective. You should watch it later on
Channel 6, how they abuse me and how I just have to grin and eat every bite of
shit they serve up.”

Tierney didn’t give him a chance to
respond, walking away without a word. It looked like all their conversations
were going to be like this: quick and one-sided. Oh well, it was a start.

Sullivan was feeling thirsty but knew he wasn’t meeting
Tackett for another two hours. Maybe he would get there early and sample the
wares. He walked past Sheppard’s desk on his way. Sheppard looked up.

“It’s going to be a real pleasure
working under your direction, Sergeant Sheppard, sir.”

“Come on, let’s be civil,” Sheppard
said sounding disappointed.

“I’ll bet your dear old dad was the
football coach in high school and you started every game, huh?” he said leaning
on the edge of Sheppard’s desk.

“Barely a week on the force and
already banging another man’s wife in a secret flop house. I’ll give you
another two
weeks
tops before formal charges are filed.”

“Wait, I thought Rodriguez wa--” He
furrowed his brow.

“And I started because I could
play. First team All-Conference.”

“Nooo shit?! I was only joking, but
you really are daddy’s little superstar.”

“Look, bring me your reports and
copies of all your casework by noon tomorrow and get your fuckin ears checked
for God’s sakes, you’re yelling. I want to review with you in person at the end
of each week as well. I know all about case 1032 and don’t want to see you make
a mess of it. I would be interested in anything fresh you find though. Who
knows? Maybe we can help each other?”

“Why Shep, I feel like we’re old
pals now. Stop with the sincerity, please you’re breaking my heart.”

Sheppard waved his hand dejectedly
and turned away. He felt a bit bad. He had been too harsh, a little. A beer
would help ease his conscience, so he dashed past his desk picking up his
things, map questing Aero Club driving directions on his way out the door.

When he arrived to his car he’d
forgotten that the door was still off. It did little to damage the appearance
frankly. A yellow ticket flapped in the wind. He pulled it out. It was a
citation for “illegal operation of a wrecked vehicle.” On the ticket someone
had drawn a picture of him with the caption “Iceman” written above it. There
was also a likeness of Rodriguez on her knees. She was servicing him. Above her
was written: “Investigating prostitution.”
God
cops were such assholes
, he mused, like a gang of shitty middle school
kids. A few cars down a group of them were laughing and pointing. He grabbed
the ticket, throwing it in the air nonchalantly. Not having to open the door
was actually an improvement. One less thing. He popped out the 8 track of Elvis
and replaced it with Frank Sinatra speeding away in a plume of black smoke,
with his middle finger extended for all to see.

Chapter 26

This time when Downy walked in Samara was already at a table
with someone. A younger guy. She saw him and they both stood up.

Samara erupted: “Uncle Noah!” and
threw her arms around him. “This is Mitch. He’s in our class. We were studying
actually, sort of, we just bumped into each other,” she said making her eyes
big.

“Man I had no idea you guys were
related, but that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, hi Mitch,” Downy said
squinting a bit.

“It’s ok, I sit pretty far in the
back,” he said picking up on Downy’s unease, “but I love your class so far. I
hope you’re back in time for the second half of that Caesar presentation
though. All my roommates made me watch the miniseries and it’s practically why
I signed up.”

“Yeah, I’ll be back for sure.”

“Hey, can I ask you a question
about Caesar?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you think he sent his
guards away? I mean he wouldn’t have been assassinated if they had been there,
right.”

“Yeah,” Downy said, “The senate
promised him by decree that he was safe in their midst.”

“Oh, ok, oh wow. So they tricked
him?”

“Caesar wanted to show his faith in
their word, I think.”

“That was dumb,” Mitch said
abruptly.

“Yes, it
sort
of was,” he said smiling sympathetically and then he looked at Samara who
looked unimpressed as well, but was laughing anyway.

“Have a great dinner. Thanks
Samara,” Mitch said winking at her.

It made him uneasy. Why was he
winking? Samara sat down and rolled her eyes.

“Small town, huh? Imagine me just
bumping into the guy. His frat meets here once a week for some damn whiskey
social or something. He was coming back for his hat.”

“No worries,” he said trying to
seem at ease.

“I’m two beers in already. Sorry,
talking to frat boys stresses me out. I always feel like they’re trying to sell
me something. Just coffee would be nice, if it’s ok with you?”

“Yeah, sure--Uncle Noah?” he said
with a grin.

“I didn’t really know what else to
say, sorry. I hope you aren’t missing class on account me, because of last
time.”

He laughed. “No no. I was worried
you might think so. I’ve been up to my ass in admin stuff these last few days.
Seriously, things that never come up, and all at once.”

“I can’t wait to see Naomi. Seriously.”

“Yeah, she’ll get here as soon as
she can.”

The waiter came, the same one as
last time. He smiled warmly, “It’s so nice to see you both again.” They nodded.
He thought they were a couple then. Great. It actually felt oddly exhilarating
and if they had been carrying on an affair, he knew this would be just the
place to do it.

Tonight a piano player sat in the
far corner, their regular guy. He was playing something by Dean Martin, but
very slowly.

“Two stubby Greeks, one with a shot
of espresso on top,” he said.

“Coming right up. Hope you will be
joining us for dinner?”

“Yes, actually we’ll need room for
a third.”

“The pescador tonight is straight
from Coronado, came in this morning. It’s the chef’s signature dish in a calico
and mango butter reduction.”

“Great.” Downy said.

“I could live here,” Samara said
laughing.

“I used to,” he said laughing back.
“I wanted us to have some time to chat before Naomi comes.”

“Ok,” Samara said, “until our third
arrives.” She tilted her head a bit to the side, arching an eyebrow.

Downy hadn’t considered the way he
had said it. It did sound rather impersonal. He chose not to react. “What?” he
said finally shrugging.

Samara was dressed in faded blue
jeans and a black shoulder cut sweater. Somehow she looked even more elegant
than before. Her hair was pulled up off her shoulder in a simple clip. He tried
not to stare for too long before speaking. The waiter put down their coffees.

“So, I wanted to tell you I talked
to Nazim, well sort of.”

She leaned forward with a serious
look on her face.

“And?”

“I’m deeply concerned about his
well-being to be honest. He refused to acknowledge that he and I knew each
other at all, though very strangely, he claims to know your dad still.”

“What, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know quite how to explain
it, but he seems to believe your dad is still alive, though he claims he
doesn’t know you either, so I think everything he’s saying has to be put in
context. And well, he seems very ill or perhaps under some sort of pressure to
lie.”

Samara’s face drew back in a daze.
She had been holding her coffee cup and her hand began to shake uncontrollably.

“Just wait, ok?” he said trying to
keep her calm. “I know what you must be thinking, but I’m afraid there may
actually be a dementia of some kind, or even something else, I’m not sure what
yet. It would explain almost everything.”

Samara’s eyes watered. “You don’t
think this, coupled with the note I found, means anything?” she said
incredulously.

“The note, I can’t explain. Not yet.
It’s way too soon to know anything until I speak to Diba Jan.”

“She ignored me, Noah. You’re
wasting your time. I’m telling you, all of them did. What are we going to do?”
she said looking at him imploringly.

“We’ are going to keep our heads. I
need to contact my publisher. He has known Nazim’s family forever. He grew up
in Cairo. He knew your dad well too. I think it’s safest if we let him reach
out to them first.”

He wanted to tell her that Nazim
had also said he would conference call with Charlie, but he felt it would upset
her too much. Sadly, he knew he was never going to answer that call anyway. He
looked up at the second floor to he and Charlie’s old booth. He had the
strangest sensation, like Charlie was back somehow. He had forgotten how much he
enjoyed the sound of his old friend’s voice. It had been the first thing
between them, his matter of fact manner of speech; how he made you feel you
deserved the world and everything in it and that it was only as easy as
reaching out to take it. He had treated Downy like he was a genius and so he
had always tried his best to act like one. Charlie was of course the fiercely
intelligent one, but like Downy, he had an edge to him. In truth, it was
probably why they became such fast friends. The almost twenty-year age
difference hadn’t mattered at all. Charlie was wise old owl and Downy the young
prodigy. Both seemed to love the roles they’d cast themselves in.

Samara’s head was down. She stared
into her coffee blankly. “Have you ever

heard of a place called the pond?” she said suddenly,
looking up at him.

“No, it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I looked through my dad’s travel
logs and every year he went there it says, with friends, but he never says
which pond or where. You guys ever travel to a place to fish or something, part
of a dig? My mother wasn’t very suspicious about it either when I told her. He
traveled so much after all.”

“Seems perfectly explainable. I’m
sure if you ask around with some of his other friends.”

“He had none Noah, none except for
you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you were enough for him. He
could be a deeply solitary person you know, almost secretive. That’s why it
doesn’t seem like a thing he would do, not without you along, or somebody he
liked at least. Who would he have gone with?”

He couldn’t believe it. Charlie was
instantly the life of any room he walked into. Downy had always assumed he had
a wide group of friends.

“I never thought--I mean--I always
figured there were lots of other friends.”

“His work, really. Sometimes my
mom. That’s why having you around was so nice. He really came out of his shell,
but then you always left. My mother and I felt sort of second rate. It sounds
awful, I know. It sounds like I’m being critical, but I just mean that you
brought out something special in him.”

“It must have been doubly hard when
I moved, huh, for such a young girl, I mean?”

“Yeah, it was.” Tears streaked down
her cheeks uncontrollably. She seemed even more beautiful, fragile. He wanted
to touch her face, but dared not.

He saw the waiter coming and he
handed her a tissue quickly. It was too late. The waiter poured more coffee
silently. “I’ll come back and check on you soon,”

he said sympathetically, turning quickly to avoid eye
contact with them and speaking in almost a whisper.

“They’ll think you’re breaking my
heart,” Samara said laughing through her tears. “How much power there is in a
woman’s tears,” she said wiping her face with the tissue. “Grown men flee like
frightened children.”

“We’re gonna get through this, ok?”
he said, trying to sound confident, but Samara looked unconvinced.

“I’m gonna need a drink before your
wife gets here, ok? That scotch from the other night would be just perfect.”

“Sure.”

“We’ll switch back to coffee when
she gets here, ok, just for the sake of appearances.”

Downy laughed, but his heart was
troubled. He looked up to the booth over her shoulder. The framed picture of
Freud was still there along with their plaque for being “The World Champions of
Scotch.”

Samara stood up. “I have to go fix
myself; Naomi can’t see me like this. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, of course.”

The waiter came over immediately.

“Could we have two MaCallums if a
bottle is open?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Excuse me, could you do me a
favor? Deliver a third glass to the booth upstairs, the one with Mr. Freud
presiding.”

“Of course I will, sir. For Mr.
Patterson, then?”

“Yes, that’s right. You remember
him?”

“I’d been working here a few months
when he passed away. I was still a busboy. It would be my pleasure sir and it’s
on the house.”

“Thank you,” Downy said. “Thank
you.”