Saboteur: A Novel (24 page)

Chapter XVII

“We believe you have been purposely framed, Professor
Downy.”

He looked to the table at the linen
wrap. He could guess what was underneath before they even showed him. “Why
would anyone want to do this to me? To Samara?”

“I wish there were clear answers,
but we are only sure of a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Your book publisher Clellon Holmes
is lying.”

“You checked then?”

“It’s my job.”

Downy nodded with an expression of
quiet gratitude.

“Charlie Patterson may or may not be
deceased. We suspect he’s involved in some way, or at least was. You say you
saw him. We’re inclined to believe you. Then there is this man.” Tierney held
up a picture of Jacob Tannehill.

“You know him?”

“Not well, but he was a friend of
sorts to Charlie. Tannehill was a gifted physicist early in his career, but he
went off the rails--had a breakdown of some kind.”

 
Downy hated lying to the detectives, but
he really didn’t know what else to say. The supposed truth would get him
committed to a loony bin and in spite of everything he’d seen he simply
couldn’t make his mouth say any of the words.
I traveled through time last night, saw a dead friend, met an ancient
Roman, a former student of mine actually...
He looked at Detective Sullivan
and saw him twitch almost unconsciously, cocking his head with a look of silent
incredulity. He already knew Downy was lying, Downy could see him sensing it,
he could feel it, as he had during their first meeting back in his office. He
had to lie then about being involved with any of his students, Samara being the
glaring exception, but it was the same expression: surprise at being lied to
mixed with disappointment.

Tierney jumped in. “Look, we need
you to test a theory of what’s going on here. We believe your friend Professor
Patterson might have gotten caught up in the black marketing of rare
antiquities. We already know about his reputation in the field. They called him
Midas, right? He pulled an unusual amount of gold out of the ground, didn’t he?
Lucky guy.”

“I googled it,” Sullivan said
interjecting.

“It may have cost him his life and
some of our detectives’ lives as well. It could still cost one of our
detectives his. They have Detective Tackett, his partner, but we believe they
might be willing to broker a trade.”

“A trade for what?”

Tierney pushed the linen toward
him. He peeled it away, slowly revealing the golden laurel. It
was
truly beautiful. Downy twirled the
black pearl that hung at its base in his fingers.

“I can guarantee you this is a
fake,” he said inspecting it closely.

“That’s what we thought, but the
people who have Detective Tackett believe otherwise.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Jacob Tannehill gave it to me as a
gift of sorts, but the man’s mad.”

“Yes, maybe, but we think people
associated with him believe in its authenticity.”

“And you think they’ll reach out to
me for it?”

“If we bait the hook right, I think
we may catch lots of bad fish. And find Samara’s killer in the process. We want
to be clear that there is a danger here, a certain amount of risk involved, but
you will be monitored at every step.”

Tierney crossed his arms, a hopeful
look on his face.

“Can you protect my wife? She’s at
her mother’s in Cold Springs?”

“We have unlimited Homeland
Security agents at our disposal. We can put agents right at her doorstep until
we’ve nailed the bastards.”

“I’ll do it.”

Tierney and Sullivan jumped to
their feet extending their hands enthusiastically.

“So how do we bait the hook then?”

“Take the laurel with you. There’s
a back exit we can shuttle you out in, so you can skip the press conference.
I’ll be apologizing for your arrest publicly, but more importantly let me say
how truly sorry we are now, to you and your wife, your family. It takes a
helluva a man to forgive a thing like this and to still be will--”

“Let me ask you one final
question?” Sullivan said chiming in.

“What would cause Charlie Patterson
to fake his own death?”

Downy shook his head. “Only to
protect his daughter maybe, his family. Money wasn’t an issue.”

Sullivan nodded. “That guy is your
specialty right?” he said, pointing to the laurel.

“Yes, he is.”

“What would it be worth if it were
real?”

“The golden laurel of Julius
Caesar? It would be utterly priceless.”

Chapter XVIII

The man heard a sharp noise and then a creaking, which startled
him from his sleep. His cell door was open. He felt raw fear in his gut now. He
was either walking to his death or to freedom and he could get no clear read on
which. He pushed the door open slowly and walked to the edge of the steps. At
the end of them he could see bright sunlight cascading in. He peered nervously
back toward the row of cells. The whispering had ceased. Had the man finally
died or only fallen asleep? There were others as well the cloaked man had said.
They seemed gone now too, so he walked very cautiously to the top of the
stairs. By the time he emerged the light had him doubled over, cowering. How
long had he been in this hole? His head pulsed as he squinted to see around
him. He was in a vast courtyard. In the center was a dark pool and scattered
about were grand statues. Crumbling ruins formed an arc around the edges of the
water. Plants and vines grew wild, some of which he had never seen before. They
were beautiful, but grew in unusual proportions and their coloring was arrayed
in patterns he’d never encountered, even in his many travels.

“Plutonium.”

He wheeled round behind him to see
a man sitting at the base of one of the statues. “Hades is there,” he said
pointing to the pool.

The man was tall and dressed in
very strange garments. He had pieces of glass cut and hung on wire fastened
around his face.

“Who are you?”

“Only one of
your
biggest fans.”

“Everyone seems to like me a lot
around here, but it’s getting hard to believe you’re an admirer.”

“Yes, it must get very confusing
indeed.”

The man looked around, still
struggling to see clearly. He recognized none of the statues and he had never
seen anyone with something so strange about his face. It was his habit never to
register surprise though, so he merely ignored it.

“Let me call your attention to this
one,” the strange man said pointing up at the marble statue of a beautiful
young woman. She lay in casual repose with a cup, which she held daintily in
her left hand, her naked body barely covered by a gown that hung in inviting
folds at her thighs.”

“I do not recognize her. Is she
Diana?”

“Yes, most assuredly, though in her
land they call her by a different name.”

At the base of the statue was
carved a single word,
Veritas.

“Why have I been brought here?”

“There are those who would protect
you. Your people think this place is the very gateway to the underworld. Maybe
I’m growing to share that view.”

“I know of it, the myth of the
gate, but frankly it’s a story for scaring children and the feeble minded,
nothing more.”

He walked nearer the pool of black
water and stared in.

“I am not much convinced of it,” he
said, “old superstitions.”

“I would have guessed as much. You
really are an advanced model aren’t you? You know where I’m from men who
believe as you do consider themselves enlightened.”

“You do not consider them so?”

“No, they are merely vain,
unimaginative.”

“And where is it that you come from
my strange admirer?”

“Far away.”

“The man in the hood, are you he?”

“Most assuredly not.”

“Do you know him? Why does he hide himself
from me?”

“Oh he’s not hiding exactly; he’s
gone for good now though. He won’t be coming back. It’s only you and I now.”

He picked up a stone from the
ground and threw it into the pool. It plopped.

“See, no devils in there, just old
superstitions.”

“None that you can see from here,”
the strange man said nodding his head.

“What’s that about your face and
nose stranger?

“They help me to see more clearly.
The glass just amplifies you see. Excuse me, I’m being very rude aren’t I? My
name is Charles,” he said extending his hand, finally jumping to his feet.

He hesitated for a moment, then
grabbed the strangers hand and in one swift move felt himself being pulled in
closer. Then, a sudden, sharp pang shot through his chest. He tried desperately
to speak, but found could not. He drew for breath, but none came, only a taste
like metal, which filled his mouth with searing heat.

“They call her Samara where I’m
from you fucking dog, and you can’t have her.”

The man fell to his knees with a
sharp groan and looking down could see his reflection in the blade that had
penetrated him. His blood poured in a thick pool at his feet. He suddenly felt
very light. He was about to say something, but felt no need. His eyes faded in
and out, flickering from light to dark, then he was gone.

Charlie Patterson stood over the
body having slowly pulled the sword from the man’s chest as he fell. He had to
struggle against the bone and gristle to remove it. There was no light left in
the man’s eyes now, only a look of complete surprise, followed slowly by what
seemed look of acceptance, peace. Patterson paced around the body finally
shouting wildly:

“I’ll kill you wherever I find you,
Gaius! Are you listening you dog, you whore? Everywhere, every time!”

He looked back down now and the
corpse had taken on an almost mocking grin, like it knew something he did not.
He was taunting him still, so he ran the blade directly into the dead man’s
mouth, howling like a wild animal as he did so, finally decapitating him in a
fury. The echoes pinged across the garden and off the walls of the nearby
cliffs. Patterson finally bent over, dropping the sword, still panting from the
slaughter. He was completely covered in blood now. He had some of it in his
eyes even. He knelt at the base of the statue tracing his fingers around the
letters VERITAS, tears streaming down his face.

“I love you, my dearest Samara my
sweet little girl,” he said, shaking all over.

He tried composing himself before
reaching into his bag for the paper and pen. He started to write:

Sweets, I love you more than I have
words to express. Don’t be afraid. We will see each other again soon. Right now
I am trapped in an impossible situation, but soon I will be able to come to
you. I love you

He tried wiping the blood from the page, but only smeared
more. He had to get the letter to her as quickly as possible. He pulled another
page from his bag and started writing:

Jacob, I need to send
a letter. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you to do. I mean it this time.
Please get here as quickly as you can. It’s Samara, it’s her only chance.

Chapter XIX

Walking up the front steps to his house Downy could see the
bucket, some water and foam still inside from when he and Naomi had last washed
the car together. She had laughed at the care he took, since the car was such a
relic. Finally, she had simply dumped the bucket over him and at the end on to
the both of them. Her tiny, thin t-shirt was soaked through so thoroughly that
things had turned very playful, ending in the garage with the door only half
closed. He thought of her pants halfway off, one leg at the ankle. The bucket
looked old and sad to him now. He’d remembered throwing the bucket out he
thought. He opened the front door and could see a bottle of his best scotch
sitting on the table, the lid off. He had not left it there. Had the cops
raided his liquor cabinet too? He walked over to the table and could see a note
under the bottle. The writing was instantly familiar. Charlie’s.

I had no choice but to
do this. Forgive me.

Jesus,
he thought.
Had Taro been right? Taro had predicted he would see Charlie again. Was this
what he meant? It was almost impossible for Downy to imagine his best friend
capable of such a horrific crime. But it was something else about Taro that
troubled him even more. Taro didn’t act like a man guilty of murder. He was
strangely dispossessed of anxiety in fact. Then again, maybe that’s exactly how
a killer might behave. A sociopath. He’d drugged him after all. That was the
only rational explanation to all this. He looked anxiously around the room.
Police tape was still draped across the entrance to the ground floor guestroom
where Samara had--he couldn’t bear to think of it. He walked to the back patio
taking in the view of the horizon. The gray clouds sped past revealing only
flashes of blue sky above.

He collapsed into the chair and let
out a long sigh. He thought of getting up for a drink, but it felt too good
having his eyes closed. The cool breeze had never felt so much like freedom and
he breathed it in deeply. There were cops across the street watching the house,
so he felt free to doze, to rest finally. He closed his eyes slowly and
awakened in the same room where he had last dreamed of Samara. He could smell
amber in the air. The high priest was bent over a pool of water washing his
hands now. His back was turned to Downy, who knew he was only dreaming and so
floated across the room to get a closer look. The man suddenly turned to him.
His face was painted red. He smiled a toothy, malevolent grin.

“What is this place?” he heard
himself asking.

He looked into the darkness across
the room, where he could see men in chains on the floor writhing in agony.

“She is there,” the man said
pointing at a statue. Blood raced down the face of the stone effigy of a
beautiful young woman. It was Samara’s face.

“Wake up, dear boy. Wake up,” he
heard a voice repeating in his ear.

He sprung up and sitting over him
stood Charlie. It was now nearly dark outside, so he must have been sleeping
for hours.

“Jesus Charlie, how did you get
in?!”
“I have been forced to come. Don’t worry, the police saw nothing. It’s the
travel

 
with Taro that
has you so fatigued, dear boy. You needn’t bother explaining to the cops.
You’ll go straight to the loony bin.”

Downy stumbled to his feet.

“Did you write that note on the
table?”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it at
all or that I’d see you again, so to be sure I, I left it.”

“What do you have no choice about?”

“The Samara you had here in your
home was not my daughter, Noah,” he said soberly. Not really. We’re all trying
to get back to the point of origin you see, but it’s never ending. A fucking
box within a box within a box. He always outthinks us.” Charlie hung his head
looking defeated.

“Taro?”

“Yes, Taro. That’s not his real
name of course. He borrowed that moniker from an old book. He will come soon to
tell you the truth. His truth.

“Why does he think you killed
Samara, Charlie?”

“I did. I did it to free her, I
swear. There is no life after the Vestals appear, only a long, pointless chase
through hell. It ends in darkness, bitter suffering.”

“You killed Samara, Charlie?

Patterson stared forward and one of
his hands began to tremor uncontrollably.

“I drugged her first, to sleep.
Then I suffocated her with a pillow. It was a mercy killing. I had to use what
was available. I had no idea the police would use it to pin it on you. The
cutting was after the fact, not my doing. Taro probably did it to lead them
astray; he planned to frame you all along, I’m sure. He’s cunning, so very
cunning.”

Downy stood up from his chair
back-pedaling.

“Then why did he help me get out?”

“I want to tell you how it started.
It’s still unbelievable to me. Tell me dear boy, what man of such wealth and
power guards his own treasure like a fucking dragon? I never imagined he was on
to me.”

“Who is he?”

“Noah, do you remember Old
Professor Blythe?”

“Hal Blythe, of course?”

“Ah, but you only knew him as an
old man, I forget. He was a truly remarkable teacher once. I saw him while he
was still in his prime giving a lecture on Rome that was the most riveting
thing I’ve ever witnessed. I sometimes think my whole career started then, that
very day. He talked of Rome as if he were describing a place he had visited on
some idyllic vacation, like he had hovered over her in a dream. It was the most
sublime mediation on any subject I had ever experienced. He talked of the
streets, piss pots flying out the windows, the smell of the alleys, food
cooking, people running from place to place. The grind of life, so familiar to
our own. He took us to the temples, where he described their already ancient
rituals, the sublimation, the mass convocation with the gods, some of whom even
walked amongst them from time to time. You might meet Hera herself in a tavern
and be seduced some starry evening. Your offspring could claim divine heritage.
The gods and goddesses were amongst them, not above them, not distant.: their
lush gardens, still wild really. The young servant girls and boys in their
dressing gowns, covered in jewels, the great men of importance at the fountain
talking of business, politics, of philosophy. A man might have his dinner, put
his wife happily off to bed, and then take his pleasure in the baths with the
slave girls or boys if he wished. He’d invite a friend over to sell a scheme or
two. As evening came the night sky was as a sea you might fall into. The
majesty of it utterly escapes us today. It was the first, vast theater. We
barely bother looking up now.”

“Why are you telling me this
Charlie?”

“Because I could never believe he
hadn’t actually been there. And I was right.”

Patterson snatched at his
spectacles wiping tears from his face.

“Not a person in the room at that
lecture could speak when he finished. Few of us even left our seats. We erupted
in frenzied applause after. It was like a baptism. That one spark has stayed
with me all these years, so when Jacob told me he’d been using the pond
secretly, I knew it was wrong, but what he offered I simply couldn’t refuse.”

“What did he offer you?”

“My heart’s greatest hope--to see
it. Isn’t that the lure for us all, Noah, the pull of the past?”

Patterson’s look became one of
bewilderment. He sighed like a child.

 
“So he took me to the very doorsteps of
the men I had held in my heart as heroes since I was a boy.”

“To Rome?”

“Yes, at first we were only spies.
Noah, it was the greatest adventure I have ever taken, please understand. It
was as if I had been reborn. I was an old man on one final joyride, the
ultimate vacation. I can’t explain how many ways my heart broke in the bliss of
it. I was so alive there. I was amongst brethren for the first time in my life.
Except for you of course dear boy,” he said grabbing his arm affectionately.
Patterson’s eyes swelled with tears.

“What happened?”

“We wanted to bring back some of
what we saw. I wanted you, Samara, everyone to see these precious things, to
taste them.” Charlie held up his hands as if to hold something invisible.

“Taro says you stole from him,
Charlie.” Downy went suddenly silent, realizing what Charlie actually meant.
“Taro is from there, from Rome, from the past?”

“He will come to you tomorrow and I
have agreed to prepare you for him.”

“For what?”

“For what he calls ‘The great
interview’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow you will meet with Gaius
Julius Caesar my friend, in the flesh.”

Downy slapped his hands against
knees, letting out sardonic yelp.

“Charlie, that’s insane.”

An unexpected noise moved from
behind them.

“I’ll say.”

They both heard a click.

“Stay right where you are, Mr.
Patterson.”

Detective Sullivan moved slowly
around to block the sliding door, pointing a revolver at Patterson. “This is
Patterson right? You can confirm an ID for me, Professor Downy?”

“You tricked me, you staked this
out?”

“I had a feeling your emotions
might keep you from seeing clearly is all. Nothing personal, ok?”

Patterson looked at Downy
imploringly. “You can’t let him take me, Noah. Things will be much, much
worse.”

“You know, Mr. Patterson, I’ve
never heard a defense quite like yours. So, it was basically your daughter’s
stunt double you murdered, not her, something like that?”

“Gentlemen, I beg you, I simply
cannot be apprehended this night.” Patterson looked at Downy again and
switching to Latin spoke slowly.
“Serva te constituam Gaius
cost
.”

Then
Patterson leapt over the edge of the balcony into the darkness below.

 
Downy screamed “No!” while both men
watched him plummet silently down to the distant trees below. It looked much
too far to survive. Sullivan grabbed his radio and called for help from the
cops out front.

“Stay here,
don’t move and don’t go anywhere,” he said locking eyes with Downy. He nodded
his head in silent agreement, staring out onto the darkening horizon, but could
see nothing, absolutely nothing.