Saboteur: A Novel (25 page)

Chapter XX

When the girl awoke she realized she
was no longer in her bed. Her body was stiff and bruised, but she was breathing
normally again. She thought she could sit up now, at least without fainting.
She’d only just lay down to sleep she remembered, but couldn’t because of the
noises from the room above. Noah was upstairs with Naomi. Her reaction had
confused her. She was both excited and angry at the same time, thinking about
the two of them up there alone. Then she heard a man’s voice in a whisper.

“Danny, Danny
Flem, Danny Fleming,” he repeated.

“Your name is
Danny Fleming,” she whispered back.

There was a
long pause.

The man’s
voice came again, now in a whimper. “I’m a football player. I have a wife named
Tara Fleming and two kids: Jeremiah and Tommy Fleming.” The man sounded deeply
shaken.

“Ok, ok, how
did you get here?”

“I can’t
remember. I’m losing my memories, but I know I live at 110 W. Lewis St, San
Diego CA 921….9211.” He sobbed in the darkness.

 
Then she heard another voice louder and gruffer
over his.

“He’s a cop,
he’s been down here ten years. Who are you?”

She paused
before speaking. It could be a trap she realized.

“I can’t
remember,” she said shakily.

“I haven’t
heard you before, they just put you in?”

“I think so,”
she replied.

“But you
don’t remember your name?”

There was
another long pause.

“My name’s
Tackett; I’m a cop too. Look, we gotta trust each other if we’re gonna get out
of here, ok? You need to tell me who you are and how you got down here.”

She was too frightened
to hold back any longer. “My name is Samara, Samara Lee Patterson,” she said in
a tense whisper.

“Is that so?”
the man replied. Now he sounded like the suspicious one.

“Yes, I’m
Samara Patterson.”

“Is your
father by chance named Charles, Professor Charles Patterson?”

“Yes, yes he
is. How did you know that?”

“Oh nothing,
it’s just that I investigated your murder recently.”

“My murder
what do you mean my murder? I was asleep, or passed out I think, that’s all I
can remem--”

“Yeah, but I
saw your dead body with my own eyes, you were ID’ d by several friends and
relatives in fact.”

“What, that’s
crazy?”

“Is it? Come
on, who are you really?”

“I am telling
you, I am Samara Lee Patterson and I am very much alive.”

 
It seemed like the man might not answer
back.

“Let’s
pretend that’s true. Any idea who took you, Miss Samara Patterson?”

“No, not
really. Everyone I’ve seen, their faces are covered, hidden. I was with friends
at their house, we’d been drinking. I passed out I think. What do you know
about my father?”

“Nothing
much, he died suspiciously.”

“Yes, it was
so strange, the note. You’re a cop?”

“Yes, my
partner was investigating your--is investigating your case.”

The other
voice whispered frantically in the darkness.

 
“I’ve never heard anyone come back. My
name is Danny Fleming and I’ve never heard anyone come back, after they take
them away they never come back.” He sounded blank and confused.

“Can we get
out of here?”

“Yeah sure,
the doors are open now.”

The girl
looked at the door, which was slightly ajar, noticing for the first time.

“We can escape then?”

“Maybe we’re
gonna find we’re in a bigger cage is all. I don’t think it was left open
accidentally.”

“But we can’t
just stay down here either in the dark, we’ll end up--”

“Then we do
it together.”

“Ok.”

Chapter XXI

“Could someone remove that goddamn
tape please,” Sullivan said pointing to the black suited agents. “I’m sorry you
had to come home to that.”

“It’s ok.”

“So, did you have
any indication before his disappearance that Charlie Patterson was having
mental or emotional problems?”

He thought of
the picture of Freud above their table at Woody’s. “No, none.”

“Any idea
where he would go? Did he give any indication?”

“He’s been away
so long it’s hard to imagine.” Downy sipped at the cup of tea the officers had
put in front of him.

“The problem
is of course we’ve lost our only bargaining chip. Any guess why he is treating
this laurel as authentic?”

“You heard
what he said. My friend is clearly quite ill.”

In his mind
though, flashed images of the girls from Taro’s place. He could hear them still
whispering in his ear and he felt a sudden urge for the bitterness of the tea.
The accompanying wave in his stomach gnarled in a knot and he felt another
tremor of craving for it, for the drug. Sullivan nodded silently.

“Who is this
Taro he keeps referring to? Excuse me, but are you feeling ok professor?”

Downy waived
his hand dismissively.

“It’s a
student of mine actually, just a nutty guy who was trying to be supportive
during all of this.”

“Do you know
his full name by chance?”

“No, he is a
new student really, he was in my course for only a few weeks, but he should be
on my roster. My secretary--”

“And
Patterson thinks he’s a dead Roman emperor, something like that?”

He shrugged.
“By the looks of it.”

“What was it
he said before he jumped? It sounded like a foreign language, what was it?
Italian?”

“It doesn’t
make any sense. He said to ‘keep my appointment’ or something like that, it was
Latin actually.”

“Well, we’re
combing the canyons and neighborhoods, we’ll find him. In the meantime, I need
you to stay put. Officers will be here, just outside until we do.”

Sullivan rose to leave.

“I’m sorry
about your friend, the detective. What was his name?”

“Tackett.”
Sullivan’s stare hardened and he squinted his eyes ever so slightly.

Jesus, he was
doing it again. He couldn’t lie to the son of a bitch about anything.

“You know
Profess--”

He smiled sympathetically
seeming to ignore the thought. “Get some rest and I will notify you as soon as
we find him.”

Downy waited
until the door finally closed before falling onto the couch, exhausted. It was
true then. Charlie had murdered Samara. My God. He gritted his teeth thinking
of it and ran his hands back and forth violently across his face. He wanted a
drink immediately. He thought of Taro. Charlie’s claim. Julius Fucking Caesar.
He was supposed to believe that? He poured shakily into the glass before turning
up the entire bottle of scotch. The overflow finally broke his lips from the
seal and the alcohol spewed violently out onto the floor. He could remember the
lines now from the actors in the courtyard. It
was
Shakespeare and it
was
Julius Caesar
speaking:

I am as fixed as the North Star

Of course, it was from the speech
before his assassination, Shakespeare’s version, when Senators had feigned to
beg forgiveness for their kin. They had lured him to his murder on their knees
begging for pardon. Cowards. He and Charlie had always shared that sentiment.
The speech was the same elevated style, formal. They sounded like words that
could have fallen right out of Taro’s mouth in fact. He paced now wondering if
Taro would actually show up for the laurel, for their meeting. How would he
react when he found out he didn’t have it anymore? Clearly it was the reason
Charlie had come, to take it before Taro could. Could his best friend really
have murdered his own daughter out of some deranged sense of mercy?

Downy staggered into the bathroom,
catching his reflection the mirror. His face was warm and flush and his skin
looked unusually red. Taro had called it “a lesser side effect of using the
pond.” He could smell himself as well, a major side-effect Taro had called it.
His pupils suddenly grew large and black in anticipation. He reached
desperately into his pocket for the pill, throwing it in his mouth. Then he
turned up the last of the scotch before falling into the fetal position on the
floor, his head sliding against the plaster. He saw Taro’s face as he faded,
painted blue, the distinctive scar running down his neck, a “gift from the war”
he had called it. His gleaming black eyes simmered as he stood over the
twitching body of the sacrificed bull. It
was
Taro he had seen in the dream. He was the priest with the painted face. The
Pontifex Maximus. Samara was his sacrifice.

Chapter XXII

Sullivan sat in the darkness of the surveillance room eyeing
the black and white video of the hallway outside the bathroom from the night
before. He’d watched an hour’s worth of footage already and nothing. Rodriguez
suddenly appeared opening the door.

“I can find absolutely nothing on
this Taro from the college. I called and they say there is no record of any
such person in Downy’s classes. I did Google the name though and something
interesting came up. I wouldn’t have even noticed except for what you said
about Patterson’s delusion that he’s a time traveler.”

“What did you find?”

“Well, the very first piece of
fiction ever written about the idea of time travel was a very old Japanese
story, even before ‘The Time Machine’ and all that shit. Guess who wrote it?”

“A guy named Taro?”

“You got it.”

“Maybe Patterson has been reading a
little more than is good for him.”

“Let me ask you something, man.”

“Shoot.”

“That balcony.”

“I know.”

“It’s forty, fifty feet at least. I
only know one kind of person who can make a leap like that and still jump up
and run--a crack head.”

“It would explain the delusions.”

“Yeah and another thing is that I been
workin narcotics for sixteen years. You develop an eye. That Professor Downy
looked high as shit to me. Did you see his pupils?”

“Yeah, but that’s impossible, I was
on him the whole way from the station to his house. I’d have noticed if he took
anything--I think.”

“Ok, whatever you say.”

He seemed to reconsider. “I guess
it is possible someone gave him something inside.”

“What you looking for there?”

“Oh nothing, just a weird thing that
happened. I thought I heard something in the bathroom the other night, but when
I checked there was no one there.”

“Probably just an echo, you know
rectal.” She burst into laughter.

“You’re disgusting, get out. Let me
know if they find Patterson, ok?”

He felt his phone vibrating in his
pocket and struggled in the darkness to get it.

It was Tina. Finally.

Now I know why you aren’t married. 6 am.
Really?

Ah God,
Sullivan
thought. She really was too young to understand a grown up schedule.

Another message followed with a beep.

I went ahead and replayed our night while I
touched myself…since I was up…

He smiled. Maybe he could imagine such a relationship after
all. If it was going to be anything lasting it needed to be exciting at least.
Tina seemed more than capable so far. He swiveled in his chair and almost
didn’t notice the door to the bathroom slowly opening on the screen in front of
him. He lurched in his chair, almost falling, and hit the rewind button. There,
sure enough, on the screen, exiting only minutes before Sullivan had gone in
was a man, a man in a tourist hat. The hat was pulled down so that his face was
mostly hidden.

“Jesus fuck!” he shouted.

He rewound the tape frantically,
but there was no sign of anyone going in, no look at his face. He must have
already been waiting inside much earlier, waiting. He leapt from his seat and
ran to get the Chief and Rodriguez. They had their mole. But what did the note
etched on the wall mean? His mind raced at the possibilities. Downy was
certainly lying about forgetting Tackett’s name and probably more. Was he
involved after all? He’d practically written his own ticket out of jail, the
son of a bitch. He dialed his phone as he ran.

“Yeah, you guys still at Downy’s
place? Go knock on the door and call me straight back. I want one person in the
house at all times. He takes a piss I want someone outside the door listening.”

Chapter XXIII

Downy awoke and could feel the ache in his neck already. His
face was stuck awkwardly against the plaster wall and he had to peel it away
before he could even stand up. The drug had given him a long sleep. The
skylight suggested it was early morning and the birds were already cackling
away above him. He pulled himself slowly to his feet, focusing on the empty
bottle on the floor. He’d downed a dangerous amount and yet he felt no hangover
whatsoever, just as Taro had said. The drug had simply erased it. The color in
his face had calmed a bit as well. The smell hadn’t gone yet; he’d need a bath
for that. He splashed some cold water and took a towel out into the main room.
He walked to the window, but couldn’t spot the undercover car anywhere. Jesus,
they were probably out getting breakfast. Some protection. He prayed his wife
was getting better. He had to call her of course. As he turned to sit down he
nearly fell to the ground. His antique chair had been moved. As he surveyed the
room he could see all of the furniture was missing, save for two chairs, which
he could see sitting out alone on the balcony. Had the police taken everything?
He punched his contacts for Detective Sullivan’s number and hit call. The line
dialed but then a recording answered saying the number was ‘no longer in
service.’

“You won’t be able to contact them
anymore.”

“Jesus,” Downy leapt at the sudden
voice from behind him. It was Taro. “How did you get in my house?”

“Let’s stop playing pretend, ok
professor? The hour is late. The Ides are upon us I’m afraid. You can’t
possibly doubt the veracity of my claims any longer. Your own dear Dr.
Patterson told you who I am. Let’s be on authentic terms with one another,
shall we?”

“You can’t be Julius Caesar man,
that’s crazy.”

“You’re right, no one calls me
that. We Romans prefer our first names just as you do. Call me Gaius, please. I
am here to grant you something I have given no one else: a chance at the truth.
I want to go on the record before I return.”

“What record?”

“I told you we’re both about to be
very famous, amongst a select group of people at least. Our audience is about
to grow much, much larger. I have selected you as my own personal biographer,
because, as I sat listening to your lectures over the years, I have finally
realized you know me better than anyone. You truly understand me I think. It’s
incredibly flattering.”

“Wait, what do you mean over the
years?”

“Oh yes. The great thing about your
popularity professor is that one can come and go in your classes almost
unnoticed. I had to eventually cover up a bit. That hat is just the worst, yes?
Running through time you leave a trail of course. It’s exhilarating to say the
very least and it provides a certain kind of perspective. You can see much
others cannot. These Vestals think they can fix the problem, but it is in fact
only I who can. And that’s what I want to tell you about, it’s what I need you
to explain to the world for me, so that when I’m gone--”

Downy walked again to the window,
peering out nervously. “So you have been stalking me all along?”

“In a manner I suppose, admiringly
of course.”

“Where the hell are the cops?”

“We’re a million miles from all
that now. No police, no vestals, no ghosts, just you and Gaius Julius Caesar
for a once in a lifetime conversation. Tell me, are you up for it? It would
seem to me the crowning achievement to a career like yours, if you’ll pardon a
bad pun.” Taro leapt to his feet, suddenly seeming like a giddy child. “You
just press the button there according to the man at the shop.”

He flicked the device at Downy, who
caught the tiny voice recorder in the air. Taro walked out to the front balcony
silently. Downy followed him slowly, sitting down in the chair opposite.

“You said ‘after you’re gone’ a
minute ago. Where are you going?”

“Back home where I belong--to the
dust and to the glory I have earned.”

“To die?”

“Ah, what is death? I return to
nature, to my true mother. When I listen to the glorious tragedy of my end, as
you tell it professor, what better could I ask for?”

“I never called your death
glorious. I said it was tragically ironic.”

“Ah, but so much better than simply
wasting away.”

“You’d let yourself be murdered,
why?”

“It is in accord with nature. You
know you should be recording this. People need to understand what I’m doing and
why. It affects all of humanity really.”

He pushed the record button and the
red light flickered on.

“You’re sure it’s working?”

“Yes, it’s on.”

Taro breathed in a deep breath. “I,
Gaius Julius Caesar…”