Saboteur: A Novel (27 page)

Chapter XXVII

Downy awakened suddenly and could instantly feel a warmth
coursing through his veins that he recognized---the drug. He was in a small
chamber now; marble busts adorned the perimeter. Holes cut through the stone
ceiling shone down beams of light on their faces.

“I come to this room often to talk
to them.” Taro said pointing. “That’s old Tarquin himself, second king of Rome.
By the time he was finished even his own mother wanted him dead.”

“Where are we?” Downy said.

His face was burning hot and he
could smell himself now from the travel, like burnt meat that had nearly gone
bad.

“My private study. The Senate
convenes in about an hour. I wish I could take you on the grand tour, but it
will be extremely dangerous for you to stay--especially after. I thought it was
an appropriate way to finish our talk. It’s disappointing, I know. You get to
see a whole ten feet of Rome. Still, she is worth a look,” he said pointing
across the room.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and
approached the bust in the corner.

“Is this?”

“Yes, that is the pharaoh herself.”

“It’s--it’s remarkable.”

“It was a mistake putting her in
the forum. That statue was perceived as a bit of cosmopolitan preening I
suppose, on my part. I only wanted people to see her as I did. I have a
weakness for fine things you see. Those men out there sharpening their knives
say it’s proof of my
true
ambitions.”

“Are they right?”

“I’m no king, Professor Downy. I am
Caesar.”

He traced his fingers around the
soft edges of the young girl’s face. She had named herself Queen of Kings. She
looked like she might speak. Her looks were anything but average.

“She’s younger than I imagined,
much more innocent.”

“She is still but a girl, but a
very clever one. I’ll never see the lines form on her face; she will stay this
way for me always.” He let out a long sigh. “Maybe you should go tell them
they’ll all be dead in a year’s time, those bloody senators out there,” Taro
said. “I’d certainly take one last night with her.”

“You’re really going to do it
then?” Downy said seeming to wake from a trance.

“I want to show you something for
posterity, ok professor? Please report it accurately.” Taro held up his hands
in demonstration. They were steady, calm. “I could kill any ten of those men
out there with my bare hands if I chose. Instead I’ll give them what they want.
If it’s an orgy of blood they demand, they may have it.”

Taro’s eyes seemed seared now in
concentration. His emotions were impossible to read.

“It’s better that you don’t see. I’ll bet you’re only just
now really accepting it, taking me for who I am. It took me years. Being torn
from one’s own time in the way that we have--it’s the most sinister kind of
violence. Today, I shall know even more on that subject though.” Taro walked to
the corner of the room where there hung a purple-bordered cloak. Downy had read
about it a thousand times in his books and here he was staring at it. Caesar
pulled it from the mannequin and swung it casually onto his shoulder.

“I have one final gift to give you, professor.”

Downy suddenly felt like a child.
Here the man was then, great Caesar himself, and he could think of absolutely
nothing to say to him.

“This sword was given me by my
father, whose history you know well. Venus herself bequeathed it to my family
millennia ago. No mortal hand could even forge steel then. It is endowed with
great power--and tragedy it seems.”

Caesar presented the blade to him
silently. It felt remarkably light in his hands.

“Keep it safe for me in my memory
and know that you have made this day possible. In a sense, we have saved the
world together, you and I.” He put his arm to Downy’s shoulder and leaned in to
embrace him. “God’s be with me this day, give me courage.” Caesar kept his head
buried in his sleeve for a moment, then composed himself before speaking. “That
passage leads to a door. Our paths must part here my friend. You cannot travel
where I’m headed, and all my work will be undone if you stay.”

He looked down at the sword in his
hand.

“No one in your own time will ever
believe it’s real, but you will know.”

Downy turned reluctantly to go.

“Run along now, professor. Report
of me truly.”

“Who am I supposed to tell that
would believe any of this?”

“You need not worry about that. It
is the record you have taken that is important.”

Downy walked into the darkness of
the corridor and paused. He had the sword now and Caesar was not armed. His
heart was thumping in his throat. He could not kill him though, even if Charlie
would have. He looked back, but Caesar was already gone. He realized he was in
a sense sealing Samara’s fate too. She would still be gone when he returned. He
quietly opened the door in front of him and could feel the familiar darkness
closing in all around. He was headed home for good he prayed and Caesar,
finally to his fate.

Chapter XXVIII

Sullivan could see nothing in the darkness. He’d been a fool
to take orders from someone he didn’t know. He could hear Tina’s voice.

“The water’s gone, I’m not even
wet.”

A man’s voice came from above in a whisper. “Put on these
clothes. Continue down the passage, you’ll find your friends. I will return as
soon as I’m able.”

“Wait you can’t leave us!”

He heard a door slam behind them.
It smelled musty and strange in the room.

“Here,” he said handing Tina what
amounted to a large swath of cloth with a whole cut out at the top.

They continued cautiously down the
steps until they heard a voice.

“Who’s there?” Sullivan listened
intently. The voice came again. “Who’s there?” It was a gruff, unmistakable
voice. “Tackett is that you?”

“Sullivan?”

“Holy shit man I never thought--”
He threw his arms around Tackett in a giant bear hug.

“I never thought I’d see you again you—you cranky old
bastard.”

“Ok, don’t freak out. I’m happy to
see you too.”

“Where the hell are we?”

Tackett lowered his voice in a
whisper. “I can’t say, but it’s one of the strangest fucking places I’ve ever
seen. Listen, my new roommate over there on the floor is from our gallery of
the dead. She claims she’s none other than Samara Patterson.”

“What?”

“She’s been beaten up pretty badly,
but she seems lucid. Knows lots of details about Charlie Patterson too. It’s
crazy shit, she looks a lot like the girl from our post mortem to me.”

“How?” Sullivan said regaining himself,
“I have to tell you some really bad news.”

“Ok.”

“Tierney, Rodriguez, Sheppard,
they’re all--they’re gone, man. They killed them all.”

“Who killed them?”

“This guy Taro, who brought us,
claims it was the Vestals. Do you know who he means?”

“Taro?”

“Yeah, that’s his name. He says
something called the Vestals are responsible. Any idea who or what he means?”

“None. No one has said a goddamned
word to me since I woke up here. I was taken at gunpoint while you were inside
the station. That’s the last voice I heard. Never saw the guy’s face and he
sure as hell didn’t introduce himself. You’re sure about Bob and Rod--”

“Yeah man I’m sure, they shot them
dead. Ambushed us.”

There was a solemn moment of
silence between the two men.

“How did you two make it?”

“This guy Taro saved us.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“I’m not sure man.”

Sullivan rubbed at his face
furiously.

“It’s just the two of you down here
then?”

“No, get this: Danny Fleming is
over there in the corner cell. I can’t get him to talk to us directly, but when
he speaks he repeats his badge number, address, names of his kids. He’s been
down here for years I think, since he disappeared.”

“Fleming is alive?”

“How’d she get dragged into this
mess?” Tackett said pointing to Tina, sounding disappointed. She ran to him
finally for a consoling hug.

“She is attracted to deeply stupid
men,” Sullivan said flatly. “I brought her. I thought it was the only way to
protect her. This thing is big man. These people are seriously cold blooded and
calculating. They fucking set us up. Nobody had a chance. We were each lured
there under some pretext I’m guessing. They must have been planning it all
along.”

“Which begs the question of why
we’re
still here.”

 
“This Taro says we’re under his
protection.”

“I feel more like we’re chess
pieces.”

“Chess pieces for what?”

The three of them stood together in
complete silence.

“Come on, let me introduce you to
the dead girl.”

Chapter XXIX

Sullivan couldn’t believe his eyes. If it was not Samara
Patterson it had to be her twin. The girl shuffled in her sleep. Her eyes
fluttered, but then she fell silent again.

Tackett whispered, “She’s been
drugged I think. She’s real weak, she falls in and out.”

“How do you think she got here?”

“How did any of us? What kind of
name is Taro anyway?” Tackett said shaking his head.

“It’s a pseudonym I’m pretty sure.
It’s taken from an old story about time travel, or so Rodriguez--”

“It’s Urashima Taro.” The girls
voice startled everyone. She looked up groggily from her sleep. It’s a story
about a man who falls asleep fishing one day and wakes up in the distant
future. It was one of my father’s favorites.”

Sullivan leaned in to get a closer
look at the girl. The hairs at the back of his neck tingled.

“My partner here says you think you
are Samara Patterson.”

“I am Samara Patterson. Who are
you?”

“I’m Nick Sullivan, a detective. I
investigated your murder--I saw your--”

“You’re both convinced that was me,
aren’t you?”

“I’m trained to pay attention to
faces and--”

“So how does it feel talking to a corpse
then?”

The two men looked at one another
nodding their heads, seeming to agree it was impossible both things could be
true.

“Can I see your tattoo?”

The girl leaned forward with her
shoulder revealing the Latin Script.
Veritas
.
Tina suddenly came forward and put a hand to the girls face.

“That’s a bad bruise. Are you ok?”

Sullivan and Tackett realized they
hadn’t been very comforting.

“Do you have any idea how you got
down here?” Sullivan said adding a hand to her shoulder, remembering the girl
must be frightened out of her wits.

“She came with me.” An outline of a
man’s shadow now stood at the bottom step.

Taro stepped from the darkness and lit a small torch. “I’ve
brought each of you here to protect you, but now we must depart. This location
has been compromised.”

“Why the hell should we go anywhere
with you,” Tackett said walking menacingly toward Taro.

“You can stay if you insist, but
you’ll be dead by supper. The Vestals are now aware of this place.”

“What the fuck is he talking
about?”

“You know Detective
Tackett,
you really are quite the blunt instrument. At one
point I considered not saving you at all actually. Show me some gratitude and
do as I ask and you may yet live awhile longer.”

“Where do you plan to take us?”

“There’s a hidden door at the top
of those stairs. Once through, I need to entrust your safety to a dear friend.
He will watch over you until my mission is complete.”

“What mission?”

“My murder has been planned for
this day. I must be there to face my assailants. That is enough for you to
know.” Taro started up the stairs and each of them looked to the other as if
for a confirmation.

“Come on” Sullivan said, “If he
wanted to kill us he’s had plenty of chances.”

***

The group followed Taro to the door
and walked through the darkness emerging inexplicably onto a crowded street
corner. They stood in a tiny alley perplexed at the noise, which surrounded
them and the mob of people, all dressed in robes exactly like the ones Taro had
given them. Taro led the way through the crowd and turned back to them,
beckoning them to follow. There was a roar coming from a large crowd nearby.

“Don’t get lost or you’ll be lost
forever!” he shouted. “It’s a mean city!”

“Where the hell are we going?” Tina
said shouting above the fracas?” but no one could hear her.

Soon the unruly mass of people had
enveloped them and they could only see the back of Taro’s head. He turned,
stopping the whole wave of them, creating a tiny lane for them to catch up. The
crowd seemed to be following him, but some clamored over the others nearly
sweeping them up in the faceless shuffle. The smell of the hoard of people was
overwhelming. Taro turned and pointed at an old man who was struggling to get
through.

“Artemidorus! These are friends of mine
from far, far away. I wonder if you’d tend to them until after my meeting.”

“Gaius, I have something for you.
You must read it immediately!”

The crowd was circling now and it
was difficult to hear what Taro was saying. Soldiers now appeared clearing away
the crowd, which was chanting in unison, some on their knees at Taro’s feet.

“Artemidorus, be of good cheer. I
shall tend to your words later, I promise. Take care of my friends please, old
friend.”

“Caesar, please, you must listen;
you must re--”

But it was too late. The throng had
pushed him past and he could no longer hear them.

The crowd was now in a near frenzy
as he ascended the steps. Perched on top was an old woman covered in filth.

“I know you, don’t I?” he said.”

She smiled a wicked, toothless grin
and stood up at the base of a statue of Pompey the Great. Her face was covered
in grime and when she grinned her mouth twisted into a horrid snarl. Seeing
that Caesar had stopped to listen, the crowd drew together in a tense hush.

“Beware this day mighty one as it
has been foretold by the Sibyl’s themselves. Beware the Ides of March.”

Caesar smiled back to her. “I know
you from the river, don’t I?”

“I know you by the stench of fresh
death,
dictatore
,” she said hissing
through clenched teeth. “I know what ya done.”

“We shall see,” he said almost
demurely.

“Ey, we will see, the day is not
yet done, great one.”

“Indeed it has barely begun, old
woman,” he said turning, and with him the crowd once more swept him up.

 
Caesar flung his robes over one shoulder
and leapt up into the causeway, just out of their reach. The crowd broke into
great cheers again and he leaned in to touch hands with some of them. He looked
up into the small rotunda of the senate house in wonder at the freshly painted
image of the god Jupiter throwing a javelin into a raincloud. He’d commissioned
it himself. At the top of the stairs, waiting for him was his protégé, Brutus.
He smiled close-mouthed as Caesar approached. His skin looked drawn and pasty.
Sweat poured from his brow.

“Sir, we’re so glad you decided to
come. There are many inside who wish to honor you waiting patiently. Your great
deeds seem only to multiply their affections.”

“Dear boy,” Caesar said putting his
hands on his shoulders, “Let me look on you. Are you unwell?”

Brutus sputtered to speak,
diverting his eyes to the ground before a man suddenly appeared interrupting
them.

“We must begin; many are growing
impatient. It’s poor form to make them wait.”

“Yes, yes by all means let’s begin
then,” he said pushing Brutus up the stairs.

The man who had interrupted them
threw an angry side-glance at Brutus, who could now barely walk it seemed.

“Your condition worsens still,
Brutus. I fear you’ve caught the death.”

“No, sir only too much wine at
dinner.”

They walked into the great hall
together amongst a clamor and Caesar pointed to the atrium.

“Look there at my new décor,
Brutus. What do you think? I chose crimson so as not to be misinterpreted in
the kingly purple.”

Great drapes hung now throughout
the hall, enclosing the space in flowing waves of scarlet. The beams of sun
which tunneled through made the room seem to sway, almost to breathe.

“I was here only yesterday. You
have put a rush on the job, Caesar.”

“What do you think, does it not add
to the
dramatis
of the place?”

“Yes, of course. They’re very
elegant sir, very.”

“Thank you, my son. You know I have
always considered you such.”

Brutus’s hand began to shake almost
uncontrollably and he thrust it inside his robe to conceal it.

The senators now moved as a throng toward
them.

“Go stand over there now, my boy. I
see I have petitioners before me.”

Brutus fell to the back of the
crowd now. It was Casca who approached first. Caesar already knew what he
wanted. The release of his brother who had fought against Caesar in the war,
not once but twice pardoned already. He would get no reprieve now or ever.
Casca fell to one knee reaching for Caesar’s robe, the sign to begin the
attack, but as he did Caesar stepped back suddenly and spoke in a commanding
voice.

“I lay a great plague on your
houses villains and bring down the slaughter of the very gods upon you!”

The sound of a mighty war horn
bellowed throughout the hall and all turned in terror at the noise, some
dropping to their knees. Then, Caesar pulled a sword from beneath his robes.

“Kill every bloody last one of
them!”

The drapes suddenly came down all
around them, revealing Caesar’s Spanish guard, hidden in the wings, a hundred
strong. They moved in one momentous surge into the crowd of terrified senators,
who now had nowhere to flee. Caesar stood with his sword in the air crying out.
He thought he could hear Professor Downy’s crazy music blasting in his ear.
Then he started his own cutting, first with Casca.

“Yes,” he clamored, “die on your
knees like a squealing pig, good Casca.” Caesar crouched low and swung upward
for leverage. Casca’s head flew off his body like a cork popping from a bottle.
“Let them drown in their own cowardly blood,” he shouted.

But Caesar was looking for just one
man--his beloved Brutus. His soldiers knew to leave him alone. Caesar walked
through the crowd slowly, methodically toward him. Brutus had a dagger in hand,
but it fell uselessly by his side and he dropped to both knees listlessly. A
slow trickle of urine splashed at his feet onto the smooth marbled floor.
Caesar laughed in spite of himself. Brutus seemed to be speaking a prayer
silently.

“Wretched boy, my misplaced
affection.” Caesar dropped his sword and knelt slowly in front of him slipping
both hands around his throat. He mustered all his strength and squeezed until
Brutus eyes nearly gorged from their sockets. Brutus tried to do the same, but
Caesar steered him onto his back, overpowering him.

Caesar whispered into his ear
forcefully.

“Pray to me, boy. I am your God,”
and the two seemed locked in perfect rhythm together. He could not tell how
many seconds had passed. Then he simply let go.

Brutus’s body fell limply to the floor.

The room was growing strangely
quiet now, only the last moans of men being killed slowly could be heard. There
were tiny yelps like those of whimpering children, pleading, followed by the
ghastly rattles of strangulation, a horrible chorus of the dead and dying.
Caesar walked over them in survey of the room, checking for the faces he knew
so well. There was each, as instructed, mortally wounded but not yet dead. They
could look to one another as they perished, so each would know their own
treachery had done them in. Cassius Longinus, who’d begun the conspiracy with
his acid tongue, lay in the room’s corner having nearly escaped. He had been
stabbed in the groin and blood poured from him in a smooth flow, leading down
the steps into the great hall.

“Poisonous Cassius, you served me
once with distinction. How would you have served me this day? As a cold dish I
think, but you first.” He leaned in closely to watch the light of his eyes
slowly flicker out. Caesar’s top lieutenant approached.

“A fair reckoning. All were armed,
as you suspected. Your intelligences serve you well, sir.”

Caesar seemed to awaken as if from
a dream.

“I must go now as planned to the
outer provinces, Labienus, further than I ever have been before. Announce this
treachery and its conclusion. Nothing can be the same now. We are writing a new
history.”

“Sir, if I may ask, what of Cicero?
He is not among them, but surely his hand is in this?”

Caesar seemed to think for a
moment. “Leave him to his books.”

“Spare him, sir? I think it is a
mist— “

“Deliver to him the head of young
Brutus. Tell him to come and collect the rest of those he would deem friends.
We shall never see him again.”

“Yes sir.”

“You are the best of men good
Labienus.”

“Sir? Thank you, sir.”

“Now clear the room for me. I need
a moment alone.”

Caesar could hear the screaming beginning
in the streets outside as the word had already begun to spread. It would be a
night full of terror. He walked to the balcony portico and looked out over his
beloved city. He could see the
subura
,
his old neighborhood, far off in the distance. A sudden dirge of birds bent
their flight, turning west into the blazing sun. Some sixty souls were being
carried away with them. He pulled the piece of parchment from his tunic. The
note from his beloved teacher Artemidorus read:

There will be an
attempt on your life in the senate house this day. All are involved and armed.
You must return home at once.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and gave it a heave off
the portico. He felt a strong urge to sleep in his mother’s house this night,
which was still standing, but there was one final detail yet to be
finished--one final piece of history to be written.