Saboteur: A Novel

by J. Travis Phelps

  “You promised my freedom and to find the people responsible for Samara’s death. What does this have to do with that Taro?”

  “I have already delivered on half of my bargain. You have Samara’s killer. Do to him what justice you see fit.”

  “Charlie, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you awake in prison tomorrow you will be a free man as well.”

  “How?”

  “You’re innocent Noah, as much as I. Your friend, Charlie, not so. I think you’ll come to see that he is guilty of destroying many lives. I offer atonement and a return to the natural order at least. Now, I need you to keep up your end of our bargain as well-- the laurel. It was a gift from those who weep most for my loss, for my memory. The detectives who arrested you have it. Once freed you must demand it back.”

  “Who are you?”

  Taro rose to his feet without speaking. “They will write about our meeting you know, about this meeting. You are living history even as we speak, Professor Downy. Tell me how does that feel?”

  He was speechless. What was he supposed to say?

  “If I know Charlie Patterson as I think I do you will see him again very soon. I would say nothing more to prejudice you against him. The truth is always acceptable to me. I shall let you be the judge. When next we meet I promise to tell you everything he won’t. I’ll answer any questions you wish in fact. My version of history should be told. I want people to understand me, as you seem to. Your place next time though ok, in a couple of days. Please have the laurel. I’ll bring a substantial donation for the university’s loss.”

  “So I will just reappear in prison, poof, like I never left?”

  “Yes, you will. There is one final thing I need to ask of you. The policeman who arrested you, Sullivan, I think he is called, has a partner by the name of Tackett. He’s been captured by the Vestals I’m afraid. I can arrange his safe return, but you must never mention me. If I am judging correctly the police will want your help recovering him. Agree to their terms and once I have the laurel, he’ll be freed. You won’t have to involve yourself any further.”

  Downy nodded his head silently. What is it you want that Charlie won’t give you?”

  “Just my life back.” Taro drew in a deep breath. “You and I must depart now, I’m afraid. The pond, as some call it, is on the ridge just up there,” he said pointing to a jetty of rocky crags behind them. “Come along, my friend. Time really is of the essence.”

  XVI

  Sullivan had parked on the cliffs overlooking the ocean where Tackett had first confided his fears about case 1032 to him. The thought of sleeping alone in Tackett’s house without him had seemed too weird, like an acknowledgement that he wasn’t coming back, so he had shacked up in his car yet again. Another night in the back seat and now it was almost time to head back to the station to release the professor. He grabbed his phone thinking of Tina. She was definitely too young, but she did have a certain spirit about her. He actually liked her rough edges and of course the fact that she was a complete dynamo in bed was icing on the cake. He punched at his phones keyboard:

  Where are you?

  I miss you.

  J

  He hit send before he could take into consideration that it was barely 6 am. Oh well, if they were going to date she would have to get used to crazy hours eventually wouldn’t she.

  He had dreamed about the strange encounter in the bathroom at the station. There had been someone there; he could feel it, and the pencil, the strange message:

  You aren’t where you think you are.

  It was like the story he’d been reading on account of Tierney’s crack about his poor literary habits. What was it called again? A Study in Scarlet? Sherlock Holmes had had his own cryptic messages to decipher. “RACHE,” in the story, was scrawled on the wall at the crime scene, which was of course German for revenge. He reached into the floorboard and picked up the tattered book. Holmes sat in silhouette against a foggy London street, smoking his famous pipe. He had never realized the world’s most famous detective had been a cokehead. My god was everyone in law enforcement a recovering drug addict? He hadn’t touched the stuff in years thankfully. He was intolerable when he was high anyway, couldn’t stop talking about himself, pacing from room to room, supremely confident of everything, capable of nothing. He’d built a thousand buildings, but never driven a single nail when he was on the powder. It was the only unrealistic part of the story. Arthur Conan Doyle clearly knew fuck all about drug addicts.

  He looked back at his phone. Tina must still be sleeping. Good. He looked out over the water and wondered where Tackett might be. Was he still alive? He decided it was time to ruffle some feathers, English feathers. He found the number for Downy’s agent in London and hit call. It went straight to voicemail.

  “This is Clellon, with Wingate Publishing. Please leave a message.”

  “Yes, it’s Detective Sullivan calling again. It seems there is a bit of a discrepancy from our earlier discussion and I was hoping you could clear it up for us. You can call me at this number…”

  It was afternoon in London, so he would hopefully get the message. Sullivan had a gut feeling he might never hear back from Mr. Clellon Holmes. Guilty people would only talk to you for so long. He had clearly lied about talking to Downy the night of his arrest. Sullivan had checked and according to the cell phone records at least a two-minute call had been placed from Downy to his agent. It suggested that the agent had something to hide. He pulled his car into gear and headed toward the station. It was time to set an innocent man free and hopefully get his partner back in the process.

  ***

  Sullivan had to make his way through a crowd of media to get to the front doors of the station where he saw Mark sitting at his usual perch at the front desk. He looked tired, but greeted Sullivan warmly.

  “Our man is having his breakfast and then he’s going to be released I hear?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Looks like the vultures already got wind of it too.”

  He had called them actually, an anonymous tipster. It was the only way to guarantee enough coverage. He hoped whoever had Tackett would see it.

  “Crazy. I thought for sure--”

  “Yeah, so did we. Everything quiet here last night?”

  “Yeah, sure. We did have a power outage actually, but thankfully all those cells down there are on a backup generator. They never knew a thing, all accounted for at morning rounds.”

  “Ok,” Sullivan said. “Can I get a transfer to a conference room with Professor Downy? We won’t need an escort, but I’m hoping to have a sit down. You can do all his paperwork before we go.”

  “I’ll enter it here. I think Chief Tierney is already expecting you two in Room 714.”

  “Hey Mark, one more thing: It’s kind of a favor. Could you send me last night’s surveillance video of the cameras on this floor, the ones near the bathroom over there?”

  “Yeah, uhm, everything ok?”

  “Probably nothing, but I saw something--I can’t--I’d just like to take a look.”

  “Any particular window of time or do you want the whole day?”

  “Say from 9 pm to midnight, basically when I left last night.”

  “I’ll email them as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Hey, Downy’s on his way up if you just want to wait.”

  He heard the buzzer door opening in the corridor and out of it emerged Noah Downy still in the custody of the guard from the previous night. He whispered something to the guard whose expression remained stiff, unchanged. He turned for him to remove his cuffs and then gave him a knowing grin as he walked toward Sullivan. Downy looked incredibly fit and well for a man just emerging from one of the deepest, darkest holes in the whole city. He must not have showered either. His face was beet red though and Sullivan wondered if he was about to lay into him.

  “Professor Downy, can I begin with an apology?” Downy’s expression went hard, but
then softened.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I been doin’ this job for many years and you’re the first time I got anything so terribly wrong. I hope someday you can forgive me. It was never personal.”

  There was a long, awkward pause.

  “Somehow, I believe you.”

  Sullivan reached out a hand for a shake and Downy accepted it.

  “You are absolutely free to go, but I wanted to tell you that my partner on this case has disappeared, we think in connection to the murder of your friend. He’s a good man and I would love to find him. I wonder if you’d entertain the possibility that you might be able to help us. I know after all that has happ--”

  Downy interrupted, “Someone killed my best friend’s daughter, and if I can help find who is responsible, count me in.”

  “Thank you, thank you. Come this way, I have a room where we can talk.

  “If it’s all the same, after you, detective.”

  Sullivan smiled, “Yes, of course.”

  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 th
ose 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.”