Saboteur: A Novel

by J. Travis Phelps

  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 o
n 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…”

  Chapter XXIV

  Sullivan sat silently looking at the picture on his phone, reading the numbers again slowly.

  47’58’ 87’: 5:55 10/22/14

  It was clear that the last was a date, today’s date; 5:55 PT was obviously the time. He had mapped the latitude and longitude of the first two numbers and they corresponded with only one location: Chippewa Lake. The very place they’d found Samara Patterson’s body in the water. Some coincidence. The message scrawled on the wall had to be from the people who had Tackett. But what had the rest of it meant? ‘Bring the waitress’ it had said. Could they possibly mean Tina?

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Rodriguez.

  “They’re closing down the search of the neighborhood. No sign of him.”

  “Keep me posted and watch your back, ok? Keep your phone close, just in case.”

  “You bet,” he replied, tossing the phone into the seat.

  It was a bad idea to keep the information he’d discovered to himself, but he felt anyone who knew was probably even in more danger. Whoever had written it had outwitted him and the department at every turn. But why would they ask him to bring Tina unless it was for some kind of collateral, some exchange. Yet, the warning that it was “the only way to save her,” scared him equally. He was risking her safety either way it seemed. His phone buzzed again:

  “Sullivan here.”

  “Sir, I’m really sorry. We only just realized it, but Professor Downy has managed to get out of the house, we don’t know where he is at the moment.”

  “Goddamnit!”

  “Sir, we had every exit and entrance covered, we have no idea h--”

  He pounded his fists hard on the steering wheel. Then he pulled his car into gear and sped out of the station parking lot. He looked at the clock nervously and thought of Tina. He thought of Tackett. What was the point of going to Downy’s house when he wasn’t there anyway? The timing of his escape seemed too much of a coincidence. And besides, he could protect Tina if things went wrong? Maybe it was only a show of good faith they were interested in. Still, the thought of taking her there alone bothered him. How could he do it without telling her? He dialed her number.

  “Hey you.” She answered.

  “Ok, not a lot of time to explain, but let me ask you, have you ever wondered what it might be like to be a cop, an undercover cop?”

  “Ok, is this a role playing thing, dear? Because if it is, let me just say up front, I’m totally into it.”

  “No, this is serious.” he said laughing. “I may need your help actually, and I have to tell you there is some danger involved, but you’ll be safe with me, ok? I promise.”

  He could hear Tina shuffle the phone. “Oh this is for real. Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m in.”

  “It’s probably nothing in fact, but I have to check to see at least. I can pick you up in half an hour. Be ready. I need to be there right on time.”

  “Ahhh God this is awesome! I’ll be ready. Hey, do I get to pack heat?”

  He laughed. “I have enough heat for the both of us.”

  “Yes, you do, detective. I’ll see you soon.”

  He stared into the screen on his phone, looking up to veer around oncoming traffic, then wheeled the car wildly in a U-turn and started back toward the Aero Club. He prayed he wasn’t making yet another mistake.

  Chapter XXV

  “I’d grown so tired you see. Conquering the whole of the known world, you know, it—it well, really takes it out of you,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Your language is just beautiful by the way. I have been practicing it for many years and its variations continue to amaze me.” He leaned in as if to confide something deeply personal. “It is the simplest expression which one can’t forget. You can’t say it any better in Latin or Greek actually,” he said finally leaning back again. “It takes it out of you,” he said slowly accentuating each word. “I am a fan of economy in language, as any successful man must be. Come on professor, you must have at least one question for me. Have I not been an object of your intensive study for many years now? You’ve gotten many things wrong, you know.”

  Downy readjusted himself in his chair. “You say you are Julius Caesar. How did you get here?”

  “I caught a thief in my home. I grabbed him as he fled and then left my world forever.”

  “You mean Charlie Patterson?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “So you came through time with Charlie accidentally?”

  “I no longer believe in accidents, but I don’t think Dr. Patterson imagined me coming along for the ride, any more than I expected to be ripped so violently from my own life. It is violence, you know? He gave me neither remedies to help with the transition, nor apologies for his theft. He left me completely alone, displaced from all I knew, my closest relative dead more than two thousand years.”

  “So how did you survive?”

  “Ther
e was one place known to me that reckoned to always be there, a place where I could find safety even two thousand years from home. The landmarks had changed much, but not entirely. Ancient maps were of great aid to me, once I’d recovered my wits that is, which took many years.”

  “The Gracchi, the monks?”

  “Ah see you really are a clever boy. Most academics I meet are such dullards. Yes, the Gracchi have passed down so much old Roman wealth as to be virtually impregnable to the changes of time. I wonder often of their true origins. They pre-date even my own ancestors. A monumental fee was paid in one of your so-called world wars, for the safety of the monastery. My contributions will carry it well into another two thousand years I suspect.”

  “So that’s where you have been all this time?”

  “Almost 12 years now, by your count. I try not to think on my misfortune, but it’s hard knowing all I’ve left behind. It’s why I am choosing to return, to meet my fate at last.”

  “What stopped you from going sooner?”

  I could continue running from the Vestals and elude them forever probably, through time; it is unimaginably vast—I am tired of the chase.”

  “Who are the Vestals?”

  “They’re hunters. Silly people really, a holdover from my own time. They believe in the purity of the “line” as they call it. They have made a religion out of it almost. Their argument is to do no further harm, to stop the bleeding as it were. How is it you say, ‘to put the genie back in the bottle’? They’ve consecrated me in a sense, to a degree I never thought possible. I represent the original break in the continuity of the timeline; they call me the First Lord or some such nonsense. All my life people have been giving me titles like this. I’ve never had much use for them, but I like the ring of it actually. In that regard at least we agree, but they won’t allow me to return.”