Off to Be the Wizard - 2 - Spell or High Water

by Scott Meyer

  “Hello, Phillip,” the hologram said.

  “Hello, Gwen!” Phillip replied.

  After a pause, Gwen said, “This is a recording. I can’t actually hear you.”

  In spite of himself, Phillip said, “Oh, sorry.”

  After another pause, Gwen said, “Don’t be embarrassed. I hope you’re well.”

  Behind the Fiero, Roy whispered, “Who’s that?”

  Jeff said, “Gwen. Female wizard. She used to live here. She and Martin kinda had a thing.”

  Tyler added, “Martin had most of it. Then she took off for Atlantis.”

  The image of Gwen didn’t show color, but her flared-sleeved, hooded cloak was all too familiar. Beneath it, she wore what appeared to be a lightweight dress and sandals. Gwen’s posture stiffened, as if she were starting into a rehearsed speech, which it immediately became apparent she was.

  “Phillip, as chairman of your colony of time travelers, you are invited attend a summit to be held here, at the sunken city of Atlantis. You will meet with the leaders of all of the other known colonies. Together we will try to create a solid foundation upon which to build our mutual future. The topics of discussion will include chronological pollution, the ethical treatment of non-time travelers, and prevention of the abuse of our shared power. This invitation has been extended to you and a second representative.” Holo-Gwen jerked a thumb over her shoulder, as if indicating something behind her.

  “Specifically, it’s been asked that you bring Martin.” She looked back over her shoulder and smirked at Martin, then turned her attention back to Phillip.

  “This is not a command. This is a request. You may choose to decline this invitation, but you won’t. Regardless of whether you attend or not, you are welcome to keep this bowl as a token of Atlantis’ goodwill. It is made of solid, molecularly pure diamond, the hardest material on earth. It is also dishwasher safe. You can give the disk to Martin. Maybe he can use it as a paperweight or something. When you’re ready to depart, you and Martin are to recite the following phrase in unison: ‘transporto unua Atlantis kunveno,’ at which point you will be transported here, to the sunken city of Atlantis, just in time for the beginning of the summit. You will be here for two weeks. It will be warm. Pack accordingly. Also, know that I’ve managed to get the shell program running here in addition to the system the Atlanteans already had in place, so all of your existing powers will work.”

  Martin leaned to the side to make eye contact with Phillip, who looked just as surprised as he was.

  Holographic Gwen glanced back over her shoulder, to where she assumed Martin would be standing. She said, “That concludes the official message. I’m adding this last part because I know the two of you won’t be satisfied if I don’t.”

  Gwen turned so that both Martin and Phillip could see her in profile. She took a deep breath, put the hood up on her cloak. She looked from side to side in an exaggerated pantomime of fear, then said, “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi; you’re my only hope.” With that, she bent at the waist, mimed putting a card into a slot, then disappeared.

  The glowing disk went dark, wobbled for a second, then fell into the bowl, creating one last ringing noise. The three wizards and one trainee who had been hiding behind the car stood up.

  “So, when do we leave?” Gary asked.

  “You leave immediately,” Phillip said, “and go home. Martin and I will probably leave for Atlantis in a couple of days. We need time to prepare and think things through.”

  Martin nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Gary agreed. “Yeah, that’ll give you time to decide that you have to bring me along.”

  Tyler said, “Gary, give it up. You heard Gwen. They just want Martin and Phillip.”

  “But they’ve gotta take me with them.”

  Jeff asked, “Why is that?”

  Gary was clearly amazed that he had to explain something so obvious.

  “Because,” Gary said, “I really wanna go.” He turned to Phillip. “Please, Phil, please take me with you. I want to see the ladies. I like the ladies.”

  Phillip shook his head. “No way. You’re not coming.”

  “Phillip, that’s not fair,” Gary whined. “Think of the ladies.”

  “I am,” Phillip said. “Guys who act like you’re acting are part of what they created Atlantis to get away from.”

  “And you’re gonna let them get away with that?” Gary’s voice grew louder. He was almost manic. “They’ll have forgotten how to deal with suave guys like me. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel, only instead of fish, it’ll be ladies. And instead of shooting them, I’ll be—”

  “Yes, we know what you think you’ll be doing,” Phillip interrupted.

  “And instead of in a barrel, it’ll be—”

  “Shut up,” Phillip said. “You’re not coming. That’s final.”

  “Fine,” Gary seethed, “I’ll stay here. You two keep all the ladies for yourselves.”

  Roy had been making an effort to listen more than he talked, which doesn’t come naturally when you seem to be older than everyone around you by at least twenty years. Now he couldn’t contain himself. He had to figure something out. He turned to Gary and said, “Say, ‘the ladies’ again.”

  “The ladies.”

  Roy shook his head and repeated. “The ladies.”

  Gary smiled, and repeated, “The ladies.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Like what?”

  Roy said, “It’s like you’re talking in italics.”

  Gary arched an eyebrow. “Italics?”

  7.

  Two kinds of people spend time in police interrogation rooms: cops who have a suspect, and suspects the cops have. As such, interrogation rooms usually contain people who are happy to be there, sitting across a table from people who are unhappy to be there. Today was no exception.

  Agent Miller sat down sullenly, took a moment to scowl at his partner, Agent Murphy, who glanced blearily back at him. Miller turned to the man across the table and growled, “Well, here we are.”

  “Yes,” Jimmy said, smiling broadly. “Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”

  The two agents exchanged a look that was like stepping on a LEGO—quick and unpleasant. Agent Miller adjusted the frilly shade of the oversized decorative table lamp that had been scrounged from somewhere to provide light when the overhead fluorescents mysteriously conked out.

  Agent Miller opened the manila file folder that was sitting on the table and started reading aloud. “James ‘Jimmy’ Sadler. Sixty-two years old. You graduated from Caltech with a solid C average, and got a job at Intel. You came under scrutiny in 1986 when irregularities were found in your personnel file; specifically, you were shown to have been given a promotion that nobody remembered giving you. Shortly after the investigation began you disappeared without a trace. You finally turned up yesterday, here, at the headquarters of the Seattle PD, where you ask to speak to us.”

  Jimmy beamed, and said, “Yes, I wanted—”

  Agent Miller cut him off. “Shuddup, Jimmy. I wasn’t done telling my story. I was gonna say, before you so rudely interrupted me, that the Seattle PD called our office. Our office then had to call us, because we weren’t in our office. Would you like to know where we were, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy said, “Yes,” his smile fading slightly.

  “We were at the airport. You see, we’d just gotten off of a plane. A plane from Seattle. So, instead of going home, like we wanted to, we had to hop right back on a plane.”

  Now, Jimmy did lose his smile, replacing it with a well-practiced look of regret. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hoped to get you before you went back home. I figured you’d be here a few days, investigating.”

  Agent Miller’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Jimmy, do you know who we work for?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Th
e American taxpayers?”

  Miller scowled. “No. Well, yes, in a sense, but in a much more direct sense, we work for the U.S. Treasury Department. Do you know what the U.S. Treasury Department’s job is, Jimmy?”

  “To investigate—”

  Agent Miller cut him off again. “To be tight with money. That’s what the Treasury does. It obsessively tracks every penny of the taxpayers’ money. Do you suppose they feel like spending a lot of money doing it?”

  Jimmy nodded. “No, I suppose—”

  “No, they don’t, Jimmy!” Miller bellowed. “No, they don’t. So, what do you think are the odds of them paying for hotel rooms for Murph and me to use while we stay here in Seattle, investigating, when they could just let the local authorities do it instead while they make Murph and me fly home stacked like cord wood in the coach section of the cheapest flight to L.A.?”

  Miller stood and loomed over Jimmy. “We didn’t have any time to do anything yesterday. We flew to L.A., checked our phone messages. Hung around the airport for two hours, then flew right back here. The only bright point was when we stopped off at that fish market they got here before we went to the airport.”

  “Oh,” Jimmy said brightly, “the one where they throw those great big fish around?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Agent Miller said, wearily.

  “How was it?” Jimmy asked.

  “It was a fish market. You’ve been to a fish market, haven’t you, Jimmy? It was exactly like that, only crowded, and with guys yelling and throwing around a big dead fish. Does that sound like fun, Jimmy? How they ever convinced people that that’s a tourist attraction is beyond me. It’s all a big sham. I’m pretty sure they kept throwing the same fish around no matter what anyone ordered.” Miller sat down in his chair, breathing heavily. He exchanged a look with Agent Murphy, who shrugged. Finally, Agent Miller said, “There was a place that sold tiny little donuts. Those were really good.”

  After a carefully timed silence, Jimmy leaned forward in his seat and said, “Look, gentlemen, I apologize. If I’d realized you’d lose a day of productivity over this, I’d have contacted you faster. That said, you are here now, and we can help each other.”

  Agent Miller snorted. “Jimmy, I can see how we’d be in a position to help you, but how can you possibly help us?”

  Jimmy said, “Yesterday, you tried to apprehend Martin Banks. He got away. I’m betting that in the process he did at least one thing that you cannot explain. Knowing him, probably more than one.”

  The agents made eye contact, then Miller said, “And you’re saying that you have information about Mr. Banks’ whereabouts.”

  “I can’t tell you where Martin is now, but I can tell you where he went, and, more important, I can show you how he went there.”

  Agent Miller hid his excitement, which, to Jimmy, was a more obvious sign of excitement than excitement itself.

  “Okay,” Agent Miller said. “What do you want in return for this information? Immunity?”

  Jimmy said. “I don’t need immunity. I haven’t been charged with anything, and anything I might have done happened thirty years ago. The statute of limitations has to be up by now, if I did anything illegal, which I did not. Even the thing I’m going to show you is not, strictly speaking, illegal.”

  Miller shook his head. “You say you’re gonna show us what the Banks kid did, right? Well, he escaped from police custody after somehow depositing tens of thousands of dollars into his bank account that he didn’t earn. How could he have done any of that legally?”

  Jimmy hadn’t known the particulars of how Martin came to the attention of the authorities. He was amused, but not surprised by what he heard. Jimmy explained, “It’s not illegal because of how Martin got the money.”

  Miller leaned in closer and asked, “How’s that?”

  Jimmy leaned in and quieted his voice as well. “Through means that the lawmakers never thought was possible.”

  “And that is?” Agent Miller prodded.

  “What I will show you.” Jimmy prodded right back.

  “So, what’s in this for you?” Miller asked.

  “The knowledge that I’ve done my civic duty.” Jimmy answered. It was a transparent lie. Jimmy had designed it to be. Men like Agents Miller and Murphy were used to dealing with untrustworthy people. Sincerity would have only confused them. The only way to truly gain their trust was to confirm that he was what they expected: untrustworthy.

  Jimmy let Miller stare him down for several seconds before making a show of squirming a bit, and admitting in a slightly higher-pitched voice, “And I’ll need a few things. A place to stay. Some food. A computer.”

  Miller leaned back and laughed. “Old man, how are we supposed to sell our superiors on that?”

  “Tell them you believe I have information that will help you explain what happened yesterday, and in numerous other unsolved embezzlement and bank fraud cases that have ended in mysterious disappearances over the last three decades.”

  Agent Miller considered this, then said, “Yeah, they might cough up a few bucks if I said that. The problem is, I don’t think I will, because, like you said, I’d have to believe that you have the information you claim, and I haven’t seen anything to convince me of that.”

  “Haven’t you?” Jimmy asked. “Didn’t you notice the big ugly lamp sitting on the table in front of you? Don’t you think it’s odd that the fluorescent lights have stopped working in only this room, or that they continued to not work after the janitor put in new bulbs? Did anybody mention that they had to keep me in an unused office because the electronic locks on the doors of the holding cell wouldn’t work? Or that they couldn’t take my mug shot because the digital camera died?” Jimmy paused for effect, then asked, “Say, have you checked your cell phone messages?”

  Agent Murphy pulled his phone from his pocket, looked at it, pressed a button, then showed the phone to Agent Miller, who said, “Turn it on.”

  Agent Murphy said, “I can’t.”

  Miller and Murphy excused themselves and left the room. Jimmy looked at his reflection in the large mirror that took up most of the interrogation room’s far wall.

  On the other side of the one-way glass, Agent Murphy checked the video camera they had set to record just before having Jimmy brought into the interrogation room.

  “I’ll be darned. It’s dead,” Murphy said.

  “You don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Agent Miller grumbled.

  “Yeah, I kinda do,” Murphy said. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for. If he can explain how the Banks kid got all that money then disappeared into thin air twice, he might be able to help us figure out all the other stuff we can’t explain.”

  Miller sighed. “Murph, just ’cause we can’t explain why your camera isn’t working—”

  “Or Seattle PD’s camera,” Murphy interrupted.

  Miller said, “Yeah—”

  “Or their electronic locks.”

  “Okay—”

  “Or my phone.”

  “Whatever, that—”

  “Or the lights.”

  “Shuddup!” Miller barked, loud enough that Jimmy jumped in the next room. “Just ’cause we can’t explain him doesn’t mean he can explain all the other stuff we can’t.”

  That was the real heart of Agent Miller and Agent Murphy’s problem. There was far too much that they could not explain. When they had officially been made a two-man investigative task force, they had thought it was a promotion, until they came to fully understand their assignment.

  Miller and Murphy were tasked with investigating obvious cases of embezzlement where there was no actual evidence of embezzlement. Any time anyone in the United States turned up with a large sum of cash and the local authorities couldn’t figure out where it came from, Miller and Murphy would be brought in. It was like tryi
ng to catch murderers without ever finding a body.

  They had spent the last several years receiving random calls (from detectives who always sounded delighted to get the case off of their hands), then dropping everything and flying (which cost the Department of the Treasury nothing, because the airlines could deduct the ticket cost from their taxes) coach (because airlines could give free fliers their worst seats and upgrade two paying customers) to wherever there was a lack of evidence for them to collect.

  Miller and Murphy desperately wanted out of the task force, but leaving it would look terrible on their records and would compromise their chances of future promotion. What was worse, every passing day brought them closer to the inevitable moment when they would be removed from the task force involuntarily. Whatever assignment they were given after a solid record of high-profile failure, they were sure it would not be pleasant.

  Miller looked through the one-way glass at the man his partner thought might be the key to their salvation. Jimmy was sitting alone, smiling into the mirror.

  “I don’t trust him,” Miller said.

  “Neither do I,” Murphy agreed. “But I don’t think he’s lying.”

  Miller nodded. “That’s just because he hasn’t really told us anything yet.”

  After several minutes, Agents Miller and Murphy returned to the interrogation room.

  “Okay,” Miller said, “that’s an impressive trick.”