The Caller
Valerie Gaumont
Copyright 2011 by Valerie Gaumont
Smashwords Edition
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The Caller
I was dreaming of a telephone when I awoke. A big, shiny, black telephone sitting on a small round table at the end of a hallway. It was ringing and I tried to answer it but it seemed the more I went towards the phone, the longer the hallway became. I awoke with a jolt, panting from my exertions and realized the phone was real.
I fumbled for my glasses, laid neatly on my night stand and the digital numbers on my clock leapt into focus. 4:38 am. My heart shot into my throat as I threw off my covers and lunged for the phone. No one calls at this time of night with good news. Even really good news. For some reason good news can always wait until the light of day. It was only bad news that had a fondness for springing up out of the dark.
In my dash I knocked over a precariously balanced stack of books sending various notes flying, fell headlong over a stool and slid the rest of the way into the kitchen. Either I was moving very fast or my caller was very intent on reaching me, because the phone was still ringing when I stood up. I picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" I said, my voice somewhat muffled as I rubbed my shin where the stool caught me.
"Philip? Thank God! I was hoping you weren't still out with one of your lady-friends." She stressed the word lady with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Apparently my lady friends weren't ladies.
Or rather Philip's ladies weren't.
"Michael Hill," I spit out my own name interrupting her lecture about my wasting time with loose women.
"So that's who you were with? Why didn't you say so? Did you get what you need?" She asked.
"Well," I tried to figure out how to convince her that I was Michael Hill and not meeting with Michael Hill. She cut me off before I could get started.
"Let me guess, a few loose ends?" A shiver ran up my spine at her tone. "Look I can't hold on to this much longer. I need to get out quick so whether you are finished with Michael Hill or not I need to complete my part of the game. Where are you?"
"324 Garrett Ave," I answered without thinking, immediately giving myself a mental kick for giving this strange woman my real address.
"Good, that's on my way. I'll leave it at the front door. Same old drill. Don't open the door until I'm gone. You know, the usual." A loud beep sounded. "Damn, they're closer than I thought." The phone slammed down hard on the cradle and I rubbed my ear as I replaced my phone somewhat more gently than my caller had.
What the hell was going on? Who was Philip? And what exactly was going to be dropped off at my front door? I walked back into the living room, righted the stool I had tripped over, began to pick up my scattered notes and put them back into some semblance of order.
A joke. That's what this was. Some kind of joke. Maybe some kids that I had met up at the college library while I was doing research decided to pull a joke on me. They had seen me as some dusty old academic, stuck in my world of ancient history and thought it would be fun to see how I handled being thrown into a spy novel. I chuckled aloud to myself.
Next time I went into the library they would watch me to see how I handled it. I tucked the last of my notes away. What would be the best way to deal with this? I could pretend it didn't happen or perhaps play along with the joke, maybe convince the students I actually fell for the scenario until they confessed. Then smile as if I knew all along?
Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Everyone would have a laugh and it would all just be good fun. I was trying out expressions of surprise and bewilderment when I heard a loud knock on the front door.
"My, my, they are going to great lengths for this joke aren't they?" I walked to the door and grasped the handle. Suddenly I remembered I wasn't supposed to open it until the woman had left. I looked through the peephole and saw a small woman with black hair as she walked briskly down my front path and into the waiting car. In half a second she was gone. She didn't look familiar, but they could have had someone I didn't know come to my place so I wouldn't suspect. I shrugged and opened the door.
A black case sat in my doorway. It was about a foot and a half long, about six inches wide and perhaps two feet tall. I reached for the bag and found it surprisingly heavy. With some effort I got it inside. I resisted the urge to open it immediately in my front doorway to see what interesting things had been placed inside. I would at least wait until I got it into the living room.
I shut and locked my front door and shuffle stepped with the heavy case to the living room.
I dropped heavily into my easy chair and took a moment to catch my breath. A yawn stretched my face and I looked at the wall clock. 5:32 am. I yawned again. Okay, I promised my body. I'll take a quick look inside, then go to bed. I snapped open the two catches on the side of the case and folded back the cover.
On top was a large envelope, the yellow-orangey kind that manuscripts are mailed in. I tried to remember the name of that type of envelope but couldn't. It was very annoying, after all I had purchased so many of them in the past. I shook my head in frustration. Maybe it would come to me later on if I didn't think about it.
I pulled the envelope out. It was sealed with packing tape across the metal fasteners. I would need a pair of scissors to get that open with out risking a nasty paper cut. I decided to wait and see what else was in the case before I opened the envelope. The next item in the case was a gun. It looked so real for a second that my heart raced.
"Relax," I said aloud. "It's only a toy." I picked it up. It was light, smooth and cool to the touch. It looked so real, but then what did I know? The only time I had ever seen a gun was in the movies, unless you counted that museum exhibit of muskets I once saw. Fascinating exhibit, but of no real use here. I turned the gun over in my hands. Recognition clicked as I placed it down on top of the envelope.
A few years back they took a line of toy guns off the market because they looked too real and people were actually using them for robberies or something of that nature. No doubt the toy in front of me was a relic of that line. No wonder they had taken them off the market. If I hadn't felt how light it was I would have thought it a real gun. But guns were heavy, weren't they? I shrugged and reached back into the case.
At first I thought I had hit the bottom but quickly realized it was much to shallow for this to be correct. I carefully lifted the last object out with both hands. It was fairly heavy and seemed more so because of my awkward grip. It popped out and I fell backwards into my chair. It was a laptop computer. I stared at it a moment before I realized that this was not a college prank.
Unless it wasn't a real computer.
I took a deep breath and turned it on. I heard the familiar sounds of a computer coming to life, the usual icons appeared on the screen and I switched it off.
It was a real computer.
I put it back in the case, stood up and went to the kitchen. My mind was whirling. Actually whirling is a bad term. My mind had turned into a flashing siren that turns and spills red light out into the night while making a hideous racket. I was impressed that red light was not coming out of my eyes, ears, nose and mouth. I took this as a good sign.
I fixed myself a glass of ice water, closed my eyes and forced myself to drink slowly, thinking about nothing but the water as it went from my glass and down my throat. When the water was gone I was calm enough to think clearly. I opened my eyes.
I could still see the case over the half wall partition separating kitchen from living room. I turned my back and stared at the refrigerator instead. My ancient cookie monster magnet was less threatening.
There was no way the kids from campus had pulled this joke. Who then? My sister Kate? Her son, Randy, could do pretty much anything with computers, and there was a computer in the case. It was a long shot but still a connection. But the woman who dropped the case off wasn't one of my sister's friends. At least not one I had met.
Who else then? Roger, my best friend from college. It would be just like him to pull a trick like this. The woman at the door could have been a friend of his. She was even his type. But would Roger go to this much trouble? I smiled to myself. Yes, he would. And if Kate were to help him...
I winked at the cookie monster magnet and turned back to the living room. That was it! Kate and Roger were working together. I returned to my easy chair scissors in hand, rather proud of myself for figuring it out. I picked up the envelope and clipped it open. What were those envelopes called?
Into my lap spilled a small packet of money, about five hundred dollars, all in twenty-dollar bills, a passport, a small white letter envelope and a folded sheet of paper. The passport was for Dr. John Michaelson and tucked inside were a driver's license for the state of Utah, two credit cards and a crisp social security card. All registered for John Michaelson.
I set them aside and opened the smaller envelope. It wasn't sealed. Written on the inside of the flap were the words Armory exhibit 7 pm October 8th. I shrugged and looked inside. I almost leapt up and did a dance around the room when I saw the envelope's contents. A ticket to the re-opening of the museum!
The museum had closed due to a massive fire that had taken out an entire wing. It was rumored that several exhibits, the armory exhibit for one, were on loan from some of the best museums around the world for the duration of the month long celebration. I had drooled over the advertisement, but reluctantly decided that the eighty-five dollar ticket would not be allowed by my budget. At least not if I wanted to eat. I would have to wait until the museum fundraiser was over and hope for a more general view. Now it appeared I had a ticket. When the joke ended I would have to thank Kate and Roger.
I returned the ticket to the envelope. The 8th was tomorrow, or actually later today. I realized low, wobbly, early-morning light was seeping in through the cracks of the blinds. I would have to get some sleep, go early to the museum, meet whoever I was supposed to meet in the armory exhibit at 7 pm and then look at the rest of the exhibits until the museum closed for the night. I stood up and realized I had no clue who I was supposed to meet in the Armory exhibit at 7 pm. I plopped back down and picked up the folded piece of paper.
It contained my instructions. I rolled my eyes skyward. It figured I wouldn't read the directions until last. According to my instructions, which I assumed were the rules for the game, at 7 pm in the armory exhibit I was to give the John Michaelson stuff over to the man who matched the photographs in the passport and drivers license. Seemed simple enough. In return, he was to give me a flash drive. Simple enough again. I yawned and put the letter down. If I was going to have any fun at the exhibit tomorrow I needed some sleep.
I must have fallen into my bed like a rock because the next thing I knew, it was full daylight outside. 10:12 am my clock proudly proclaimed as I settled my glasses on my nose. I thought about rolling over for a little while longer before I remembered the events of the night before.
"International mailing envelope," I said aloud. "Ha! That's what they're called!" Like a kid on Christmas morning I was out of the bed and into the living room. Everything was just as I left it. The case, the gun, the money and most of all the ticket. I did a hop-step and went to take my shower.
In no time flat I was clean, dressed and ready to go. I picked up the envelope with the ticket and placed it in the right breast pocket inside of my coat. Next, I opened up the passport and checked to see that all the other IDs were still inside. It was, but the social security card looked wrong some how. I went to the kitchen table, took out my social security card and lay the two side by side on the table. With the exception of the name and numbers they were the same. Mine looked much more used of course, but that was understandable.
"Ah ha!" I said aloud to the empty kitchen. That was the problem. The John Michaelson card looked too new. I decided to help it along a bit, just for fun. I bent it up a bit and turned one corner down. I even took a smidgen of dirt from one of my potted herbs in the kitchen to smudge it up a little. I held it up and admired my handiwork. No doubt a real spy would scoff at my efforts but I thought it looked pretty good. I put my card away, double checking that the right one went back into my wallet, and returned to the living room.
The passport and id I put in the left inside pocket of my coat. The rest of the items from the case I put back into the case, snapped it shut and in keeping with the spy game in progress, slipped the whole thing under my bed so it couldn't be seen by a casual observer. After all it was their game, who said they couldn't send Randy in to steal the case and leave a menacing note? Especially since I had to pick up a flash drive from the man I would be meeting in the armory.
With everything complete and my spirits high I went whistling out the door, preferring to walk to two miles to the museum since the weather was so nice. On the way I realized I had left the house without eating breakfast and made a short side trip to the nearby bagel shop.
In due time I reached the museum and melted into the crowd. After a long wait in line, I presented my ticket to the attendant and entered the cool, marbleized halls of the museum. I was in heaven. For hours I wondered from exhibit to exhibit delighting in everything from Rembrandts and Picassos to Faberge eggs, Egyptian burial furniture, and jade carvings from Japan. I never wanted to leave. Around every corner was a new treasure. One day was simply not enough to enjoy it all to the full extent it deserved. As seven o'clock began to approach I started working my way towards the armory exhibit.
This display delighted me no less than any other section of the museum. Life sized Samurai warriors faced off with equally impressive Hun figures and I swiveled my head from one side to the other, walking at a snails pace, trying to take in every detail. I was so entranced that I almost didn't see the man I had come here to meet. I blinked hard several times, trying to clear images of the past from my gaze so I could see the present.
The two of us were the only ones in the exhibit area. I walked up to the man as he stood staring at an impressive display of medieval weaponry. The man looked nervous and matched perfectly the picture in my pocket. I stopped when I was beside him.
"Fascinating aren't they?" I pulled the passport out of my pocket as he turned to me. He swallowed hard when he saw what was in my hands.
"Yes, most intriguing," he said sliding a flash drive out of the front pocket of his somewhat worn sport coat. He handed me the drive and I handed him the passport. He opened it, checked the ID and smiled with relief. He nodded at me and with a swift turn, he was striding out the door. I shrugged my shoulders and tucked the flash drive where the passport had been moments earlier.
I spent quite a bit of time in the armory exhibit, since most of it was dated around the same time frame as the period I was researching for my latest work. A few times, I came across several pieces of information I wanted to look up on my own and soon the back of my exhibit program was covered with scrawls of references I needed to check into. I was in mid scrawl when I felt someone watching me. I turned to find a small woman with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes trying to see what it was I was writing. I laughed nervously.
"I'm a historian," I told her. "I'm doing research for a book and I figured some of the works mentioned," I indicated the small information cards below the items in the display case, "might be useful."
"Really," she said one eyebrow raised. "What is it you are researching?" For the record, she did ask, so good or bad I told her. I am afraid I, like many of my colleagues have the problem of not keeping quiet about a current project. Maybe the belief is that if we are so interested in what we are doing then obviously everyone else must be as well and so we can drone on and on for hours about obscure points and references.
If you are into this sort of thing than the conversation is absolutely wonderful. If you are not than you begin to plan either an escape route or a homicide, which ever seems simpler at the time. At least this is what my sister always tells me. Whenever I go off on my tangents, she will wait until I either pause for a breath or to ask her a question, then calmly inform me she is fairly certain she could kill me with the shrimp fork (or whatever is handy at the moment). I usually take this as my subtle cue to end my diatribe.
The blonde woman in front of me did not threaten my life as Kate most certainly would have, but I did notice her eyes glazing over a bit.
"Um, well, I suppose I shouldn't bore you with this. I'm sorry." I said simply, giving her the exit I thought she was looking for. She took it.
"Thank you, umm..."
"Dr. Hill," I supplied.
"Yes, Dr. Hill. Are you from around here?" She asked unexpectedly.
"Yes, actually I am," I answered. "Did you need directions?" She laughed.
"No, not exactly. I was looking for a Dr. LaRue. I figured if you were from here than you might know him." The name didn't ring any bells in my head.
"Does he teach up at the college?" I asked, trying to be helpful. She looked slightly puzzled.
"I suppose he might," she said slowly studying my face. I felt quite badly for her. She was quite obviously not interested in the exhibit around her, just interested in finding Dr. LaRue. Luckily for me a small group of people came into the Armory exhibit at this time. Among them was a rather mannish looking woman named Emma Sweldon. I smiled and indicated Emma with a nod of my head.
"Ms. Sweldon works in the main office and knows almost the entire faculty. She might know or have seen your doctor friend." The blonde looked rather doubtful. "She isn't really as bad as she looks. She is a rather nice woman underneath the stern exterior." Blue eyes studied my face for a moment. I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way.
"Thank you," she said in a slow, almost measured tone. "And good luck with your research. It sounds most fascinating. It has been a pleasure meeting you," she added in a somewhat perkier voice.
"The pleasure is mine," I replied. I was fairly used to people trying to make polite exits from my lectures. It was my own fault really, so the least I could do was be civil. She turned and walked away from me and I returned to copying down my notes.
As I prepared to leave the Armory exhibit, I noticed the blonde woman was still there, trying to scan the crowd while remaining inconspicuous. Emma, I guessed, couldn't help her. I let the matter drop from my mind and headed towards the next exhibit. There was after all still so much to see.
I was one of the last of the visitors to leave the museum at closing time. The others being shooed out by the museum security I knew either by name or sight and like me they would have gladly given several pints of their own blood to be allowed to stay a while longer in the glory of the museum.
I was somewhat surprised to note that the blonde woman was also in this group of history addicts. She had not struck me as the type who would have to be shuffled out by the guards at the end of the day. She was walking alone so I figured she had never found her friend. I was about to step over to her and ask if this was the case when I heard my name being called.
Bill Tompkins, a fellow researcher I tended to cross paths with quite frequently was approaching me, a broad grin stretching his face. I smiled back, dismissing the woman from my thoughts as the two of us began swapping who-saw-what stories. We were soon joined by Alex VonStruben, a professor of European history and a good friend of mine. We all soon realized that dinner had been missed and headed off to a nearby restaurant to amend the oversight and continue the discussion.
Several hours later I returned home, stuffed on Mama Luigi's tetrazzini and history. I had forgotten completely about the "spy mission" until I took off my jacket and found the flash drive. I turned it over a few times, not knowing quite what to do with it. I hung my jacket up. My stomach protested any fast motion and I decided that even though I was quite tired from both my long night and exhausting day the time had not yet come for bed.
My stomach was too full and would keep me up all night if I even attempted to lie down before it could digest at least a portion of my large and very late dinner. I might as well use the time to see what Kate and Roger had put on the disk. After some negotiation I managed to convince my body that it needed to not only squat down on the floor but actually lay on my stomach so I could wiggle the black case with the laptop out from under my bed.
I cursed the impulse that had led me to push the case under the bed in the first place. By the time the case was out and the computer opened up on the desk in my bedroom, my stomach was screaming for mercy. I flipped on the computer to let everything set up and went to the bathroom for some antacid tablets. When I returned the computer a message box was waiting for me.
“Connect drive now," it commanded. I complied and the message box changed. "Type in code name now."
"You could at least say Please," I told it. What code name should I give it? Well the woman on the phone had called me Philip. Maybe that was my code name. I typed in Philip and hit enter.
The box disappeared and another took its place.
"Type in secondary code now." I stuck my tongue out at the computer and on impulse typed in the name LaRue. To my surprise the computer took it and the screen filled up with text. I scrolled down over the text and grinned like a two year old with a new toy. The document in front of me could only have been designed by Roger. It was a mixture of Latin, ancient Greek, old English and thrown in with the mix, my favorite, twelfth century Arabic! This was absolutely wonderful. I scrolled down. There were pages and pages of this. I could happily spend quite a while doing the translation.
And it was probably stuff that actually needed to be translated knowing Roger. He detested ancient Greek and made an absolute muddle of Latin. He probably figured he could have some fun and get a free translation out of it. After the museum ticket I was more than willing to oblige.
About the time I finally scrolled to the bottom of the document I heard a scuffling on my back porch. I smiled to myself and quietly made my way to the back door. Kate and Roger, maybe with Randy in tow, were probably coming over to see how I had enjoyed their little joke.
I decided to surprise them and slipped the latch as quietly as I could from the door. In an instant I flung it wide open, at the same time yelling, "Kate! Roger! I thought you'd never show up!" I smiled, expecting to see the look of surprise on their faces and instead saw the barrel of a gun.
I straightened my glasses and looked at the gun. It looked almost identical to the one in the case in my bedroom. I followed the gun to a hand, up an arm and eventually to the face of a woman. She was short, had shoulder length black hair and I figured she was the same woman who had dropped the case off.
"You’re the one who dropped off the case," I said putting my thought immediately into words. She inclined her head slightly to the left. I sighed. "Well you’re a bit early. I just pulled up the document and haven't had time to translate it yet. I'm impressed that everyone thought I could get the translation done so quickly, but it will take a bit of time. Even I have my limits you know. Why don't you tell Roger I'm not ready yet and then come back sometime next week? I should have at least a large section of it translated by then. Do you know how soon he needs it?"
A frown line formed in the woman's forehead and she stepped forward, the gun still raised and almost touching my chest. Now it was my turn to frown.
"Inside," she said. I remembered my manners and nearly kicked myself, after all, this woman was merely playing a part in Roger’s game. I stepped aside.
"I am terribly sorry. Please, won't you come in? Can I get you something to drink?" The woman grabbed my arm and turned me so I was facing the living room. She shut the door with a nudge from her foot and led me to the couch where she told me to sit.
"You have the flash drive?" She asked. I recognized her voice from the phone.
"Yes," I told her. "But like I said I haven't had the time to translate it, so Roger is either going to have to be patient or else do his own homework." I had meant that last bit to be funny but she didn't laugh. Instead her scowl deepened.
"You opened the file?" She asked. "How did you know the code words?" I snorted.
"We aren't really talking a difficult task here after all," I told her. "With you giving me one code and the blonde woman giving me the other, it was just a matter of putting them together." The woman's eyebrows arched and she nodded.
"So Elizabeth was there? They were right to send you then. She would have spotted Philip immediately. I'll take the disk now, Dr. Hill." She said abruptly.
"But I haven't made the translations yet." I told her rather impatiently. Personally, I was rather looking forward to doing the translations and I was not about to let the file go until I had made a copy to work from. "I'm sure Roger would agree with me."
"Who is Roger?" She asked. I rolled my eyes. This really was taking the game too far.
"Roger is the man who hired you to pull this little prank on me." I explained, a little annoyed at the woman. She sighed.
"Roger did not hire me to play a prank." She told me as if explaining matters to a child. "I work for the government." I matched her sigh.
"Look the game is over okay? So just put down your little toy gun and go home. I'll work on the translations and get them to you. If you want, I can take your number down and call when I am finished..."
My voice trailed off as the woman shifted the gun from me to the lamp by the side of the couch. She pulled the trigger and the lamp exploded. My jaw fell open. I watched porcelain dust sift through the air in lazy swirls as it fell to the carpet. She shifted the gun back to me.
"That lamp was an antique!" I said stupidly, glaring at the small woman with the gun.
"I was not sent by Roger. There is no prank. This gun is not a toy and I will take the drive now," she said. My brain was screaming, "She's got a gun you idiot, RUN!" But somehow my mouth missed the message.
"And I suppose you can read old English text?" I shot back before I could get my mouth under control. She smiled.
"Yeah, it's got a lot of thees and thous in it." She shot back. The historian in me could not let her comment go unchallenged no matter what my brain was screaming.
"What you are probably thinking of my dear is Elizabethan English." I hear my mouth say in my best lecture voice. "Old English is a dialect so far removed from this as to be almost an entirely different language. No doubt you could pick out a few words that resembled the English you are familiar with but the whole would essentially remain completely incomprehensible to you." A part of my mind was screaming 'what the hell are you doing you idiot,' while the other half was yelling 'I want to translate that disk.' Quite frankly I was beginning to scare myself.
"Look I'll get a translator later," she told me.
"You could, but I already know about the disk and I know all of the languages used in the document. So why can't I translate it for you?" I gave her my most winning smile.
"Now why would you want to do that?" She asked. 'Yeah why,' a part of my brain asked as well.
"Well I'll tell you," I said to both the woman and myself. "Part of it is that I love the challenge of translating a document like that. I love pitting my brain against it. But part of it is that this is the only way I know to repay you for the ticket to the museum. I owe you one." For a second she just stared at me. I smiled again.
"We put you in danger and you want to thank us?" she asked me.
"There was no danger, really," I told her. "And there was no other way I could have gone."
"You could have bought a ticket," she said. I looked at her. Every item of clothing on her probably had a designer name stitched on it. She wouldn't understand.
"No, I couldn't." I said simply, my smile fading from my lips. Again she stared at me.
"Look," she said. "I need to take that drive with me. I suppose I could take you with me and leave the translation decision up to them. After all," she continued. "If they don't want you to translate it they could always kill you."
"Of course," I agreed, smiling again. A part of my brain was demanding to know exactly what I thought I was doing. I told it that if the woman had wanted me dead she could have easily killed me and then taken the drive. Since I was still alive than she and whomever she worked for obviously didn't want me dead.
My fears thus somewhat quieted, I bounced away from the couch and into the bedroom, the woman a step behind. I pulled the drive from the USB port and switched off the computer. The computer was quickly stowed in the case with a few of my language dictionaries for reference. A few minutes later I was sitting in the passenger's seat of a jet black Mercedes and heading off into the great unknown.
Other Books By
Valerie Gaumont
The Channel Riders Series
Pilot (Book 1)
Storm Chaser (Book 2)
Alliance (Book 3)
Roses for Juliet
All works by this author can be found at www.smashwords.com or are available for kindle on Amazon.com. More information and upcoming works by this author can be found at http://www.valeriegaumont.yolasite.com