The Unknown Knowns (13 page)

As for
my
parking ticket, it was right where it should have been, under the sun visor. It was just a matter of inserting it in the slot and the chase could continue. But when I lowered the window, a stiff breeze poured into the garage. The ticket slipped away and fluttered under the Corolla. I unbuckled my seat belt and threw open the door, but I was too close to the ticket booth to get out, so I had to climb through the passenger door.

I watched the Nautikon hang a right and disappear in the direction of the interstate. Finally I found the ticket pasted to a blot of motor oil. I fed it into the machine and stomped on the accelerator. By then the Nautikon must have been a mile away. But where? Where? Denver was dark. I had no choice but to follow my instincts.

Even though Jean says I don't have any. She says I live in a diving bell where the real world can't get in and I can't get out. But I do have sensitivities to the motives of others. Buried, misinterpreted—but sensitivities nonetheless. I knew for instance that Jean would eventually leave me. True, I misjudged how soon that would take place, but I knew it would happen. And, yes, I
did
actually look up from my comic books for a second to see that she had needs. I looked up, Jean. And then you were gone.

And maybe I'd misjudged the Nautikon. Even dolphins are known to kill for pleasure. I just had to follow him, keep my eye on him, and take whatever measures were necessary to restore him to the sanctity of his mission and remind him of the righteousness of his cause.

I turned right on Tremont Street, made another squealing
right, clung to his bumper through twists and turns until we landed on a freeway. A few miles later we slipped onto I-70 west. I sensed the Nautikon's trajectory like we were both driving the same vehicle but in parallel realities. Our feet manipulated synchronized pedals, our hands gripped two tangents of the same Hegelian steering wheel. After a mile of hard driving, there he was, just ahead of a glazier's truck with a massive pane strapped to one side. I fell in behind the truck hoping a giant sheet of glass would not dislodge and slice me in half. And also kind of hoping it might.

The next sign we passed read:
PISTON RIDGE
74
MI
. Onward and upward to the land of the Oaken Bucket.

Rep. Frost:
It says here that Colorado State Patrol observed you leaving the
Radisson at 2:45 a.m. at what is described as a high rate of speed.

 

Diaz:
Congressman, with respect, that was all cleared up with the CSP at the scene. And I'll tell you what I told Officer
on the shoulder of I-70. I was an agent of the Department on assignment in the greater Denver area doing classified work. I explained that I was in pursuit of a suspicious party, and that this was a strictly federal matter. The best way he could aid my investigation was to keep his head down until such time as we called in local backup.

Officer
was compliant. He understood the sensitive nature of what was going on. But I guess for protocol purposes I agreed to take a Breathalyzer. Everything came out more or less pris
tine, and I thanked him for his assistance. It can't be easy for these guys when Homeland starts stepping on local toes. Frankly it's a real pissing tournament out there. But
, he's a decent guy. I don't question his motives for a second.

 

Rep. Frost:
I'm not especially interested in his motives. I keep reading from the police report, and it tells me your driving was erratic and your blood alcohol registered in excess of .08 percent. This alone would have been grounds for Department censure—not to mention a DUI. Am I wrong about this?

 

Diaz:
No and yes. That was all addressed in the internal Department report. And the unreliability of the CSP apparatus was shown to be a mitigating factor. The charges, as reflected in my file, were summarily dropped. As far as what you call my erratic driving—

 

Rep. Frost:
I'm just reading from what's in front of me, son.

 

Diaz:
—all I can say is that this was what I'd classify as a high-speed-pursuit-type scenario. Whether I was doing the pursuing or the vice was versa is immaterial. My actions that night were not inconsistent with departmental procedure under said circumstances. But, Congressman, I wish you'd allow me to rewind another twelve hours so the committee can grasp the macrobandwidth of the time line here.

 

Rep. Frost:
Whatever you need to do. We just want the complete rundown.

 

Diaz:
Good. This is noon the day before. I got to the
Radisson, parked in the underground garage, and checked in. They
gave me a corner room on the top floor with a view of the Rockies. The hotel is in like a rehabbed warehouse district, with lots of brew pubs. You can get cowboy clothes made in Italy and a manicure for your dog. I had some paperwork to chew through that night, so I stayed in and ordered room service. If you're ever in Denver, please don't miss the Rocky Burger at the
Radisson. Sounds weird with the jalapeños, but damn.

Next morning I hit the ground early. Like I said, this particular hotel has some creative water features. In the solarium area there's what they call a Lazy River, where they pump water nice and slow through this cement culvert and hand out inner tubes so you can just, well, float. Hell of a relaxing feature, but if the wrong people got access, I don't even want to—

 

Rep. Frost:
Yes. Well, it seems the wrong people
did
get access. We're talking about the site of the initial incident, correct?

 

Diaz:
Interesting thing about this process, Congressman, is it's not static. We have to learn as we go. Adapt. This Lazy River was off the map for me. I'd never seen anything like it. So I spent all morning checking out the unorthodox filter system. And that's when I noticed that creep—um—the subject of this inquiry. Mr. Rath. Tell the truth, he virtually fell on top of me, literally.

I'm below the surface collecting some humint and I feel this splash and a hairy leg across my back. I could've puked, even though I don't think that's physiologically possible underwater. So I surface and there he is barely keeping his head above water, which I can't blame him with that big head of his. Huge forehead, like I said earlier. Well, in person it's just unreal.

I thought to myself, Jesus, these Islamofascist extremists don't
know when to quit. The guy followed me all the way from Colorado Springs, and now he wants to play Marco Polo in Denver?

 

Rep. Frost:
Not to get bogged down in footnotes, but here's where I have to ask you—and I offer my apologies if this is a delicate matter—about a young lady, name of June Fresto. One of the victims in the Denver incident. Is it true the two of you were seen fraternizing that selfsame day at the
Radisson?

 

Diaz:
Fraternizing is a strong word, Congressman. Strong word. I met my share of ladies on the road. I won't lie. Remember, I was a widower on the rebound, not just an operative of the DHS. I'm human, sir. I get lonely, as I'm sure the Congressman does too.

 

Rep. Frost:
I'd like to meet the man who hasn't known loneliness.

 

Diaz:
But yes, Mrs. Fresto and I made each other's acquaintance prior to the incident in question. I wouldn't say we quote unquote befriended each other. But she could see I was traveling solo, and she did me the kindness of inviting me to lunch. Rocky Burger number two. Couldn't get enough.

It was in the hotel restaurant where I noticed Rath's behavior growing more irregular. He was clearly singling out Mrs. Fresto because of my passing association with her. If I'd known I was endangering anyone's life, I never would've, you know, interacted. At lunch that day I observed him at a nearby table with his three-ring binder. He appeared to be taking more notes. Mrs. Fresto had a little boy who was, as you say, sadly involved in the Denver incident. I was entertaining him with a little bar trick I knew. You take a drink and gargle it like mouthwash, but at the same time you sing.

 

Rep. Frost:
Sounds like fun.

 

Diaz:
The kid liked it. I gargle-sang some Bob Marley for him—“Jamming.” It's a positive song with a message. I believe deeply in the power of optimism, provided it's the cautious variety. I only hope I lifted the boy's spirits a little bit before the terrible episode that was to befall him the next morning. Poor kid, and with no father figure in his life. I hope you pardon me speaking ill of the afflicted party, but his mother was no model of womanly virtue either. I imagine I wasn't the first single gentleman she'd turned to for comfort. And I'm not blaming the victim here, as you suggested the other day. This isn't another “Blame America First” thing. It's just a simple statement of fact.

After lunch I had work to do. I ran some tests, and everything checked out for the most part. I admit in retrospect there were some oversights. I might have been more diligent, but we're ascertaining as we go with this terrorism thing. It's what we refer to in the Department as a curve of learning.

It had been a long day. And I'm a man who believes work is its own reward, but a cold one is good too. So I parked it at the bar and ordered a Comfortable Screw. Not an hour later there's Rath again. By this juncture, I've about had it. I feel like I'm trying to shake a wood tick off my pecker, you know? Sorry, but that's how I felt. Plus I'm starting to understand that he's got ulterior motives, ones that aren't apparent on the surface.