David Hewson (52 page)

"Later,"
Viale spat, but fell silent. Peroni pushed him up to the silent, resentful
Americans.

"So,
Miss Deacon?" Falcone said. "Where do we go from here?"

"Straight
to the point." She got up, faced the figure in the parka, and tugged down
the hood, exposing the shaking head, then ripped the fat slice of shiny
metallic duct tape straight from the man's lower face.

Thornton
Fielding screamed with pain, shot his fingers to his mouth, pulled them away,
astonished, then stared at the small assembly of people in front of him as if
he'd just woken up from a bad dream, only to find himself slap bang in
the middle of another one.

"Is
this some kind of a joke?" Fielding yelled. He was looking in horror at
the vest strapped to his chest, with its yellow canisters and loom of wires. "Are
you serious, Leapman? What the hell is this? Get it off of me. Now!"

Nic
Costa was watching the expression on Leapman's face all along, wondering.
There was nothing there but shock and surprise. Leapman screwed up his eyes and
turned to Falcone. "What is
he
doing here?"

"Talking,"
Costa said, intervening. "If he wants to stay alive."

Emily
came up to close to Fielding, looked at his jacket, then at hers. "These
are BLU-97 bomblets, Thornton. Adapted for the task, specially for the two of
us. I watched Kaspar do it this morning. A cap detonator in each. Wired to a
remote only he controls. He knows what he's doing. Also"--she
flipped the mike on her collar--"he can hear everything we
say." She nodded at Leapman. "If he doesn't like what they
do, I get to be the martyr. If he doesn't like what he's hearing
from you--bang, it's you. Or maybe both of us. Who knows?"

There
was a cast of stark terror in Fielding's eyes. "Sweet Jesus, what
does that lunatic want from me?"

Emily
stayed close. "The same thing I want, Thornton. Some answers. About what
happened here in Rome, back in 1990. You do remember that, don't
you?"

He
shook his grey head in astonishment. "What? What are you talking about? Listen..."

He
looked at Leapman, then at Falcone, appealing to them. "This is the
truth. I swear. One hour ago I'm at my desk in the embassy. I get some
crazy e-mail from Emily here saying she was in big trouble with you guys
somehow and I
had
to go to some place near the Corso right
then."

Leapman
scowled at him, then at Costa. "She was here an hour ago. She
couldn't possibly have sent that."

"It
was internal!" Fielding screamed. "Came from her PC, goddammit! Made
it sound like the world was falling in or something. Like it involved me,
too."

"That's
because it does, Thornton," Emily said quietly.

"This
is
ridiculous
," he shouted.

Leapman
walked up to Fielding, interested. "What happened?"

"I
get there and some hulking lunatic in a uniform jumps me, drags me into an
alley, puts this
stuff
on me, and says if I don't wait where he
says until some guy comes to fetch me I'm dead. And sticks that stinking
tape over my mouth too. And that's exactly where I stay until
he
"--Fielding
pointed at Costa--"turns up."

Costa
got a withering glance from Leapman and smiled wanly in return.

"So
what the hell is going on here, Joel?" Fielding demanded. "If this
is one of those damn training exercises of yours--"

"It's
no exercise," Leapman responded. "You were here? In Rome? In
"90?"

"Sure!"
Fielding yelled. "It's no secret. It's no secret why
I'm
still
here either. I'm the resident queer, remember? I
didn't get moved around back then because I was a security risk. I
don't get moved around now because I'm part of the furniture. Big
deal."

"I
didn't know that," Leapman said quietly.

"
Get
this crap off of me
!" Fielding screeched.

Costa
walked up, took a good look at him. "Can't do that. Kaspar put it
on you. He's the only one who can take it off."

Fielding's
face screwed up in disbelief. "You bastards sent me out to meet that
lunatic?"

"Looks
like it," Leapman observed. "So where the hell is he now, Mr.
Costa?"

"Search
me." Costa shrugged. "I just took the phone call. Could be anywhere
in the vicinity from what we understand. He said that, unless he got some
answers, he'd start setting those things off in"--Costa looked
at the watch again--"a little under ten minutes. If you believe him,
that is. What do you think, Mr. Fielding? Do you think he's really
capable of that?"

Fielding
wasn't playing this game. "I never met the man! Not till you tell
me he just leapt out and put me in this crap. Joel--this isn't going
to look good on anyone's record."

Emily
Deacon reached forward and touched one of the wires on Fielding's vest. He
jumped back like a man who'd had a sudden shock.

"He'll
do it, Thornton," she insisted, "unless you talk. Now's the
time. We're good listeners."

"About
what?"

"About
the Babylon Sisters. About who was behind--"

"Jesus,
Emily! I told you. I did everything I could. Didn't you read what was
there? Didn't you get the message? Do I have to spell it out for
you?"

"Yes,"
she said quietly. "You do."

"Fine!
All that crazy private army stuff was Kaspar and your old man's idea. Dan
was the boss. Kaspar was the soldier. Just a couple of old hippies with guns
and a blank cheque from the CIA or someone. You wonder it all got screwed
up?"

"
No
!"
She was adamant. "You showed me what you wanted to, Thornton, and for a
reason. It was nothing to do with me. It all was about protecting
yourself."

"This
is insane. What the hell are you talking about?"

"You!"
she yelled. "You were pulling the strings then, you're still
pulling them now. I couldn't figure out why there was just one document
left on the system when you let me in. Was that an accident? Of course not. It
was the document that pointed straight to my dad, not to you. That was why you
put it there. For me to find."

"Joel?
We need your men in here." Fielding wasn't budging. Costa thought
of the minutes, ticking away, and wondered how long the unseen Kaspar would
wait.

Emily
Deacon stood directly beneath the oculus and allowed herself a glance through
the eye above. "It's about places, Thornton. That's what
Kasper's been trying to work out for himself all along. Places like this.
He and my dad used to meet here, talk things through. He told me so. But my dad
was discussing that mission with someone else too. Someone in the Piazza Mattei,
someone Kaspar never did get to know."

That
scared him. Just a little. "What of it?"

"That's
what my dad said to Kaspar. Before he died. The one thing. That he wished
he'd never gone to see the man in the Piazza Mattei. Kaspar thought
he'd found that man, too. He went back there a couple of months ago. He'd
worked out there was a property in the square the spooks had been using for
years and years. He attacked the guy living there, trying to get some
information out of him. He didn't kill him, though. This wasn't his
man. He was just after intelligence and the man had none. Kaspar didn't
kill just anyone. Not then."

"So?"

"So
he didn't get his information. But we did. We
know
."

Fielding
looked at her, astonished. "You're taking the word of that lunatic?
I'm here because of
that
?"

"Yes,"
she said quietly. "I am."

Then
she put a hand to the front of her own vest, took hold of the tangle of
coloured wires.

Costa
watched in horror. "Emily--"

"I
can show you why, Thornton," she said, ripping at the wires on her chest,
tearing them from the canisters in one rapid, bold movement.

Fielding
cowered, half crouching down on the floor. Nothing happened. She just stood
there, making the point. Then she threw off the parka, let it fall to the floor
and ripped down the zipper on the vest, got rid of that too.

Friedricksen
turned and fled for the shadows.

"Get
back here!" Leapman yelled at the man, then picked up the vest to look at
it. He pulled out the detonator from one of the canisters, upending the
contents so sand fell onto the floor in a steady stream. Cocking his head to
one side, he took a closer look, scratched at the metal with his finger.

"Fake,"
Leapman said.

"It's
a Coke can," Emily said. "Painted yellow, reshaped with putty. Plus
a little white spirit to give it the right smell and a detonator that's
as real as they come. Kaspar's broke. He didn't have enough for two
sets."

"Neat,"
Leapman conceded. Then he pointed at Fielding's vest. "And
this?"

"Oh,"
Emily said brightly, reaching down for the parka, taking something out of the
pocket. "This is the real thing. Absolutely."

She
grabbed Fielding by the scruff of his jacket. "This can blow us all to
pieces, Thornton. And you know something?"

Emily
now held a small plastic device up in her hand, thumb on a button. "It's
not Bill Kaspar who gets to make that choice. It's me. He trusted me with
that. He trusted me with a dummy jacket. Who do you think I believe,
Thornton?"

"Emily,"
Nic murmured, "this wasn't part of the--"

"It
is now," she said, circling Fielding, holding the remote in front of his
ashen face. "Talk to me, Thornton. Or don't. Because I really
don't care either way. Not anymore. You screwed my dad. He was a good
man. You sold him and his people down the river, let them get there, and
hoped--what?"

He
was nervous, Costa thought. Just not nervous enough.

"You've
got to do something here, Leapman," Fielding pleaded. "This
kid's as crazy as her old man was."

"I
guess," she went on, ignoring his remark, "you hoped that, once
they got there, knew it was a case of give in or die, they'd all think
the way you did. That this wasn't their war, not really. All they had to
do was put up their hands, go quietly. That was part of the deal. And when it
was over--what? Some quiet, secret negotiation with Baghdad. A hand-over
at the Syrian border. Everyone comes home. You disappear and get rich. No
awkward questions. But Bill Kasper didn't go quietly, did he?"

"Sand?"
he sneered. She was jabbing a finger into the dark and Fielding knew that. He
was growing more confident. She was starting to realize it too. "And Coke
cans? That's what the big man's up to these days?"

"Proof,"
she murmured. "That's all anyone wants."

Thornton
Fielding's forehead glistened, shiny with sweat, shaking from side to
side. "No, Emily. What they want is an end to this shit. That lunatic put
away where he belongs. He killed your dad. You're supposed to want that
too."

Emily
Deacon's delicate fingers worked their way onto Fielding's vest,
found the topmost canister in the middle row beneath his chin.

"Don't
move, Thornton," she said softly. "I wouldn't want to choose
the wrong wire. The rest are wired in parallel and will blow if I tamper with
them. Kaspar only showed me this once."

He
was rigid, uncertain whether this was a bluff or not. She flicked off a set of
wires, delicately removed the canister from its webbing holster.

"He
thought you might need convincing," she said, then flipped the detonator,
starting a small, livid spark at its head, and flung it into the darkness near
the doors.

Fielding
blinked at her. Leapman and Viale were already flattened on the floor. Emily
Deacon placed her arms around Fielding, held him tightly.

"Remember
when you danced with me?" she asked. "When I was just a kid? We'd
go round and round, circles and circles, like a couple of human compasses
describing pretty patterns on the floor. People like patterns, Thornton.
Patterns make you feel comfortable. They make you think the world's more
than just a mess of chaos."

A
hot, fiery blast roared from somewhere close to the bronze slabs, began to
occupy the interior of the building, sending a deafening, screaming roar
echoing around the hemisphere. From somewhere outside came the wailing sound of
a siren. She clung to him tightly, keeping the two of them upright, struggling
against the heat and force of the explosion.

"That's
what Kaspar's been looking for," she said, holding the remote to
his cheek, finger on the button, the two of them describing a slow, lazy circle
on the stone floor. "Something that restores some order. And maybe
it's not there at all. Maybe I should press this and make us nothing. No
more memories. No more guilt. No more hate. Does that sound appealing to
you?"

Fielding
was silent, eyes screwed tight, fighting to control himself.

"He
was my father, Thornton. He thought you were his friend. I remember you in our
house. I remember..."