INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) (19 page)

XLIII

My revised plan was approved. I received my immunity document soon afterward which went straight into Nonna’s safe, with a certified copy in a sealed envelope to her lawyers. Lurio arranged to pick me up in the evening as if taking me out. I’d gotten over our bruising conversation, but I didn’t forgive him. Like all things that hurt, it contained some truth.

Nonna asked me for the last time if I was sure. Although she said she was fully behind me going undercover on such a dangerous operation, her tense eyes betrayed anxiety now I was at the point.

‘Yes, I am. I can do this, I know I can.’ As I raised my hand to stroke her cheek to comfort her, the sore flesh pulled where my ID tracker had been extracted. The gel had sealed the skin, but it didn’t take the sting away. Nor the knowledge that nobody would be able to find me if I disappeared.

She kissed my cheek and we hugged.

‘Be careful, Carina. Come back soon.’

‘I promise, Nonna.’

It rained all the way to the DJ training camp. As the gate barrier closed behind us, the link to everything I knew before broke. Lurio had explained how the training would run: I would become a Department of Justice
custos
– a cop – with the rank of senior justiciar, equivalent to sergeant, wear the uniform during my training period, and behave like a standard cop, albeit one on secondment. That would cover any major slips.

I wanted to know why I couldn’t be an officer. In his usual blunt way, Lurio explained it was a privilege and I hadn’t earned it. More practically, the upcoming course was for SJs, so I would blend in if I had that rank. He had taken me through some basic DJ stuff – ranks, saluting, uniform, powers of arrest, dos and don’ts – the week before. I took Cara Bruna as my undercover ID. At least I was used to it from my months at the training boot camp.

The very worst part was having to call Lurio ‘sir’. I knew he would just love it, especially knowing how much I would hate it.

I had a week’s general training: mud, guns, drill, oppression, then joined the specialist course on undercover work. Being from different parts of the DJ, none of the dozen or so of us knew anybody else. We learned techniques: shadowing suspects, communications procedure, dead drops, basic disguise, but focused on developing operational tactics and information analysis. Weird that the shadow world all this belonged to coexisted with and unnoticed by the normal world.

The physical training was no challenge, nor was the technical work. My main difficulty was with the military aspect, but I tried hard, drawing on my discipline from the fitness boot camp. But I would never win a drill competition or be praised for my shiny appearance.

Lurio came back after my second week there and strutted around looking important, talking with the instructors. Sure, he looked impressive in his uniform, but he was still a pain in the fundament.

‘Ah, Bruna. How are things going? Any problems?’

‘Very well, sir. No problems, sir.’

‘Really?’ He looked at me with one raised eyebrow.

I nearly killed him for that.

‘Walk with me,’ he ordered.

We strode up the central thoroughfare. When we were safely out of earshot, I turned to him. ‘How the Hades do you think it’s going, Lurio? What sort of fatuous question is that?’

‘Don’t be insubordinate, Bruna.’ He grinned down at me.

I said a rude expression. Even he looked shocked.

‘Don’t be coarse – it doesn’t suit you.’

‘Stick what you think suits me.’

‘You know, you are the most tiresome person I’ve ever come across. If it weren’t for the excellent scores you’ve been getting, I’d have you bounced.’

‘Screw you, Lurio.’

‘Any time, Bruna. Just say the word.’

In the final exercise at the end of the course to test our new skills, our group of four came top. We were thrilled when the trainers congratulated us, but Lurio, always the hard man, just smirked at me. Later that afternoon, he picked me up from the gatehouse in a shabby old car and, both back in civvies, we drove through the city outskirts to a tenement building in a blue-collar area. He handed me a key, an envelope and a cell phone, and fastened a new ID bracelet on my wrist. He turned in his driver’s seat, shook my hand and wished me good luck. I was to check in every week and he would see me in three weeks, he said.

Not if I saw him first.

My temporary home was dingy and neglected. Painted in dull beige and furnished with a worn couch, a chipped plastic-topped table, hard chairs and a sagging bed, it was truly depressing. The kitchen was clean but very basic. The bathroom was similar, but with a bath with hand-held shower attachment – no regular shower. I discovered some provisions in an ill-fitting kitchen cabinet and fixed myself some black tea. No coffee, not even instant. Who was the joker who had organised this place? Now I was urban poor, I went and slumped on the couch and switched on the television. I opened my envelope; the contents were exactly what I’d ordered.

The next day, I collected two packets from the general delivery counter at a post office in another suburb. One packet contained a bundle of cash. I also rented a lock-box there and stowed some items for emergency. Getting there had been easy. My ID wristband was in perfect order – even the security fastener worked – and entitled me to free public transport. But all these movements would have been logged in Lurio’s secure area at the DJ operations unit. I decided that now was the time to go freelance. No way was I going to dance to Lurio’s tune.

I made my way into the city centre and used some of the cash to buy new clothes, cosmetics, a brown wig and leather messenger bag. In the restroom, I changed in the end cubicle, unlocked my ID wristband and taped it to the high flat top of the service wall. It couldn’t be seen unless you stood on the seat; the dust testified it was rarely visited by the cleaning personnel.

Next, Dania’s. I walked the length of the counter, straight through the door to the back and waited. When she came bustling into the back lobby, demanding to know who I was and what was going on, I held my finger to my lips.

‘Come upstairs and I’ll explain,’ I whispered, and grinned at her.

Her eyes widened. ‘Pulcheria?’

Her first floor living room was a shrine to frilled drapery. Every window, alcove and niche was festooned with shiny satin or strident gauze. Despite the hints during my last visit, she hadn’t changed any of it. I needed sunglasses.

‘Okay, here’s the thing, Dania. I’ve decided to start my own campaign against the drugs trade.’

‘How in Hades are you going to do that?’

‘With the help of friends,’ I said, ‘and perhaps enemies. If these industrial-scale Western dealers get in here, it won’t only bring shattering misery, but it could disrupt our economy. Even our local criminals will be affected,’ I smiled, wryly.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I need your help and support. I’ll protect you, and even make sure you come out with a profit, but we may find ourselves in strange company. Are you in?’

She stood up and went over to an alcove and played with the violet satin that loitered there. After a few moments, she turned, her hand gripping the fabric. ‘I hate the idea of these drugs people. Bastards. I trust you. You’ve been fantastic to me, believing in me, helping me get this place going. Of course I’m in.’

I figured I had around twenty-four hours maximum before Lurio found me by tracking my communications. Dania cleared a space and I set up a virtual network, organised domains, emails, secure access protocols. I checked the ultra-secure numbered account I’d set up with my own money before the DJ training course, and transferred funds so I could access them by card at any touch terminal.

I called Uncle Frank, my father’s old colleague at Brown Industries in New Hampshire. I prayed the secure VoIP would protect this one call. Since inheriting the company in its entirety, I’d left the day-to-day running in the hands of the professionals, with Nonna advising me on overall business strategy. But I kept up with new product programmes, studying the confidential reports each month. So I was able to arrange for Frank to send me some of the experimental ‘supermobiles’ they were developing.

‘You know, Karen, they’re not market-tested, so I can’t give you any promises. They’ll work on any standard GSM, 3 or 4G network and simulate a normal call. We have around fifty – would a dozen be enough for you?’

‘That’s great, Uncle Frank, just beautiful. Can you send them by secure messenger, please, and treat it as extremely confidential? I’ll forward you the exact address in a few days. Send the key to this email address, please.’ I gave him the address of one of my new secure accounts.

I had Dania colour my hair black and curl it into corkscrews – the wigs were too hot and inconvenient. As she was brushing through after the treatments, I looked at the stranger in the mirror. I was still there but, once I started wearing my coloured contacts, Carina would vanish. Pulcheria would take over completely.

Having fallen off his automatic reporting system, I probably irritated the hell out of Lurio. Too bad. But he couldn’t start a proper search or he’d blow the whole operation. I smiled at the thought of his frustration. Once my plan was launched, I would become very visible, but he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. Where did all this aggression come from? Maybe it was the adrenalin I was living on. I only went out at night, meticulous with my disguises, ultra-careful to alter my body language each time. Avoiding the public feeds was impossible – that’s what CCTV was for, spotting illegal activity. At least I realised how much of a beginner I was at this.

Next, I instructed a commercial agent to find a very specific property. I demanded total discretion and left him an escrow draft for a hundred thousand
solidi
as a mark of good faith. His cut would be ten per cent if he found the right place within a week. However, his rate would reduce by one per cent each day. The ninth day after the original week, I would find another agent.

On day five, he found exactly what I wanted. I promised him a substantial bonus if he would organise the renovations and fit-out. Within two weeks, I moved into the new property. As I wound my way between pallets of plastic-wrapped materials, groups of artisans and workpeople decorating, cabling and carpeting, the smell of sawn wood, paint and new fabrics hit me.

The agent had provided an on-site assistant, Martina, to supervise the project. I found her in the middle of the floor, directing three different conversations that she terminated with a flick of her fingers when she saw me.

‘Madam, welcome! Please, sit.’ She indicated a ramshackle wooden chair near the new stage. She waved her long, slender hand again and a plascard cup of instant coffee appeared within a half a minute. Not the best drink I’d ever had, but what service! Her efficiency was belied by her tall, thin, almost fragile figure; she looked under-nourished.

Right on time, Dania turned up, and we stepped over cables and stacks of panelling to reach my new office behind the performance area, at the back of the building. Instead of windows, it had a bank of CCTV screens on one wall. The furniture was futuristic, the lighting pure designer. Carefully conceived to give subliminal visual cues so that whoever sat in the chair behind the desk radiated power and could manipulate psychological responses, it appeared deceptively natural.

Dania, Martina and I worked long days over the next week. Furniture was ordered and delivered, a chef, catering and bar staff engaged, a sommelier tasked with procuring and managing the cellar, show producers and artists booked and musicians installed. The gods know how she did it, but Martina had a stellar international line-up for the opening night. Thus was Goldlights born.

The morning of our opening, I had a bad fright. Two uniformed DJ
custodes
strode in behind the musicians who had come for their final practice. Had Lurio found me despite all my efforts to hide myself? Remembering to breathe, I followed their movements from the screen in my office. The cops waved the doorman aside and marched in their studded boots across the dance floor, heading for the group around Dania. Sure, I had deviated a considerable way from the original plan, but surely Lurio wasn’t going to endanger the whole operation because he was miffed at me?

The two blue-clad figures stood over Dania, throwing questions at her. They strutted around, looking at everything. One spoke into his communicator while the other looked over paperwork on the bar counter, the sommelier producing more paper from under the counter. Dania hovered, ready to answer any further questions. After half an hour, they went. I put a hand to my forehead in relief and found it coated with sweat.

That evening, I checked everything through again with Martina. She had masterminded the invitation list, focusing on the ‘beautiful people’ of Roma Nova, but I had added one of my own. Whether he would come or not was anybody’s guess. I figured he would, if only out of curiosity. But it was crucial to my plan.

XLIV

Renschman kicked the table leg in frustration, adding another scuff to the cheap pine. He supposed he was fortunate: he’d found this job very quickly. The pay was good, the work easy, and he was given some respect for his talent and dedication. But he was owned body and soul by Palicek, which was why he was waiting at eleven at night in this abandoned shop with rain-sodden posters curling off dirty windows.

Last December, he’d upgraded to business class on the flights back from Roma Nova to London and Washington. He’d timed his flight beautifully. Two hours after he’d left her in her concrete coffin, he was over Bavaria en route to London. The girl was dead and he was going to be rich, very rich. Overloading the credit card was no problem. The snowstorm that almost prevented him landing at Sterling Dulles had heralded a weather lockdown. He’d filed for probate as soon as he could, battling the Arctic weather to deposit the application personally. Eight weeks later, he’d nearly choked over the court letter stating they had received no notification of death.

Jerking the mouse around the pad, he’d concentrated on his screen. He’d started at the Roma Nova Washington legation site. After nearly two hours of searching and sifting, he’d found a four-line notice in the social news section in
Acta Diurna
gazette from the previous month. He’d right-clicked to get the English translation. Following an illness, Countess Mitela’s granddaughter, Carina Mitela, had left the city for an extended stay at their country home at Castra Lucilla. She was not expected back until June.

The following day, he’d bought a new keyboard to replace the one he’d smashed.

His main problem was to get free of Palicek. There was no retirement or holiday plan, except a permanent one. He glanced at his watch. This pick-up was not going to happen. Too bad for the dealer – his last mistake. His ideas about the way he’d punish the defaulter were cut short by a harsh ring from his pocket.

‘Pack your bag. We’re flying to Europe tomorrow afternoon.’