INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) (8 page)

XX

I retreated to my bedroom. I needed to collect my thoughts somewhere away from all those people. Until an hour ago, having a nationality wasn’t something I’d given much thought to. I was Karen Brown who lived in the Eastern United States of America. Period. So giving up something so formless was weird. My father, but much more so the Browns, had drilled into me how lucky I was to be born in the greatest country in the world, where rights and freedoms were sacred. In the last week, I’d discovered nothing was sacred. I’d seen first-hand what a shovel-load of hypocrisy it was. I wanted to go shout in the street about how I’d been betrayed. I pulled up fistfuls of bedding and wanted to tear them away.

I had an alternative. But, if I took that, there would be no return.

Half an hour later, Conrad put his head around the door and came in with a tray of sandwiches. The warmth in his smile travelled up and filled his eyes. Sure, he’d been the one trying to protect me in all this danger, but what I felt for him wasn’t gratitude.

‘Not a great set of options, is it?’ he said.

‘Was this what you meant when we were talking by the pool?’

He nodded.

Disruptive didn’t begin to describe it. I would have a family there, I’d be comfortable materially, and I would be able to keep my father’s legacy. But every tiny thing would be different.

I’d been forced, sobbing, from my East Coast home after Dad died, and dumped in the Midwest when I was twelve and survived. I’d escaped that bleakness and settled in New York, and adapted. Hell, given the choice between twenty years shut up in a miserable penitentiary and another move, I knew which I needed to pick. I could do this. I took the sandwiches and smiled back.

After breakfast the next morning, Steven Smith called. I put it on loudspeaker.

‘Good morning, Miss Brown, Captain. I’m afraid I’m going to have to rearrange our next meeting to tomorrow morning at ten thirty instead of this afternoon. Something has come up which must be done today. I apologise for the inconvenience and trust you understand.’

His tone was tense, insistent even. I didn’t know we had fixed a definite meeting time. And he’d called Conrad ‘captain’. So, was Conrad military? Why hadn’t he told me? But, as I replaced the handset and turned to challenge him, my question fled. His face had gone white; his mouth reduced to a thin line as if pulled tight by a thread.

‘Galla, Maro, Marcus – in here, stat!’ he shouted at the closed kitchen door. The three of them materialised within seconds. ‘Emergency evac. Galla, transport.’

She nodded and stabbed a number into a tiny cell phone.

‘Marcus, get the domestics arranged, especially that sign on the door.’ Next, he turned to me. ‘You have exactly fifteen minutes to gather up essential items. Then we’re leaving. Everything else will be packed by Marcus and will follow us. We have to get you out.’

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

‘I know it’s difficult to grasp, but you need to get moving now.’ Conrad’s voice was firm. His eyes bored into mine as if forcing me to move by his willpower alone. ‘Give Marcus your Internet access details. He’ll stop them hacking your accounts and seizing your money. He can block them but needs the passwords. Please, Karen, believe me on this.’ He fished out his tiny cell and started talking without waiting for any reply.

My stupefied brain managed to organise itself. I gave Marcus my cards, accounts and codes. I listened, almost detached, as I heard my voice speak clearly and make perfect sense. That done, I pulled a case out of my closet. I threw in a change of clothes and my box of photos. I seized a frame of my parents. I left the Browns. I grabbed my file box, crammed it into a duffel, picked up my case, a sweater and coat, changed into my toughest sneakers, grabbed my purse and was ready. I did it within twelve minutes.

Back in the living room, Conrad was still talking on his phone. He snapped it shut as he saw us. The last image I ever had of my apartment was of Marcus sitting in front of my netbook, his flying fingers logging on.

We shot down Eleanor Roosevelt Drive and reached the heliport by the river, opposite the Bellevue Free Hospital. Galla went to the office with a bunch of papers and brought back a pilot. The helicopter engine noise was deafening, and I struggled against the back draft. Conrad helped me on board while Maro loaded the bags. Galla sat up with the pilot; Conrad told me she was a qualified pilot herself. She gave the signal and we were airborne. Conrad squeezed my hand to reassure me, but his attention was elsewhere. He kept glancing at his watch until we left the city limits. The rotor noise obliterated any hope of talking.

An hour later, we crossed the wide expanse of Chesapeake Bay and approached Washington. We dropped down and followed the Anacostia River as it wound south-west through dense woodland. Flights of birds swirled up from the marshland by the banks. If I’d been a tourist, I would have been thrilled to see the Presidential Mansion – built before Georgetown had been renamed Washington – the heart of the country I had grown up in. I admired the view clinically, with a bitter feeling in my heart. We landed by the river near the new International Sports Park, ducked out of the helicopter and scrambled toward three waiting vehicles. As the back door of the middle one opened for me, I turned, lifted my hand half in a wave and watched the helicopter vanish up into the sky.

XXI

The driver navigated our car with precise, composed movements and slid through the busy streets, somehow never slowing, staying within inches of the SUV in front. The one behind was nearly in the trunk.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘The Roma Nova legation,’ Conrad said. ‘You’ll be safe there. It’s one of the most secure buildings in Washington.’

I rubbed my forehead with the fingertips of my right hand. ‘Look, I don’t know why we had to run away so suddenly. Was it that necessary?’

‘Yes. Steven Smith’s warning was near miraculous.’ He pulled his eyes away from scanning the streets left and right. ‘Before he left yesterday evening, I arranged some code phrases with him, in case he couldn’t speak freely or was under duress from Renschman.’

I shivered at the thought of the immaculate Mr Smith being worked over by Renschman’s thugs.

‘And how did you know that was a warning?’

‘When he called me “captain” and mentioned the fictitious meeting, I knew something was wrong. He’s an American; he would naturally say “reschedule”, so we agreed “rearrange” to mean the opposition were on their way. The clincher was when he said he trusted we would understand.’

‘Do you ever have a normal conversation?’

‘Of course. I’m having one now with you.’

‘I’ll try and remember that.’

In a wide, tree-lined street, we approached an arched gateway framed by a high stone wall. Double gates swung open. At the end of a driveway curving through gardens and lawns stood a large building in pale gold stone, fronted by a portico of classic columns.

Two figures emerged through the building entrance as we got out of the SUV. A tall, slim man arrived first. His jet-black hair contrasted with green eyes. Nature seemed to have made him thin and stretched out, but his face showed a smile.

‘Welcome, Karen Brown.’ He shook my hand firmly. ‘I am Favonius Cotta, chief of staff to the ambassador. May I present my protocol officer Gaia Memmia.’ Beside the striking Favonius, she looked pretty normal with brown hair, brown eyes and olive skin.

Favonius greeted Conrad, eyelids half-closed and his tone cool to the point of frost. ‘Well done, Captain – another successful mission to notch up.’

Ouch. What was that about?

Favonius led us inside to a lobby area with dark-tinted glass walls. He ignored the impeccably groomed man and woman behind the reception counter. He placed his open hand on a small screen, glanced into an aperture above it and spoke his name. A glass panel slid back silently to reveal an enormous courtyard open to the top of the building and covered by a clear glass roof. I gasped with surprise. I had never seen anything like it.

Around the hall ran three storeys of galleries, with a tile-floored walkway on the ground floor. In the centre lay a large garden with trees, shrubs, grasses, paths and seats.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Favonius smiled down at me. ‘There’s an olive tree in the middle that the first ambassador planted when the legation opened in 1792.’

He led us around the side to an elevator which we took to the second floor. His office was splendid: thick green carpet, leather couches and birchwood panelling reflecting the sunlight from the tall windows.

‘Miss Brown, may I extend a formal welcome to you. As an important member of one of our leading families, the legation and its facilities are naturally at your disposal. Please call on me at any time if you have a question or would like me to arrange anything.’ He smiled again. I figured he was being a little too gracious, bordering on the unctuous. He definitely wanted to be my friend. ‘We’ve arranged accommodation for you until the, er, legal and administrative issues have been resolved.’

I glanced at Conrad but he wore a poker face.

‘That’s very kind of you, Favonius Cotta. How long do you think that will be?’

‘Your legal representative has contacted our political officer to work on this. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to help you settle in.’ He nodded to his colleague. ‘Gaia Memmia has a few suggestions which you may care to look at tomorrow. I imagine you’ll wish to settle in today. If you’re not too tired, the ambassador would like you to join her for drinks at eighteen thirty.’

Panic struck me. I had nothing to wear for a diplomatic occasion. I had little to wear at all except what I stood up in and a change of shirt and underwear.

Favonius read my mind. ‘She stresses it’s very informal. “Come as you are” were her exact words. In the meantime, Memmia will show you to your quarters and answer any immediate queries you have.’

He continued smiling but stood. We had come to the end of the audience with him. His firm handshake gave me the impression of a strong will behind the smile.

‘Oh, Captain Tellus, a word, if you please,’ Favonius called as we reached the door.

Memmia ushered me out to the elevator. I wasn’t sure whether to wait or not. I felt wrong-footed somehow. I absolutely had to talk to Conrad. Maybe he was giving Favonius a report. As we walked along, I half-listened to Memmia explaining the building numbering system. She handed me a wristband with a small screen and tiny keypad.

‘This gets you into anywhere in the building except the personal residences. You can call anybody else in the legation, order food, drink, anything from the commissary – the store, I mean,’ she said, seeing my puzzled look. ‘Others can call you and find you. I’ve set that to very restricted: only the ambassador, Favonius and myself. You don’t want each and every person in the legation tracking you.’

I needed to get that changed; I didn’t want
anybody
tracking me.

At a tall, intricately carved door retro-fitted with a scanlock, she showed me how passing the wristband across the sensor opened the door. A rush of warmth and light greeted me, full of the scent of honey and vanilla. The entrance vestibule gave way to a living area with two tall picture windows overlooking a back lawn, two bedrooms, an enormous bathroom – the source of the honey and vanilla – and a kitchen. In the larger bedroom was a walk-in closet, like you only see in the movies, and another bathroom. My apartment would have fit in a quarter of it. What was I to do with all this space?

‘Memmia…No, can I call you Gaia? It seems so formal to use your surname.’

‘Of course, lady, whatever you wish.’ Then she became really brave. ‘It’s called a
nomen
or family name, rather than a surname. Yours is Mitela, like your grandmother.’

‘That’s more musical than plain old Brown,’ I said, laughing.

She hesitated then smiled.

‘I suppose I get a new first name, do I?’

‘Your mother registered you with the legation as “Carina” when you were born.’ The name Conrad had called me at Gianni’s. ‘Perhaps that’s why they called you Karen in English.’

So I was reverting to my original name. It was a cool name, but did I need to get a new personality to go with it? Pushing that thought away, I looked at my watch. ‘Gaia, where’s Conradus Tellus?’

She glanced away. ‘I think he will have been occupied with reporting in to the military commander attached to the legation.’

‘So he is military.’

‘Of course,’ She looked puzzled.

“And how long would that take?’

She didn’t meet my eyes. Around the room, on the floor, anywhere but on me.

‘C’mon, Gaia, would it really take an hour?’

She said nothing. She acted as guilty as a junior park volunteer caught littering.

‘Okay, here’s the thing. You either explain exactly what’s going on, or I take the elevator down to that big courtyard and run around making a lot of noise to find out. Your choice.’

‘I…I…’

‘You have thirty seconds, starting now,’ I said, looking at my watch.

I hoped I wasn’t losing my first friend here. I had started making my way to the door when she capitulated.

She stared at her feet, looking as if her world was falling apart. ‘Favonius Cotta considers it inappropriate for you to be encumbered by any obligations you may have had before coming to the legation. He wishes to separate you from the chancellor’s family,’ she muttered.

An hour in and I was already plunged into political shark-infested waters.

‘Thank you. I’m grateful for what you’ve done – it must have been hard for you. Let’s you and I go for a walk downstairs and do some exploring of our own.’

She stared at me as if I were a scary snake.

‘But before we do, I want you to adjust my wristband options…’

The functional departments formed the east side of the legation, with the military office in the corner between the north and east sides. Once there, I dismissed Gaia for her own protection. By the time Favonius tracked me down the old-fashioned way, I was chatting with the legation military commander. Teasing out some arcane family connections, she had found we were related. We were calling each other ‘cousin’ by the time Favonius came knocking at the door.

‘Ah, Miss Brown,’ he said, ‘I was worried about you. There must be some malfunction on your wrist unit. Do let me escort you back to your apartment.’

‘Oh, please don’t concern yourself. Cousin Faleria and I are discussing my father’s and her own military service. I’m absolutely fine here.’

He looked as sick as a pig.

‘I’m sure she’ll provide me with an escort back if I need one. Please don’t let me interrupt your work any longer.’ I gave him a full-teeth smile and turned back to the commander. I sensed, rather than saw, Favonius leave. I also saw respect glimmer in Faleria’s eyes.

Face washed, teeth brushed and hair combed, I felt marginally more prepared when Conrad pinged the scanlock half an hour later. He looked preoccupied but gave me a quick smile.

He opened his mouth but I got there first. ‘It’s okay. Gaia filled me in. Is it going to be a problem?’

‘Just Favonius playing stupid power games.’ He threw himself on the huge white leather couch. ‘He and Uncle Quintus are political rivals. Quintus is senior, obviously, but, as the legation’s chief of staff, Favonius pulled rank on me.’ He snorted. ‘Damn politicos.’

‘I spoke to Faleria,’ I said, ‘and I think I may have straightened it out.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me. I told her I might need your advice and support from time to time.’ I glanced at him. ‘She said it was fine, anytime, you just had to sign out.’

He raised his eyebrows, gave me a puzzled look, but didn’t comment.

Walking to the ambassador’s residence along the tall, marble-floored hallway, Conrad told me she’d been one of my grandmother’s trainees at the foreign ministry. In a deep-carpeted side passage lined with oak book cabinets and marble busts, he buzzed us through a security barrier and we stopped in front of double doors with the sign ‘Domus Nunciae’. Conrad squeezed my shoulder in encouragement. I took a deep breath and knocked.

‘Carina Mitela, welcome. Or would you prefer Karen Brown? Such a lot to take in.’ The figure in front of me chuckled. She was shorter than me, in her fifties, I guessed, with brown hair and eyes. As she led us in, she walked with the grace of a ballet dancer.

‘My name is Claudia Cornelia, and this is my husband, Ted Johansson, your “fellow American”.’ Her eyes were full of mischief as she introduced him. Tall, blond and spare, he looked like the stereotype Harvard professor as portrayed in the movies. He told me later that that was exactly what he’d been, except it was Yale.

‘Hello, Karen.’ His handshake was dry but firm. I was instantly charmed. Maybe it was the warmth of his smile, or maybe because his East Coast accent reminded me of everything I’d left behind when I’d been moved out at twelve. He poured us some chilled white wine, like the German wine Hayden drank. I later found out it was a famous Roma Novan export.

‘I heard about the misunderstanding with Favonius,’ Claudia said. ‘He should have known better. He let his personal political sense get the better of him.’

I didn’t follow her.

‘This may seem alien to you but, with your grandmother’s political role close to the imperatrix, you’re an immediate connection with the upper layers of power.’

I exchanged glances with Conrad. My most political act to date was registering my vote. I was way out of my depth.