New Pompeii (32 page)

“Officer training corps?”

“Yes.” Kirsten smiled at a memory. “Or he was exercising. I remember once going into his room to change his bedding. He was doing sit-ups. He carried on the entire time I was in there. By the time I left I could tell the strain was killing him – but he wasn’t going to give up.”

“A strange pair to run a company together?”

“They’d been allocated rooms in the same court.”

Harris was silent for a few moments. “They both had rich parents,” he said. “Whelan’s father was old money. Had ties to the government. McMahon senior made a more modest fortune from machine parts.”

Kirsten nodded, but there was a doubt nagging at her. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Joe Arlen? Octavian?”

Harris looked back at her, his face blank.

“I always heard them referring to him as Octo,” she explained. “Everyone expected him to win the Nobel Prize. I suppose he’s done that by now, hasn’t he?”

Harris smiled, sympathetically. “Joe Arlen isn’t important. He retired to live the simple life, à la Howard Hughes. We hear from him occasionally, but no one’s seen him for years.”

“A
RE YOU ALL
right?”

Nick looked up. He was back at the House of Barbatus in one of the cubicles leading off an unused atrium, a guard at the door. Calpurnia stood looking at him from the doorway.

“You don’t look frightened,” she said.

Nick let out a breath. “I’m not,” he replied.

“Then you’re crazy.”

Nick gave a shallow smile. He felt for his belt, which was now safely back around his waist. “I think for the moment your father needs me. He already sees the advantages offered by the tablet.”

“Knowledge is easy to acquire, Pullus.”

“Not so easy to use.”

“Now you sound like a Greek,” she said, not without a hint of contempt. She considered him awhile. “Do you know much history?”

Nick’s smile grew. “A little,” he said.

“Well then you’ll know that when we first went to war against Carthage, Rome had no fleet. Not one ship. And certainly no sailors. But by the time we’d won, we controlled the water from Hispania to Persia.”

Nick didn’t reply. Barbatus’ dismissive attitude of Calpurnia seemed more and more ridiculous. She edged inside. The guard posted on the door looked over his shoulder then turned back to stare out over the abandoned atrium. It was clear Barbatus was occupied elsewhere, and until the meeting with NovusPart was brokered, the game continued. Despite what Calpurnia might think.

“You’re keeping yourself busy.”

Nick looked down at the notebooks he had brought from the House of Samson, and nodded. The professor’s use of convoluted Latin was made more complicated by his terrible handwriting. But they would tell him more than the sanitised version on his tablet. Even if a lot of the information was turning out to be rubbish. Because Nick had been right about one thing: Rome hadn’t been the professor’s first love, not by a long shot. He seemed obsessed by the Third Reich. And one question in particular that seemed to come up again and again. What would have happened if Hitler had died prior to 1933? Who would have taken over?

Goebbels? Goering? Hess? Himmler? Or none of the above? Would they simply not have been able to embody the same toxic mix of hope and hatred? Would the darkest chapter in world history simply not have happened?

“The work of my predecessor,” he said, indicating the notebooks.

“Ah, yes. He wanted to know about everything we did before the ash started to fall.”

“Your father thinks he was murdered.”

“He was. I saw the body.”

Nick hesitated. “It was brought here?”

“Yes.” She paused. Examining him. “What does the name ‘Perkin Warbeck’ mean to you?”

Nick shrugged. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Why?”

“Your man was found with a wax tablet. Most of the writing had been ruined. But there was one bit that made sense:
Who is Perkin Warbeck
?”

Nick let the cogs in his mind rotate, but came to no conclusion. Calpurnia seemed to detect the blankness in his face. “When we last spoke,” she said, this time in ancient Greek, “you offered me the truth. But you don’t know it, do you?”

It took a while for Nick’s brain to switch tracks. To place the language and decipher her pronunciation. The guard at the doorway glanced again over his shoulder. Nick caught his look of puzzlement. He clearly didn’t speak Greek.

“I did what I thought was right,” he said. “And I still hope to find what you’re looking for. What we’re both looking for.”

Calpurnia smiled. “You speak better Latin than you do Greek.”

“Perhaps. I didn’t know what would happen to Felix.”

“I believe you.”

“I just couldn’t take the risk they’d hurt you.”

“But you could take that same risk with him?”

Nick winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He tried to change the subject. “Your father seems to inspire loyalty in his men.”

“Yes, they are loyal,” she said. “But only because they are scared of him.”

“Scared?”

Calpurnia continued to smile, but her eyes suddenly seemed to lose their focus. “Tell me, Pullus. What sort of town do you think Pompeii is?”

Nick shrugged. It was a miracle. An archaeological miracle. But as for the type of town it had been at its peak, he simply didn’t know. A jewel in the crown, or another pebble on the shore?

“A trading port,” he said. “A town where the rich took their holidays.”

“One thing that rich men like is security,” Calpurnia said. “And trade brings violence. So let me ask you another question. What sort of a man do you think the emperors trust to run such a place?”

Nick didn’t reply.

“You maybe don’t know, but my father was first elected when I was just a baby. The men in charge of the town at the time tried to stop him. They invited my mother to a dinner party – and then they wouldn’t let her leave. Unless my father withdrew from the race.”

“Your father got elected though, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother?”

“They killed her.”

Nick hesitated, but he sensed the story hadn’t quite finished. “And the men who did it?”

“My father scraped a small hole in the ringleader’s skull. He did it slowly. Carefully. Kept him alive and screaming. Then he filled his cranium with molten lead until it flowed out through his eyes.” For a second, Calpurnia’s gaze met his, and Nick felt his entire body shudder. Her voice sounded so cold. So detached. But, of course, she wasn’t speaking from memory. Someone must have told her. Let her know Barbatus had allowed her mother to die, and then had gone on to murder his opponents. “The Emperor Gaius once said: ‘It’s not enough they die; they have to feel themselves dying’.”

“Caligula was a madman.”

“The Emperor Gaius was once
duumvir
of Pompeii, just like my father is now. And if he doesn’t get what he wants, it will end badly for you.”

“He’ll attack us?”

“He’ll butcher you, and all your friends.”

Nick looked towards the guard. “Then I’d better not fail.”

“D
O YOU THINK
he does it often? Take people from the timeline?”

Harris didn’t reply.

“But you think there were others, don’t you? Like me?”

“Undoubtedly. Just not very often, and so damn difficult to prove.”

Kirsten hesitated. “Why do you say, not often? How can you be so sure?”

“How would McMahon know he wasn’t removing someone who’d done something that was to his own benefit? Like you, for instance. The risk would be too great. Every time he rolls the dice, he risks losing everything.”

“And then what?”

“Pardon?”

“After I’d been taken. What did you think they were going to do with me?”

Harris paused a second. “The news is full of people claiming to have been dumped on the streets of London.”

“And no one cares about that?”

“Most have been proven to be crackpots. The same people who a few years ago would have been claiming they’d been abducted by aliens. No, what’s more interesting is the quantifiable phenomenon of people going missing. Kids mainly. After all, a child that goes missing creates a lot less consequential disruption than an adult. They are quickly forgotten.”

Kirsten’s lip curled. “Not by the parents.”

“No. And you’re right that a few parents manage to keep their loss in the headlines for years. But several hundred children go missing every year, and what do you hear of them?”

Kirsten quietly shuddered in her seat. There was something beneath Harris’s cold reply. Anger.

“This is personal for you, isn’t it?” she said.

Harris didn’t respond.

“Who did NovusPart take?”

Harris didn’t reply.

“Did McMahon take your son?”

“No,” came the soft reply. “He took my brother.”

Kirsten didn’t say anything. The words of the man in the canvas coat rattled through her mind.
No. Not a kid. A woman
. She had surprised him. And the only distraction they’d provided was a handful of toys. Something to play with, after the paradoxes emerged.

“They reach back and remove people when they’re children,” she said, her eyes losing focus. And they must still be doing it, because they were keeping the basement in Chaderton Court under close observation. They were waiting for their prey to arrive. “But if they’re only children…”

“They used to say you can kill a man, but you can’t kill an idea. Except now they can remove a person before they’ve even conceived of that idea. Remove anyone who would shut them down.”

Kirsten didn’t say anything. There was something nagging at her: McMahon probably didn’t know she’d been transported because the action had removed the causation. The timeline had been altered.

“Will you come with me,” she said. “To see my parents?”

Harris’s eyes dropped to the desk. No words. But he’d said everything.

One more day won’t matter.

“You won’t, will you,” said Kirsten. “Because you can’t.”

“They died about eight years ago,” replied Harris. He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry.”

Kirsten swallowed. Her breath suddenly coming too fast. “And my sister?”

“The same.”

“How?”

Harris looked up, his eyes heavy.

“How?” Kirsten repeated, barely containing her anger.

“A bus crash.”

“You said you were going to take me to them…”

“I meant the memorial garden,” said Harris. “You’d been through a lot, Kirsten. I thought it would be best to tell you after you’d at least orientated yourself.”

“So you had my best interests at heart?”

“Probably not. But I didn’t keep you in the dark to hurt you.”

I
T WAS THREE
hours before Barbatus reappeared, the tablet in his hand. Cato wasn’t with him. It suddenly felt like there was more sand in the bottom of the hourglass than at the top. The helicopter would soon be on its way.

“Contact your people,” the
duumvir
said, handing the tablet to Nick.

Nick turned it on and activated the communications app. He figured the best person to try was Whelan.

The COO didn’t answer the first time. Or the second. But on the third try, his brawny face appeared on the screen. The background of the image indicated he was in his room in the House of McMahon. If Whelan was surprised to see him, then he hid it well. “Nick,” he said, almost casually. “You have news?”

“Yes,” Nick said, in English. “I think I’m making progress.”

“And just how did they get hold of a tablet?”

“I told you these people weren’t stupid.”

Whelan grunted. “Barbatus is with you?”

Nick nodded, and tilted the tablet towards the
duumvir
. Ready to translate.

“I hope you’ve had time to consider our offer.”

The
duumvir
glared down at the screen. “I have.”

“And your answer?”

“I think we need to discuss the terms in more detail.”

“We have nothing to talk about. You can either join us, or we cut off your supply of cash. This isn’t a negotiation. Perhaps Nick – Pullus – didn’t explain it to you properly. We want you to help us take back control of the town.”

Barbatus gave a shallow grin. Like a wolf baring his teeth. “Really? You wouldn’t like to discuss your villa? Where your metal mosquitoes land?”

Whelan shook his head, remaining calm. “No. They’re none of your concern. And I’m very disappointed you’ve been told about them.”

Nick hesitated, then completed the translation. Barbatus listened to his words carefully, but didn’t register any discomfort. “No, I disagree,” replied the
duumvir
. “Because right now my men are taking control of your villa. So maybe they’ll soon fly one of those mosquitoes into town.”

Emotion registered on Whelan’s face. It was brief, but Nick saw it. Whelan’s eyeballs bulged. “You’re making a serious mistake.”

“Really?” answered Barbatus. “Because a bird can only tease the cat when he’s out of reach. And you’re flying very low, Mark Whelan of NovusPart. Very low indeed.”

W
HELAN CALLED BACK
ten minutes later. Barbatus held up his hand – a clear signal not to answer.

“You think me foolish.”

Nick felt the urge to nod. “I’m not sure you have all the facts,” he said. “Whelan is a dangerous man.”

Barbatus shrugged. “He doesn’t look it. He looks soft.”

The tablet started buzzing again. Once again, Barbatus indicated he shouldn’t answer. “What do you think he’s been doing? In between finding out his villa is under attack, and calling us back?”

“Probably checking out your story,” said Nick.

“I’d ask you to contact the villa, but my men won’t know how to use these devices. And I don’t know how many of your men are alive, or in a position to help. Which means Whelan is either calling to tell us my attack failed, or else he wants to meet.”

Nick tried to run through the scenarios in his mind. If Barbatus was worried about the outcome, he didn’t look it. “The men at the villa were armed. It wouldn’t have been easy for your watch.”

“I didn’t send the city watch,” replied Barbatus. “I sent fifteen gladiators.”