The Curve of The Earth (14 page)

The carpet was deep enough to drown in and so clean it shone. Petrovitch didn’t feel comfortable walking in it, but since his shoes were so new, they hadn’t had time to get dirty.

“I’m afraid we’ve had to change our plans to accommodate Dr Petrovitch’s status,” said Newcomen. “It’s a condition of his visa that he’s accompanied at all times by a federal officer, which means I can’t take Christine to a restaurant as I’d wanted. So on, uh, Dr Petrovitch’s recommendation, I brought some of the restaurant with me. If it’s okay, I can take the hamper down to the summer house, and maybe he can wait up at the main house with the staff.”

“It’s an imposition,” said Petrovitch, “but as a married man, I’m all for encouraging young love.”

“You’re married, Dr Petrovitch?” She seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps monsters didn’t get married.

“To the only woman who would have me, Mrs Logan.” His eyes were drawn to the staircase behind her. Logan was walking slowly down towards them, his skin dark and his face set.

“Heating’s off in the summer house,” he declared. “Christine’ll freeze out there, so forget it.”

“Oh, Teddy,” said Mrs Logan, then stopped abruptly. Whatever helpful suggestion she’d been about to make died on her lips. One look from her husband was all it took.

Petrovitch leaned towards Newcomen. “Leave the scum-sucking pond life to me,” he murmured. “I’ve got previous on this.”

Newcomen’s face, already pale, turned white. “Mr Logan, can I introduce…”

“I know who he is.” Logan reached the bottom of the stairs and advanced on Petrovitch. “You’ve got a nerve bringing this… man here. We’re decent, God-fearing people, Joseph Newcomen, and I won’t have him under my roof.”

Logan was a big man: solid, round even. Taller than Petrovitch, he had presence and confidence, and he was on home ground. He took another step closer.

“I hope you don’t mind your wife hearing this,” said Petrovitch, “because husbands shouldn’t have secrets from wives – I learnt that the hard way – but if you don’t let Joseph and Christine spend the evening together in the limousine I’ve parked outside, which can’t go anywhere because he has to stay near me, because of the restrictions your government has placed on my movements while I’m here, even though I’ve a diplomatic passport, I will personally see to it that I ruin you financially and politically by publishing your unaudited accounts for the last twenty years, which will reveal tax evasion and the payment of kickbacks on a frankly industrial scale. I am very aware of how quickly Reconstruction will turn on you and tear your bloodied carcass apart, leaving only scraps for the crows to chew messily on, because it happened to a friend of mine who ended up having to flee the country and become a penniless refugee in the Freezone. So, your call. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath and smiled again. This time, he meant it.

“Joseph!” Christine swept down the stairs, a cloud of green silk and emeralds. She tottered to a halt on her high heels, staring down at the strange tableau below, starring her parents and this white-haired foreigner she’d heard so many appalling things about. She tried to make sense of it, of the conflicting body language exhibited by her father and the stranger.

One thing was clear, though: Newcomen seemed to grow in her presence. He stood straighter and looked stronger. “Hello, Christine. You look amazing.”

Logan almost said something. The corner of Petrovitch’s eye twitched. They were so close, there was no way the man could miss its meaning.

Christine smiled, and her whole face lit up like a flashbulb. Newcomen held the dozen red roses out in front of him, offering them and himself up to her.

She came to collect them, and chastely offered her cheek to be kissed. He did so, trembling.

“They’re lovely, Joseph. Now come on, or we’ll be late, and that would be disrespectful.” She had blonde hair, the colour of a lion’s mane, which bobbed with every one of her precise, positive gestures.

Newcomen collected her coat from the closet – he’d been there often enough to know where it was and which of her many coats she’d need – and draped it around her shoulders.

“Actually, my dear, we’re doing something slightly different tonight. I’ll explain on the way to the car.” He opened the door, and Christine caught sight of the long white limousine.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Joseph.”

With the carelessness of youth, she didn’t look back at her terrified mother and furious father, just strode out into the night as if wolves only existed in fairy tales.

“Half eleven’s late enough for you two, I think,” said Petrovitch. “Be back by then. I need my beauty sleep.”

Newcomen mouthed his suddenly heartfelt thank-you, and Christine’s excited voice was suddenly muffled by the click of the latch, leaving Petrovitch alone with the Logans.

He grunted, halfway between satisfaction and displeasure.
Logan was in his personal space, and he didn’t like that. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand into the man’s expensively covered chest and pushed him slowly away. “Why don’t you just relax and make the best of it. There are a million places I’d rather be, and yeah, I blame you for your part in this charade. Despite what you think, your daughter could do worse: much worse. So
past’ zebej
: I don’t want to hear another word from you this evening or I’ll hand the IRS your
zhopu
on a plate.”

Logan was used to being undisputed master in his own home. If he’d hated Petrovitch in the abstract before, he now loathed the reality with a passion bordering on obsession. But he was beaten, and knew there was nothing he could do about that. For now.

He turned and stalked away. “Margaret?”

He expected her to follow, to listen to his invective behind a closed door, perhaps even be the target of his ill-temper.

Time, thought Petrovitch, to twist the knife.

“Mrs Logan? I understand you’re quite the artist. If you’d allow me, I’d like to take a closer look at some of those landscapes you’ve done. I’ve only seen pictures of them – the ones from the country club show – and I’m sure they didn’t do them justice.”

He linked his arm through hers so that she could guide him, even though he knew where she displayed them already. He saw her hesitate for the longest time.

Then a spark of defiance. Petrovitch knew how to kindle that into a flame. It would be a better revenge than paupering them all.

“Of course, Dr Petrovitch. My studio is just through here.”

“Come on, G-man,” said Petrovitch, kicking the bed. “It’s time to get up.”

Newcomen groaned and put the pillow over his head. “Yeah, yeah. Even on a good day I could drink half a bottle of vodka before breakfast. A few glasses of fizzy French wine shouldn’t give you a headache.”

“What time is it?”

“Oh six hundred. What does the oh stand for?”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Newcomen.

Petrovitch peeled the pillow away and bellowed: “Oh my God, it’s early! Now, up. We’ve got a full day ahead of us, and another flight to catch.”

There was a thump as Newcomen fell out on to the floor. After a moment of lying as stranded as a beached whale, he started to crawl towards the bathroom.

“No pyjamas, then.”

“No.” Newcomen’s legs disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and the shower started up.

“I’ll be back in five minutes.” Petrovitch stepped back out into the hallway in time to see his own room door click: the green light on the lock was just winking off. He flipped his key card into his fingers and ran it through the reader. The light came on again, and the bolt whirred free.

He felt a surge from his heart as it responded to the chemicals in his blood. He checked his power levels, which were good enough, and twisted the handle.

The man inside was already pushing past him, trying to surprise him with his speed and agility. Petrovitch slammed him with his shoulder against the unyielding wall, lifted him off the floor by his right armpit, then pitched him across the full length of the bedroom.

The intruder hit the window with his back. His head cracked hard against the glass, adding a separate star to the blossoming spiderweb of cracks. The pane held – just – and he bounced on to the floor face first.

Three strides, and Petrovitch was on him again, grabbing the material of his jacket at his neck. He threw him again, and the man hit the wall upside down, denting it with his heels. Where his head had hit, there was a smear of blood.

He fell between the bed and the bathroom. Petrovitch took a second to scan the room: his carpet bag was on the floor next to the now-crazed window. He’d left it locked and it still was, but the outer material was now slashed. The inner flexible metal mesh seemed to have held. A sharp-bladed scalpel had been kicked half under the bed base.

“
Mudak
,” said Petrovitch. He was about to step around the
bed to drag the unconscious man upright when he noticed the first of three laser dots dancing on his chest.

He looked down, then up at the three hooded figures crowded in the doorway, guns trained unerringly on him.

“You’ve heard of the Vienna Convention, right? What makes you think it doesn’t apply to you?” He bent down slowly and lifted up his damaged bag. “I know you don’t care, but I’m filing these images with the news wires as I speak. Upload, download, ready for anyone to use. US government interfering with diplomatic bags. Diplomat held at gunpoint. Breaking and entering. It’s all good stuff.”

One of them lowered his gun and started to edge in.

“Where are you going?”

The masked man didn’t say anything. Perhaps he thought his voiceprint could be taken down and used to identify him, and he’d be right. Instead, he pointed at his fallen colleague.

“No. He’s going to be arrested, processed and charged by the FBI officer in the room opposite, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it,
suki
.”

They disagreed, and kept on edging forward. Petrovitch calmly unlocked his bag and pulled out a fist-sized sphere. It had a safety guard over its trigger, which he flipped out of the way with his thumb.

The men froze. Petrovitch smiled.

“Yeah, you know what this is, don’t you? You’ve got them yourselves by the planeload, ready to level whole cities at a moment’s notice. Still, it’s not comfortable being in the same room as one, is it? Especially when it’s held by the guy who invented it.” Petrovitch dropped the bag and held up the sphere. It was very black. “How many storeys are we up right now?
Reckon they’d find much of you by the time you’re compressed to a point and dropped a hundred metres to the ground in amongst the debris?”

One of the men started to sight down his arm.

“Think you can kill me before I press this button? I don’t. My reaction speed is simply faster than yours. You don’t even know where to aim.” He tapped his chest. “Kevlar under the skin.”

There was a commotion behind them, and Newcomen found himself with the barrel of an automatic pistol jammed under his chin. He was only wearing a towel, and as his hands came up, the knot loosened.

“Yeah, you’re now holding a gun to the head of a naked federal agent. That makes everything better.”

Newcomen reached up and pushed the gun away, then retrieved his towel. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having our very own Watergate. You know about Watergate, right? Just in case that fell into one of the massive black holes that litter your education.”

“I know it.” Newcomen tried to muster as much dignity as he could. “Gentlemen, you’re going to have to leave now. This man is a guest of the United States government. I don’t know who it is you’re working for, and I’d rather not find out. If you go, then we can say the matter’s ended.”

“Not that simple, Newcomen. They’ve got a man down, and I don’t want them to take him with them.”

“Petrovitch. Let them have him. He won’t do you any good at all.”

“I’m not planning on barbecuing him. I’m planning on you throwing the book at him. That’s how it works, right? Due process, Miranda, all that jazz?”

“If these people are who we think they are, that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

“Why not? They’re above the law? How the
huy
did that happen? You’ve got a constitution, and I don’t remember seeing any amendments that said the Man can do what he wants and the citizens have to suck it up like a
shlyuha vokzal’naja
.”

“Petrovitch, shut the hell up and let them all go. I’m wearing a towel and someone from the Secret Service has a gun pointing at my junk. You might have won last night, but you’re not going to win this, so just give it up.”

Petrovitch considered matters. “Yeah, okay. Take him and go.” He took his thumb off the red button, and the two men targeting him lowered their guns. When they’d holstered them, he clicked the safety guard back down.

The closest one helped drag the still form from the room, and finally the door closed, with Newcomen on the right side of it.

“You said a rude word,” said Petrovitch. He tossed the bomb back into his bag and resealed the lock. “Twenty bucks in the honesty box.”

“You could have got yourself killed, you, you idiot.”

“I’m not the one with their blood halfway up the wall. Or,” he said, turning, “smeared on what’s left of the window. No, I’m fine. Getting that out of the wallpaper’s going to be tough, though.”

Newcomen clenched his fists to disguise the fact he was shaking like a leaf. “You cannot die.”

“I have no intention of dying, either now or at all. That it might come anyway is an occupational hazard I have to put up with. You’re angry and you’re scared, and so you should be. But this is what it means, Newcomen. This – all this
govno
– this is what Reconstruction does to those who don’t fit inside its comfortable little shell. And it’s always been like this. I could tell you a thousand stories about ordinary people who’ve been crushed by your holy juggernaut: the only thing that’s different is that it’s happening to you now. You pledged to uphold this system. Regretting it yet?”

“How? How can you live like this?”

“I could say the same to you. I live like this because people like you let people like them get away with stuff like that. Someone has to stand up, give them the finger and tell them no fucking way.” He flashed a grin, on and off. “Remind me to tell you about Lebanon when we have a spare moment.”