INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) (28 page)

Part IV: Resolution

LXVI

I’d finished the corrupt senator case I’d been working on for the past few weeks and filed the reports. Lurio suggested I went for the investigator’s exam to qualify for promotion. I downloaded some of the modules, checked out relevant books from the library, and filed private study time.

Back home, I changed into a plain tee, jeans and a light sweater, went down to the garages, slipped on my leathers and helmet, and set off on my bike. I cruised along the Aquae Caesaris road at an exhilarating 120 kph. About fifteen kilometres out of the city, I turned off into a village and drew into the parking lot by a small inn. The heavy wood panelling in the narrow entrance lobby sucked in what little light escaped from a dirty ceiling fixture. I paused, looking into the main room where warm, yellow-orange subdued lighting bounced off polished brass and old, dark wood furniture. A folksy smell of beer, oak and cooking permeated the place. I spotted an empty corner booth.

Before my brain could detect and react to its owner’s presence, a cold, hard object jabbed into my neck, pressing on my skin. I stood perfectly still as his free hand searched me. Nobody saw, not because of the dim lighting, but because nobody was there. I took a slow, deep breath to calm my body’s response to a gun threatening its termination. He lifted my weapon from the holster under my arm and nudged me forward, his knee pushing on the back of mine.

‘In the corner. Slowly. No sudden moves.’

I sat, laying both my hands on the small square table. The lacquered surface was greasy with spots of congealed food. He eased down onto a seat at ninety degrees to me, and gestured the server who had at last appeared. We waited in silence until the beers arrived.

‘You know, Flav, you’re one of the very few who can sneak up on me like that, and live.’

He said nothing, took a good swallow and replaced the glass, centring it on the paper beer mat. ‘Was that really you, that scarab on the bridge?’

‘Yes.’

Flav shrugged and looked around. ‘It’s quiet here, safe. I suppose it won’t be now, once you file your contact report.’ He sounded bitter. ‘I trusted you. But here you are, a DJ
custos
. I suppose you’re going to arrest me now.’

‘Flav, listen to me. I am not going arrest you or file a contact report. I’m meeting a friend for a quiet drink in the country, a friend who works for a perfectly legal business.’

‘Don’t be bloody naïve. If you don’t, somebody will report you.’

‘Oh, so you think I’m stupid enough to leave a trail?’

‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’ He looked straight at me for the first time. ‘That’s what I mean. I find it hard to believe you’re a scarab.’

‘I do special cases. I don’t direct traffic or book drunks in on a Saturday night.’

He gave a sour laugh. ‘I’d love to see that.’

‘Don’t think too badly of me. I undertook the mission to help stop a foul thing happening. The problem was that I got to like Apollodorus’s team as well as knowing them, especially you, Philippus and Hermina. I wasn’t supposed to do that, but it happened.’

I could see the hurt and uncertainty in his eyes. I expected Apollodorus had coerced him into meeting me. Or maybe he was intrigued. Only low-level television sound from the other end of the bar and the barman mumbling into his cell phone interrupted the silence around us. Two men came in, ordered drinks and settled at a table to play cards. After a few minutes, Flav’s hand moved over the table surface, covering the shape of my service pistol as he passed it across. I reached out and our fingers touched as I slid the weapon under my hand. He glanced at my face, then retreated to his beer.

I remembered my promise to Apollodorus. I coughed to break the uncomfortable silence.

‘I hear things are changing quite a bit at the Foundation. Have you ever considered going into a different line of work?’ I sipped my beer, not looking at him.

‘Did Apollodorus put you up to this?’

‘Of course.’

Flavius rubbed his leg with the tips of his curved fingers. ‘He’s all I’ve known since I was fifteen, when he scraped me off the street. He taught me everything: how to spot a mark, follow them, pick their pocket, hustling, thinking out your strategy, how to intimidate without force.’ He looked at my surprise. ‘Oh, yeah, the force bit as well, but you get far better results from terror.’

That sounded like Apollodorus.

‘And then, the odd times we had to fix things more permanently, I used to leave that to Philippus or Justus.’ He looked blankly at the table.

‘You know, that all sounds perfect training for the special forces.’

‘You’re raving.’ He sat back in his chair, his eyes wide open in shock.

I ducked it. ‘Well, it was only a thought.’

He thawed and we managed to reinstate some of our previous closeness. At about eleven, I stood up to go. I saw mischief in his expression. I waited.

‘Going back to what you said earlier,’ he said, ‘would you be interested in a bet? Hypothetical really, so no danger of having to pay up.’

‘No way. I know what your and Philippus’s crafty little tricks are like.’

‘All right, a bargain.’

‘What?’

‘Just for a laugh: if one of us goes into the PGSF, the other one has to follow.’

That was as unlikely as me going back to America, which I knew would never happen, so I agreed. I had drunk only three small beers the whole evening, so my judgement wasn’t that impaired. We shook on it.

We all have our off days.

LXVII

When you’re a new believer in something, you’re very enthusiastic. When, one day, a tiny doubt creeps in, you bat it away impatiently. But it sneaks back, quietly and inconspicuously. You start to not like the thing so much, you begin to find it a duty only. Then you groan and dread it. Finally, you hate it and will do anything to get out.

I wasn’t at the dread or hate stage, but I’d started to find life as a DJ
custos
tedious. Conrad kept needling me about it, softly and cleverly, describing the vivid challenges he and his unit dealt with. I saw him at least once a fortnight now for dinner or a Sunday afternoon ride. I knew what he was doing. So, when Lurio came striding up to my desk and threw a PGSF circular down on it with a grunt, I didn’t automatically throw it in the bin.

The PGSF was running its annual ‘fitness for task’ field exercise and extended an invitation to all arms to send up to three representatives who might benefit from participating. ‘Benefit’ – huh! Still arrogant. A six-week preparatory training period with the PGSF to cover military skills, strategy, field tactics, intelligence gathering and fighting skills was required. Applications to be made, etc, etc.

I stared at it and ran my fingers over my cheek. It would be wonderful. What an opportunity. Our training gym was good for fitness, but I missed being out in the field. My most dangerous challenge at present was negotiating the copying machine.

No – I would hate it. All that beige arrogance. I put it on the far corner of my desk and went back to my desperately unattractive book on financial crime. Half a page later, I needed a coffee. When I returned to my desk, the circular was still there. I picked it up again and held it between my thumb and forefinger. Why did those bastards have all the fun? I took an early lunch, talked a while with colleagues, watched a newscast and found myself back in my office with only forty-five minutes gone by. In the end, I knocked on Lurio’s door, circular in hand.

‘Come.’

‘Is this supposed to be of any interest to me, sir?’

He chuckled.

I glowered at him.

‘You’re bored, Bruna. Your reports are getting ironic, and references to obscure research keep popping up in them. It’s too clever for the average scarab, you know.’

‘I’m sorry if my submissions are not appropriate, sir,’ I said in the most neutral tone possible.

‘Sit down and stop being a smart-arse.’

‘C’mon, Lurio, you know it’s a trap.’

‘Sure, but one you’d die of joy to fall into,’ he said, smirking.

And he’d called
me
a smart-ass. I applied. Afterward, I tried to forget I’d done it.

I met Flavius in the town this time; we liked to vary locations. He kept looking around the bar, with its plastic mouldings and pseudo-seventies atmosphere, and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

‘Are you okay, Flav? You seem a bit jumpy. Something happen?’

‘You’re going to kill me.’

‘Just say it, Flav.’

‘Okay. Just don’t go ballistic. I thought a lot about what you said a few weeks ago. I saw an ad on the net one day, and I clicked through and applied. I did an assessment week and some interviews, tests and so on.’ He looked down and rubbed his fingertips round the base of his glass. ‘I’ve been invited to go for a trial period of six months.’

He looked up. I saw his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed with enthusiasm – not the usual unflappable Flavius.

I grasped both his hands. ‘You don’t know how pleased I am for you.’ He looked happier than he had for weeks. ‘So what’s the job?’

He swallowed, then put his shoulders back and looked at me, deadly calm.

‘The PGSF.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The Praetorian Guard Spec—’

‘Yes, yes, I do know what the initials stand for.’

I studied his face, searching for any signs of insanity.

‘Do they know who you are?’

‘Hermina’s made me a new identity that’s mostly true. She says it’ll stand up to pretty nearly every scrutiny.’ He glanced at me. ‘I need a character witness and I wondered if you’d do it.’

He had the nerve of a PGSF guard.

My own little confession would be simple after this. ‘Have you told Apollodorus?’

‘Not yet. I think he’ll be okay. Under that tough exterior, he cares for his people. I think he’ll be glad I’ve found something I want to do.’

‘You know you’ll need to cut all connection to him and the Foundation,’ I said. ‘And face the possibility of confronting him from the other side of the law.’

He nodded. We sat in silence for a few minutes.

‘I have some news for you,’ I shot him a glance. ‘To be honest, I was dreading telling you, but now I have a completely clear path.’

He waited, eyes narrowed and wary.

‘I’ll probably be seeing you professionally soon. I’m taking part in their annual assessment exercise in two months’ time.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, well, let’s not make a big production out of it.’

‘Jupiter! And I was shitting bricks at the thought of telling you. You little demon, letting me sweat like that.’

LXVIII

I cleared the PGSF gate security and entered the sand-strewn courtyard. I looked around a little warily at the beige figures walking across, singly or in small groups. I could have been invisible. I released my breath. Clutching my posting order, I weaved my way through the crowd of people in the lobby. Every uniform was there, even air force and customs. At the reception counter, I waved to my two DJ colleagues but, before I could go over to them, somebody touched my arm.

‘Senior Justiciar Bruna?’

I turned to find a beige-uniformed girl whose cheerful face contrasted with her severely bound brown hair. One curl over her ear had made its escape, though. She had bright, intelligent eyes and a friendly smile to go with them.

‘I’m Sergeant Paula Servla. I’m here to show you around, get your kit and accommodation sorted out.’

‘Thanks, but shouldn’t I wait for my DJ colleagues?’

‘Oh, they’re fine. You’re the senior non-com in this batch, so you’ll be in the sergeants’ mess with me.’

She showed me a room that was small but adequate, then took me to the quartermaster where I was given a pile of beige uniform.

‘Um, Sergeant Servla, do I actually need all this? Won’t I wear my own uniform?’

‘No, it makes it easier all round if everybody looks the same. You keep your unit insignia and rank badges, of course. And please call me Paula.’

‘Cara,’ I said, extending my hand from under the pile of beige. I liked her already.

Roll-call took all of fourteen minutes, taken by the duty officer. We ate in the large dining hall I had walked through before, with some of Servla’s colleagues.

‘Looking forward to a bit of rough treatment, are you?’

My hand froze halfway to my mouth, strands of pasta falling off my fork.

‘What do you mean?’ I stared at the woman opposite me.

‘It’s a bit different from dishing out traffic tickets.’

I realised she was joshing the DJ, not threatening me personally. Juno, I had to stop being so sensitive. I’d volunteered to come here, so I had to get a grip.

‘It gets a little tenser than that in my unit. I’m in Organised Crime.’

‘Profitable, is it?’

They all laughed and I relaxed. A little.

Next morning, Paula knocked on my door and we went for twenty minutes’ run. After my shower, I put the beige on. I looked in the mirror. My DJ insignia – the blue circular cloth one I fixed on my left sleeve, the rank stripes below and the silver metal lapel badges – were almost lost. I was determined not to follow.

The twenty-three of us ‘imports’ were welcomed after breakfast by a Major Julia Sella and given personal IDs and schedules. We had the rest of the morning to organise ourselves. Full training would start that afternoon.

While most of our group could fire pistols, only a few were used to rifles. I had the benefit of Uncle Brown’s homespun tuition over the years. He’d been granted a gun licence like most farmers; he’d insisted we all learned to shoot and practise weekly. Girls should be able to blast away any vermin, he’d said, especially on an isolated farm.

On the range, I hit the target with satisfactory clusters. I was surprised I could still dismantle, clean and reassemble the weapon without having any parts left over. I started forgiving my father’s cousin. The senior centurion instructing us grunted that at least she could be sure I wouldn’t shoot myself. My reward was to go out on tactics practice with the regulars the following day.

I was trying not to feel too out of my depth in a forest full of armed PGSF wanting to score points when I heard a familiar voice at my side.

‘I knew you’d turn up soon, Bruna.’

‘Flav. Am I pleased to see you.’

‘Down!’ He yanked me onto my face as paint shots whistled over our heads.

‘Right, let’s get that bastard.’

He signalled me to circle and we advanced in a pincer movement. This was fun. Thanks to Felix, one thing I’d learned at the boot camp was to move silently. I was there first while Flav made a tiny distraction noise. Finding no backstop behind me, I jumped on the shooter, downing him in one, twisted his arm behind his back, kicked his weapon away then ground his face into the mud.

‘Yes!’ I clenched my fist and jerked my forearm down in the age-old soldier’s gesture without realising I was doing it.

Flav laughed. ‘Okay, you bloodthirsty little demon, let the poor man breathe. It’s only practice.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ I rocked back onto my heels and let our opponent recover. When I saw who it was, I nearly fainted.

‘Thank you, Flavius,’ he said, as he sat up. ‘Who’s your little friend?’

‘Sorry about that, sir, she’s a bit enthusiastic. May I present Senior Justiciar Bruna?’

‘Oh, is that who—’

We all three flattened ourselves to escape another shot which passed over our bowed heads.

‘I like enthusiasm, Bruna, but save it for the exercise,’ he said.

‘Sir.’

‘If you want to learn more technique rather than rampant aggression, I’m giving a talk tonight after dinner. Flavius will bring you along.’

I stared at him and nodded, unable to say another word.

He turned, picked up his weapon and loped off into the undergrowth. I released my breath, relieved he hadn’t recognised me. For that was when I met Lieutenant Daniel Stern for the third time.