Inceptio, p.31
Inceptio, page 31
part #1 of Roma Nova Series
‘Darling, the Styx at the entrance to Hades would have to dry up first. I’m annoyed that Aemilia Fulvia fobbed you off.’ She looked at us in turn then gave us a brief nod. ‘Good hunting.’
We made fast progress north, leaving open fields and pastures behind, and plunged into conifer woodland. As we pulled up that evening outside a folksy chalet hotel complete with carved balcony and checked drapes, something struck me.
‘You know, when I went to see Fulvia, there was no sign of Lurio. His in-tray on the PA’s desk was empty.’ I narrowed my eyes, reconstructing the scene in my mind’s eye. ‘No, it was turned over as if he was on leave.’
‘Why is that remarkable?’
‘He’s had his main vacation this year, three weeks’ walking and hunting in Italy.’
‘On assignment somewhere, perhaps?’
‘No, he’s desk-based, fixing political or strategic stuff for Aemilia that has to be done discreetly. I’ve never known him be away from the office like that.’
‘Are you suggesting he may be hunting something on two legs?’
‘Not necessarily, but Sentius in Organised Crime is supposedly on leave as well. He’s one of Lurio’s ball-carriers.’
We were the only guests. We booked up for a week as Charles and Patricia Miller of Bridgeport, CT. ‘Please call us Chuck and Pat, Mrs Sertoria,’ I chirruped to the owner in my best American accent as I pretended to struggle with filling out the police registration card. ‘We’re here looking into Chuck’s ancestors and soak up some of the atmosphere of their home country – it’s so exciting.’
I fed the same story to the curia clerk at Truscium that afternoon. It was thin, but it had to do. Conrad kept the clerk occupied in stilted Latin with a heavy American accent while I scanned the birth, marriage and death records. Flustered by his smile, she handed over the key to the whole record batch without filtering it first. Annoying how easily he’d manipulated her into it. He passed it to me almost casually without letting up the bantering, planted his elbows on the counter and continued flirting with her.
Over at the computer booths, I scanned the entries and printed out birth and death certificates of some random family. I couldn’t believe it when I found a page marked ‘Confidential – no disclosure’ listing the death records from the prison. That had been missing from the records I’d been shown on my second visit to Truscium. I hovered over the printer and snatched the page out and stuffed it in between the other printouts.
I returned to the desk where Conrad was laughing with the clerk, slipped the key across the counter and made a big fuss of counting out the correct amount of solidi and denarii for the paper I’d used. I gushed my gratitude and dragged Conrad out.
‘Let’s go get some coffee at that cute little bar over there, sugar,’ I drawled.
‘Sure, honey, great idea.’
Back in the car, I showed him the printout.
‘So, no Renschman. Looks like you didn’t kill him after all.’
I didn’t know whether to be relieved I hadn’t committed murder or miffed I had missed him.
The next day, we drove to the foot of the gorge leading up to the mine and parked up under trees twenty metres from the end of a track. We loaded up camping equipment and enough rations and water for three days onto our backs, even though we intended to only stay out one night. Two and a half thousand metres up a central European mountain in mid-February was not an ideal camping trip.
The mountains rose at acute angles from the narrow valley floor. After three hours, we stopped for a rest, some snack bars and water. It was a clear, sunny day with tiny puffball clouds in a luminous, deep-blue sky. Beautiful and treacherous. Within half an hour, it could be blizzarding. We bivouacked for the night among trees, two hundred metres below the alarmed and CCTV-monitored perimeter fence which ran fifty metres out from the edge of the mine complex. Mountain walkers were not encouraged.
The only route Renschman could have taken was by following the river down – milky green and glacially cold, with frequent steep drops. It was a hazardous trek for us in the cold and snow, but we had solid boots, carbon fibre poles and warm breathable coats and pants. Renschman, clad only in a yellow prison uniform and light shoes, would have found it exhausting and dangerous. Maybe he hadn’t made it and his body was up there.
The next morning, I crawled up nearer the fence and was about to turn back when I found a tear of yellow cloth flapping in the cold wind, trapped under a stone.
‘No working party ever comes outside the perimeter.’ I remembered their routines from the files I studied on my official visit. ‘It has to be him.’
‘Not exactly conclusive, but, no, there shouldn’t be anything like that here,’ Conrad said. We crouched under the trees, drinking lukewarm coffee heated from the chemical burn packs and trying not to shiver in the bitter wind.
‘Come on, we’ll retrace and see if we can find anything else. It’ll be a slow trek back.’ We packed up, roughed up the earth and strewed pine needles over where we’d been.
I looked up at him, almost shyly. ‘Thanks for coming up here with me, for believing in me.’
He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Silly. Of course I’d come with you. But it’s beyond personal now. Renschman’s a menace, a damned clever one. If he can get out of Truscium, he’s perfectly capable of starting all kinds of trouble. I want him dealt with permanently.’
LXXVI
That night, it was a relief to be back in the warm chalet under a feather comforter with Conrad, relaxed after a hot shower and warm cooked meal. I watched the man as he slept afterward, his muscled body covered in fine golden down, his skin warm on mine, one arm still looped around my waist. Despite our hunt, and the reason for it, I was content.
‘Mrs Miller, I presume?’
I woke instantly, every nerve jangling. Conrad’s body beside me tensed.
‘Sheeyt! Who the hell is that?’ I cried out in a broad Connecticut accent into the pitch-dark. The bedroom light snapped on and I found a gun barrel millimetres from my forehead.
‘Oh, very good.’
Bloody Lurio. And Sentius, his semi-automatic trained on Conrad.
‘What in Hades are you doing here?’ I struggled up onto my elbows. He drew the weapon back. His knuckles were almost breaking through his skin.
‘I might ask you the same,’ he said.
I scanned Lurio’s face, trying to figure out what was behind his intensity, when Conrad sprang out of the bed and slammed Sentius against the wood-panelled wall, neatly catching the pistol as it dropped from his hand. He lobbed it over to me, wrenched Sentius’s arm up and, gripping his neck with his other hand, frogmarched the cop to the doorway and flung him through it. He advanced on Lurio who had twisted around ready to face Conrad, arm outstretched, Glock in hand.
‘Try it,’ Lurio said.
Conrad snorted.
After staring at each other for a full ten seconds, Lurio lowered his weapon, the anger in his face receding.
Conrad grabbed the door handle.
‘Out. Wait downstairs.’
Lurio raised his chin, like he was going to say something, but turned and left without a word.
I was already scrambling into some clothes. ‘I knew it, I knew it was wrong when I saw they were both gone.’ I was trembling with rage.
Downstairs, Lurio stood by the hall stove, legs braced, arms folded, his face dull in the glow from the nightlight. The night porter was nowhere to be seen. I wouldn’t have put it past Lurio to have thrown him out. Sentius was reading a tourist leaflet, but jammed it back in the display as we came down the wood stairs.
Before anybody could stop me, I walked over to Lurio and struck his face with the palm of my hand. ‘What in Hades was the point of that dramatic little pantomime?’
‘Temper, temper, Bruna.’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘Well, it got your attention.’
‘Right. You like interrupting people’s vacation, rousting them out at five in the morning?’
‘Vacation? When you and Major Tough Guy are sneaking around a high-security area pretending to be American tourists? I don’t think so.’
‘I suppose you and Sentius here are looking for a venue for your next girls’ outing, are you?’
It was so still that a mouse scampering across the guest house lobby would have sounded like a truck driving through. I took a deep breath. Conrad laid a hand on my arm and shook his head. I could see him exercising considerable effort to calm himself.
‘Very well, Inspector,’ he said to Lurio, ‘let’s ditch the personal. I think we’re both on the same search. Jeffrey Renschman’s escaped, and you and Sentius are trying to catch him before it gets out. You’ve even got the minister lying.’
‘You have been a busy boy, Tellus.’ Lurio sat down on the cushioned bench. He shrugged. ‘You’re quite right. He went missing six days ago. His tracker tag was found in his bunk. How the Hades he extracted that, I’d like to know. No matter. If word gets out, we don’t only look careless, but the whole concept of escape-proof is shot. We reckon we’ve got three, four days max left to find him before the shit hits the fan.’
‘We found this,’ I chipped in, and held out a plastic baggie with the scrap of yellow cloth. ‘By the stream, around a hundred metres outside the south perimeter fence.’
He took it, turned it through his fingers and grunted.
‘So what do you have?’ Conrad asked.
‘Next to nothing. The CCTV doesn’t show anything out of the ordinary. We got zilch from interrogating the rest of his wing. They just smirked at us, the bastards. The only break was yesterday afternoon when a farmer reported lost property. The local station wasn’t interested but the farmer insisted they log it. They’re a new crew after the station was wiped out in the shoot-out a few months ago.’ He paused, glancing at Sentius. ‘Probably not used to dealing with stroppy old yokels. And it wasn’t exactly crime incident of the millennium. The farmer had first noticed the stuff gone three days ago, but hadn’t got around to reporting it.’ He flicked his hand toward his companion. ‘Sentius was making our fond farewells with the duty sergeant when the farmer came in. Turns out it was clothes and boots. So we’ve got a three day-old description.’
‘If he’s walked, he’d have got to the bus and railways by now,’ Sentius said. ‘We’ve put out the usual alerts and got the local teams questioning the train, bus and taxi staff.’
Conrad and I exchanged glances. Renschman would have ensured he left very little impression and covered that with a professional’s expertise.
‘Tell me,’ I said to Lurio, breaking the silence that had intruded, ‘how did you know we were here?’ I had to know if we’d been sloppy.
‘I could say solid police work, but it was a complete fluke. Sentius recognised you leaving the curia office when he sneaked out to buy a packet of cigarettes.’
We spent another twenty minutes throwing it around, but knew in our hearts we had nothing to go on.
Lurio stood up. ‘Not much more we can do here. You’d better leave us to seal the border and try and contain him that way,’ he concluded. ‘It’ll come out, but I suppose we’ll live it down. Eventually.’
‘No, it’s not that easy, Lurio,’ Conrad said. ‘He kidnapped Carina and tried to seize her father’s business. He nearly killed her in Washington and in the park last year. He got in with Palicek. He’s a bloody dangerous black operator and a vindictive son of a bitch. Jupiter knows what else he’ll do. He’s likely to ramp it up. Apart from anything else, I’m sure he’ll come after Carina again if you lot can’t find him.’
‘Then why don’t we let him?’
The three men stared at me as if I’d made an indecent suggestion.
But none of them protested by return.
After a long thirty seconds, Lurio said, ‘Not the stupidest suggestion you’ve ever made.’
I was pleased I’d smacked him as hard as I did.
LXXVII
Sweating, feet lacerated, Renschman had reached a farm on the outskirts of the town. He crawled into a goat pen and collapsed into sleep. A faint red glow on the eastern horizon provided the only light when he staggered out, filthy, thirsty, feet throbbing. He sluiced down in a cattle trough, washing sweat and goat shit off. He crept up to the farm buildings and opened the door inch by inch. The kitchen was unlit, empty. He made for the refrigerator and seized a carton of milk. It dribbled down his chin and neck as he gulped it down. Grabbing cold cuts, bread and a bottle of water, he stuffed them in a cloth bag from the back of the door. A muffled noise upstairs pulled his glance upwards. He cocked his ear like a wary cat and waited. Nothing. He took a jacket, shirt, trousers and boots from the utility room and left on his trek to the city.
Watching the girl’s house this time, he stayed well back from the high stone walls. Despite his thinner face with its furrowed scar across his forehead and the new beard, he couldn’t risk the software cutting through to recognise him again.
The tall gates opened and a red car, Italian, paused in the entrance. The driver looked around, her red-gold hair shining in the early light. She wore a beige uniform shirt, military tabs and some kind of black arm patch with a gold design. He couldn’t see what it was from this distance. She turned right and sped off toward the city centre.
He’d found her again. No longer a cop, but military. Going off to a cosy little office, pushing a few indents and travel orders around, no doubt. Poring over a computer in the Biblioteca Publica, he found the uniform. Special forces? He checked again. She must be some kind of office weenie. Sure, she’d been the bait for the drug bust, but that hardly needed such high-level specialist skills. Besides, she was a woman. All the same, he needed to be a little careful.
LXXVIII
Back at the PGSF, I kept to a skeleton routine and spent a lot more time out in the open. Renschman had to know we were watching for him. I wanted to sit in the park reading my magazine, waiting for him to pounce; it would save us all time and effort. Nothing had happened after a week. Was our strategy too straightforward?
I was in the university bookshop, choosing a gift for Nonna’s birthday, when a boy came up to me and asked if I was Lieutenant Mitela. I wasn’t in uniform. He handed me an envelope. Remembering the previous letter I’d had from Renschman, I held it by the corner and dropped it into a plastic baggie as a precaution. But even Renschman wouldn’t poison a letter to be carried by a child, would he?
I crouched down and thanked the boy. ‘Could you help me out here a little more?’
He looked wary, but nodded. I smiled at him, took his hand and led him over to the service desk. I flashed my gold badge at the startled assistant.
‘Back office, please. Now.’ I glanced at the nervous face beside me, the dark eyes darting around. ‘And a glass of milk and some cookies.’
The clerk had to tap in the entry code twice, he was so nervous. As we waited, I watched the boy demolish the honey cakes and milk. He laid the empty plate on a pile of papers on the desk and looked up at me expectantly.
A knock on the door. I signalled the child back to hide behind the door. He scurried into the corner and folded himself into a coat hanging on the back. I flicked out my carbon fibre knife and sheltered behind the edge of the slowly opening door.
‘Bruna, it’s Sentius. Your alarm went off.’
‘Slowly, Sentius.’
His hand came through the gap, tobacco-stained fingernails holding his ID. I breathed in relief.
He saw the boy, now scared. Sentius pulled out a paper handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the child’s eyes. ‘Hey, come on, come and sit with Uncle Manius.’
Did Sentius have children? He knew all the moves. The child sat happily with Sentius and babbled about how he’d been given two gold solidi and a chocolate pastry by a man to deliver the note. He was only about eight or nine, poor kid.
A patrol car brought us all to Custodes XI Station where I disinfected my and the boy’s hands. My hands in plastic gloves and a mask covering my face, I drew the letter out carefully and unfolded the single sheet. I read the two simple sentences. Horror crept up on me as I took in each word.
Sentius snatched the note from my nerveless fingers, read it and dived for his commset. I called Conrad. ‘He has Helena.’
Renschman had ensured I would come to him willingly, happily even. I would give him anything. I would sing and dance, and do handstands for him, for the safe return of my friend and cousin.
She would be frightened to her core. I fussed and fidgeted around the barracks for the rest of the day. I couldn’t keep my eyes or my mind still. Renschman instructed me to meet him, alone, by the service kiosk behind the palace park theatre at ten. The same place as before. If he’d tied her up like I’d been, she’d freeze. The memory washed through me. Bastard. He wouldn’t have killed her already. No. I couldn’t let myself believe that.
A PGSF hostage psychologist briefed me on what to expect, how to act, what to say. My Active Response Team – Flavius, Paula, Livius and Atria – plus Daniel had deployed already to the park, well hidden, ready to act. I made it clear that, the minute Helena was safe, their prime target was Renschman. I made a will, addressed to the censor’s office as well as a copy for Nonna.
Conrad and I went back to my room. A while later, I pulled myself away from him, got up out of the bed, showered and made myself a drink. I wept quietly as I sat watching him sleep. He woke. I smiled at him. I glanced at my watch. An hour to go.
I took some high-energy tabs and a cup of the malt and ginger drink as we waited. Conrad would drive me to the park gate.
The moon was full and every leaf, branch and stone was outlined in sharp silver light. I wore warm walking pants, roll top with shirt underneath and fleece, with reinforced-grip sneakers on my feet. As I walked through the park gate and along the path, I was calm and prepared. Maybe it was my time.
