by Scott Baker
‘So, what’s this guy’s name? The guy we’re meeting?’ Shaun asked as he tucked the diary away.
‘Vincenso Giovanni. He found me right after Alberto was shot, and I recognised the name. He claims to have information about another disc.’
‘A disc like the one you found? Like the one we saw?’ Shaun queried as he felt the plane drop in altitude.
‘I don’t really know. He said he knows where a disc is. He said that if I am who I said I am, then I would know what that meant.’
‘Could be a trap?’ Shaun posed the obvious question.
‘Could be,’ was all that David said in response.
‘But it isn’t, right? I mean, you did a whole bunch of security checks on the guy?’
‘I ran social security, criminal records, visas, passports and other stuff. Oh, and I Googled him.’
‘And?’ Shaun prompted.
‘Well, it’s kinda hard. I didn’t have much information to go on.’
‘So, how can you say that he passed everything?’
‘Well, because I didn’t find much.’
‘What do you mean? Isn’t that a bad thing?’
‘Not necessarily. You see, if he were using an alias, then there would be a lot of information out there, and it would be easy to find. That’s the whole point of creating an alias: you generate information so people can look it up and verify who you are.’
Shaun thought about this for a moment as the plane neared the runway.
‘Okay, I get that. But the reverse, not being easy to verify, doesn’t prove otherwise. It hardly proves you are who you say you are.’
‘True,’ David conceded, ‘but the one thing I did find out about him makes it worth meeting him. He works for the most secretive organisation in the world.’
‘The CIA?’ Shaun asked, surprised.
‘Ha!’ David laughed. ‘No, not the CIA, not Mossad and not MI5.’ He leaned back in his seat as the plane bounced violently on landing before settling its full weight onto the safety of the tarmac.
‘No,’ David said again. ‘Vincenso Raul Giovanni is a Jesuit priest, and he works at the Vatican.’
The hotel air was stuffy. The room was on the third floor, and smelled of stale smoke. Shaun lay on the bed, diary spread open, next to another man. David was heavier than Shaun and the science teacher kept rolling down onto him on the bed. It must have been a comical sight. Shaun had never imagined his first European adventure would be sharing a room with another man, but David had confirmed the arrangements long before they arrived.
David was frustrated. He would read the pages twice as fast as Shaun and then wait. Like a child who is bored at a parents’ dinner party, he would grunt and fidget and make an exaggerated show of being ready to move on.
He had pleaded with Shaun early on – ‘just let me finish it and tell you what happens’, but Shaun’s look had silenced him.
The meeting with Giovanni was not for another hour or so, and Shaun had decided to use the time to get as much information as he could about what had happened two thousand years ago. The book was like a drug; he didn’t want to put it down. It was his key, his connection and, moreover, for an autobiography, it was a damn good read.
CHAPTER 38
I fell more than climbed to the ground. My fingers were weak and I found it hard to grip the rough holds provided by the aqueduct walls. Malbool and Mishca were already down and helped me to my feet. We had travelled through the waterways all day without incident, and only now, when we were out of the throng of the city, did I feel that it was safe to leave the stonework rivers.
The amber light of the setting sun covered the stones. The blanket of night would soon envelop the city, giving us the cover we needed to slip through the Romans’ net.
‘You have lost a lot of blood, my friend,’ Malbool commented as he slung my arm over his shoulder. I winced from the movement. ‘If you were white before, now I think you cast your own glow!’
‘Do you know where we are?’ I asked as we shuffled to a nearby building for cover.
It was Mishca who answered. ‘We’re near my master’s neighbourhood,’ the boy said, looking around. ‘There, that building; I recognise the shape of its roof. It’s where they brought me when I was first taken from my village.’ The boy pointed to a silhouette on the near horizon, where a sharply pointed roof broke the monotony of the city’s skyline.
‘That house looks like a Moorish temple,’ Malbool said, following the boy’s gaze. ‘Who was your master?’
Mishca looked a little awkward. ‘I … I don’t really know. They brought us to him, me and about twenty other boys, and then they put us in a large room. He sold us off. Every few days they would take us out of the city to some place where people came to buy us. I think I was luckier than a lot of the boys. A games man bought me. I was taken to live in the cells at the Circus Maximus, ready to tend to chariot races before I was moved to the new Coliseum. Many of the boys were sold to other types of places.’ He didn’t have to elaborate. I felt sick and angry at the same time.
‘There’s a stable on the other side somewhere,’ Mishca continued. ‘We used to hear horses in the mornings.’
I smiled at the boy. If only I had been so resourceful at his age. I realised how totally foreign to him this place must be, how displaced he must feel. He didn’t speak the language, and had been torn from the simple village life he had led; the only life he knew. Perhaps it was because of his youth that he had been able to adapt and accept his new reality. I, however, was struggling with mine.
Just then, a voice cut through the darkness.
‘You really should try not to bleed so much,’ it said from behind Malbool. Malbool and Mishca spun as one as I watched the voice’s owner walk from an alcove in the wall.
My jaw dropped. In a loose tunic and centurion’s leather skirt, the man stared at the three of us with amusement in his eyes. His thick black hair was flecked with grey, and his face bore a scar across the left cheek; cheeks that were pitted and discoloured. Hanging loosely on his hip was the short sword of the Roman guard.
It took me a moment to realise that the words he spoke, although with a thick accent, were in English.
‘Louis?’ I breathed.
Malbool pushed Mishca behind him and looked at me, not understanding what was being said.
‘Ah! So, I’m right. You do know me! The blood, Graeme. The blood gave you away. It’s not every day the city’s water supplies are contaminated with blood and oil. Slips right through the filtration systems here.’
‘What is this?’ Malbool asked.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ I answered him in Roman. My eyes never left the Italian standing in front of me, but I slowly pulled Mishca in closer behind me.
‘I’m surprised how long you stayed in there, really, although I was guessing you’d pop up around sunset.’ Delissio stepped forward.
Malbool blocked his way.
‘Tell your monkey to move or I will make him move,’ the Italian said.
‘First tell me what’s going on. Who is your assignment? Why have you been trying to orchestrate my death?’
‘Yes, you really have put on quite a show, haven’t you? Crixus! Now, that was impressive. Didn’t even give the poor man a chance. Of course, you always were too flowery with your technique.’
Malbool became increasingly nervous, feeling the tension. He flexed his fingers instinctively.
Delissio looked me up and down, smiling as he saw me struggling to stand from blood loss and exhaustion. ‘You can’t stop it, Fontéyne.’
‘Stop it? Who’s your assignment?’ I pressed. The Italian squinted, as if deciding something. He was much older than when I had known him at The Facility, and was now a man well into his fifties.
‘It’s a funny thing. As I’m sure you realise, the process has some unanticipated results. I’ve been here for a quarter-century already, and if it wasn’t for your arrival, I might have lived out my life in blissful ignorance. I suppose I ha
ve to thank you for that. You turned up just in time.’
Louis Delissio stopped for a moment and looked at Malbool, who was still nervously blocking the man’s path. In a blur so fast I didn’t see the move until after it happened, Malbool was lifted bodily off the ground and sent backwards. The uppercut knocked the African out. When he hit the ground he lay in a folded heap at my feet. Delissio held up his hand and spoke calmly, as if his blow had never been delivered: ‘I just can’t have him listening in to this conversation.’
‘He can’t speak English; you didn’t have to knock him out,’ I spat through clenched teeth. I crouched, checking Malbool’s pulse. ‘What do you mean that I arrived just in time? In time for what? And how long did you say you’ve been here?’
‘Well, let me answer your last question first. I woke up twenty-five years ago in the middle of ancient Rome with no idea who I was. At first I was confused. It didn’t take me long, however, to realise that I had certain skills that set me apart from those around me. I was able to work my way up through the ranks of the military, and then into a position of considerable political power.
‘My vice was betting on the games. I like going to the pits and watching the amateurs rip each other to shreds. Call it a weakness.
‘Then one day at an underground fight I see someone come in and annihilate his opponents without breaking a sweat, and my head starts to explode with images. Images of your face, images of buildings, lights, planes, guns and time machines. Twenty-five years. Actually, in hindsight, it really wasn’t such a bad life, but then I remembered my purpose.’
‘Your assignment. Who was it? Caesar?’
Delissio smiled again.
‘Why, yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, Caesar was my assignment. Augustus Caesar, not Julius. But I guess I’m too late for that now. He was banished for a time, did you know? I don’t think that’s recorded anywhere in the history books. No, the assignment they gave me was Caesar, but my purpose is quite different, and if it wasn’t for you arriving as you did, I may never have remembered it.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘Actually, now it’s time for you to answer my question. I would ask you how you got here, but I can guess at that. What I want to know, though, is what made you remember?’
I looked back at Mishca, who was now standing far enough away to get a good start on Delissio should he be made to run. Mishca too didn’t understand what was being said, but clearly he sensed that it was not friendly.
‘The camera,’ I said simply.
‘How did you find it?’ Delissio asked, intrigued.
‘I was cut. I found it.’
‘Cut on the hip? How convenient for you. Ah, you know, I don’t think I could be bothered cutting into my leg for the historical gratification of The Society, my camera can stay just where it is. So, you want to stop me? Well, now is your chance, but you should know that Barishnikov is not the only one.’
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I feigned surprise.
‘Well, not anymore. You being here can mean only one thing: you discovered Barishnikov and he told you about me.’
I remained silent and clenched my jaw as if I had just been discovered, my mind reeling at the mention of a third Facility agent – Barishnikov.
‘The moment I saw you and remembered what I was sent here to do, I sent my two best agents into Judea to finish the job. With you dead, there will be no one to stop them. I’m afraid you’ll never get your interview with Christ.’
It was all too much. My mind raced to piece together what I was hearing. How did he know my assignment? None of the agents knew which historical figures the others were assigned to interview. The very fact that Delissio had this information, knew that I was assigned to interview Jesus, meant that he had gotten it from somewhere other than the officials at The Facility. It meant that—
‘You’re a plant?’ I asked. I saw the look of confusion on his face pass momentarily. He assumed I knew this. I quickly sought to cover my slip. ‘Barishnikov said he turned you after you’d arrived.’
Delissio considered the lie.
‘Ah, well, I suppose he was smarter than he looked. No matter, you won’t be around long enough to tell anyone the truth, and after my agents have carried out their assassination, the world, our world, will be a much better place. It’s for the greater good.’
With that he loosened his sword. This told me two things: Jesus was still alive, and Delissio meant to cure me of being the same way.
‘If you want a job done, do it yourself,’ he said as he slid the blade out of its scabbard and arced it at my neck in one lightning movement. I very nearly didn’t get out of the way, only managing to evade the strike by flailing backwards at the last moment, causing me to crash clumsily over Malbool’s unconscious body.
The blade came down hard in a dagger motion, and only by thrusting my legs apart was I able to avoid the sword’s point as it slammed into the dirt. I crossed my legs in a scissor action as I spun onto my side, catching the blade and flipping it free of Delissio’s grasp. The instant that it was, I knocked the blade clear and then kicked hard up into Delissio’s stomach, but he was too fast. Riding the blow backwards, he grabbed my foot and twisted. The pain was instant and forced me to roll my entire body so my knee wasn’t torn from its ligaments. As I did, I swung my other foot around, catching him on the side of the head. He stumbled and I rolled clear, coming to my feet.
I was moving on adrenaline alone, and I knew that it would give out at any moment. Delissio was unlike anyone I had yet faced. He was an agent, an X officer, with all the same training and skill I possessed, but he was fresh and I was on the verge of collapse. It was a fight I could not win.
A scream of rage cut the air between us as Mishca charged Delissio, Delissio’s sword now raised above his head. His battle cry alerted the Italian with too much time to be taken by surprise. My heart sank as I saw Delissio drop, spin and sweep the boy as he got within range. The advantage I had gained by ridding the Italian of his weapon was nullified as his hand reached out and snatched the blade back from the boy as he fell.
Mishca dropped, unmoving.
I circled, feinting and baulking attacks as I led Delissio away from the fallen bodies of my friends.
‘You come alone?’ I taunted. ‘Why no legions? Are you so sure of yourself, Louis?’
‘I need no legions to finish you, Fontéyne. You think you can kill me? Well, here I am! I was always better than you.’ With that, Delissio thrust forward, the tip of his eighteen-inch gladius sword speeding for my heart. Weariness clouded my reactions. I made to avoid the blow but too late realised that I had fallen for his feint. As Delissio thrust the sword with his right hand, he spun his torso all the way around, pulling his stabbing motion short, but forcing me to move. He continued his rotation and brought his elbow up, travelling fast in the spin. In an effort to evade his thrust, I moved right into the blow. It broke my nose and sent me sprawling backwards. I was dazed, unable to move and water filled my eyes. I was beaten.
Too exhausted to be sharp, too fatigued to anticipate his trick, I looked up and knew that the end was here. Blood poured from my nose and mixed with the tears as my eyes spilled over. My head lolled to the side and I saw Malbool and Mishca lying on the street in the darkness.
Jesus would be killed before I could speak with him, and my disc would never reach its resting place.
‘I hope you’re recording,’ Delissio said as he raised his short sword with both hands.
CHAPTER 39
‘Okay,’ Shaun said, slamming his hand down on the book as he reached the bottom of the page.
‘What?’ David said like a petulant child. ‘Come on, let me turn the page! I’ve been waiting for, like, five minutes.’ In fact he had been waiting for closer to one minute for Shaun to catch up, and had been making noises of frustration the entire time. His running commentary of ‘Wow!’ and ‘Oh no!’ as he raced ahead was driving Shaun insane. But that was not why Shaun had
stopped reading.
‘Okay, this is it,’ he said. ‘There’s no possible way he can get out of this.’
‘But there’s more book!’ David retorted.
‘I know! That’s what bugs me. It’s like when you watch a TV show and they leave it with the hero in some totally un-get-out-able situation, and then return next week for some random freak thing to happen to save their ass at the last moment. It pisses me off!’
‘So, what are you waiting for? Let’s find out!’ David rocked back and forth on the bed next to him, like a child so filled with anticipation he was going to burst.
Shaun breathed. ‘It’s a fake,’ he said.
‘What? Why?’ David blurted, not following.
‘Well, for Fontéyne to get out of this situation something totally ridiculous would have to happen. Malbool and Mishca are unconscious, and he’s totally exhausted and lying there with a super-agent ready to stab him. There’s no way out. If he gets out of this, then it’s some bullshit and the whole story is a freakin’ wannabe Matthew Reilly novel, not a diary. There would have to be someone hiding in the shadows who shoots Delissio with an arrow in the back. It’s just fake.’
‘We’ve got twenty minutes before we have to leave and I’m going insane, man. Please. Please turn the page.’
Shaun sighed. ‘Fine. Whatever.’
He turned the page and they both continued to read.
Through watery eyes I looked up at the man who would deliver my death. I had survived the hordes of Roman gladiators only to be killed by one of my own agents. Delissio smiled, and then his eyes widened.
He stared down at his chest to see an arrow head protruding from—
‘Ha!’ Shaun got up off the bed.
‘Shit, man, you’ve been reading ahead. That’s not fair!’ David protested.
‘Ha! I told you! I told you this thing was freakin’ ridiculous!’ Shaun pointed an accusatory finger at the diary. ‘All this time I’ve been hanging on its every word when I should have been looking for the people who killed Lauren. It’s crap. It’s impossible.’
