He didn’t say anything, but looked at me, his eyes more liquid and face less tense.
‘I wasn’t angry just for the unit and you know that.’
‘Yes.’ What else could I say?
‘I can’t run a unit efficiently when two of the most promising juniors can’t exercise some self-control. I think it would be calming for us if you were away for a bit. Then we can review your future here.’
Oh, Juno, he really was thinking of throwing me out. My stomach spasmed. Maybe he would say more when we got home. I loved this man and I knew he loved me. He was able to split work and the personal sides of his life. I found it near impossible.
‘Have you read the mission parameters?’ He tapped the edge of the screen. I scanned the ten lines, not really taking them in. I looked over at him.
‘République Québecoise?’ I said. What in Hades was going on in Quebec? Pleasant, old fashioned and full of polite French speakers.
‘Country in the Americas, east of Canada, north of the Eastern United States.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ I retorted.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. This was the trouble working with your civil spouse who outranked you by several steps. Outside, it was the other way around.
‘Read this.’ He pushed the file across his desk.
The file cover was marked with a diagonal red stripe with ‘CELATA’ across the top. Not a red ultra file which I’d never seen and wasn’t cleared to see, but the next category down. I took it gingerly and opened it with respect. I read it through, then reread the major points.
‘What’s the timescale on this?’
‘Active now.’
I glanced at him.
‘There’s no possibility I have to cross the border into the EUS?’ I tried not to sound as nervous as I felt.
‘No, not unless the subject does a runner. But she thinks she’s safe. However, Flavius will go with you and he can take over if she, and it, goes south.’
I rubbed the margin of the file sheet between my thumb and index finger.
‘I presume you’ve been north? As a child?’ Conrad said.
‘We went to Toronto in Canada once to go to Niagara Falls. Dad said it was better from that side. But apart from that we mostly went to Quebec for holidays.’ I half closed my eyes. ‘I remember the old stone houses and the wooden clapperboard cottages. Sometimes we went to Montreal and I remember swimming in the Lac Saint-Pierre.’
‘Bit cold, wasn’t it?’
‘Freezing, but good.’
‘Did you go as an adult while you were living in New York?’
‘Are you kidding? I had no spare money to travel.’
The best I’d been able to manage was a vacation rental with four friends one year in Montana. My dad had died when I was twelve and I’d been uprooted from our house in New Hampshire to the open plains of Nebraska to live on an isolated farm with my joyless cousins. The day after graduating high school, I took the bus to New York and worked in various offices for peanuts until, at just shy of my twenty-fifth birthday, I’d fled to Roma Nova where my mother had been born. That was over four years ago.
I pointed at the file. ‘So what’s this Vibiana done that’s so bad?’
‘Need to know, and you don’t. Just bring her back.’
3
I rubbed the plane window. Nothing but cloud. And not the pretty fluffy sort like cotton balls that made you want to jump out of the plane and bounce around on them. Just grey and formless.
‘Cheer up, Bruna,’ Flavius said. My friend from my first days in the Praetorian Guard Special Forces and before, he always used my nickname when we were away from formal situations. At least I had dyed light brown hair to match the name now. ‘This must be better than the winter endurance exercise you could have been sent on.’
‘It’s still covered in snow down there.’
‘What’s the problem about a bit of snow? You were brought up in New Hampshire as a child. It’s the same latitude.’
‘I suppose so.’
I was thinking of the quick kiss on the cheek Conrad had given me when I left the house with my backpack. No arms around me, just a hand on my shoulder and a nod. At least Nonna had been warmer. As I’d unpeeled myself from her embrace, she’d taken my hands, given me a smile, then wished me good hunting. She always gave a funny little smile when she said that.
On the flight, I’d dozed in between rehearsing my cover story as a graduate student. I’d never been to university, so I prayed I wouldn’t make any foul-ups. Now my ears were popping as we started the descent.
I nudged Flavius as the flight attendant came into earshot. Even over the engine noise, she’d hear us. We were speaking English to get into character, but although French was the default on this Paris-Leclerc to Montreal flight, I was sure they would understand anything we said.
‘Des déchets?’ She gave us a smile.
We dutifully put our plastic trays into the bin bag and she passed on, smile still affixed to her face.
In the enormous immigration hall at the Aéroport Louis-Napoléon, we wound our way through the snake of barriers. I yawned and looked around as we waited. My eyes prickled and I couldn’t wait to get into the fresh air. I was frankly envious of the first-class passengers, elegant, understated and radiating wealth with designer clothes and uber-confident air. Looking fresh from a good night’s sleep in the cabins, they were ushered through in a separate line.
Eventually the plebs line reached the barrier and I breezed through on my fake EUS passport as Lauren Jackson, but Flavius took a few more minutes on his equally fake British one as Mark Lombardi. We had Roma Novan diplomatic passports sewn into our jackets which were only to be used in extreme circumstances. Our bags came up on the carousel and as I pulled mine off I spotted the exit signs.
‘Let’s grab a taxi and get to our rooms.’
‘We should go on the rail like budget travellers,’ he said and rolled his eyes.
I made a face at him, but he was right. All three clerks at the transportation desk were crushingly helpful with traveller cards, maps and well-wishes. Minutes later we wheeled our bags onto a wide car. In the city, we changed onto the old-fashioned charming metro that ran on little wheels. It was too quiet for us to do anything but keep up chatter about tourist stuff.
Up on the plateau, we tramped through the snow down a street of old row houses near our last metro station. A hundred metres along, we stopped at one, climbed the five steps and knocked at one of twin doors.
‘Bonjour. Madame Jackson?’ A friendly smile from a dark-haired man.
‘Hi, yes. Er, parlez-vous anglais? Or at least American?’ I grinned.
‘Sure, come in.’ He looked at Flavius who smiled in a friendly, eager-to-please foreigner way.
‘Oh, this is my friend, Mark Lombardi.’
We pulled our cases up steep stairs to the next storey and emerged into a spacious wood-floored apartment. The plumbing was previous century, but we’d survive.
‘Thank you so much, Monsieur Lecroix.’ I held out my hand and hoped he’d take the hint.
‘I will leave you to settle in. Two weeks you’ve paid for, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We’re using Montreal as our base to explore the whole area. We may be away for a day or two at a time, but we’ll be back well before the two weeks is up.’
* * *
We’d brought a supply of Napoleonic louis as well as the livre québecois they’d recently introduced; both were used at present. We had enough for our visit, but on the way back from the supermarché on the Avenue du Mont-Royal we checked out the nearest bank in case we needed more. We kept our conversation to tourist inanities, but as soon as we’d unpacked our supplies on the kitchen worktop, I put the kettle on and ran the washer. Under the cover of this noise, we worked in silence and made a thorough sweep of the whole apartment.
‘Clean,’ Flavius said after twenty-five minutes. He put his ‘torch’ back in its cas
e. I peeled my surgical gloves off. While he’d been using an electronic detector, I’d drawn the short straw of the physical check which included poking in places nobody normal would want to touch.
‘Agreed. Let’s get some supper.’
He cooked some of the pasta and vegetables while I checked train times.
‘We’re going to have to leave at six tomorrow morning,’ I told him as we finished eating.
‘Early night then.’ Flavius looked at me, a question in his eyes. There was only one bedroom despite all the living space.
‘I’ll take the floor with the cushions from the couch,’ I said. He went to speak, but my new cell phone pinged with a message. ‘Hi Lauren, calling round with a bottle of wine to say bienvenue to my city. With you in 2 minutes. Bisous. Francine.’
‘Supplies,’ I said and grinned at him.
We crept downstairs to be ready to open the door quickly. Flavius flattened himself against the wall just beyond the door’s swing. I counted to twenty. Nothing. Odd. After another minute, I sat down on the stairs. After five more minutes, I fished out my cell and messaged ‘Francine’, in reality a Roma Nova legation courier. No reply. Merda.
‘Go upstairs,’ I whispered to Flavius. ‘The bedroom balcony looks out onto the street. See if you can see anything strange. There should be a girl with a backpack. And a bottle of wine.’
After five minutes, he crept back down. ‘Nothing.’
We exchanged a glance.
‘Either she’s compromised or we are,’ I said. ‘I’m the only one in our group who knew she was coming here. And only the PGSF commander at the legation here knew from their end.’ The last thing I wanted to do was to go out on a freezing dark night after a transatlantic flight in economy, but we couldn’t leave her out there if the ungodly were about.
‘It’s been nearly fifteen minutes since you had that first message,’ Flavius said as we threw on jackets, hats and scarves. I buckled on my boots and thrust some basics into my parka pockets as Flavius did the same.
I glanced at my watch. ‘Eighteen now. Let’s make for the metro station.’ I pulled on my gloves as we left the building, stowing the keys in the inside zipped pocket. A dog-walking couple, a middle-aged woman and two teenagers were hurrying along the street. Harsh streetlights cast shadows from the first-floor balconies down onto the frost-covered sidewalk. The contrast of pitch black and white made it hard to focus enough to spot anybody who could be hiding behind the steps up to the entrance doors. We crossed to the other side and stood by a fenced off building lot. Flavius pretended to check his cell while I cast around. Nothing.
On the metro station forecourt I pushed open the weird pivoted door into the station. Flavius followed close behind. In the tiled booking hall streams of commuters flowed round a cluster of people in the centre. Through legs, I could see a man kneeling on the cold floor, next to a figure on the ground. Then I saw the pool of dark red liquid by the figure’s head.
4
Flavius grabbed my arm and pulled me into one of the corridors as if heading for the down escalator. A service recess at the side. We leant back against the wall.
‘Somebody would have been watching for a reaction from whoever she was meeting,’ Flavius said. Saying that, he’d confirmed what I’d registered almost without seeing. It was a young woman lying on the floor. Wide padded loops projected from under her – a backpack. It had to be Francine. The reflection of red and blue flashing lights bounced off the white tiled wall. Ambulance.
‘Do you think she’ll made it?’ I said.
He shook his head.
I turned away and clamped my lips together hard. A sour taste filled my mouth and I nearly threw up. I took some deep breaths.
‘You okay?’ Flav gave me a funny look.
‘Sure.’ I nodded. ‘We have to retrieve that bag. If the paramedics or the hospital find what I think’s in it and put it together with her ID, there’ll be a massive diplo-fit.’
Flavius tapped furiously on his phone. ‘Most likely place is the university hospital.’
‘Find us a back way out of this station and let’s grab a taxi.’
‘I always wanted a passenger who said “follow that car”.’ The cab driver chuckled.
‘It’s an ambulance, not a car and that’s my sister in it,’ I snapped.
‘Oh. Sorry.’
Flavius touched my forearm. I glanced at him and he shook his head.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ I said to the driver. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’m worried.’
‘It’s okay, I understand. I’ll get you there almost before they unload her.’
I closed my eyes and leant back. He raced down the main boulevard and the cab juddered as he pulled it round the corner into the street with the emergency room entrance.
Half a dozen ambulances hovered there like bees waiting to go into the hive. I thrust three five-louis notes at him with the moustachioed Joseph Napoleon’s image staring out. Flavius was peering at his phone, then the ambulances.
‘That one,’ he said and pointed to the one at the back of the queue. ‘I took a photo of its registration plate as we followed it.’
We waited in the freezing air as each ambulance released its contents. The second ours opened the back doors, I hurled myself at the gurney, pushing the two paramedics aside.
‘Emily, oh, Emily!’ I shrieked. ‘Speak to me!’ Then I started crying.
‘Stand back please,’ one said firmly. They lowered the gurney from the ambulance.
‘She’s my sister,’ I said and grabbed the nearest paramedic’s arm and shook it. They were both staring at me. I spotted a quick movement behind them, a figure reaching into the ambulance. I had to stop them turning round. I burst into sobs, my chest heaving and waved my arms around as in deep distress. They exchanged glances. One patted my shoulder.
‘We understand you’re upset, but the best place for her is inside. Please stand aside and let us take her in.’
Flavius was clear of the ambulance, the precious rucksack in his hand. He walked out of the entrance area, bag slung over his shoulder, and disappeared. I glanced down at the figure swathed in blankets on the gurney. She moaned, her eyes fluttered then opened. Gods, she was alive.
‘Lauren?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, you did it.’ I studied her face, it was white, but her eyes focused on mine. She even tried to move her hand.
‘Que les dieux soient loués,’ she gasped.
The paramedics pushed past me through the automatic doors and wheeled her into the hospital. I crept away and hurried back into the main street where Flavius was waiting for me. We searched up and down for a possible tail.
‘Flav, she was alive. And there was a funny smell.’ I stopped and it struck me what the red liquid was. ‘Oh gods, it was the wine that spilt, not her blood.’
We eventually found a public payphone and I called the Roma Nova legation, leaving a coded message – seemingly about a visa application – which would get routed to the Praetorian commander.
‘The first things we need to get tomorrow are new cell phones,’ I said. ‘Either ours are compromised, there’s a leak in Quebec, or worse, at home.’
‘We’ll be going dark. Home won’t be able to track us.’ Flavius frowned.
‘That may not be the worst idea in the world.’
With that cheerful thought, we walked back to the row house and our beds.
* * *
We left our original cell phones in the apartment. If they were compromised, then the opposition knew already where we were. But we took our portable scanners, IDs, documentation and ready cash with us in the backpack ‘Francine’ had delivered to her cost.
A change of clothes made us look a little more respectable and we reversed our jackets. I plaited my hair and bound it on top of my head, pushing it under my hat. Not marvellous, but it would have to do.
In the Rue Sainte-Cathérine we had a choice of phone stores. The relief of being connected again w
as immense. We had two hours to spare so we found a coffee shop and spent time setting our phones up.
‘Are you okay, Bruna? You’ve gone quiet.’
‘I guess.’
‘Look, it could be worse,’ Flavius said. ‘“Francine”, or whatever her name is, is in the hospital and you’ve alerted the legation. They’ll send somebody round this morning to check on her, if they didn’t last night. Thanks to your hysterical sobbing act, we’ve retrieved the backpack from the ambulance. And we didn’t get raided last night by the ungodly.’
The locks in the apartment wouldn’t have stopped a teenage burglar but Flavius had set wire alarms everywhere as well as IR beams.
‘I suppose “Francine” could actually have had a genuine accident and we’re overreacting…’
‘Tell me you don’t really believe that!’ He rolled his eyes.
‘No, but I have the feeling there’s more to this than the simple retrieval of a wayward government scientist.’
‘Something political?’
‘It usually is, whatever anybody says,’ I replied. The PGSF’s sole reason for existing was to be the intelligence and covert operations unit of the force that protected the imperatrix and state of Roma Nova. I’d known that much even before I’d started serving in it. Conrad had said nothing. He’d just given us the task. It was our duty to carry it out. But still…
I glanced at my watch. ‘Let’s get to the university.’
‘You’ve got the syringes?’
I nodded. ‘Let’s go get her.’
* * *
The university, mostly glass and steel buildings from the late 1990s, huddled near the base of the Mont-Royal, the hill that gave the city its name. We’d booked tickets for a public lecture that let us into the main building. Over a hundred people filled the room and I couldn’t see anybody watching us as we snuck out one at a time.
I checked the campus map on my phone while I waited for Flavius. The door from the lecture hall opened. I knelt down as if tying the lace of my sneaker, but as soon as I saw his face, stood up.
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