AURELIA (Roma Nova Book 4)

by Alison Morton

  ‘Answer my question, if you please.’

  The poor woman’s face went bright red. ‘I apologise, Countess.’ She stared at Monticola’s columns. ‘I’ve never seen an extract from a silver trader’s book. I only learnt about their existence during my training.’ She glanced at me. ‘A privilege.’

  ‘Well, this is only lent to me as a special dispensation. You know what a secretive lot the silver traders are!’

  The official’s expression relaxed and she released a long breath. She snatched up a pen and her hand travelled back and forth through the air from the copy to the accountant’s graph.

  ‘Yes! Here and here.’ The three financial experts forgot my existence as they nodded and whispered amongst themselves. Not my area, but they seemed genuinely excited by their paper hunt. Eventually, they looked up remembering I was there. The senior official’s face shone as she turned to face me.

  ‘They’re a perfect match. Unbelievable! The transactions haven’t been recorded.’

  I nodded to Licinia and she left the room. Two minutes later she came back in with Festa in front of her, the manager’s arm held by the optio and Drusus following them. The optio laid her hand on Festa’s shoulder and pressed her down into the chair opposite me and went to stand barely two centimetres behind it. Festa rubbed the side of her neck, then dropped her hands to her lap. I nodded to the senior trade officer who related briefly, thank Juno, the findings of the expert group.

  Two patches of deep pink bloomed on Festa’s cheekbones as she listened. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as I deliberately stayed silent for a few minutes. The only sound was the soft swish of the heating switching on, making the warm room even warmer. Festa glanced at Drusus who looked away, then at each of the legation staff who stared down at their files. Finally, her eyes settled back on me.

  ‘You will kindly explain these anomalies,’ I said at last.

  She looked straight at me but said nothing. Perhaps she’d had time to think about it while we were analysing the financial data, but she must have realised she was guilty of financial mismanagement at a minimum.

  ‘Well?’ I injected as much ice as I could into my voice, mirroring the temperature outside.

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ she said. ‘I refuse to answer any questions without my lawyer present.’

  ‘I see,’ I replied. Her tight face radiated defiance. Her non-cooperation was starting to annoy me, but she was our only lead. My instinct said she was up to her neck in illegal dealing. However, we had to prove it.

  We’d found only two Tellae employed by the bank branch and they were relatively junior; one was only eighteen and the other was a very distant cousin of the main branch. According to their records, neither of them had been anywhere near trading; one was an archivist close to retirement and the other had recently passed apprentice clerk stage so had very restricted access. Their records were impeccable with no trading activity of any kind. And there were apparently no Tellae accounts held at this branch apart from the staff accounts by these two employees. So it came back to Festa.

  ‘Well, Drusus, as compliance officer perhaps you can enlighten us about these trades.’

  He had the grace to look away. After a moment he recovered himself. ‘I don’t know what to say, Countess. Of course, there will be a thorough internal inspection.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough. This is silver we’re talking about, our chief strategic asset. Your manager will return to Roma Nova under escort to be questioned by the authorities.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘Yes, and you know it is,’ I replied.

  ‘You can’t force me to go back,’ Festa said. ‘The Argentaria Prima is a private company and we’re outside Roma Nova.’ She smiled almost in triumph.

  ‘You seem to forget your basic law,’ I replied. ‘The Argentaria Prima is indeed a privately constituted organisation, but in the case of the silver trade the branch manager is also an official agent of the state. You signed an agreement when you were appointed. That gave you the status and protection of a state servant and, of course, the honorarium that goes with it. But you also carry the obligation of fides which you appear to have broken.’

  Her expression froze. ‘But—’

  I held up my hand. ‘Valeria Festa, I am arresting you on suspicion of contravening the silver trading laws. As you must know, this constitutes an offence against the state. You will be escorted to your apartment to collect some personal effects and then accompanied on the next flight home.’

  *

  ‘You’re sure?’ Plico frowned at me out of the black and white screen.

  ‘Completely. The accountant and trade officers are writing up their findings which will be faxed to you along with my report in the next couple of hours as soon as I’ve signed it off. And they’ll come back with Festa and explain it in minute detail to you. Prisca Monticola has agreed to release a certified copy of that part of her private trade book to the court.’

  ‘Gods, this is a pile of pig shit.’ He grunted. ‘Well, I can’t say I won’t get a certain pleasure out of the AP secretary’s face when I tell him what his shining star has been up to.’ He paused. ‘You went beyond your authority as a legation official saying you were arresting her. Technically, you can’t.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, really. No doubt there’ll be a complaint, but it’ll be too late. I’ll field it anyway.’

  ‘You won’t need to. You’re always harping on how I’m still on the government payroll. I know it was you who suggested using me to Justina. If you remember correctly,’ I said, pulling in all my sarcasm, ‘I still hold my commission. As a Praetorian officer, I hold the power of arrest until the day my resignation is accepted. I’ve used it. “Deal with it”, as our American friends say.’

  XXV

  The next day, I had an appointment at Soane’s, a branch of a private British bank that had been established in Vienna for nearly two hundred years. My great-grandfather had been English, from London, and following tradition, he had joined the family firm. He had frowned on his eldest son Henry, my grandfather, emigrating to Roma Nova when he’d married my grandmother. Peter John, my grandfather’s younger brother, had continued to run the business from London, expanding it as Britain became an industrial powerhouse. He’d based their success on a steadily increasing and highly confidential list of clients, which included royalty, but one of whom had been my mother, his niece, and then me.

  The Vienna branch, located in a bland, stone-faced nineteenth-century block just off the Ringstraße, resembled a lawyer’s office from the outside, complete with a modest brass plate engraved with the single word ‘Soane’s’. I glanced up at the camera discreetly perched on the window recess above the glass-panelled front door. Inside, a suited man hovered to one side. Security. The receptionist said nothing apart from murmuring ‘Grüß Gott,’ and buzzed my name upstairs. Within two minutes a medium-height man with brown wavy hair and pale eyes entered the lobby from the inside.

  ‘Aurelia,’ he said. David Soane took my hands, bent and kissed my cheeks French-fashion. He smelled of citrus. His tailored suit and black polished shoes oozed discretion and money. ‘No calls, except my father, if urgent,’ he ordered the receptionist.

  Upstairs in his oak-panelled office we sat in his very English Queen Anne wing chairs and sipped smooth Viennese coffee. After five minutes exchanging family news, he set his cup down on the table beside his chair and said, ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Aurelia, but I’m sure you didn’t come here to hear about hatches, matches and dispatches. How can I help you?’

  ‘I need some information.

  ‘Always the intelligence officer,’ he said, and smiled as if at some inner knowledge. I always had the feeling he saw twice as much as he admitted to. I knew our file on him was thin, mostly information supplied by me. He was the perfect fit for the secretive Austrian banking community.

  ‘It’s a delicate matter and the usual c
hannels aren’t leading anywhere,’ I said.

  ‘Good gracious! Don’t tell me the exceedingly efficient Secretary Plico is having a problem?’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, David. Or play the innocent. I always reckoned the European bankers had an intelligence system as efficient as any state one, better than most.’

  His face split into a grin, so unexpected in his usually composed demeanour. ‘We try.’

  ‘Silver,’ I said. I nearly missed it; it was a mere tightening of muscles, hardly a millimetre of movement, but it was there. ‘You must have been following the recent fluctuations,’ I added.

  ‘Tell me a little more.’

  I passed him copies of my marked-up spreadsheets. Drusus would have had a fit and Licinia wouldn’t have been far behind, but I knew that if I didn’t make full disclosure of what was classified as a Roma Novan state secret, David wouldn’t give me anything. He darted a sharp look at me, but switched back to studying the lines and columns. Eventually, he looked up.

  ‘We’ve been following it, obviously, but as observers. Interesting. What do you want to know?’

  ‘The Argentaria Prima is investigating how it was possible to bypass the office here and effect the trades that led to these movements. I’ll leave that to them. I want to know what you think of Valeria Festa. Not her public CV, but the person and her reputation.’

  ‘You want me to dish the dirt on one of your own financial officers? Really, Aurelia!’

  ‘Don’t quote ethics at me, please. Is there dirt, then?’

  ‘Totally off the record?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She lives in an exclusive apartment, eats in smart restaurants and is always at the opera or theatre with an equally smart escort.’ He glanced at me. ‘But then she’s paid well by the AP, and as the silver agent of your government.’

  I waved my hand at him to continue, disturbed at his knowledge of Festa’s confidential pay structure.

  ‘She’s known to, er, enjoy gambling, which is possibly a concern.’

  Romans lived and breathed gambling; hardly unusual in a high-earner, but I didn’t comment.

  ‘But I’ve heard rumours she’s overstretched herself. At the last reception of the Viennese Bankers’ Association, she introduced a couple of unlikely business people to me and to representatives of several other niche finance houses. I asked myself why she was doing this and if she had some kind of obligation to them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It didn’t seem in character. She’s almost more Viennese than a Viennese.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Apart from fine living, she mixes with only the most exclusive, both in business and socially. These two were a little on the shady side. Now you’ve shown me these,’ he touched the sheets, ‘it seems to be making a pattern. Perhaps the silver trading has been giving her a chance to “rectify” her situation.’

  ‘Is she capable of doing this?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she’s certainly knowledgeable and experienced enough. Unless somebody came sniffing around and had the expertise to spot it, she’d get away with it.’ That almost private smile again. ‘But if there was a suspicion, any decent analyst could deconstruct it.’

  ‘But why? Surely there were other ways to accumulate capital. Stocks and shares and so on.’

  ‘Yes, but silver’s highly profitable, often traded very quickly. She needed money fast, it seems.’

  ‘Perhaps, but she must have known where it would lead, I mean, pushing the price down like that and devaluing a state asset.’

  ‘It does start to sound calculated, doesn’t it?’

  *

  I faxed a report to Plico, quoting ‘sources in the Viennese banking community’ and under an ‘Eyes Only’ flag. Thirty minutes later, I wasn’t surprised when one of the comms office staff put his head around my door saying Plico was on the videolink and wanted to speak to me, stat.

  ‘For once, the vigiles have managed to get off their backsides and found that Festa was cautioned for debt when she was a student,’ Plico said. ‘Not something she thought to mention when she applied for a job at the AP,’ he added drily. She wouldn’t have reached the interview stage if they’d known, despite her first-class degree. ‘And the other thing is that she doesn’t have much in the way of personal savings or assets, despite her good salary.’

  ‘What about her family?’

  ‘Both parents are dead, but she’s got a grandmother in Aquae Caesaris.’ He looked at the file on his desk. ‘And a younger brother who runs a land agency there. Festus junior seems to enjoy being obnoxious in the local caupona and has had a couple of public drunkenness fines. He fancies himself as a politician with a yen for the old Roman Republic, “when men were men”.’

  ‘For the gods’ sake! What rubbish.’

  ‘Yes, it doesn’t exactly add to his sister’s credit. He’s visited her twice since she’s been posted to Vienna, once three weeks ago. I’m going to get somebody to have a closer look at him.’

  ‘Call me paranoid, but I still think Caius is linked to it somehow.’

  ‘You’re paranoid. Satisfied?’ He smirked. ‘Or are your hormones playing up?’

  ‘Do you know how offensive that is?’ I glared at him, but the screen flickered and I couldn’t see his expression.

  ‘Well, don’t overdo it or go off on any silly adventures.’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, thank you, full of energy,’ I lied, ignoring the tiredness that pulled me down like a personal gravitational force. ‘Tell me,’ I said in the most acid voice I could produce, ‘how are you doing in the search for Caius?’

  XXVI

  If I had to go to another diplomatic reception, I’d scream. This was the third one in two weeks; forced to smile and make small talk at the same time while trying to catch snippets of information about the other sharks in the water.

  ‘You’re starting to cultivate a very good poker face, Aurelia,’ the nuncia had remarked as we drove from our legation in Marc-Aurel-Straße north-west to Boltzmanngasse, where the Eastern United States Embassy was located. ‘But be particularly careful of their public affairs and commercial services people.’ She’d glanced at me. ‘You’ve read Captain Licinia’s briefing?’

  By the end of the evening, I’d realised how accurate Licinia’s briefing had been. A smarty-pants called White, officially one of their foreign commercial officers, had tried to pump me for my opinion of Severina’s ability to succeed her mother as imperatrix. Damn cheek! When I’d fudged the issue, he suggested forming this opinion was beyond my competence and perhaps he’d better ask the senior political secretary – a man. Only his measuring look had stopped me; I realised he’d wanted to provoke me. According to Licinia, this White was one of the resident American spooks in Vienna.

  I pulled my shoes off my aching feet, but couldn’t get rid of the aching nag in my mind. White had mentioned some of the leading Roma Novan families – he’d been very well informed, or briefed. When he came to the Tellae, my antennae leapt into full receive mode. White understood that Caius Tellus was ‘absent’. I hadn’t commented, but moved on to ask him about his home town and family. But he’d come back to the Tellae. I fobbed him off with some history, including about how formidable old Countess Tella had been in her younger days as a senator. Perhaps he was gathering general information, but I sensed something else.

  Juno, I was starting to see bloody Caius everywhere. Perhaps Plico was right and I was losing my sense of perspective. He’d given me a simple clipped ‘no progress’ last night from the vid screen. Caius had been on the run for over three weeks now – surely somebody had heard or seen something. Numerus was efficient and persistent; Plico was no slouch, but he was concentrating on the silver business. The Prussians were smarting from the barefaced effrontery of Caius’s escape and the frontier police in Bavaria, New Austria and the North Italian and Helvetian Confederations were on alert. Even the vigiles were making an effort back home. I itched to get out there and hunt him down
myself, but where in Hades would I start?

  *

  ‘This “Eyes Only” secure fax came for you ten minutes ago.’ Licinia strode into my office the next morning. ‘The comms sergeant called me as soon as she saw the confidential imperial header code.’ She paused and glanced at me. ‘I handled it myself. I’m the only one who’s seen the contents.’

  I read Plico’s message: he’d scribbled, Call me as soon as you’ve read this. But don’t panic. Attached to the cover sheet were a grainy copy of a letter and an even grainier black and white photograph. Despite the poor quality of the picture, Marina’s hesitant smile and confused look were obvious. It looked as if it had been taken in the old palace pleasure garden, now a public park. What was she doing there? The private palace grounds were generous enough for any child to run around. Where was Aemilia, the nursery maid? I glanced at the copy of the letter and an iron hand gripped my heart.

  Your child has developed very well into a charming little girl. She didn’t seem to remember me very well, but she still enjoys honey cake. I thought you’d like this photograph to remind you of how she looked before she changes.

  I clamped my left hand over my mouth. The sheet of coated paper fluttered in my other hand then dropped on to the table as my fingers lost their grip.

  Oh, gods, gods.

  That bastard had my child.

  I shot out of my office along the corridor. Anybody in my way was pushed aside. Grabbing the handle of the service stairway to the basement, I swore as it wouldn’t open.

  Don’t panic, Plico said.

  Pluto take him and smash him into the depths of Tartarus.

  A hand came over my shoulder and pressed the keypad. Licinia. She ran down the stairs barely a pace behind me into the comms office. She jerked her head at the operator in front of the terminal who jumped up immediately. Licinia slid into the chair and punched in the number for the Foreign Ministry and the eight-figure passcode – my fingers were trembling too much to have done it even if I’d known the code sequence for the day. She gave me the seat the instant we got through. After two clerks, Plico’s face appeared.