‘I have to go to Washington, but I’ll be back in a couple of days, Saturday evening at the latest.’ His gaze flittered back and forth across my face like he was searching for something. ‘Listen to me. Do everything as normal, but be careful. If anybody new pops up in your life, or somebody you know changes their behaviour or their attitude to you, treat them with caution. Promise me.’
His seriousness frightened me. I felt cold goosebumps spread all over me. I nodded but couldn’t say anything. He touched my shoulder, gave me a tight smile and was gone.
Headache and thirst vanished, I rushed to work. With no time to make a sandwich, I decided to get lunch out at the grill down the street where they could process you in just under the half-hour. Besides, I wanted to be among normal people. Waiting in line, I sensed the brush of somebody’s clothing against my back. I took a half-step forward, shifting my body a little sideways at the same time.
‘You want to keep away from foreigners. If you don’t, we’ll destroy you.’
At first I didn’t register the voice was aimed at me. By the time I did, nobody was there. I searched up and down, pushing past people as I tried to find the invisible speaker. I seized the server’s arm and demanded to know if she’d seen him. I cast around frantically, but only saw normal people waiting for their lunch, looking away from me. The threatening words penetrated my brain, and I started to shake. I stumbled back to my office, not caring who I pushed against. I fell into my chair and stared at my blank screen for a full five minutes. I let out a long breath. This was unreal. Who the hell were they? How dared they scare me like that?
I went home that evening by yellow cab. Lucky to get one at that time, I hesitated on the sidewalk before I pulled the rear door open. Suppose the driver was one of them? A woman hovered by my side, ready to cut in, so I blocked her and jumped in. The driver’s bored eyes were impassive as I told him my destination, so I figured he was safe. All the same, I was relieved to reach the 7-Eleven in the block before mine. I paid, leapt out and hurried home, where I ran around the apartment locking and bolting every window as well as the door. I checked the latch at least three times. It wasn’t the best night’s rest ever.
I had to go shopping Saturday morning for food, but scrutinised every face I encountered. Despite being scared of every human being around me, I became fascinated by the variety in the size and set of noses and mouths. And the shape and colour of eyes – narrow, large, mean, pale, warm, uncaring. And the contrast of a neat Asian teenager and her impatient blond counterpart in need of a diet doctor, and an older man slouching in the line. I hadn’t ever thought about how different people were. And any one of them could be a danger for me.
Safely back behind the doors of my apartment building, I checked my mailbox and, along with my movie periodical, found an envelope with my name but no return address. Setting my shopping down in the small lobby, I opened the envelope, handling the sheet inside by the edges. I’d seen CSI shows. I no longer cared if people thought I was crazy.
Betray your country and you’ll get 20 years of federal hospitality.
I stared at it. I couldn’t believe it. I read it again. After a while, I squashed it back in the envelope, gathered up my shopping and went up to my apartment. The envelope quivered in my hand until I dropped it on the table. One of my shopping bags fell over on the table, spilling the contents and a glass jar rolled over the edge. I gulped as my floor was covered in a large red star of tomato and olive pasta sauce and glittering shards.
I left the chaos, closed the drapes, changed into my pyjamas and retreated to my bed, pulling the comforter over my head. I lay there, shaking, frightened into my soul.
Thumping at my apartment door jolted me awake. Instantly. Somebody rattling the handle. They’d come for me.
‘Karen?’ A voice shouted.
Conrad! I ran to the door and looked through the spyhole. It was him. I gulped with relief, unlocked the door and pulled it open.
‘What’s happened? Why are you in your pyjamas at two in the afternoon?’
I told him about the restaurant line and the letter. As he fetched it from the kitchen, I heard him mutter, ‘Bastards’. Despite my earlier doubts about him, it was annoying to admit he’d been proved right on all counts.
‘Are you up to going out?’ he said. ‘I need to meet up with somebody, so we could eat at the same time.’
By the time I’d showered, and dressed in tee and jeans, Conrad had cleared up the mess on my kitchen floor and made me a cup of tea.
‘Before we go anywhere,’ I said, standing in the living room ‘I have something else to tell you.’ I studied the print on the opposite wall of old New York in 1837 – the Governor-General’s loyal address on Victoria coming to the throne – my father’s favourite. ‘Maybe I should have mentioned it sooner, but I have a problem of my own.’ I told him about the encounter with Junior Hartenwyck, getting thrown out the Conservancy Corps, being placed on the national watch list, everything.
‘Why didn’t you tell me anything of this before?’
‘I was too embarrassed, okay?’ I dared him to say anything.
He looked angry as all hell. He rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand on the hairline at his temple. ‘That explains why they knew you and reacted so quickly when I contacted you.’
XII
He didn’t go an inch beyond meticulously polite and only spoke to me when absolutely necessary during our journey. We took the subway to the Bouwerie and walked west into a side street off Kenmare Street to a bar oozing Italian nostalgia. Green and red horizontal stripes circling the whole dining room, photos of famous Italian Americans, prints of old Venezia with gondolas and extravagant buildings. To complete the kitsch, out came an Italian poppa, apron round his waist, black curled-up moustache, big grin.
‘Conrado!’ He kissed Conrad on both cheeks and pumped his hand. Jeez, it was like something out of a bad movie.
‘Gianni, can I introduce my friend, Carina?’
Carina? I glanced at Conrad, but he didn’t say any more.
Above his wide and brilliant smile, Gianni’s eyes scanned me like a photocopier reader.
‘Please, come up and see Mamma – she’ll be thrilled to see you!’
Laughing and talking, Gianni led the way upstairs. ‘Ciao, Mamma,’ he said, as we entered the first room on the right. He shut the door behind us. If Mamma existed, she wasn’t in this room. Small and untidy, a faded red carpet, daylight barely penetrating through windows unwashed for years, and posters of Italy hanging half-heartedly on the papered walls. A small Virgin Mary blessed the television in the corner.
‘Okay, Tellus, how can I help?’ The smile on Gianni’s face had dissolved, his eyes sharpening, his full attention on Conrad. Even his accent changed from broad Italian-American to a clipped but still accented English.
Conrad glanced at his watch. ‘You’ll be getting a party in to dine in about an hour and a half. One of them is going to ask for the bathroom but come up here.’
Gianni nodded.
‘Can I use your commsline while we’re waiting?’
Gianni went to his cluttered desk, selected a stick from several in a dusty plastic cup and handed it to Conrad, who inserted it into a slim silver netbook. A bunch of vacation photos came up on the screen with toothsome children and wholesome mom and pop. Conrad selected one of two laughing children on a beach, zoomed in to pixel level, copied a line of them and then the photo disappeared. He pasted the pixels into the password box and dialled.
Waiting for the encrypted connection, he said, presumably to me but looking at the computer screen, ‘You’re safe here. We’re going to find out who these people are and what we have to do to protect you. Go and sit down near the window, but don’t let yourself be seen.’
Gianni brought warm panini, a jug of water and glasses, then left us to it. After we’d eaten, Conrad hunched in front of the screen again, sometimes talking to somebody, sometimes tapping on the keyboard but saying nothing. I
figured he was still miffed with me. I ignored him and flicked through the Italian computer magazines stacked up by the desk, pretending I could understand them. I closed my eyes for a few moments and pretended to doze.
An hour later, a redhead wearing a dull purple coat, with black plastic spectacles masking her face, stood in the doorway. I heard voices filtering up the stairs along with the smell of cooking. She closed them out as she shut the door.
‘Tellus.’
‘Sergia.’
She looked at Conrad as if he was nothing but trouble, glanced in my direction then ignored me. She took a step towards Conrad and started talking at him in fast Latin. From her tight, hard face and aggressive tone, I could see she was sounding off about something. Conrad answered her as robustly, but I didn’t have a clue what they were saying. He must have seen my puzzlement and switched into English.
‘I understand your frustration at being hauled back from Mexico so suddenly, but this is more important.’
‘You’re out of your mind.’ After a short pause, she said, ‘Declined,’ with a sour tone of finality that sounded like a ten-foot thick bank safe door shutting. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here anyway – you’re not active.’
‘You can’t refuse.’
‘Oh, really? You supply the paperwork; then I’ll consider it.’ She made her way to the door, but Conrad got there first and blocked her.
‘Enough! I’m only going through you out of courtesy. It’s an executive order. Your role is to organise it.’
She hung in there. ‘I’m not risking my career on the word of some jumped-up imperial playboy!’
He paled but kept his voice steady. ‘Perhaps you’ll accept the instruction from the chancellor, or shall we go right to the top? You might like to explain to the imperatrix, and Countess Mitela, exactly what your reasons are for refusing your assistance. I wouldn’t like to be in your sandals when you do.’
He dialled again. As the LEDs flashed, she stared down at the monitor, her mouth turned down and a scowl on her face. I wasn’t sure what was happening here, but it sounded like a turf war.
The screen changed, revealing a woman in a business suit.
‘Good evening. Conradus Tellus for Quintus Tellus, please.’
‘Hello, Conradus, what can I do for you?’ A genial, bearded face with oak-brown eyes appeared. He looked anywhere between fifty and seventy.
Conrad beckoned me over. ‘Firstly, may I present Karen Brown? Karen, this is my uncle, Quintus Tellus. He’s the imperial chancellor, similar to the American president’s chief of staff.’
I swallowed. ‘Hello, Quintus Tellus.’
‘Good evening, Karen Brown. A pleasure to speak to you. I look forward to seeing you in person.’
I glanced at Conrad and he nodded. I gabbled something polite then retreated to my seat by the window to let Conrad get on with it. Sergia’s gaze swivelled around to me. She stared at me so intensely a red flush spread up my neck to my cheeks, but I refused to drop my eyes.
‘I believe Antonia Sergia would like to speak to you, Chancellor.’ Conrad turned from the screen, bowed ironically to her and extended his arm, inviting her to take the seat in front of the computer.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ I whispered as they talked behind us in Latin.
‘Sergia getting her feathers ruffled. She’s good at what she does, but takes herself far too seriously.’
She logged off, stared at the blank screen for a few moments and then squared her shoulders. She gave Conrad a curt nod then stomped back downstairs. Gianni brought us up some coffee, rich and dark, while we waited an hour to let Sergia get clear.
We went through the farewell motions, including kissing and handshakes, a bottle of wine from Gianni and cries of ‘Come back soon’. Despite the overt friendliness, I wasn’t too sure I wanted to.
XIII
‘Merda! They’re boxing us.’
‘What?’
‘The watchers. See those two ahead of us? The one in jeans, next to the one wearing the black fleece? With the two behind, they make a box to contain us.’
My throat tightened. I stared at the men ahead: the first, wavy brown hair, chunky build, and the second, a slim black guy. Both looked fit and alert.
‘There’ll be a car somewhere.’
He linked my arm with his and smiled down at me. He scanned the street of neighbourhood stores without moving his head while we strolled along, seemingly happy and relaxed.
‘I think they’re going to jump us,’ he whispered. ‘When I say run, go like the Furies. Aim for one of the side alleys.’
‘But we haven’t done anything wrong. Why should we run?’
‘Just do what I say. Please.’
The two men ahead of us slowed their pace. We would catch up with them within moments. Conrad stopped suddenly and then, within a split second, dragged me into a 24/7 store. Behind the counter, the clerk looked up with bored eyes.
‘Can we use your restroom?’ Conrad asked, injecting urgency into his voice.
‘No public restrooms,’ the clerk replied in a monotone, and turned back to the magazine she was reading.
‘But my wife’s pregnant,’ Conrad said, throwing me a stern look as my jaw dropped in surprise, ‘and she’s about to throw up. We need a restroom. Right now!’
The clerk’s eyes widened in alarm. I could see her thinking of the cleaning she’d have to do. I coughed hard like I was heaving. She leapt up, darted between the lines of canned food and flung open a door to the storage area. She jabbed her finger at the back corner and retreated. We pushed through the plastic-wrapped pallets and boxes. Left of the restroom door, we found the half-hidden fire door. Conrad threw the trash bags to one side, seized the horizontal bar and rammed it open. We raced out into the alleyway.
At the corner, where it intersected the main street, he pressed me back, side by side with him, against the rough brick wall. My breath came in snatches and I tried to swallow the dryness in my throat. No sound of footsteps behind us, nobody running toward us. In the street in front of us were regular people doing regular things on a regular Saturday. Glancing back once, Conrad laid his arm across my shoulder, his hand gripping the top of my arm, forcing me to slow down to a sauntering pace as we crossed the street.
Three stores further up, we pulled the same trick, emerging near a subway entrance. We ran down the metal-edged steps, plunged into a side passage, and waited ten long minutes behind a soda vending machine.
‘I think we’ve lost them, but they’ll pick us up at your flat. How do you feel about a hotel for tonight?’
My head was thumping with tension, and my body was drained. I’d been threatened with jail, denounced as a traitor and chased by security agents. A fortune had landed on me, along with a new family. And then there was Conrad…
‘I want to go somewhere quiet. I know it sounds lame, but I just want this to stop.’
It was dark. A police siren screamed out. I sat up, panicked. But nothing was moving except the drapes in the morning breeze. The siren faded, its discordant note changing tone as it moved away. The soft swish of a bus door opening and closing took its place. I glanced at my watch. Twenty after five. I stretched my hand out for my glass of water but found nothing. I wasn’t in my own bed. God! It had all been real.
My clothes were folded on a chair and I was buck naked. And alone. The other side of the bed was untouched. A note in black rounded handwriting told me Conrad had gone out to find breakfast. This wasn’t the kind of hotel that did room service. I had to go to the bathroom, so I showered as well and wrapped myself in the robe I was surprised to find hanging there. I fixed myself a cup of coffee from the tray and huddled on the bed, trying not to think about the past twenty-four hours.
I was still there by the time daylight had bleached out the street lighting. Where the hell was Conrad? I called his cell. No answer. I scrambled into my clothes and pulled my comb through my hair. To cover the silence, I switched on the television.
Still no sign of Conrad.
I rang his cell again but, instead of no answer, heard the unobtainable tone. I texted. The message couldn’t be delivered. My second-hand phone bought in a street sale might have been chunky but it was reliable enough to send texts. Over at the window, I peeked out to see if the watchers were there. None that I could see. I sat down on the edge of the bed, without a clue what to do.
Somebody knocked on the door, hard enough for the inside panel to shiver at the blow. I flinched. I stood up. I had to run, to save myself, but my feet were welded to the floor. I heard a shout: ‘Ten minutes.’ They wouldn’t give a warning like that. I took a deep breath and opened the door a few inches. The desk clerk from the night before. His face was framed by the gap.
‘Yes?’
‘Ten minutes,’ he said, pointing at his plastic strap watch. ‘Your client paid last night. Time’s up.’ He jerked his thumb away from the door. ‘Unless you want to earn an extension.’ He leered at me.
I slammed the door in his face.
Where could I go? I wanted to go home but I couldn’t take that chance. They would be watching my building. I threw out the idea of going to Amanda for help; I couldn’t endanger her. I couldn’t go to the cops. The precinct sergeant would take one look at me, uncaring, only thinking about his lunch or getting home in time to watch the ball game, and throw me out as a crazy. Or run my name, have me put in a holding cell and call the FBI. And one of Hayden’s threatening visitors had been FBI. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but I was thinking like a criminal already.
I had to go somewhere crowded, where they couldn’t touch me. Where did people congregate on Sundays? A church! I would maybe get two hours’ breathing room if the preacher was inspired.
INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) Page 5