‘So after your good work in Achaea, you’ve got eleven left to track down.’
‘Not exactly, sir. One of them, Judas, was so appalled at what they’d done and all the lies that he threatened to make the whole affair public.’
‘And what happened to him?’
A look of disgust spread across Josephus’ face. ‘The others drugged him and then hanged him to make it look like suicide. They even left a note and concocted a story about how he’d accepted thirty pieces of silver to betray my father.’
‘An interesting way of disposing of someone,’ said Nero. ‘I’ll bear that in mind for future use. And has fate been kind enough to remove any of the others?’
‘Yes, Yaakov Bar-Zebdi was put to death on the orders of the first Herod Agrippa. My father’s brother, James, the one I told you about, well he was never part of the plot and he’d been helping me until earlier this year.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Nero.
‘It’s as I told the Lady Poppaea yesterday; after Festus died and before Albinus arrived in Judea, the Sanhedrin had him convicted on trumped-up charges and stoned
‘So then there were eight. With my help you should have them all in no time flat.’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that, sir,’ said Josephus. ‘Of the original twelve, four are now dead, but another man joined the inner circle, a Cilician called Paul – ’
‘Damn. I wish you’d got here a week ago,’ said Nero, slapping himself on the knee. ‘If it’s the same one I’m thinking of, I’ve just let him and another cult preacher out of the Lautumiae prison. How ironic, that’s where your three friends are right now: if I’d known Paul and Peter were leaders of this wretched movement I’d have had them crucified.’
Josephus’ eyes lit up. ‘Do you think they’re still in Rome?’
‘No idea,’ said Nero. ‘That’s going to be up to you to find out. It can be your first task and you’ll be doing it somewhere where I can keep a close eye on you. What could be better?’
‘If I might finish, sir –’
‘Of course, please go on,’ said Nero, with mock humility.
‘In addition to my father’s brother there’s another of the twelve who turned against them and helps me when he can – Ioannis, known as John, he’s the brother of the one who was killed by Herod Agrippa – but they’re on his trail. They’ve come close to catching him on several occasions. They hope once he’s silenced, there’ll be no one left to tell the truth about what happened. He’s holed up on Patmos at the moment, living like a dog in a leaking hovel. By now they probably know about what happened to Andreas in Achaea, but whether they’ve connected the death to me is anyone’s guess. If I’m to win this, the longer they don’t know who I am and what I want the better.’
‘It’s the winners who write the history, Josephus. That’s another thing Seneca never stops telling me.’
‘And that’s precisely what I aim to do. With the remaining eight out of the way I can put the record straight and clear my father’s name from the taint of this wretched cult.’
Nero looked at him gravely. ‘Seneca thinks we may already be too late. He says it’s too big to stop’
‘With all due deference, sir, I beg to differ. With the leaders out of the way, the rest of the illiterate rabble will fall to fighting one another and it’ll die out in months. It’s like you said, control of the message and consistency in delivering it are everything: nothing else counts.’
Nero stood up and stretched. For a moment, he didn’t speak and started pacing around the small chamber, occasionally stopping to help himself to a date from the Samian-ware bowl on the table and then spitting the pits onto the marble floor. ‘So what do you need to get the job done?’
Josephus’ answers were well rehearsed: it was the question he’d been willing the emperor to ask.
‘Information, access to the imperial signal stations chain and people to help me – people I can trust. I’ll also need letters of authority from either your highness directly or from the senate, authorising me to requisition vessels, horses or accommodation, to draw cash from the imperial treasury and so on.’
Nero raised an imperial eyebrow. ‘Don’t want much, do you? You left out the war elephants, siege towers and the regiments of cavalry.’ Josephus could see the emperor’s attention span was close to its limits. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll sign the letters and you can have your three priests as your private army. That should do for now.’
‘You are most gracious, sir,’ said Josephus. ‘And if I might be so bold as to ask –’
Nero gave a half-snort, half-laugh. ‘I suppose you want to know what Rome will do in return for ridding it of these vermin?’
‘Something along those lines, yes, sir.’
‘I’ll make sure that Lucceius Albinus has his nose forcibly removed from the trough, as you so indelicately put it.’ Josephus jaw dropped at hearing the words of his ship-board conversation with Proculus repeated back to him. Nero smiled at his discomfiture. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, everything you say gets back to me one way or another. Let’s just say that if you keep your side of the bargain, your personal star will rise greatly in Rome’s eyes and your people won’t be the losers from it either – even if they are a quarrelsome, anti-social bunch of camel-jockeys.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Josephus, with a sigh of relief.
‘My pleasure,’ said Nero. Josephus watched him carefully for outward signs of sarcasm but there didn’t seem to be any.
‘Now let’s go and take a look at those priests of yours. Then you can listen to some of my poetry.’
Chapter Fourteen
At nine o’clock the following morning, Flora returned to the TPC headquarters. She was greeted by one of Colonel Andretti’s men who took her to the same room on the second floor. Already present were the American, Hayek and the British diplomat, Giles Smith. At her arrival he sprung to his feet and greeted her warmly.
‘Delighted to see you again, Miss Kemble,’ he said.
‘You didn’t expect me to do a bunk did you, Mr Smith?’
‘I must confess the possibility had crossed my mind,’ he replied. ‘But, I’m very glad you didn’t. You’ll also be pleased to know that we’ve got the written undertakings you asked for,’ he said, pushing a buff envelope across the table to her. ‘One signed by HMG, the other by the US Department of State. Take your time over them and if you’ve got any questions don’t be afraid to shout. Mr Hayek and I are here to help.’
‘Thanks.’ Flora took the documents to a side table and studied them carefully, making sure she understood the implication of every last sentence. At last, satisfied that her interests were being looked after, she pushed her reading glasses up on top of her head and returned to join the four men.
‘There you are, gentlemen,’ she said, passing over the copies which she’d signed. ‘I still think I must be out of my tiny mind, but I guess I’ll have to trust you.’
Smith lowered his gaze. ‘It was very nice meeting you again, Miss Kemble, but now I have to return to the Embassy.’ The smile did not quite reach his eyes but Flora tried to return the gesture despite her misgivings about his sincerity. ‘You’ll fly to Washington DC, but don’t worry,’ he added. ‘We’ll be in touch before you go and , you won’t need to come looking for us, we’ll find you. And now I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my counterparts.’ He stood, shook her firmly by the hand and took his leave.
The rest of her morning was spent in a vacant office learning her new identity, immersing herself in the history of this stranger who’d gatecrashed her little world and whose life mirrored hers in so many ways. Lavinia Crump was two months and a few days older, she’d attended the same schools as Flora, had uncannily similar exam results, a string of boyfriends and lovers who differed only by name and it was only when it came to their postgraduate studies that the stories diverged, and she read on, amazed at the detail and care with which Lavinia Crump’s life had been assemble
d, even down to a dog-eared identity photograph of her younger self showing her membership of the Bologna University choral society.
After lunch Hayek returned to test her on the details of her alias. ‘Let’s have a run-through on Miss Crump.’
‘Fine with me,’ said Flora. ‘But I do have one more question. What happens if someone who isn’t on the side of the angels tries to check me out? Goes digging around at Lavinia’s old school, or at Oxford’s alumni department, say?’
‘It’s incredibly unlikely but you just have to face the fact that no cover story can ever be completely watertight. That said, I’m willing to bet that this one will keep you dry long enough for us to catch the bad guys.’
The bad guys, who until now had seemed an amorphous entity like some obscure sub-atomic particle that she knew existed but never impinged on her life, now became solid: real people, real criminals with the power to harm and probably years of practice at doing so. For a moment Flora’s resolve wavered and she was on the point of telling Hayek she’d changed her mind, but then she thought of Francesco Moretti and his team of archaeologists who’d had the find of a lifetime snatched from under their noses, not to mention all the other academics who, unknowingly, now depended on her – well, on the FBI really if she was honest – to get it back.
Her reverie was interrupted by Hayek who began firing questions at her. Lavinia’s parents: both dead; father to cancer, mother to drink. Brothers and sisters: older brother, now living in New Zealand – a handy combination of distance and time zones could be trusted to keep that one safe. University – Magdalen College Oxford; that was easy enough to remember because it was where Flora herself had done her first degree. Their parallel paths then led to Bologna, but whereas Flora returned to England after a year’s study, her ghostly twin had stayed and was now on the academic staff. The questions grew harder but however he tried, Hayek was unable to catch her out until he got onto her relationship with Benjamin Grossman, as agent Cohen would be known. For a reason she couldn’t understand her mind began to wander and all manner of unpleasant memories crowded in. She began to make mistakes.
‘What’s up, Flora, you were doing so well?’ It was the first time he’d used her first name and she realised he was doing his best to put her at ease.
‘Sorry, Mr Hayek –’
‘Mike, please.’
‘Sorry, Mike. It’s not that I don’t know this stuff it just, well...’ she hesitated, trying to find the words that would convince him. ‘And I know you’re going to think this is silly and fluffy of me, but talking about Grossman and the trips I’m supposed to have made with him makes it all seem so very real all of a sudden, and to be honest, I’m frightened.’
He smiled at her and she saw a little of the compassion that was so well hidden behind Hayek’s tough exterior. ‘Do you know what would worry me the most?’
‘No.’
‘If you weren’t frightened. Anyone who wasn’t scared at the prospect of what you’re facing would be dangerously overconfident or hadn’t understood what they’d gotten themselves into. You’re good, you’ll be fine.’ He watched her reaction as the words sunk in – then he continued. ‘Let’s go again, when did you last visit Israel?’
‘May this year – fifth to the eighth.’
‘Correct but the wrong answer.’
Flora pulled a puzzled frown. ‘I’m not with you.’
People don’t remember travel dates for more than a week or so after the event. No, the right answer to that one is something like, “I think it was early May, I’ll have to check”. Now do you see?’ She nodded enthusiastically and her competitive streak took over, making her determined not to let him catch her out again. ‘OK, so why did you go to Israel?’
‘To see Mr Grossman and to discuss our forthcoming trip to Switzerland.’
‘And where did you stay?’
‘The Crown Plaza in Haifa. I’ve stayed there before – Mr Grossman lives in the Ahuza district which is just round the corner.’
‘What was your room number at the hotel?’
Flora was about to show off her perfect recall of the script when she checked herself. ‘I can’t remember. What I do remember is that it was near the lift shaft and the noise kept me awake. I think I’ll stay somewhere different next time – maybe try the Shulamit.’
‘Excellent. And what did you and Mr Grossman discuss?’
‘A purchase he was planning to make in Geneva for his collection.’
‘What was he buying?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to refer you to the post-sale report from the auctioneers – I never discuss my clients’ personal affairs.’
Hayek nodded again. ‘Good,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re a natural at this – and please don’t take this the wrong way – nobody but an Englishwoman from a certain background can load such a simple sentence with so much goddam, ice-cold “mind your own goddam business and kindly go screw yourself while you’re about it”. It’s a great gift.’
‘Thanks. You do realise it’s mostly an act to draw attention away from the fact that my knees are knocking together?’ she said, feeling secretly pleased at the way Lavinia’s character was taking shape.
‘Are you professionally trained in acting?’ he asked. ‘That would explain a lot.’
If only you knew, she thought, but instead replied, ‘I was in the school play.’
‘I hope they gave you the lead,’ said Hayek.
‘Third shepherd to the right of the manger.’
‘Oh well,’ he laughed. ‘Guess all great acting careers have to start somewhere. Now, let’s go back to your friend Grossman and from now on, no more blanking me for asking impertinent questions: tell me how you got involved with him.’
The quick-fire questions continued for another thirty minutes and Flora was word-perfect, recounting in detail how Lavinia and two colleagues from Bologna had been working in Israel on early Hebrew papyrus scrolls when their discoveries made the national press. On reading the article, Grossman, one of the richest men in Israel and one whom many considered a crook, used his extensive network of contacts to track them down and then insisted that they examine a series of ancient documents that he considered to be even more important than the Dead Sea scrolls. Of course they jumped at the opportunity, but to his chagrin, the redoubtable Miss Crump took very little time to reveal them as fakes – incredibly well executed, but fakes none the less – and in the process, making it very clear to a crestfallen Grossman that he should always take expert advice before spending his money.
At first he had stormed and raged, told the team – and Lavinia in particular – that they didn’t know what they were talking about, rammed the documents’ certificate of authority under their noses – another fake she detected instantly – but however much he blustered, she refused to be intimidated. Grossman wasn’t used to people who stood up to him, let alone women – to him an inferior species – and was fascinated by this ferociously bright young Englishwoman to such an extent that he asked her to come and work for him, offering her several multiples of her academic’s lowly salary. He expected her to jump at the offer, but instead, she calmly informed him that she had no intention of giving up her post at the University of Bologna, but when and if she could fit him in, then there might be time to do a little consultancy work.
As the relationship developed, she helped him avoid buying any more fakes and more importantly, guided him towards priceless artefacts being offered at a fraction of their true value by sellers unaware of what they had. For all her academic rigour, oddly enough she never once showed the slightest concern regarding the provenance of these treasures, even the ones that had obviously been stolen from other collections or from dig sites before they had even been recorded. Grossman was delighted by her discretion and the number of consulting opportunities multiplied.
‘I’m not sure I like Lavinia very much,’ said Flora.
‘Nor do I,’ said Hayek. ‘She isn’t meant to be liked. Think you c
an carry her off?’
‘I’ll give it my best shot. Being such a full-time bitch isn’t going to be easy.’
‘The less likeable she is, the more realistic she’ll seem. And the colder you play her, the easier you’ll find it to keep people at arm’s length. That way they’re less likely to want to know about your background and that’ll keep you safe.’
Flora nodded. ‘Good point,’ she said.
‘And tomorrow, you get to meet Grossman.’
‘I do?’
‘Special Agent Cohen will be catching this evening’s United flight from Dulles which gets in tomorrow morning. Lavinia will be at the airport to meet him. He’ll give you a full briefing on the people we’re targeting.’
***
In southern Italy two men sat in the corner of a bar smoking and sipping coffee while they waited. Later than expected, the call came from Rome and the younger, taller of the two answered his mobile, replying in a series of monosyllables. Finally he said, ‘No, don’t try anything. Stay close and see what she does. Send the others home.
Chapter Fifteen
Rome AD 62.
Nero led Josephus towards the imperial palace’s north-eastern wing. As they passed, everyone either sprang to attention or leapt out of the way to let them past. Josephus noticed how their eyes avoided the gaze of the emperor – anything rather than attract his attention – but were riveted instead on his own face. Who was this young foreigner? How had he gained Nero’s favour and more importantly, which faction within the imperial household did he support?
Suddenly, Nero stopped and Josephus nearly cannoned into him. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ the emperor said. ‘There’s something I want you to see first.’ And with that, he turned to the right, up a staircase leading to a semi-circular balcony looking over the valley between the Palatine and the Oppian, the southern spur of the Esquiline Hill. Nero led him to the centre of the colonnaded sweep of white marble where he stopped and leant over the parapet, gazing at the red-tiled housetops below. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, sweeping his hand from horizon to horizon.
The Seven Stars Page 15