Gladiatrix (12 page)

There was a sharp knock at the door.

‘Scolette must have decided to release Constan back into the wild,' said Rous, opening the door. Sure enough Constan stood there looking shaken.

‘Are you okay?' I asked.

‘Yes. It's just Marshal Scolette is furious about taking over the Isiac mission at such short notice.'

‘Yeah well.' Rous gave me an apologetic shrug. ‘It is dangerous.'

‘Yes,' spluttered Constan. ‘But she knew that before, and still fought tooth and nail to get the mission. Then caused a right ruckus when the Governor refused to appoint anyone but Victoria …'

Rous cut him short. ‘Why don't we hide in Victoria's office before Scolette decides she needs you again?' He looked at his watch. ‘Kannon's got hours to wait and there's some good scotch in there.'

Constan's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. ‘I don't think …'

Rous held up a set of keys. ‘Victoria gave them to me on her last return. I'd run out of liquid support
and Scolette was driving me crazy.' Before Constan could answer, Rous ushered us both across the hall, locking and unlocking doors as he went.

It was spacious, probably two normal offices made into one. Guess this was one of the senior marshal's perks. Opposite the door, two long windows looked out on the San Francisco nightscape; a heavy coffee table surrounded by four easy chairs sat in the space between. To the left, a heavy wooden desk with three drawers on either side sat under the third window. A big leather ergonomic chair was pushed into it at a funny angle, as though whoever had last sat there had left in a hurry. It stuck out because the rest of the office was so neat, all right angles and hospital corners.

On top of the desk was a computer, a new notepad but no pen, and a black handbag. The handbag was a little worn, the leather handles soft and wrinkled from use. The wall adjacent to the desk held a row of unlabelled filing cabinets and a packed floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The rest of the walls held maps of ancient Rome, except for one large whiteboard covered in a foreign language, probably Latin, and what looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Talking about time travel was one thing … I looked back at Rous filled with envy.

Then I realised the room wasn't just neat, it was bare. There was nothing personal in sight. The books were all about work. There were no family photos, no mementos, nothing. Just the worn handbag. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but it wasn't here.

Behind me, Constan had slumped into one of the easy chairs next to the coffee table. He had his eyes shut and was muttering to himself. Rous sat down next to him holding a scotch bottle and three glasses. ‘Wake up. The bar is open.' He dumped it all on the table and started pouring.

Constan just groaned. I slung my leather coat over a chair, put my travel bag on its seat, and sat down on the other side of him. ‘What happened?' I asked.

‘That woman is unbelievable.' He opened his eyes to say, ‘I'm sorry, Kannon — but I don't believe the Governor will let Scolette take over from Victoria. Not if he has any sense.'

Rous put a generous glassful in front of both of us. ‘Stop whining, Constan, and have a drink. Ignore him, Kannon.'

Constan sat up, took a big slurp, winced, took another one, then collapsed back into the chair, eyes closed again.

Rous and I looked at each other. ‘Go on,' he said, waving his glass at me. ‘Ask away. I have to stick around until the meeting tonight anyway.'

I settled back in my chair and took a sip. It burned, but in a good way. ‘Tell me about her mission.'

‘What do you know about it?'

‘I know that the Moral Legion claims that the main Isiac priest in ancient Rome performed human sacrifice in order to make a pact with an evil spirit. And that Victoria has to prove whether or not the ritual and sacrifice actually took place.'

‘Sounds straightforward, doesn't it?'

‘No, not really.' How on earth was she supposed to prove something didn't take place?

‘That's because you have a fully operational brain. But tell that to the Governor.' He waved his hand dismissively. ‘It's been impossible to set up. The ancient Isiacs were very secretive about their practices. And Victoria has spent nearly all of the past eight months just trying to find out the identity of the head priest — the Hierophant. Let alone witness what he did, or didn't do.'

‘Has she been in ancient Rome all that time?'

‘In total — about eight months. But she's had regular scheduled returns. Like tonight. She's checking in for new mission directives.'

I snapped the glass down. ‘What are they?'

‘I'm sorry to tell you, Kannon, but unless Victoria comes back with more information about the Hierophant's identity then she's supposed to return for the initiation.'

‘The initiation?' The way he said it set alarm bells ringing. ‘What exactly does that mean?'

‘Well if she can't locate the Hierophant any other way the Governor wants her to jump in the deep end. To arrange to be initiated by the Hierophant into the fifth mystery of Isis. That's the secret ritual that the Moral Legion claims involved human sacrifice and the pact with Satan.'

A sliver of anger slid up my spine, but I managed to say calmly, ‘And what does that involve?'

‘We don't know.'

‘But who will be sacrificed?'

‘We don't know.'

I said, jaw clenched, ‘Is there any possibility that Victoria could end up as the sacrifice?'

‘We don't know.' He saw my face. ‘Yeah, I don't like it either.'

‘But this is crazy. If she can't even find out who the Hierophant is, how is she going to arrange to be initiated?'

‘That's why it's been a very long and difficult operation. The only person who definitely knows the Hierophant's identity is Domitia Crassus. She's a wealthy widow who made very generous contributions to the Roman Isiacs. Victoria may have to use her to find the Hierophant and arrange for the initiation.'

The tenses sounded strange. Talking about people who lived two thousand years ago, yet were up for a quick chat once you got through the portal.

‘So how will Victoria get her to help?'

‘Domitia is an ambitious political operator who spent most of her adult life trying to gain power through one scheme or another. Victoria found out about one of the schemes she used in 8AD to gain favour with the ruling court.'

‘8AD? That was Augustus.' Rous was impressed. Before he could ask I simply said, ‘I'm interested in ancient history.'

Actually, I hadn't done that much on Roman times, I wasn't interested in the really big empires. They all pretty much ended up as ruthless bureaucracies. And, as they became more entrenched, their cultures usually stifled more freedom and creativity than they allowed.

‘So what was Domitia up to?'

‘In summer that year Augustus held a special gladiatorial spectacle meant to distract attention from some family scandal. Unfortunately for him one of the key performers, a gladiatrix, died just two weeks before the games. Really botched up his plans. Domitia saw it as a major opening and scoured Rome to find a replacement to lend Augustus.'

I knew what that meant. ‘You mean for the price of initiation Victoria is to be the replacement gladiatrix?' Now I was furious. A pointless mission with impossible risks.

Rous put up both hands. ‘Hold on there, Kannon, it's not as bad as it sounds. Everything's pretty much planned out, then test-run in stages to make sure it'll succeed. She's already worked out how to establish a solid cover as Bellona, an Egyptian fighter, and now
she's arranging for her agent, a businessman called Valerius Musa, to offer her contract to Domitia Crassus. Domitia will be told that the gladiatrix is an ardent Isiac who wants to be initiated by the top priest in Rome …'

I cut in, ‘So you're telling me Victoria may have to fight in the Roman arena, as well as everything else!'

‘No. Not at all. The deal will be rigged so that she will not have to actually fight.'

‘What a relief! So she'll only be sacrificed like a goat by a mad priest.' I knew it wasn't Rous's fault, but it all just came out anyway. ‘So what weapons? What back-up has she got to protect her?'

Constan opened his eyes to say, ‘No modern weapons allowed through the portal.'

‘You're not serious!'

‘I wish I wasn't,' Constan replied. ‘But Congress only agreed to the portal if we agreed to minimise any possible effects on the era visited. Just in case. So the marshals have a strict code to follow on what they can take with them, one that enforces the absolute minimum of anachronisms.'

‘So this is why the death rate is so high!'

‘That is part of it,' he agreed, reluctantly. ‘But they can use their transponder to get out of any situation really quickly if they need to.'

‘But there are fatalities, aren't there?' I looked from one to the other. Rous nodded. ‘Then why can't you use the portal to go back and rescue the marshal before they “die”.'

‘We can't be rescued,' said Rous, bitterly. ‘If we die in the past, we disappear. Completely.'

Constan added, ‘Once a marshal returns here, the past snaps back as though they never made the visit. And when a marshal dies in the past the same thing
happens. It snaps back and they disappear. We don't know why, but they're never found again.'

That stunned me into silence.

‘Look, the space missions have always been risky like this too. You go to the moon, you might not come back,' said Rous, in earnest. ‘And you have to understand that Victoria is a marshal. She's been a serving law enforcement officer in one way or another, for more than two decades now. Her job has always been dangerous. And she's worked really hard to get the investigation even this far. This is a difficult case and there's enormous pressure on her to produce firm evidence of the Hierophant's practices. You've heard about the trouble they had at the Iseum across the road today?'

‘Yes I know, I was right in the middle of it. But this mission sounds like too much risk for no concrete returns.'

It was Rous' turn to grit his teeth. He didn't like the way I was questioning everything. ‘Do you realise that this case could influence the democratic future of this country? That we could lose our right to religious freedom. And if that happens who knows what else could go.'

‘Yes I understand that — but it shouldn't all depend on this mission. It should be resolved in other ways.' I was almost shouting now. ‘What can the mission really prove anyway? What should it prove? Two-thousand-year-old allegations of human sacrifice.' I threw up my hands in disgust. ‘I don't understand why anyone is taking it seriously.'

Now Rous was furious too. He pointed at the window. ‘Because people are dying out there. By fire bombs and grenades, and from being beaten to death!'

We were both bent over the table now, snarling at each other. In between us, Constan looked concerned, but he wasn't disagreeing with me. ‘So control it in other ways,' I said. ‘But don't put the whole mess on Victoria's shoulders.'

‘We have no choice!' Rous sank back again. ‘This is the compromise the politicians worked out. And we don't have a say in it.' He was disgruntled because he actually agreed with me.

‘The politicians? So they won't take a stand for themselves.'

‘Damn right. They want someone else to do the dirty work of saying who's right and who's wrong.'

‘But what about Victoria?' I demanded. ‘This mission isn't going to solve anything. Evidence can be contested, and then the politicians will have to finally step in and do their job.'

‘Kannon,' said Constan softly. ‘Victoria may not have to proceed with the initiation after all. That's what we're waiting to find out tonight. There may be another way to locate the Hierophant.'

‘That's right,' said Rous. ‘On her last return she told Mertling about a sacrificial knife. Very precious, unique. She called it the Isis Dagger. It belongs to the Hierophant. She thought it could be used to locate him.'

‘Okay,' I said, mentally rolling up my sleeves. ‘Tell me all about the two options — finding the Hierophant through the dagger, and through the initiation. I want to know everything. All the risks.'

If there was any chance that Victoria was my mother, then she wasn't going to sacrifice herself for a bunch of cowardly politicians. Even if I had to kidnap her myself.

It was midnight. Victoria was now officially two hours late.

Rous had convinced Mertling to let us be present for her arrival. Until eleven o'clock Constan and I had made small talk in the background. Mertling and Rous had stood behind the technician monitoring the computers, talking strategy for the upcoming meeting with the Governor. Scolette didn't bother to show up at all. No-one mentioned the minutes ticking by. But at eleven the feeling completely changed. Everyone stopped talking, found somewhere to sit, and kept surreptitiously checking the clock on the wall.

‘What's going on, Constan? How worried should I be?'

‘I don't know. According to all protocols she's supposed to arrive back on time. Otherwise we have no way of keeping track of her at all.'

‘You mean you wouldn't know whether she was in trouble otherwise? So how does she know when to arrive?'

‘A digital watch disguised as jewellery. Just like the transponders. Time spent there and here are exactly the same in duration. If she's there for two days, then forty-eight hours has passed here.'

‘So, something has gone wrong.' It wasn't a question.

‘Possibly.' The grim faces around the computer monitor told me there was no doubt in anyone else's mind.

‘Has she ever been this late before?'

‘No.'

Mertling stood up, buttoning his suit coat. ‘Rous, get Scolette and meet me in 301. Tell Martina to get the Governor on the line. We have to initiate EP263. Now.'

Rous left at a run.

Mertling gave a final instruction to the technician, and then walked over to us. ‘Ms Jarratt.' His tone was very polite, which worried me even more. ‘I'm sure you understand — your matter will have to wait. Valdestiou, show her into Marshal Dupree's office, and then come down to 301. Martina will arrange for security to escort her to a hotel.' Then he left.

This couldn't be happening! I felt numb. The first possibility of hope after so many years slipping away. And yet no emotion.

Nothing.

Constan opened the door into Victoria's office. It'd been left unlocked.

‘What's EP263?'

‘Emergency Protocol 263. A rescue mission. They know what she was supposed to be doing in Rome and places they can check — like her apartment. And she probably had an appointment with her agent, Valerius Musa. Don't worry, we'll find her.' He looked worried.

‘Constan. If she's still alive that version of reality will still exist, won't it?'

‘That's right, Kannon — they'll know straight away.'

‘If she's dead then Valerius Musa will never have heard of her. Time will have returned to its normal course.'

‘Yes, yes,' he said uneasily. ‘I'm sorry, Kannon, but I have to go too. Just wait here, I'll find out where you're staying and keep you informed. Martina will arrange everything.' He patted my back and left.

I looked around the room. I could go mad in here. My coat and bag were still draped over the chair next to the coffee table, but I ignored them and sat at Victoria's desk.

What to do? I looked around for inspiration. Or distraction. I wasn't sure which. Maps of Rome, Latin writing, scotch bottle. Not scotch, I needed action, something to do. Anything.

Victoria's black leather handbag was still on the desk. The urge was irresistible. I hadn't liked that guy going through my papers on the plane, but this could be as close as I'd ever come to Victoria, to knowing anything intimate about her, to even knowing who she could be to me. There was no doubt in my mind that Mertling would have me out of here as fast as possible. My threat about the media was gone, and now this …

I opened the bag. The front pocket held some tissues, a lipstick — deep red — and a gun. A Glock. Good choice. Excellent safety features, a high magazine capacity, but easy to handle. The Sydney police used the Glock 22. I picked it up. Carefully. This was a 10mm Auto Glock 20, the equivalent of a magnum hunting-revolver. The magazine was fully loaded — fifteen rounds.

What was happening here? Victoria carried a gun like this in San Francisco, and yet didn't have any defence in ancient Rome. I put it back in the bag. I wanted to howl. Everything was out of kilter.

Refocus. Back to the bag. There may be something here that could unlock the key to Celeste. Something. Anything. The back pocket held a wallet, two sets of keys — one of them for a BMW — and some mints. Further down was a solar-powered, all-in-one phone — a phactor.

Ah. Good.

I flipped open the phactor, switched it on and zipped through the menu. There were a lot of NTA files. The Isiac mission. Some personal files. Finances. Music. Pictures. Nothing about Celeste leapt out at me. A spurt of guilt zipped through me. What was I doing? I switched it off and dropped it straight back into the bag.

Using the phactor had reminded me of Des. I'd promised him I'd ring as soon as I could. I checked my watch. It'd be early evening back in Sydney. He'd be having dinner and watching that awful quiz show. I wouldn't tell him the bad news yet, I'd just talk. But his home number rang and rang. He wasn't there, and he'd forgotten to switch his tired, old answering machine on.

That was strange.

I tried his mobile. He answered just as the message bank was about to cut in. ‘Carmichael.' He was out of breath, but brisk, professional, and too alert.

‘Des?'

‘Er, Kannon.' The sound of chirping cicadas washed over his voice.

‘Where are you? I can hardly hear you.'

‘Wait a sec.' I could hear the slam of a car door. The noise subsided. ‘So what's going on? Did you make it in to see her?'

I spoke carefully. ‘I'm sitting in her office right now. She's running a bit late. Hasn't arrived yet.'

‘So you did it? Good girl!' He sounded distracted.

‘What's going on, Des? Where are you?'

A stretch of softened cicada voices.

‘Where are you, Des?'

Then he said in a quiet voice, ‘I'm in Kanangra-Boyd.'

‘Where?' I clenched the side of the desk.

‘Something's come up, Kannon.'

I knew that tone. ‘What's going on, Des?'

Before he could answer the car door opened again, and a familiar male voice said, ‘They've set up the lights, Des. Can you get over there now?'

‘Des!'

He told the man, ‘Yes, just let me finish this call. It's Kannon Jarratt.'

‘Don't forget to ask her about the …' The door abruptly slammed, cutting the rest off.

That was Cooper's voice.

Something nasty started eating its way out of my stomach. The numb feeling was gone.

‘Kannon?'

‘Yes.'

His voice cracked a little. ‘When Cooper put in a request for your file, they decided to put it straight on the database rather than send it by mail.' He coughed to clear his throat. ‘That's when it was flagged to the Special Crimes Squad.'

‘Yes.'

‘One of the detectives from Special Crimes contacted me today.'

‘Yes.'

He sighed. ‘About a year ago, two decomposed bodies were found on this abandoned farm in the park.'

‘One of the old homesteads?'

‘Yeah, private land, but in the middle of the park. It took 'em a while but they finally identified the man and the woman. They're Russians. Russian mafia actually. Here illegally. No record of their entrance here, or exit from the other end.'

He waited for me to speak, then went on, ‘They may have died around the same time you were found.'

Russian mafia? A man and a woman? I couldn't quite take it in.

‘Cooper and I came out here first thing this morning. That's when we found the third body.' Des took a breath. ‘He was tied with wire around his wrists and ankles …'

‘And a noose around his neck.'

Silence.

‘We're still working the scene, Kannon. I really don't know what to make of this.'

‘You're thinking that man and woman were my parents.'

‘Kannon …'

‘What do I do now?' I was asking myself as much as Des.

‘Kannon, we may have a lot more information in the morning. Something went on here, I just don't know what, yet.'

The car door opened again. A new male voice interrupted. ‘Carmichael!'

‘I have to go. Just keep on with Victoria. Remember what got you over there — you've got to follow it up.'

Silence.

‘Kannon? I have to go.'

‘Yes, Des. When I get a hotel room I'll ring and leave my number. Take care of yourself. Don't get too tired.'

‘Bye.'

Click.

 

Victoria? The dead couple in the park?

Victoria, lost in ancient Rome. Russian mafia, murdered near where I was found. No answers. Just more questions. And savage doubt. Who should I be searching for?

I had to do something. I stood up.

Get outside, go for a walk, bludgeon the answers out of some brick wall. I couldn't stay here any more. I grabbed my coat and bag.

And stood still, to listen to the sound of running feet.

A white shape flashed past the open door of the office. Maybe there was news? I lunged across the corridor and into the portal control room. Maybe she'd arrived after all?

Bash. Splinter. Smash. The computer technician was nowhere in sight. Instead, two men wearing long white robes with black balaclavas over their heads, were pushing everything off the steel benches.

I was tired and still half processing the conversation with Des. Unwilling to react, I just stood there. One part of me said, ‘I'm not dealing with this crap'. Another part said, ‘those robes are the same as the ones worn by the people performing the ritual at the Iseum today'. My hypotheticals came to a stop when the men turned to menace me.

Oh, no! This was an invasion of the NTA. An attack by the Isiacs. I knew the security system wasn't good enough! I dropped my coat and bag to the floor, getting ready to …

A blinding pain creased the back of my head, and the room swam into a dark hole.

Nothing. For some time. Then there was a cold
hard floor against my back. I couldn't focus. When I moved my neck just a little, the back of my head screamed. An animal had bitten me and left in one of its teeth. As I reached to check the damage, my elbow smashed against a wall.

I was lying in the bottom of the portal.

I sat up and things started sliding off me. Someone had thrown my leather coat, shoulder bag and Victoria's handbag on top of me.

Two men in balaclavas and white Isiac robes, with automatic assault rifles strapped to their backs, were standing in the corridor keeping watch. They moved inside, and barricaded the door shut. Another two were busy smashing up the banks of computers. The last man was spray-painting anti-time travel slogans on the walls. On the one nearest the portal he'd already painted a big, yellow pyramid with a black eye inside it. Underneath it said, ‘She is coming to rule us all'.

I tried to think through the pain and grogginess. The Isiacs must've decided they wouldn't survive Victoria's findings and made a pre-emptive strike. Maybe the Moral Legion was right about the human sacrifice ritual after all.

Then I realised that the portal was humming.

I felt my neck. I was wearing the metal transponder collar. A surge of adrenalin cleared my head and I lurched, unsteadily, to my feet. I pushed at the door, but it was barricaded shut, a steel bench wedged tight against it. My heart started pounding, I couldn't get out.

I touched the collar again, it was one seamless piece all the way around. I couldn't find a way to unclasp it. How had they done that? And why had they done that? They were trying to send me through time. Why?

I banged on the door, yelling for help.

The man spraying the slogans looked around. ‘She's conscious? Someone get over there and make sure she stays in. If she gets out, kill her, and put the body back in.' Two men, one tall, one short, moved towards me.

I shouldered the door. Pound. Pound.

Nothing. It didn't move at all.

The two men just stood, watching. I backed away from the door. The short one grinned. He stopped when I started kicking the glass wall opposite the portal door. Full kicks that should have easily shattered most transparent materials. I could kick through wood, crack cement, but not this stuff. The wall didn't even shake as I hit it.

The tall one said, ‘You didn't hit her hard enough, idiot.'

‘You said no blood. Keep it all clean. What was I supposed to do? Just cave her head in a little bit?'

‘Lucky for you, she can't get out anyway. You could shoot a bazooka in there, and it'd only ricochet.'

As soon as he said that, I remembered the Glock. But a 10mm bouncing around in here would kill me. Maybe I could bargain. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you sending me through the portal?'

The tall one laughed. ‘You were just in the wrong place, babe, at the wrong time. You're a liability, and this is one efficient garbage chute.'

A garbage chute. My breath sped up. The portal didn't seem as big when you were inside it. Claustrophobia rolled over me like a plastic bag.

The digital counter on the wall was clicking down. Thirty-nine, thirty-eight …

Anger surged up to cut through the panic. It didn't look like I was getting out. I had to think quickly!

Maybe I could make it back again, using the transponder. If I could just last long enough. Wait a
while. By then the NTA, or the police, or someone, would've taken back this room.

I came up closer to the door, wanting to judge their answers, read their body language. ‘What's the destination? Where are you sending me? When?'

The short one said, ‘You're going to drop in on the famous Marshal Dupree.' They both laughed.

Then they looked up at the counter. Ten seconds, nine, eight …

I tried to scream but it was getting hard to even breathe. A vision of Victoria holding the little girl shot into my mind. Old fears combining with new …