The Curve of The Earth

13

It seemed to take an age for the chauffeur to walk around the front of the car to the driver’s seat. Finally the engine note changed and the limo pulled away.

“This is all very…” Newcomen huffed. “Kind. But I don’t see how it’s going to get me out of the pickle of having to babysit you all evening when I’m supposed to be alone with Christine. Even if I get her to the restaurant on time, you’re going to have to…” He huffed again.

“What? Sit between you and play gooseberry? Yeah, the ladies love that sort of thing.” Petrovitch watched the lights of Seattle go by as they pulled out on to the interstate. “You can’t go to the restaurant. It’s just impractical. Sorry. I’ve cancelled your reservation, and we’re going with plan B.”

“I’m clutching at straws now anyway.”

“Newcomen, listen. I’d barely turned eighteen when I had to execute a war against two hundred thousand crazed fanatics. And I won. If you think you can come up with something better than I have, then be my guest. As it is, all you’ve done is run around in circles, pulling at your hair. Take what I give you and be grateful.”

“And what is it exactly that you’re giving me?”

“What could be your last ever evening with your fiancee,” said Petrovitch. “Some people don’t get the chance of knowing. You kiss the wife goodbye, you step out of the door, and wham. Someone, something takes you out, and you’ve missed the chance to invest those few moments with meaning.”

“I’m supposed to be grateful?” Newcomen’s voice rose in pitch and volume.

Petrovitch’s reply was matter-of-fact. “Yeah. You were never meant to meet her tonight, if ever. Now you can.”

Newcomen stared and ground his jaw.

“You look like a cow when you do that.” Petrovitch leaned forward, and realised the other bench seat facing him was too far away to reach. “Over there’s a hamper filled with all sorts of goodies. There’s champagne on ice, and I don’t even want to think about how much that’s cost us. There’s two bouquets of flowers: tiger lilies for Mrs Logan and red roses for Christine. You’ve been to Logan’s place: you know the summer house down by the lake. You and her can take the hamper down there and do whatever it is you two want to do, entirely undisturbed. When you’re done, we go back to the hotel. Vrubatsa?”

“But what are you going to be doing in the meantime?”

“I’ll be in the house with Christine’s parents — I’ve checked they’re not going out anywhere — and that should satisfy both you, and the pickiest of tribunals, if it ever comes to it. You’ll be on the same property as me. If I need you, I’ll call for you: barring disasters, I promise I won’t call you.” Petrovitch grimaced. “That’s right. I’m going to spend the whole evening making pleasantries with the man who doesn’t care whether his daughter’s boyfriend lives or dies, and sees me as an aberration before God. I’d rather lie in a bath of broken glass, but there you go.”

Newcomen threw himself back against his seat, and sat upright again as the chair began to massage him. He looked around at it with distaste. “Are you sure about Logan?”

“What? Whether he’s going out or not?”

“No, not that.”

“The other thing? Yeah. There won’t be a paper trail I can follow, he’s far too careful for that: but you know he hates you. You know his wife doesn’t dare say anything to him. The only reason you’ve lasted this long is because Christine genuinely does love you. Then it got serious. You proposed and she accepted. You dared to pick a date and a venue. That was when he started to look for ways to get rid of you.”

“This is still the father of my fiancee you’re talking about.” Newcomen slid across the car to inspect the hamper.

“Yobany stos, man. He’s trying to have you killed, and you worry about good manners? Chyort, the only reason you’re polite to him is because Christine is his chattel and he can do what he wants with her.” Petrovitch laid a proprietorial hand over his carpet bag. “This sort of situation would never happen in the Freezone. It just couldn’t. If Lucy had ever shown any interest in men, there’d have been no question of me interfering. Or even threatening to cut their yajtza off with a cleaver.”

“She’s your daughter, though.” Newcomen opened the lid of the hamper, and his eyes grew wide. He was disarmed enough that his train of thought derailed and fell down an embankment.

“She doesn’t belong to me. I belong to her. After she lost her parents, I was all she had. I might have been piss-poor as a dad, but even I knew I had to protect her, teach her, and try and turn her into a rounded human being. I pretty much failed on every count, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. What it does mean is that I don’t own her.”

The lights outside dimmed. They were crossing the Murrow Bridge. In the dark, Newcomen asked quietly: “You’ve not had children of your own?”

“There’s a good chance that both me and Maddy are sterile. She’s a mutant, I’m radiation-damaged.” Petrovitch stared at the glint of his wedding ring. “We’ve not done any tests, not gone for any treatment. Yeah, a gestation tank would be the simple answer, but we’re still young. And you know, we still enjoy trying at every available opportunity.”

Newcomen pulled a face. “Oh, stop. Now.”

“Bearing in mind this could be it,” continued Petrovitch, “you might consider doing the same. Going out in a blaze of glory. Spawn and die.”

“I am not an animal. And Christine…”

“It’s often when faced by imminent death that you feel the biological urge the most.”

“Shut up, Petrovitch.” Newcomen balled his fists, but didn’t do anything with them. “Just, shut up.”

“Okay.”

The limo cruised off the bridge and into a tunnel.

“We’re still being followed,” said Petrovitch. “Wish I could do something about that.”

“Maybe they’re wondering where we’re going.” Newcomen sounded relieved at the change of subject.

“They’re not wondering at all. They made the plates on the car and checked the destination with the hire company. They’re just doing it to piss me off. Did you know they’ve diverted a satellite so that it can track me better? Polar orbit, so it’s only overhead for a short time each day, but they’re bringing in another one tomorrow. All that expense, all that effort, just to see where I’m going.” Petrovitch looked up from his lap at Newcomen. “Do you suppose they have a good reason why they’re doing that, and not using those same resources to find Lucy?”

“If it’s true…”

“Which it is. I don’t think I’ve lied to you yet.”

“Which itself is probably a lie,” said Newcomen. “If it’s true, perhaps they are using it to look for Lucy.”

“Wrong footprint on the ground.” Petrovitch gave a halfsmile. “And we’ve intercepted the datafeed. We know exactly when it’s live, and where it’s pointing. You’ve got plenty of resources, you’re just not using them right.”

The car turned off the freeway and slowed to the new speed limit. It became obvious who was on their tail, as first one, then two sets of headlights peeled off from the main road but kept a respectful distance.

“Nearly there,” remarked Newcomen. “Will you be listening in, when I’m alone with her?”

“It’s not the way it works. Michael monitors you. If you say anything you shouldn’t, he’ll let me know. I can honestly say that you won’t be overheard by another human being.”

“So you’re definitely bugging me?” He checked the inside of his jacket, as if he was going to find something obvious within the folds of his clothes.

“Yeah. We get to keep some secrets. Neither was I born yesterday, so let’s change the subject.” Petrovitch reached into the carpet bag for the jammer. “I will leave this for you, though. That should be enough insurance against your own side. I’ll take my chances.”

Closed high gates presented themselves in the limo’s lights, and the chauffeur buzzed the intercom to speak to his passengers.

“There’s no call button, sir. Can you contact the house, get them to open up?”

Newcomen lifted up his tie to access the keypad, while Petrovitch eyed the gates.

“I can open them for you. Security’s good, but I’m way better.” He realised what Newcomen was doing, and pressed his hand against the American’s. “Fried, remember? I’ll call.”

Newcomen’s face clouded over. “At least try and keep things civil.”

Petrovitch spoke to one of Logan’s staff, and despite their visit being prearranged, permission from the man himself suddenly became necessary.

“Logan knew I was here too.” Petrovitch raised his eyebrows. “He’s got someone on the inside. Fancy that.”

“Everything you say is deliberately designed to reinforce the idea that you’re right.”

“Maybe so. Or perhaps I’m trying to get into your thick skull the fact that I am right. All the time.”

The gates started to swing apart, and the driver nosed the car forward. The drive was gravelled, and stones crunched beneath the wheels as they pulled up outside the mock-Georgian frontage.

Lights blazed from every window, and a silhouetted figure was visible in one of the first-floor rooms, hands on hips, staring down at them. Petrovitch ran a pattern match, and found it was Logan. He was probably looking forward to this encounter as much as his guest was.

The chauffeur opened Petrovitch’s door for him, when he felt he should really have done it for himself. “No need for that,” he said.

“All part of the service, sir.”

“Yeah. You should go back to college and graduate. Your grades were more than good enough.” He jerked his head at Newcomen. “Better than his.”

“I needed the work, sir.” That Petrovitch knew didn’t seem to surprise him. “And I guess after that, I just got out of the learning habit.”

“Try it again. You might find you can pick up where you left off.” His breath curled in the air, a coil of fog. “Come on, Newcomen. You’re keeping the lady waiting.”

The agent eased himself out. “Cold.”

“Nothing aches like metal: trust me.” Petrovitch frowned. “Flowers?”

Newcomen dived back in and re-emerged with the two shivering bunches.

“Give me the lilies. It’s not like I can feel any more stupid than I do already.”

Together they advanced on the front door, which appeared to be made of wood but was in fact a laminated sandwich of composite materials that even Valentina would have trouble blowing her way through. The place was a fortress, designed to seal and lock at the touch of a button. Either Logan was paranoid, or he genuinely had made some powerful enemies during his struggle to the top of the tree.

Newcomen rapped the heavy brass knocker, an entirely redundant gesture as there were cameras, pressure pads and laser nets covering their every move.

The door opened a crack. Logan had sent his wife ahead of him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs Logan,” said Newcomen. “I’m here to pick Christine up, as arranged.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She opened the door fully. “And you’ve brought someone with you.”

“I’m afraid Bureau business has got a little out of hand, ma’am. Can I present Dr Samuil Petrovitch, the internationally renowned scientist and accredited diplomat of the Irish Freezone?”

Petrovitch stifled the urge to snort with laughter, and gave a short, formal bow. “Mrs Logan. These are for you.” He brandished the bouquet, and she reacted as if they were a weapon. “They’re just flowers. Honest.”

“Th-thank you,” she answered, and took them from him. She was terrified. Of Petrovitch, of the whole situation.

“If Christine is half as beautiful as you, Joseph is a very lucky man.” Petrovitch used his yellowed teeth to flash her a suggestive grin. “Isn’t that right, Joseph?”

“Joseph?” Newcomen seemed to have forgotten his first name. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

It was pure corn, but Mrs Logan had spent a lifetime starved of compliments. Her neck flushed pink behind her string of pearls, and she allowed the perfume from the lilies to reach her nose.

“They’re lovely, Dr Petrovitch.”

“And I must apologise for the intrusion. Joseph’s been badly let down by a series of administrative errors entirely beyond his control, and rather than see him break his promise to Christine, I suggested I throw myself on your mercy for the duration of their date.”

They were still standing on the doorstep. While their faces were being warmed by the air spilling out from the hall, their backs were collecting frost.

“Boys,” said Mrs Logan. “You should come in. I know Christine has spent for ever getting ready.”

The carpet was deep enough to drown in and so clean it shone. Petrovitch didn’t feel comfortable walking in it, but since his shoes were so new, they hadn’t had time to get dirty.

“I’m afraid we’ve had to change our plans to accommodate Dr Petrovitch’s status,” said Newcomen. “It’s a condition of his visa that he’s accompanied at all times by a federal officer, which means I can’t take Christine to a restaurant as I’d wanted. So on, uh, Dr Petrovitch’s recommendation, I brought some of the restaurant with me. If it’s okay, I can take the hamper down to the summer house, and maybe he can wait up at the main house with the staff.”

“It’s an imposition,” said Petrovitch, “but as a married man, I’m all for encouraging young love.”

“You’re married, Dr Petrovitch?” She seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps monsters didn’t get married.

“To the only woman who would have me, Mrs Logan.” His eyes were drawn to the staircase behind her. Logan was walking slowly down towards them, his skin dark and his face set.

“Heating’s off in the summer house,” he declared. “Christine’ll freeze out there, so forget it.”

“Oh, Teddy,” said Mrs Logan, then stopped abruptly. Whatever helpful suggestion she’d been about to make died on her lips. One look from her husband was all it took.

Petrovitch leaned towards Newcomen. “Leave the scum-sucking pond life to me,” he murmured. “I’ve got previous on this.”

Newcomen’s face, already pale, turned white. “Mr Logan, can I introduce…”

“I know who he is.” Logan reached the bottom of the stairs and advanced on Petrovitch. “You’ve got a nerve bringing this… man here. We’re decent, God-fearing people, Joseph Newcomen, and I won’t have him under my roof.”

Logan was a big man: solid, round even. Taller than Petrovitch, he had presence and confidence, and he was on home ground. He took another step closer.

“I hope you don’t mind your wife hearing this,” said Petrovitch, “because husbands shouldn’t have secrets from wives — I learnt that the hard way — but if you don’t let Joseph and Christine spend the evening together in the limousine I’ve parked outside, which can’t go anywhere because he has to stay near me, because of the restrictions your government has placed on my movements while I’m here, even though I’ve a diplomatic passport, I will personally see to it that I ruin you financially and politically by publishing your unaudited accounts for the last twenty years, which will reveal tax evasion and the payment of kickbacks on a frankly industrial scale. I am very aware of how quickly Reconstruction will turn on you and tear your bloodied carcass apart, leaving only scraps for the crows to chew messily on, because it happened to a friend of mine who ended up having to flee the country and become a penniless refugee in the Freezone. So, your call. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath and smiled again. This time, he meant it.

“Joseph!” Christine swept down the stairs, a cloud of green silk and emeralds. She tottered to a halt on her high heels, staring down at the strange tableau below, starring her parents and this white-haired foreigner she’d heard so many appalling things about. She tried to make sense of it, of the conflicting body language exhibited by her father and the stranger.

One thing was clear, though: Newcomen seemed to grow in her presence. He stood straighter and looked stronger. “Hello, Christine. You look amazing.”

Logan almost said something. The corner of Petrovitch’s eye twitched. They were so close, there was no way the man could miss its meaning.

Christine smiled, and her whole face lit up like a flashbulb. Newcomen held the dozen red roses out in front of him, offering them and himself up to her.

She came to collect them, and chastely offered her cheek to be kissed. He did so, trembling.

“They’re lovely, Joseph. Now come on, or we’ll be late, and that would be disrespectful.” She had blonde hair, the colour of a lion’s mane, which bobbed with every one of her precise, positive gestures.

Newcomen collected her coat from the closet — he’d been there often enough to know where it was and which of her many coats she’d need — and draped it around her shoulders.

“Actually, my dear, we’re doing something slightly different tonight. I’ll explain on the way to the car.” He opened the door, and Christine caught sight of the long white limousine.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Joseph.”

With the carelessness of youth, she didn’t look back at her terrified mother and furious father, just strode out into the night as if wolves only existed in fairy tales.

“Half eleven’s late enough for you two, I think,” said Petrovitch. “Be back by then. I need my beauty sleep.”

Newcomen mouthed his suddenly heartfelt thank-you, and Christine’s excited voice was suddenly muffled by the click of the latch, leaving Petrovitch alone with the Logans.

He grunted, halfway between satisfaction and displeasure. Logan was in his personal space, and he didn’t like that. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand into the man’s expensively covered chest and pushed him slowly away. “Why don’t you just relax and make the best of it. There are a million places I’d rather be, and yeah, I blame you for your part in this charade. Despite what you think, your daughter could do worse: much worse. So past’ zebej: I don’t want to hear another word from you this evening or I’ll hand the IRS your zhopu on a plate.”

Logan was used to being undisputed master in his own home. If he’d hated Petrovitch in the abstract before, he now loathed the reality with a passion bordering on obsession. But he was beaten, and knew there was nothing he could do about that. For now.

He turned and stalked away. “Margaret?”

He expected her to follow, to listen to his invective behind a closed door, perhaps even be the target of his ill-temper.

Time, thought Petrovitch, to twist the knife.

“Mrs Logan? I understand you’re quite the artist. If you’d allow me, I’d like to take a closer look at some of those landscapes you’ve done. I’ve only seen pictures of them — the ones from the country club show — and I’m sure they didn’t do them justice.”

He linked his arm through hers so that she could guide him, even though he knew where she displayed them already. He saw her hesitate for the longest time.

Then a spark of defiance. Petrovitch knew how to kindle that into a flame. It would be a better revenge than paupering them all.

“Of course, Dr Petrovitch. My studio is just through here.”