Simon Morden - The Curve of The Earth

“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.”