Matthew Reilly - Temple

Race wondered what DARPA’s Tactical Technology Office could possibly want with the Ancient Languages Department at NYU.

‘You want our help?’ he asked, looking up from Nash’s photo-ID card.

‘Well, actually, we came here specifically seeking your help.” Race thought. He lectured in ancient classical and medieval Latin—with a little Spanish and German on the side. He couldn’t think of a single thing that he could help DARPA with.

‘Help, what sort of help?’ he asked.

‘Translating a manuscript. A four-hundred word Latin manuscript.’

“Manuscript…’ Race said. Such a request wasn’t

He was often asked to translate medieval manuscripts-It was unusual, however, when it was asked in the presence of armed commandos.

‘Professor Race,’ Nash said, ‘the translation of the document question is a matter of extreme urgency. In fact, it’s not even in the United States yet. It is on its way as we speak. What we would require of you is to meet the document at Newark and translate it in transit to our..’

‘In transit?’ Race said. ‘To where?’

‘I’m afraid that is something I am unable to tell you at this time. Race was about to argue when suddenly the door to the office opened and another Green Beret entered. He carried a pack on his back and he walked quickly over to Nash, whispered softly in his ear. Race caught the words: ‘—been ordered to mobilise.’

‘When?’ Nash said.

‘Ten minutes ago, sir,’ the soldier whispered back.

Nash looked down quickly at his watch. ‘Damn it.’

He swung back to face Race.

‘Professor Race, we don’t have much time, so I’m going to give this to you straight. This is a very important mission, a mission that seriously affects the national security of the United States. But it is a mission that has a very short window of opportunity. We must act now. But in order to do that, I need a translator. A medieval Latin translator. You.’

‘How soon?’

‘I have a car waiting out front.’

Race swallowed. ‘I don’t know…’

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He felt suddenly nervous at the prospect of travelling to destination unknown with Frank Nash and a team of fully armed Green Berets. He felt like he was being railroaded.

‘What about Ed Devereux at Harvard?’ he said. ‘He’s a lot better at med-Latin than I am. He’d be faster.’

Nash said, ‘I don’t need the best and I don’t have the time to travel up to Boston. Your brother mentioned your name to us. He said you were good and that you were in New York and quite frankly, that’s all I need.

I need someone close who can do the job now.’

Race bit his lip.

Nash said, ‘You’ll have a bodyguard assigned to you for the entire mission. We’ll pick up the manuscript at Newark in about thirty minutes and get on the plane a few minutes after that. If all goes well, you’ll have the document translated by the time we land. You won’t even have to get off the plane. And if you do, you’ll have a team of Green Berets looking after you.’

Race frowned at that.

‘Professor Race, you won’t be the only academic on this mission. Walter Chambers from Stanford will be there; Gabriela Lopez from Princeton; and also Lauren O’Connor from—’

Lauren O’Connor, Race thought.

He hadn’t heard that name in years.

Race had known Lauren back in his college days at USE.

While he had studied languages, she had majored in science-theoretical physics. They’d dated, but it had ended badly. Last he heard she’d been working at the Livermore Labs in their nuclear physics department.

Race looked at Nash. He wondered just how much Frank Nash knew about Lauren and himself—wondered if he had dropped her name deliberately.

The thing was, if he had, then it worked.

If Lauren was anything, she was street-smart. She wouldn’t go on a mission like this without a good reason. The fact that she had agreed to be a part of Nash’s adventure-gave it instant credibility.

‘You will be amply compensated for your time. Not that—’

‘Your brother is also part of the mission team,” Nash said, which took Race by surprise. ‘He won’t be coming with us, but will be working with the technical team at our offices.’

Race thought. He hadn’t seen him in a long time since their parents had got divorced nine years ago. But if he was also involved, then maybe…

‘Race, I’m sorry, but we have to go. We have to now. I need an answer from you..’

‘Will,’ John Bernstein said, ‘this is could be a tremendous for the university—’

Race frowned at Bernstein, cutting him off. Then to Nash: say it’s a matter of national security?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you can’t tell me where we’ll be going.’

‘Not until we get on the plane. Then I can tell you everything.’

And I’m going to have a bodyguard, Race thought. You usually-only need a bodyguard when somebody wants to kill you.

The office was silent.

Race could feel everyone waiting for his response. Nash.

The three Green Berets.

He sighed. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

Race walked quickly down the corridor behind Nash, still dressed in his jacket and tie.

It was a cold and wet winter’s day in New York and as they made their way through the maze of corridors toward the westernmost gate of the university, Race caught the occasional glimpse of the heavy rain falling outside.

The two Green Berets who had been in the office walked ahead of him and Nash; the other two—the two who had been out in the corridor—walked behind. Everyone was moving quickly. It felt to Race like he was being pulled along by a strong current.

‘Will I get a chance to change into something a little less formal?’ he asked Nash. He had brought his sports bag along with him. It had his change of clothes inside it.

‘Maybe on the plane,’ Nash said as they walked. ‘All right, now listen carefully. See the young man behind you.

That’s Sergeant Leo Van Lewen. He’ll be your bodyguard from here on in.’

Race looked behind himself as he walked, saw the mountain-sized Green Beret he had seen earlier. Van Lewen.

The Green Beret just gave him a curt acknowledging nod as his eyes swept the corridor all around them.

Nash said, ‘From now on, you’re a real important person and that makes you a target. Wherever you go, he goes. Here. Take this.’

Nash handed Race an earpiece and a wraparound throat mike. Race had only seen them on TV before, on footage of SWAT units. You strapped the throat mike neck on and the microphone picked up the vibra-voice box.

‘Put it on as soon as you get in the car,’ Nash said. ‘It’s so all you have to do is talk and we’ll hear you get in any trouble, just say the word and Van here will be at your side in seconds. You got that?’

They came to the western entrance of the university, two more Green Berets stood guard at the door. Nash stepped past them, out into the pouring rain.

It was then that Race saw ‘the car’ that Nash had said out front.

In the gravel turnaround in front of him stood a motorcade. Four motorcycle outriders—two at the head of the two at the rear. Six plain-looking olive-coloured vehicles. And wedged in the middle, cocooned by the out-and the sedans, were two heavy-duty armoured Humvees. Both were painted black and they each deeply tinted windows.

At least fifteen heavily armed Green Berets stood with M16’s at the ready all around the motorcade. The pouring rain down against their helmets.

They didn’t seem to notice.

Nash hurried over to the second Humvee and held the door open for Race. Then he handed Race a thick manila as he stepped inside the big vehicle.