Read Online INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) by Alison Morton - Free Book Online
Authors: Alison Morton
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street.
Three stores further up, we pulled the same trick, emerging near a subway entrance. We ran down the metal-edged steps, plunged into a side passage, and waited ten long minutes behind a soda vending machine.
‘I think we’ve lost them, but they’ll pick us up at your flat. How do you feel about a hotel for tonight?’
My head was thumping with tension, and my body was drained. I’d been threatened with jail, denounced as a traitor and chased by security agents. A fortune had landed on me, along with a new family. And then there was Conrad…
‘I want to go somewhere quiet. I know it sounds lame, but I just want this to stop.’
It was dark. A police siren screamed out. I sat up, panicked. But nothing was moving except the drapes in the morning breeze. The siren faded, its discordant note changing tone as it moved away. The soft swish of a bus door opening and closing took its place. I glanced at my watch. Twenty after five. I stretched my hand out for my glass of water but found nothing. I wasn’t in my own bed. God! It had all been real.
My clothes were folded on a chair and I was buck naked. And alone. The other side of the bed was untouched. A note in black rounded handwriting told me Conrad had gone out to find breakfast. This wasn’t the kind of hotel that did room service. I had to go to the bathroom, so I showered as well and wrapped myself in the robe I was surprised to find hanging there. I fixed myself a cup of coffee from the tray and huddled on the bed, trying not to think about the past twenty-four hours.
I was still there by the time daylight had bleached out the street lighting. Where the hell was Conrad? I called his cell. No answer. I scrambled into my clothes and pulled my comb through my hair. To cover the silence, I switched on the television. Still no sign of Conrad.
I rang his cell again but, instead of no answer, heard the unobtainable tone. I texted. The message couldn’t be delivered. My second-hand phone bought in a street sale might have been chunky but it was reliable enough to send texts. Over at the window, I peeked out to see if the watchers were there. None that I could see. I sat down on the edge of the bed, without a clue what to do.
Somebody knocked on the door, hard enough for the inside panel to shiver at the blow. I flinched. I stood up. I had to run, to save myself, but my feet were welded to the floor. I heard a shout: ‘Ten minutes.’ They wouldn’t give a warning like that. I took a deep breath and opened the door a few inches. The desk clerk from the night before. His face was framed by the gap.
‘Yes?’
‘Ten minutes,’ he said, pointing at his plastic strap watch. ‘Your client paid last night. Time’s up.’ He jerked his thumb away from the door. ‘Unless you want to earn an extension.’ He leered at me.
I slammed the door in his face.
Where could I go? I wanted to go home but I couldn’t take that chance. They would be watching my building. I threw out the idea of going to Amanda for help; I couldn’t endanger her. I couldn’t go to the cops. The precinct sergeant would take one look at me, uncaring, only thinking about his lunch or getting home in time to watch the ball game, and throw me out as a crazy. Or run my name, have me put in a holding cell and call the FBI. And one of Hayden’s threatening visitors had been FBI. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but I was thinking like a criminal already.
I had to go somewhere crowded, where they couldn’t touch me. Where did people congregate on Sundays? A church! I would maybe get two hours’ breathing room if the preacher was inspired.
I left the hotel, careful to avoid CCTV cameras as much as possible. But they clung on every building, inquisitive little eyes roosting on every corner. Like a fugitive in my own country, I looked up and down each street I crossed, like searching supermarket shelves. After ten minutes, I was sweating. Where were all the good people and their
Three stores further up, we pulled the same trick, emerging near a subway entrance. We ran down the metal-edged steps, plunged into a side passage, and waited ten long minutes behind a soda vending machine.
‘I think we’ve lost them, but they’ll pick us up at your flat. How do you feel about a hotel for tonight?’
My head was thumping with tension, and my body was drained. I’d been threatened with jail, denounced as a traitor and chased by security agents. A fortune had landed on me, along with a new family. And then there was Conrad…
‘I want to go somewhere quiet. I know it sounds lame, but I just want this to stop.’
It was dark. A police siren screamed out. I sat up, panicked. But nothing was moving except the drapes in the morning breeze. The siren faded, its discordant note changing tone as it moved away. The soft swish of a bus door opening and closing took its place. I glanced at my watch. Twenty after five. I stretched my hand out for my glass of water but found nothing. I wasn’t in my own bed. God! It had all been real.
My clothes were folded on a chair and I was buck naked. And alone. The other side of the bed was untouched. A note in black rounded handwriting told me Conrad had gone out to find breakfast. This wasn’t the kind of hotel that did room service. I had to go to the bathroom, so I showered as well and wrapped myself in the robe I was surprised to find hanging there. I fixed myself a cup of coffee from the tray and huddled on the bed, trying not to think about the past twenty-four hours.
I was still there by the time daylight had bleached out the street lighting. Where the hell was Conrad? I called his cell. No answer. I scrambled into my clothes and pulled my comb through my hair. To cover the silence, I switched on the television. Still no sign of Conrad.
I rang his cell again but, instead of no answer, heard the unobtainable tone. I texted. The message couldn’t be delivered. My second-hand phone bought in a street sale might have been chunky but it was reliable enough to send texts. Over at the window, I peeked out to see if the watchers were there. None that I could see. I sat down on the edge of the bed, without a clue what to do.
Somebody knocked on the door, hard enough for the inside panel to shiver at the blow. I flinched. I stood up. I had to run, to save myself, but my feet were welded to the floor. I heard a shout: ‘Ten minutes.’ They wouldn’t give a warning like that. I took a deep breath and opened the door a few inches. The desk clerk from the night before. His face was framed by the gap.
‘Yes?’
‘Ten minutes,’ he said, pointing at his plastic strap watch. ‘Your client paid last night. Time’s up.’ He jerked his thumb away from the door. ‘Unless you want to earn an extension.’ He leered at me.
I slammed the door in his face.
Where could I go? I wanted to go home but I couldn’t take that chance. They would be watching my building. I threw out the idea of going to Amanda for help; I couldn’t endanger her. I couldn’t go to the cops. The precinct sergeant would take one look at me, uncaring, only thinking about his lunch or getting home in time to watch the ball game, and throw me out as a crazy. Or run my name, have me put in a holding cell and call the FBI. And one of Hayden’s threatening visitors had been FBI. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but I was thinking like a criminal already.
I had to go somewhere crowded, where they couldn’t touch me. Where did people congregate on Sundays? A church! I would maybe get two hours’ breathing room if the preacher was inspired.
I left the hotel, careful to avoid CCTV cameras as much as possible. But they clung on every building, inquisitive little eyes roosting on every corner. Like a fugitive in my own country, I looked up and down each street I crossed, like searching supermarket shelves. After ten minutes, I was sweating. Where were all the good people and their
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