The Three Most Wanted (25 page)

“They run
all
the parties!” spat Carla.

“
I
know that.
You
know that. Any reasonably well educated person who’s prepared to face up to the truth knows that. But there’re a lot of people who’d rather
not
face up to the truth. Because if they face up to it, they feel they ought to stand up to the government, and it’s only
that
which gets you in trouble. So the people will rise, but who knows when. Because they won’t be rising for self-preservation, as they do against a dictator: they’ll be rising for their consciences.

“But Bane’s right, they won’t rise for you. Your mindless slaughter makes people side with the EuroGov. And you may not like it, but that’s the truth.”

Carla looked like she’d spring across the table and stab me with her fork. So much for not offending anyone.

“Interesting,” said Luciano calmly. “I don’t agree. I cannot accept the way things are. To me, to not fight against it would be unthinkable. But at least you both have an opinion, which is more than most people.”

“A quailing, cowardly opinion fit for old women,” snorted Carla.

“Carla,” said Luciano rather patiently. “Margaret Verrall may not be prepared to pick up a gun and fight with us, but if we can get her into the Vatican, she will sit there and stab people’s consciences with the sharpest quill she can find. Can you really not see how useful that is? She will whip up opposition and some of it will join
us
, not her.”

I looked down at the table, embarrassed. “You have a rather high opinion of my quill.”

“We’ve read the book. So’s half the world, by now. It’s making people think, and there’s nothing the EuroGov hate more. Would you like to know how many new recruits we’ve had since it was published?”

I swallowed. The law of unintended consequences... “Actually, I’d rather not.”

“Fine. But take it from me, your quill is sharper than you think.”

I shrugged.

Carla threw up her hands. “You went and
won
the
PostSort Competition
, you stupid
Pregatore!”
Italian for “Pray-er”? Clearly a derogatory name for one of the Underground. Diplomacy obviously not being Carla’s strong point.

Perhaps fortunately, the conversation turned to less controversial topics and by the time Bane and I made it back upstairs after the meal, Luciano and Francesco were carrying the second extra bed into Jon’s room. Save us falling off and bashing our bad arms in the night.

The warm plasterwork glowed in the sun. Jon’s chest moved steadily against my cheek and I lay quietly, enjoying the warmth and the morning silence. Luciano’s acceptance of our difference of opinion had actually been quite reassuring.

Shame Jon hadn’t been there. Or perhaps a good thing! He’d some pretty well-developed opinions on the subject as well: we’d have been there all evening! No wonder Bane knew every argument in the book. Though Bane’s own views had shifted and hardened noticeably since that ill-fated night at Wearmfell Factory. In a reassuring direction.

Hang on... Jon’s breathing had sped up, his body tensed.

“Jon? It’s okay. You don’t need to pretend to be asleep.”

“Margo…” His voice was a thin whisper. “It
is
you. Didn’t know where we were…”

“We’re safe. Bane’s asleep just the other side of you. Do you remember getting on the train?”

“Yes. Could’ve climbed a mountain… then nothing.”

“You passed out. I think that stimulant of Bane’s was pretty evil stuff. The train took us over the Alps almost to Milan, then the Resistance derailed it, found us when they came to get their loot and carried us off with them. We’re in a safe house and as soon as you’re well, they’ll take us to Rome.”

“Milan?” He sounded shocked.
“Rome?
Really?”

“Really. You just rest and get well. How d’you feel?”

“My leg hurts a bit. Otherwise fine.”

“I can hear some understatement screaming for mercy.”

“Fine, my leg hurts
a lot
and I feel awful.” I forced my abused muscles into just enough action to place a kiss on his forehead. He smiled. “Feeling better already. Rome. Right. I’ll give getting well my fullest attention.”

For the next day or so, Jon remained desperately weak and spent most of the time asleep. “You don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know,” he whispered, waking to find me and Bane again chilling out beside him.

“Don’t be silly,” I said lightly. “There’s not much to do in a safe house, y’know.”

Actually we did pop up and watch the news sometimes, but whenever we’d been gone for a bit longer—for dinner, say—he seemed worse. The stress of being alone and helpless in a totally unfamiliar place always sapped his strength like nothing else.

So we stuck around, even though he slept soundly most of the time. Under the regular assaults of a powerful antibiotic, Bane’s arm stopped oozing pus and began to heal, finally. My swollen face and aching muscles subsided and pretty soon Jon started to rally.

The doctor had ordered he stay off the leg until the wound closed up, but despite his emaciated condition, being so close to our goal revitalized him a little too much.

“I
will
sit on you,” said Bane, as Jon made as if to put back the covers.

Jon desisted. “Don’t you want to get there?”

“Yes, I do. So I don’t want to be stuck here for days extra because you tore that hole open again with your impatience. I thought you were the most patient one of us!”

Jon flushed slightly. “Yes, but… well, Resistance safe houses get raided all the time, don’t they? Let’s not get too complacent about our safety here.”

“Please don’t say that to Luciano,” I appealed. He was very proud of his cell’s security.

“’Course not. But the sooner we get there the better. From the news, they’re still looking all over the place. What if their spies learn the Vatican is definitely our destination? Then it’ll be a hundred times harder to get in.”

True. I wanted to be moving and so did Bane. But Jon had to be able to walk—and preferably run, though Luciano swore it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Ah, good.” Luciano looked up from the table a few days later as Jon appeared in the kitchen doorway leaning on his new hiking stick. “I go down to Rome every few months to liaise with the Rome cell and I’ll be going tonight. The meeting’s all prearranged, so if you three are ready to move, it will be a very uncomplicated way to get you to them. What do you think?”

Bane and I both glanced at Jon. A few more days would make the world of difference—yet surely it was far safer to go by tried and tested routes to a routine meeting than to depart from normal procedures.

“I’ll be okay, really.” Jon scratched his unaccustomed moustache. The soldiers had seen his beard, so he’d got rid of most of it. “I managed the stairs fine, now that you finally let me try.” He had limped downstairs without any noticeable difficulty.

“Okay...” Bane’s eyes questioned me. They’d not got a good look at him so he’d kept his beard.

“If you get back upstairs okay,” I qualified.

“Yeah,” said Bane. “So a provisional yes, Luciano, if that doesn’t give you trouble.”

“Doesn’t make any difference. You either get in the car with me after dinner or you don’t.”

We got in the car with him. Not so much a car as a four-by-four jeep thing kept out of sight in a little courtyard. Jon winced as he maneuvered up and in, then pretended he hadn’t. Carla and Francesco came out to see us off. Well, Francesco had come to see us off, anyway. “Good luck. Get stabbing with that quill, eh,
Signora
Silver-tongue?”

I grimaced at the nickname, but smiled and bid him goodbye.

“Here.” Carla suddenly acknowledged our existence, shoving a scrap of fabric into my hand.

I unfolded it and found one of those bandanna hairbands. “Thanks.”

“Luciano said to find you something.” Stiffly, she added, “Good luck.”

“And you.”

Luciano strode out into the courtyard, clipping a magazine into a Lethal. Pausing to tuck the pistol in the back of his waistband and shake his jacket over it, he swung into the driver’s seat and made to slam the door—Carla caught his hand.

“Be careful.” Sweet on him, definitely.

He kissed the back of her hand. Did he like her too? Avoiding the perils of romance within the cell’s command structure, perhaps. They were both rather wedded to their cause. Of course, they weren’t Believers, so for all I knew they could be at it like bunnies and just pretending to their subordinates…

“I’m always careful.” Luciano slammed the door as soon as Carla’s hand was clear. He lowered the window a few inches to say, “Expect me before dawn day after tomorrow.”

Carla nodded and stepped back. Francesco was opening the gates; Luciano started the engine. In the floodlight’s glare Carla looked more anxious than hostile now. How safe was this run really? Probably safer than walking by ourselves. Probably a lot safer than that.

Luciano drove out of the courtyard and cruised through what appeared to be a mostly deserted country village. Not quite abandoned, but close to it. From Bane’s map there were a lot of settlements like this in the Italian department. The houses had bright plaster walls, which was about all we could see in the headlights.

As soon as we’d left the village he turned off the bumpy but nominally-maintained road and onto a quite definitely abandoned road. Decades of locals and Resistance had kept it clear of encroaching trees but that was about it. The jeep tore through bushes, bouncing from rut to pothole like a manic kangaroo. Bane and Jon clung to the roof handles and I clung to them.

“You all right back there?” Luciano asked after a while. “I perhaps should’ve said—it’s a bumpy ride.”

“Fine,” said Jon, unclenching his teeth momentarily.

“We’ll live,” I said.

Luciano chuckled. “Yeah, well, you can imagine the EuroGov don’t like to send their expensive vehicles onto these roads. Anyway, I’ve got to keep my foot down a bit or it’ll take forever to get there.”

“We’re fine,” said Bane, just as the roof smacked him on the head again. “Though I think I preferred the train...”

“It gets better,” said Luciano.

This humorous warning—as I thought—turned out to be a factual statement. The road bump-bumped its way to a genuinely desolate area and the surface took a sudden turn for the better. Luciano put his foot down even more and we made better time at the cost of fewer bruises. Color returned to Jon’s face, and soon he nodded off.

The moon came out, and I watched the Italian forest passing, subtly different from the French forest much as the French forest was from our native Fellest. We passed picturesque ruins, these villages fully abandoned. Terracotta roof tiles still much in evidence, but the walls were whitewashed—once whitewashed—stucco and the windows had heavy—sometimes ornate—grills fixed over them...

...The jeep jerked to a halt. I lifted my head from Bane’s shoulder, confused. The grey light of dawn filled the air.

“Here we are,” said Luciano. “Rome.”

Rome? I’d just slept through several hundred kilometers of the Italian department.

I peered out the windscreen. Forest, still. “Doesn’t look quite how I imagined it.”

“Well, we’re not
quite
there,” grinned Luciano. “But we change vehicles here. Out you get.”

Bane and I slid out and hurried around to winch Jon from the vehicle; his leg had stiffened up. White-faced, he gripped his stick and limped along determinedly as we followed Luciano along a forest track, breathing in the fresh morning air. Coming to another clearing, the three of us stopped dead in shock. Or Bane and I stopped dead and Jon stopped with us.

A city taxi sat there in the middle of the forest. Luciano laughed at our expressions and went up to the driver’s window. The middle-aged fellow was glaring at him.

“Sorry we’re late,” Luciano grinned. “I had some delicate passengers.”

What? He had actually slowed down on those early tracks?

The taxi driver grunted something in Italian.

“He says it’s going to be a tight fit,” Luciano told us. “He’s right. But it’s not far. Come on.”

He opened the back door, and by the time we joined him he’d lifted the seat cushions to reveal a hidden compartment running under the back seats and right to the rear of the trunk.

“Okay, I see what he means.” Bane eyed up the space available.

“Well, thanks to a certain Free State smack in the middle of Rome, they scan IDs at the city gates. I’m not up for that, and unless you are, we’ll just have to squeeze in. Ladies first.”

“What if someone rear ends us?” objected Bane. “I’ll go first.”

I rolled my eyes. Pretty unlikely, though admittedly, with the reputation of Italian drivers… I climbed in next, then Luciano helped Jon in and called, “Move up.”