Roman Holiday
by Joseph Cusumano
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
The trip took nearly an hour, ending at a seemingly abandoned factory in a small rural community. As Arturo shut off the car’s engine, Angelica braced herself for a situation which would demand all the intuition and guile she could summon. She followed Arturo to the side of the building where he unlocked a steel door and held it open for her.
Inside, the factory was dimly lit but surprisingly clean and well ventilated. Machine tools, several diesel generators, and other equipment she couldn’t identify were arranged on the factory floor, and there were numerous large wooden crates being unloaded by several workers.
She took Arturo’s hand as he led her to an enclosed conference room built into one of the corners of the cavernous factory space. Four men were seated around a long rectangular wood table in a fog of tobacco smoke. As soon as Angelica smelled it, she was overcome with a fierce desire to light up, although she had never indulged. She realized that Fia must have been a smoker at some time in the past. Since there were no cigarettes in their home, Fia must have quit, yet the addiction was tenacious. Oh, this is wonderful. I’m helping a terrorist group design a city-killer, and I’m addicted to nicotine.
“Gentlemen, this is my wife, Fia,” Arturo announced to the four men, who had been staring at her from the moment she entered the conference room. Angelica greeted each in turn, making deliberate eye contact and repeating each of their names as she extended her hand.
Emilio, an older gentleman, was the first to speak. “Buongiorno, Signora. From the plans your husband provided us, we knew you were brilliant, but he never told us you were so lovely.”
Angelica blushed and smiled, still not used to the effect she had on men. Then she reminded herself that Emilio was the most suspicious member of the cadre and might be trying to get her off her guard.
“We’ve had time to study your design for the detonator,” Emilio continued, “and although we have a few questions, all of us are impressed with your ingenuity.”
With their own copy of her design on the table, the men began a technical discussion with Angelica, who was careful not to let slip any inappropriate scientific knowledge she had acquired in her Rome of 2035.
Arturo, the only non-scientist in the room, stepped back, then slowly moved about the periphery of the room to observe the four men. It didn’t take long for him to become confident that his plan was still on track.
“Signora Donati, what is the purpose of this small opening in the outer shell or casing? Emilio asked.
Angelica looked to where Emilio was pointing on the diagram and noted a round opening, two centimeters in diameter, located in the middle of the detonator. There was no corresponding opening on the opposite side of the outer shell. Angelica had missed this while studying the design in the car and had no idea what it was. It seemed unrelated to anything else in the design. When she didn’t answer, the men glanced up at her and waited for an answer.
“It’s just an opening for air circulation,” she replied. “We probably don’t need it, but I wanted to make sure that moisture couldn’t accumulate within the closed casing and corrode the contacts in the relays.” It was the best she could come up with.
When the discussion of her design finally died down and the men leaned back in their chairs to light up fresh smokes, Emilio told Arturo and Angelica that construction of three weapons had already begun.
“You have enough U-235 for three bombs?” Angelica asked, somewhat incredulous. How could they possibly have enriched that much?
“Yes, all coming from Judea,” he said with pride. “I think we’ll have the first device completed by our next meeting. Fia, we’ll want you to examine the finished product.”
Angelica simply nodded, trying to conceal her growing alarm. Arturo came to her rescue, saying to Emilio, “I hope you brought our payment.”
“Certainly. Give me your car keys. I’ll have one of the men load it in your trunk,” Emilio replied.
When Arturo and Angelica began their drive back to Rome, Angelica sensed the rearward shift in the car’s weight distribution, noting that the hood was riding higher.
“What’s in the trunk?”
“Gold bars,” Arturo replied. “A lot of them. I’ve done everything possible to make sure they believe our motivation is greed and only greed. I don’t want them to have any suspicion that I’m part of Pugno.”
“What will you do with the gold?”
“I’ll turn it in at headquarters, but not until the New Carthaginians complete the first weapon.”
“Why wait?” Angelica queried.
“I can’t turn the gold over to Pugno now, because the New Carthaginians may well have a mole within Pugno. If a Carthaginian mole discovers we turned the gold in, you and I will end up in the trunk, especially now that they have your design for the detonator. More importantly, I don’t want to destroy the weapon; I want the empire to have it. So I’ll let them finish it, and we’ll confiscate it when we arrest them.”
“But even if you confiscate a finished weapon before they use it and then turn it over to the empire, you’ll have opened the gates of hell. Eventually, someone will infiltrate the highest level of the empire’s bureaucracy, steal the design and turn it over to another terrorist group. No one has more to lose from the existence of this weapon than the empire. We should destroy it now.”
“My most recent orders from Pugno are to let them complete the weapon. The empire may someday need a weapon of this magnitude to crush a rebellious province and make an example of them to other regions contemplating revolution.
“Also, the scientists who have read my reports are certain that the technology can also be used for other purposes, including the production of electricity. The empire would be less vulnerable to disruptions in the supply of energy fuels.
“And you don’t have to worry about Carlo’s safety or Rome’s. Emilio told me that the only use of the weapon will occur in an unpopulated area as a demonstration. New Carthage is convinced that will be more than enough to persuade the empire to give Germania and Judea their sovereignty.”
“Arturo, that’s exactly the type of lie Emilio would tell you, given our cover that we’re nothing more than two greedy citizens whose goal is to become very rich and who have no desire to see the city destroyed or the empire disintegrate. What if the first explosion is actually planned for the heart of the city as a way of decapitating the empire?”
“Then why were you willing to design the detonator?” Arturo asked with puzzlement and a hint of anger in his voice.
Angelica was tempted to snap back with a nasty retort and tell him that he was blinded by his own ambition to break New Carthage, but she managed to control herself and said, “I’m sorry, Arturo. Meeting the Carthaginians today made me feel very distrustful of them. I made a terrible mistake by designing that detonator.” She then laid the palm of her left hand on his thigh.
After a few moments, Arturo said, “It’s not really your fault. I convinced you that the Carthaginians would never take me into their full confidence without a lure. You did it only to help me, and I’m grateful.” He then took her hand in his and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll have Pugno snatch the weapon before they can even do a demonstration blast. I promise you we’re safe.”
They rode on in silence for the rest of the drive home, each lost in thought, but Angelica was convinced that this new world of hers was at the edge of a precipice. How could Fia have been so brilliant and so stupid? Didn’t it occur to her what she was unleashing on her world, her city and her family? Must she have worshipped Arturo even more than I do?
When they arrived home, Angelica told Arturo that she was going for a walk in the neighborhood. She strolled down the Via Veneto, eventually entering a small shop. When she emerged back onto the street, she lit her first cigarette and inhaled deeply.
* * *
“Was it Arturo?” Angelica asked. She and Gretchen had arrived at the market just after nine in the morning. They had hoped to avoid a crowd, but it was starting to get busy.
“Of course. He wanted me to do something special for your birthday,” Gretchen replied. “I suggested preparing some of the recipes I grew up with in Germania. Your gods have been very generous, bringing Arturo to you.”
They approached a butcher’s stall where freshly cut meat lay on a bed of ice. Gretchen selected beef instead of the usual veal, paid for it, and placed it in her basket after it had been wrapped in paper. Then she guided Angelica toward the vegetables.
“Have I been a good wife to him?” Angelica asked.
“I think he’s very happy with you. You gave him a beautiful son, and you quit working several years ago to stay at home and raise him.”
“How did you know that? You’ve only been with us a short time.”
“I asked Arturo about it, after I heard you telling him something technical. It was shortly after he brought me to your home from the auction. Arturo told me you had a doctorate in physics and had taught at the university. I was so impressed... and a little jealous.” Gretchen picked out several potatoes and paid for them.
“Gretchen, I’d like your advice about something.”
Gretchen was looking toward an area of the market where several wine merchants were grouped together, but then faced Angelica. “About Arturo?”
“No, it’s about some work I recently did at home for a colleague at the university.”
“I’d hardly be qualified to advise you about your work, Signora,” Gretchen replied.
“Well, it’s not about the technical aspects. Something else is troubling me.”
“What is it?”
“This work I did...I’ve changed my mind about it. I don’t like the direction my colleague is taking it. I regret ever doing it.”
“And now you can’t take it back. What is it that troubles you?”
“I’m worried that it will be used in a harmful way.”
“You’ve spoken to your colleague about it?”
“Yes, I’ve expressed my concern, but I don’t want to antagonize him over it,” Angelica answered. “He’s tried to assure me that everything is okay, that no one will be harmed by the project.”
“Are you still in touch with him, so you can see where it’s going?’
“Yes, but—”
“My advice is to stay on good terms with him. It’s the only way you’ll have any say at all in what happens. Sometimes problems die of their own accord, provided we don’t fuel them further. Is he also a friend, someone you’d like to remain in contact with even if you never work with him again?”
“Yes, he’s a good friend. I would miss him dearly.”
“All the more reason to stay on good terms, at least for now.” After a pause, Gretchen said, “What type of wine would you like for tonight? Something from Germania?”
* * *
Copyright © 2018 by Joseph Cusumano
