Helen nodded again. ‘Don’t worry. The world knows it now. All from Placidia.’
Myles winced in confusion. ‘Placidia?’
Helen explained how Placidia had offered Dick Roosevelt a deaclass="underline" she wouldn’t expose him if his Roosevelt Guardians let the refugees into the embassy. ‘The tragedy, Myles, is that her people were already safe. You’d already got them into the embassy by setting off the fire alarm. She didn’t need to meet him,’ she said. ‘Placidia could have lived.’
Myles rolled his head on the stretcher. He remembered Placidia’s body on the stretcher. Perhaps if he’d been quicker, she would still be alive.
The ambulance was moving now, driving over bumpy cobbles and ancient stone roads through the streets of Rome. Helen tried to hold him steady. ‘So Myles, she was trying to do deals with that bastard right until she died.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t believe in them,’ said Myles. ‘She always said, “Do whatever saves the most lives”. She would have made the deal to protect her refugees. Once she knew they were safe, she would have exposed Dick.’
‘And break the deal?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Myles. ‘But for the best reasons. Placidia’s morality was twisted, but it was twisted in a good way.’
Helen combed her hand through Myles’ hair, careful to avoid the scar on his scalp. Paramedics had given Myles some fresh bandages.
For Myles, there was still one final puzzle. ‘So how did you know, Helen?’ he asked. ‘And why did a journalist shout out that Placidia had died praying — she didn’t even believe in God.’
Helen smiled. She pulled out her mobile, and opened a browser. It showed the inside of the Pantheon. ‘Placidia. She set up a monitoring device.’
‘A camera? I know,’ said Myles. ‘But Dick Roosevelt found it.’
Helen shook her head. ‘Placidia was ahead of him. She knew Dick would be looking for it, so she had two. She was broadcasting live images onto the net the whole time she was there,’ said Helen, sounding respectful of Placidia for probably the first time ever. ‘That’s how everybody knew. And that’s how they saw live images of her praying — praying in church — when she was shot by the Senator who pretended to believe in Christian values.’
‘She gave her life to protect America from Dick Roosevelt,’ said Myles, completing the epitaph. ‘She didn’t just die for her refugees, but to save her country, too.’
Seventy-Four
Safiq knew nothing of the drama at the Pantheon — at least, not for several hours. When he did, he felt so very sorry for the woman who had died praying. He recognised her image immediately: it was the woman who had persuaded him to board the tanker in Libya. He had assumed she was Muslim, but discovering she prayed as a Christian made no difference to his admiration for her. The half-American lady had been true to her promise: she really had done her best for him and the other refugees. Only now she was dead did Safiq discover her name, and he vowed that, were he ever to have a daughter of his own, he would name her Placidia.
The hours before Safiq saw Placidia on the satellite TV in the US Embassy had been tense and chaotic. It had taken several minutes for him and the other refugees to accept they were safe. US Marines took control — both of the building and the Roosevelt Guardians, who were disarmed and arrested. The refugees were corralled again, but this time within the embassy, which meant they were on US territory. There they were given hospitality, food, and water. For Safiq, it was an unexpected welcome. American generosity was even warmer than he had hoped.
Safiq was one of the first to claim asylum. He had expected his bid to be rejected, and that he would be shipped back to Africa again. After being fired on by the Roosevelt Guardians, part of him feared a terrible fate — like the ‘barbarian tribes’ which had sought sanctuary a century before Rome collapsed, and which that empire had treated so badly.
But several countries offered to take a share of the migrants. Refugees were resettled throughout France, Spain and Italy, in the area once ruled by the ancient civilisation. And Safiq was one of the migrants to be accepted by their first choice — by the country which had become heir to the Roman Empire.
So, within a week, Safiq was making his new life in a country he loved. Safiq was in the United States. Placidia had taken him to America after all.
Day XIII
Seventy-Five
X-rays on Myles’ shoulder confirmed his wound was not life-threatening. The bullet had broken through his shoulder blade near the joint. Fragments of bone would have to be aligned so they could heal and Myles’ underarm muscles, ripped apart by the exit wound, would take several months to regain their strength. But Myles had been lucky: the shot struck him just a few inches above his heart. Lunging at Dick Roosevelt may have saved his life after all.
The first two weeks of his recovery, confined to a hospital bed, frustrated Myles. He wanted to get out. To see Rome and Italy, and to explore. But daily visits from Helen, which often ran on well beyond the hours dictated by the hospital bureaucrats, made things much easier. It was not the sort of relaxing time in Rome the couple had initially planned, but it was what they both needed.
Myles was also consoled by the rolling news coverage of the story. Although not many new facts emerged, there were several follow-up stories which all got good coverage. It took six days before news channels found a lead item more interesting than the story of the disgraced Senator and the conclusion of Placidia’s ‘Last Prophecy of Rome’.
Dick Roosevelt recovered from his self-inflicted shoulder wound quickly. It meant, after ten days, he was fit enough to appear in handcuffs, unshaven and in an orange jumpsuit. Cameras flashed and the videos rolled: he had an image of defeat on his face. Even his confidence was finally exhausted. The evidence against him was overwhelming — he had been filmed shooting someone who posed no threat, passed classified documents to Juma, and conspired in an act of terror against the United States. The final irony was that a federal law brought in by his father — the Roosevelt-Wilson Act — would be used in his trial. His father’s legislation meant crimes committed abroad, like Dick’s, were tried as if they had been committed in the continental USA.
The political demise of the young Senator Roosevelt had become inevitable ever since the world logged on to the videostream being broadcast from the Pantheon. Since people now realised how dangerous Dick’s firm, the Roosevelt Guardians, had become — a danger to American democracy itself — they had to be disbanded. Other private security firms would soon face strict controls. Myles smiled as he saw Susan, who had been seconded to Sam Roosevelt’s office, now back with the Department for Homeland Security, interviewed on the rolling news. She made the point very welclass="underline" ‘Private’ had to be taken from ‘security’, since security was always a public matter…
New private security legislation was championed with the slogan ‘Driving standards up to drive the bad boys out’. There was even a cross-party consensus in the US Senate on the issue. It would have made Sam Roosevelt proud.
The Senators were also pleased to be able — finally — to dispel the continuing rumours about pornography on their computers. Once seen as the most innocent amongst them, Senator Dick Roosevelt was now the most guilty. In time, his name would become a byword for sharp practices and behaviour which threatened the constitution of the United States.
After two weeks in Rome, Myles was fit enough to take a flight. He and Helen flew back to the United States together, where he could convalesce in her New England home. Even though they tried to keep the details secret, it didn’t stop him being treated as a hero by reporters and well-wishers as he passed — again — through JFK airport.