New Pompeii Read Online Free PDF

a
reservation
?”
    “I’m meeting someone,” Nick replied, keeping his voice low. “My name is Nick Houghton…?”
    At the mention of his name, the
maître d’
blinked in surprise, and then adopted a fixed, professional smile. “Of course; we are expecting you.”
    Nodding, Nick allowed himself to be led past the other diners and seated at a table near the back of the restaurant, close to the kitchen doors. The position gave him a clear view of the main dining area – but also meant he had to face the crowd. The
maître d’
hovered by his side. It took a moment to realise there were some papers and a pen set out on the table in front of him. Nick glanced at them, and recognised the lengthy, complex constructions of legalese.
    “What’s this?”
    “If you would sign, initial and date the non-disclosure agreement, sir?”
    Non-disclosure agreement? Nick flicked through the documentation. From the contract’s title and opening paragraphs, he guessed he wasn’t to discuss the content of the meeting with anyone. After a moment’s hesitation, he scribbled his name at the appropriate points and was left to sit on his own.
    His mobile phone buzzed.
    Another message from Ronnie. One word:
Bastard
. Frowning, confused, he deleted it and turned his attention back to the table. It was set for two others. They appeared a couple of minutes later. The tall, well-built man from the British Museum, and the CEO of Novus Particles, Harold McMahon.
    Nick stumbled to his feet, but remained completely mute. Harold McMahon. The man was in his fifties, and fat. His hair was black, but clearly dyed. Overall, he looked a long way short of the Machiavellian character portrayed by the press. Still, here he was: sitting down at the table. He didn’t acknowledge Nick’s presence. In contrast, the tall man extended his hand, and gave Nick a warm smile.
    “My name is Mark Whelan, Chief Operating Officer at NovusPart. And this is Harold McMahon, our Chief Executive Officer.”
    For a long moment, Nick remained frozen. Finally though, he shook Whelan’s hand and sat down. Both McMahon and Whelan sat with their backs to the rest of the diners. The seating arrangement effectively made them anonymous, except that a few feet away stood a couple of security guards. Both of whom were armed.
    Nick stared at McMahon, struggling to find something to say which wouldn’t sound stupid. Fortunately, the arrival of the waiting staff covered his silence.
    “We took the liberty of ordering in advance,” explained Whelan, indicating the tiny portions of salmon being set in front of them. “News of Mr McMahon’s whereabouts usually travels fast and, as you found out last night, there are certain groups with whom we’re quite unpopular.”
    Nick continued to flounder. “I don’t get what this is all about.”
    “It’s about the fact that five of your friends tried to pull some sort of stunt last night,” said Whelan. “But you somehow didn’t fit with the rest of the group. In fact, we could only find a connection between you and one of them, Ronald Saunders.”
    Some sort of stunt
. So they didn’t know what Ronnie’s pals had been plotting. Something hadn’t gone to plan. “Okay,” he said, feeling some of the tension leaving him. “And the non-disclosure agreement?”
    “We don’t expect you to tell anyone about the details of this meeting.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Nick. His mind focused on his father. “I won’t.”
    “Good, so let’s get straight to the point. We have an opening at our company for a researcher. And then you landed in our laps last night. We’ve seen your CV. You seem to have all the right skills, if not the qualifications.”
    Nick was about to pick at some of the salmon, but quickly stopped. Was he hearing right? “You’re offering me a job?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “After what happened last night?”
    Whelan nodded. “Especially after what happened last night.”
    Nick looked at McMahon. The CEO