New Pompeii Read Online Free PDF Page B

of NovusPart still hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation. He seemed uninterested. Sullen. “And you need a historian?”
    McMahon rolled some salmon in his cheek, and glanced towards his operations chief. “Not me.
Him
.”
    Whelan smiled, perhaps a little embarrassed. Nick’s assessment at the British Museum had been correct. The guy’s physical size clearly hid an active brain. “I’ve already assembled a very good team for our new project. However, we have a last-minute vacancy we’re looking to fill. Initially on a six-week trial period, with a view to a permanent position.”
    Nick nodded. “And the others on your team?”
    “Most are young men like yourself… but you’ll have heard of Eric Samson?”
    Nick blinked, surprised. “
Professor
Eric Samson?”
    “Yes.”
    “But he was very vocal… I mean, he wrote a series of articles…” Nick felt his words disappear as he sensed he’d said the wrong thing. McMahon, however, just grunted and continued to eat.
    “After Flight 391, Professor Samson wrote a series of articles and papers attacking NovusPart,” said Whelan. He didn’t sound concerned. “Just like your father did… before his disgrace.”
    Nick flinched. Disgrace. A much more damning assessment than “mistakes”. “My father isn’t one of your biggest fans.”
    “I know,” replied Whelan. “He thinks it’s immoral that a private corporation has access to our technology.”
    McMahon stirred. “Tough. We developed it.”
    “Quite,” continued Whelan. “But we know all this because we do a lot of due diligence, Mr Houghton. And we’re looking to build a very small, select team.”
    Nick nodded slowly, trying to buy himself time. Samson was one of those historians who liked to dip in and out of a wide range of periods. But his major interest was alternative history, the TV-friendly stuff. The questions of what might have been:
what if Hitler had died during the Great War; what if the Princes in the Tower had been rescued; what if the Soviets had won the space race?
So it made sense that NovusPart would be interested in him. But still. “Samson works for you?”
    “Samson works for us,” confirmed Whelan. He let out a short sigh – the first real sign of impatience. The muscles in his neck flexed beneath his collar. “Look,” he said. “We know about your father. And we also know about your mother.”
    Nick felt a line of sweat trickle down his back.
    “If you don’t want to hear any more,” Whelan continued, “we can part on good terms. But your CV is a suitable match with what we’re looking for. And it’s the only reason you’re sitting here tonight, instead of being with your friends.”
    Nick nodded. “Like you said, only one of them is my friend. And just for the record: I don’t buy into all that conspiracy crap.”
    Whelan wasn’t listening. He was already halfway through a dismissive wave. “I think it’s rather clear where the lack of brains sat last night,” he said, before turning towards his boss. “Should we continue?”
    McMahon grunted as he swallowed. He stared out from eyes that looked small against the fleshiness of his face. “You ever met a guy called James Harris?” he asked.
    Nick shook his head. “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.”
    McMahon didn’t look too convinced. He glanced towards Whelan, and pushed away the remains of his starter. “It’s your call. But you’re making a pretty big leap of fucking logic.”
    “Okay,” said Whelan, turning back to Nick. “So what do you know about NovusPart?”
    Nick hesitated. “You can transport things. Objects. People. From the past into the present.”
    “And what do you think about that?”
    “I think it’s probably wasted on putting on shows at the British Museum.”
    “The Peking Man? That’s just a PR exercise.”
    “Still…”
    McMahon took a large gulp of wine. “Don’t ask us about the gold,” he said.
    “I suppose the more interesting question,”