Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy (22 page)

Straining to see anything in the darkness, Neahle gripped Monkey’s arm. She felt his hand on hers, giving her reassurance. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on his shoulder, giving her eyes a rest and listening for any unusual sounds.

Without warning, Monkey pulled her down to her knees, then pushed her behind him, up against the wall. Looking around his body, she could make out vague light down the tunnel. It was so far away that it barely registered as light at first, but it was definitely coming closer and getting brighter. She could make out the others now.

Riley turned them back and pushed them along the wall, all of them crouching and moving along as quickly as they could. Riley moved ahead, Clay right beside him; he stood upright and picked up the pace. Two hundred yards down, he dropped to his knees, silently released a grate from the wall, and pointed with his penlight. Without a pause, all of them squeezed into the narrow space. Monkey was been the first in; he crept slowly around a bend, pulling Neahle with him. When all six of them were inside, Riley hissed slightly for quiet and pulled the grate in place. Everyone froze.

It took ten minutes for the group of people to get to their grate. They were scuffling along making a lot of noise, holding bright torches aloft. It had the air of a party, with lots of giggling and jostling.

“Ariel ain’t got no more weed, an’ Mickey, he give us all kinds of aggro when we come up on him last week. Got right cheesed off.” The voice was female, speaking in a half whispered strong Liverpool accent.

“Bollocks,” a male voice said. “Ariel’s got sumfin, she just ain’t wantin’ ta share. We’ll have to pinch it.”

“Cain’t,” an older sounding voice said. “Ariel’s got a source, and the rest’a us got sod all. We steal sumfin from her, that’s the end’a it.”

“Then we got sod all,” the female voice said, breaking into giggles again.

“T’aint funny, Fan,” the older man said, sounding glum.

“Maybe you gotta go to work for a change then, mate,” Fan said.

“Ya can’t wangle sumfin?” the younger man said.

“Oh ta, sure, why not. I’ll just leg it over to the Bakerloo, take a dekko at their stash, and… What? Offer my services?” The woman snorted in disgust.

Another woman piped up. “Ain’t gonna get much for that, Fan!” She broke out in peels of laughter.

“Stuff it!” Fan said. The giggles persisted but the talking stopped; the group continued towards Earl’s Court down the long, dark tunnel.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

R
iley didn’t move them out
of the pipe for another twenty minutes, by which time everyone’s legs and back were cramped and stiff. No one said a word or turned on a flashlight. The dark silence seemed interminable.

When they were standing and stretching, Neahle said softly, “They didn’t seem so bad.”

“Junkies,” Abacus said. “Not bad unless they get bad stuff, need money or something to trade, or they think you’re stealing from them. But it’s best not to interact with them. They don’t have any loyalties except to their next fix.”

Riley agreed. “They’re better than gangs, but they buy from gangs, which is another reason to steer clear. They’d sell us out in a heartbeat if they thought they could get a couple of months of meth or anything else out of it.” Riley adjusted his pack and aimed his flashlight to the floor. “Rule of thumb, especially when you’re in a new territory—don’t talk to anybody unless one of us introduces you. Then you’ll know they’re rebels and on our side.”

The three pairs began walking again and Riley picked up the pace. Neahle still clung to Monkey’s sleeve. Sarah and Abacus brought up the rear this time. They walked as quickly as they could on the uneven ground, keeping their eyes on the small circles of light in front of their feet.

They arrived at Green Park Station at noon. Riley had been extremely cautious at all the stations, but they hadn’t had an encounter with anyone else. All the platforms were being used as campsites but they never saw anyone on them. Voices carried through the darkness and once they heard guitar music drifting through the tunnels. Neahle had never been so happy to see a cloudy sky in her life as when they emerged from the station.

Green Park was across the street. It had begun to return to the wild, with long grass, saplings, piles of leaves, and fallen trees littering the once pristine lawns and tree lined walks. Riley led them across the street into the shadowy park.

“We’re going to stay here until dark. There’s a lot of activity around—it’s making me nervous. I’d rather stay hidden and go to the auction house later.”

Abacus nodded, trusting his best London operative’s judgment. Neahle and Clay both looked around, confused.

“I don’t see anybody,” Clay finally said, watching Monkey and Sarah get comfortable against an enormous tree trunk.

“Listen,” Monkey said. He pulled out a bottle of water and a sandwich and started to eat.

Clay listened. He looked at his sister and shrugged, raising his eyebrows to ask if she understood what was going on. She shook her head slightly, then sat next to Sarah and tried to get comfortable on the damp leaves. Clay closed his eyes and stood still, letting the sounds of the breeze and the birds fade as he tried to listen beyond them.

He began to hear it. Faintly, coming from the streets nearby, he could hear engines. They sounded like cars, expensive ones at that, with soft, purring motors. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated. Something that sounded vaguely like a tractor or a boat, farther away. Periodically, voices. Electronic sounds tinkled right on the edge of his hearing.

“Cars. A boat?” He looked at Riley in question.

“The Thames is south, not that far. A few blocks. They move supplies by boat.”

“People. Maybe with cell phones or something?” Clay said.

Riley nodded. “Firsts have cell phones. Good hearing.”

“I couldn’t hear anything at first,” Clay said. “It sounded like a dead city to me.”

“Me, too. I still don’t hear all that!” Neahle said.

“You get used to listening for it when your life depends on it,” Riley said, dropping his back pack to the ground. “I’ll take first watch. Two hours each for me, Monkey, and then Abacus. That’ll take us to dark. Then we’ll move. Get some rest—sleep, if you can, since we’ll need to work most of the night. Little girls’ tree is right over there.” He pointed to a dense grouping of shrubs and smiled.

“Gee, thanks,” Sarah said. “All the comforts of home.”

Over the course of the afternoon, Neahle began to hear the quiet sounds that drifted through the park. Their location was only blocks from Westminster, which the Firsts had taken over years before. Belgravia and Mayfair were populated neighborhoods, the old homes and stately streets being convenient to the former government headquarters. Buckingham Palace was not far, and it, too, had been turned into offices and laboratories. While nothing like the pre-war traffic London had been famous for, the soft hum of cars going by was a constant.

Night came early and everyone gathered their belongings, stuffed any trash into their packs, and huddled together next to their ancient tree.

“Okay,” Riley began. He pointed to the right. “There’s a little footpath from the park to a group of old houses. We’re going to take that path and get on Little St. James Street. There’s an old gentlemen’s club there, the Carlton, and we’ll skirt in front of that, then head down King Street. That’s where Christie’s is; it pretty much takes up the whole second block. It’s not far, and there are a lot of trees for cover. Don’t take any unnecessary chances—stay with your partner, stay silent, go fast. There are a lot of occupied office buildings all along in here, although the entrances are on Pall Mall, and we’re on the back side. If we get separated, go to Fortnum and Mason. It’s an old department store on the corner of Jermyn and Duke. Duke’s the street just past Christie’s. Your partners know. Got it?” He looked at everyone again, collecting nods. “No lights. Go.”

The moon was hidden by clouds but there was dim light cast by street lights on Piccadilly and Pall Mall. They found the footpath and followed the route Riley had laid out, jogging silently on their sneakers. Neahle, not a runner, tried to keep her breathing quiet. It would be embarrassing to get caught because she was out of shape. The Carlton Club loomed up at them; they didn’t pause, skirting in front of it and picking up King Street. Christie’s was dark, its four story flat facade of light stone rising from the edge of the sidewalk. They came to a stop in front of it.

“Front door?” Sarah whispered.

Riley shook his head and pointed forward. They all followed. He turned left onto St. James Street, jogged quickly along the fully exposed sidewalk, and slid left into an alley. Winding their way around several buildings and the wings of adjacent galleries, they came to the back of the auction house. Riley pointed and the others saw a broken window near the steel back door. Shining his flashlight around the door, they saw that there was a thin piece of cardboard sticking out near the handle, preventing the door from locking. He swung it open, and they all slipped inside.

Chapter Thirty

S
tanding huddled together in the
doorway, they watched as Riley clicked on a larger flashlight and reconnoitered the nearby offices. In five minutes he was back, looking more relaxed.

“Obviously someone has broken in here before, but it looks like no one’s been here in a long time. There are no fresh footprints other than mine.” He swept the beam across the floor. “Cleaning crew hasn’t made it for awhile,” he said smiling. Decades of dust coated the floor.

“So what’s the plan?” Clay asked Abacus.

“We split up and try to find a records room. My guess is it’s in a basement or on the first floor.” He turned to the group. “We’re looking for two things, and they might be in different places: old records, which would include files and ledgers, and either discs or portable hard drives for back-up data storage. You’ve got your duffels. We’ll look at the physical files here, but we’ll take the data. Stay in your pairs, and if you find something, come find the rest of us. Questions?”

Everyone shook their heads “no.”

“Let’s hit it,” he said, clicking on his full sized flashlight. Everyone else clicked on theirs and spread out in the huge building.

It was quickly apparent that the former break-in had been to steal whatever could be carried and sold on the black market. Offices had been trashed, and the galleries and showrooms were bare of anything weighing less than two hundred pounds. There were still sculptures and metal art pieces covered with dust and cobwebs stuck in corners throughout the building. Neahle let out a startled scream when she turned a corner and ran into a full suit of armor on display along the wall.

“Good Lord!” she murmured. Monkey laughed and kept walking.

They found an emergency stairwell and started down, surprised to find that there were actually two levels to the basement.

“One or two?” Monkey asked.

“Two. Start at the bottom and work our way up. This place is enormous!” Neahle felt like she had to whisper in the stuffy space.

The basement was pitch black. The two shined their flashlights down the hall. There were doors on either side, as far as their light reached.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Monkey said. “If they’re locked, I’ll come back and pick ‘em. Let’s do the easy ones first.”

The metal doors opened silently on oiled hinges, revealing store rooms, offices, closets, and a small kitchenette. None were locked on the first hall. There was a ninety-degree turn to the right; they kept going, opening doors, shining their flashlights in the dark rooms, closing the doors softly, and moving on.