Roland, the quiet young man from Yorkshire, sat at the table answering email while Jugger bustled about the room. His appearance hadn’t changed since joining the Resistance; his T-shirt was too small and revealed a patch of his flabby stomach.
“Tea?” he asked everyone. “How about a nice cup of tea?”
“Not right now.” Maya sat down on the couch. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Alice Chen.”
“Yesterday afternoon, I talked to the nun who was traveling with Alice,” Simon said. “Apparently, a man and a woman got on the train at Crewe and entered the compartment. They injected the nun with
a powerful sedative right before they arrived in London The man wore a tweed suit and had a Welsh accent. They were carrying a large rolling suitcase.”
Jugger scratched his stomach. “After Simon gave us that description, we searched through the images taken by one of the City of London traffic cameras near the Evergreen Foundation office. Go ahead, Roland. Show Maya what we found.”
Black and white images appeared on the screen along with a time stamp at the bottom right hand corner. The city-owned camera took a photograph every five seconds, but most the images only showed the street and the entrance to the Foundation building. As Roland searched through the images, Maya noticed that several of the foundation employees had been tagged with nicknames and other information.
“Susie Secretary arrives at 8:20hrs. Friends with Mr. Bald Head.”
“This is the feed two days ago when the little girl was kidnapped,” Roland said. “I remember these people because of their suitcase.”
The image on the monitor showed that a London taxi had stopped in front of the entrance. A middle-aged woman wearing a rain hat stood on the curb watching a man lift a black suitcase out of the trunk.
“I recognize them,” Maya said. “When I arrived at the station, they had just left the train with the other passengers.”
In the next five images, the couple maneuvered the rolling suitcase onto the sidewalk and pushed it into the building.
“Return to the third image,” Maya said. “No—the one after that.”
The monitor showed the man using two hands to pull the suitcase onto the curb.
“See that? It’s heavy because Alice is inside. That’s how they got her out of the train.”
“We’re fairly sure that she’s still in the building,” Jugger said.
“None of the subsequent images show either a child or a large container being removed from the area.”
“Where’s Nathan Boone?” Maya asked.
“We hacked into the computer of the woman who handles travel arrangements for the Evergreen Foundation,” Roland said. “Boone traveled to Thailand on a commercial flight six days ago.”
“Boone wants to question the child,” Maya said. “They’ll keep her alive until he returns to London.”
“So what are you going to do?” Jugger asked. “Ever since the attack in Berlin, the Tabula have increased their security. Even at night there are at least four armed guards in the Foundation building.”
“Alice Chen is the only surviving witness to what happened at New Harmony,” Maya said. “But there is a larger issue. When Gabriel met the Nighthawk, he said that the Resistance is more than just destroying the Vast Machine. We need to believe that each individual life has value and meaning.”
Jugger nodded. “Sure. I think that’s right.”
“Alice’s life has value and meaning, and that means we’re going to save her. I’ll need your help to break into the Foundation building.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about Harlequin business,” Jugger said. “We don’t go around fighting people.”
“I saved your life, Jugger. I pulled you and Roland and your friend Sebastian out of a burning house.”
“Yes, and we—we appreciate that,” he stammered.
“You have an obligation.”
“We’re grateful, Maya. Everybody’s grateful. All I’m saying is that we’re not like you and Linden. I’ll go on the Internet and organize people, paint slogans on walls—things like that. But I’m not going to be part of an attack on a Foundation building. That could bloody well get us killed.”
The anger she had felt all morning surged through her body and she jumped up from the couch. The heels of her boots clicked across the floor as she approached Jugger and pointed her finger at his face.
“I just said something. But I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“I’m—I’m listening.”
“Good. Because when a Harlequin says ‘you have obligation,’ that does not mean that there’s a choice. I’m not
wishing
for your help. I’m not
hoping
for some benevolent impulse. I’m expecting your help
now.”
“Right. No problem. Glad to be helpful.” Jugger was sweating. “But it’s going to be difficult to get into the building with a weapon. After you pass through the door, there’s an L-shaped hallway that leads to the security desk. I’m sure they do a backscatter scan of all their visitors.”
“If we can’t go in the front door, then we’ll have to break in from the top, the bottom or the sides.”
“The walls are too thick,” Simon said. “And we would have to gain access to a nearby building.”
“What about a hot air balloon?” Jugger seemed desperate to offer a solution. “You could float across the Thames and land on the roof.”
“Underground?” Maya asked Simon.
“Possibly. This is an old city—like Rome.”
“Hold it! Wait! I know what you need!” Jugger said. “You need an
incredible
disguise.”
“A few months ago, this old lady was at the Hope Pub,” Roland said with a solemn voice.
Jugger looked annoyed. “We don’t want to hear about some old lady. We’re trying to solve a problem here.”
“She was handing out pamphlets—about freeing the rivers.”
“What rivers are you talking about?” Simon asked gently.
“The lost rivers. The ones that flow under the streets.”
“So where are they?” Maya asked. “Any underneath Ludgate Circus?”
Roland shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t tell you that. And I won’t say something that’s not true.”
“We called her Crazy Nora,” Jugger said. “She had maps …”
—
A quick Internet search gave them an address in Finchley, and a few hours later Maya and Simon were walking past the cricket grounds on Waterfall Road. There appeared to be a great many parks and playing fields in Finchley. Jamaican nannies with phone headsets pushed baby carriages while schoolboys kicked a ball. But the largest space in the neighborhood was taken up by the weeping angels and mausoleums of the Great Northern Cemetery. Maya had a vision of thousands of dead Victorians traveling on a ghost train to this final resting place.
Simon turned the corner on to Brookdale Street and stopped under a flowering cherry tree. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just a little tired. That’s all.”
“You were harsh with Jugger and Roland. Usually, it is better to be gentle with your friends—
delicato
. The Free Runners want to be helpful, but they are frightened.”
“I don’t have the time to be diplomatic.”
“Anger can also waste time,” Simon said. “You have always been like your father, careful and deliberate. But lately—not so much.”
“I’m worried about Alice Chen. She’s the same age I was when a lot of bad things happened.”
“Would you like to talk about that?”
“No.”
“Is there anything else you would like to talk about? I’m sure it troubles you that Gabriel has crossed over …”
For a moment, she wanted to break down, embrace her father’s old friend, and tell him about the pregnancy. No tears, she told herself. Tears won’t save Alice or Gabriel or anyone else in this world. As Simon watched, she rearranged her sword carrier and stood a little straighter.
“I’m alright. Let’s find this woman and see if she has any underground maps.”
They continued down the street until they reached number fifty one—a two-story brick house that had once displayed grand pretensions. Greek columns created a portico leading to the front door and a Doric façade ran around the edge of the roof. Signs had been placed among the weeds and brambles of what had once been a front lawn. FREE THE RIVERS.
Inquire Within
.
Maya and Simon walked up a flagstone pathway and knocked on the door. Almost immediately they heard a woman’s voice coming from a distant part of the house. “I’m here!” The woman kept shouting as she passed through different rooms. “Here! I’m here!”
Maya glanced at Simon and saw that he was smiling. “Someone dwells within,” he said pleasantly.
The door was flung open and they faced a small woman in her seventies. Her long gray hair went off in every direction, and she wore a T-shirt that displayed the slogan:
Break Your Chains
.
“Good afternoon, madam. I am Dr. Pannelli, and this is my friend, Judith Strand. We were walking to the park and saw your signs. Ms. Strand is curious about your organization. If you are not busy, perhaps you could tell us a bit more.”
“No!” the woman said with a big smile. “Not busy. Not busy at all. Come in, Mister … I didn’t hear the name.”
“Dr. Pannelli. And this is my friend, Ms. Strand.”
They followed the woman into what had once been the front parlor. All the chairs and tables were covered with stacks of pamphlets, books and yellowing newspapers. There were plastic pails filled with smooth river stones and glass jars sealed with red wax and marked with cryptic labels.
“Just push away the clutter and find someplace to sit.” The woman took a stack of books off a wicker chair and dumped them onto a folding cot. “I’m Nora Griggs, the Chairwoman and chief recording secretary of Free the Rivers.”
“An honor to meet you,” Simon said smoothly. “So what exactly does your organization
do?”
“It’s all rather simple, Dr. Pannelli. Free the Rivers describes our vision and our goal. I could have called it ‘Free the London Rivers,’ but once we’re done here, we’ll move on to the rest of the world.”
“Is the Thames not free?” Simon asked.
“We’re talking about all the
other
rivers that used to run through London, like the Westbourne, the Tyburn and the Walbrook. Now they’re covered up with brick and concrete.”
“And your organization wants to—”
“Blow up the concrete and let the rivers run free. Imagine a London where pensioners can fish in their neighborhood trout stream. A city where children play and lovers stroll along the banks of a babbling brook.”
“A charming vision,” Simon said in a soothing voice.
“It’s more than charming, Dr. Pannelli. A society that frees its rivers can take the first step toward freeing their minds. Children need to realize that rivers don’t follow straight lines.”
Maya glanced at Simon—
this is going nowhere
—but he didn’t seem to mind.
“I work near Ludgate Circus,” he said. “Is there a river in that area?”
“Yes. The River Fleet. It starts in Hampstead, and then runs beneath Camden Town, Smithfield Market and Ludgate Circus.”
“And you’re sure it’s still there?” Maya asked.
“Of course it’s there! You can cover up the rivers, dam them and fill them with rubbish, but they will always fight back. In time, all the skyscrapers and office buildings will fall down, but the rivers will remain.”
“Brava, Ms. Griggs! This sounds like an outstanding organization.” Simon reached into his coat pocket and took out his wallet. He hesitated and then—very deliberately—put the wallet away. “You speak with such passion and sincerity that it feels
indelicate
to ask any question.”
“Be my guest,” Nora said. “Ask away!”
“Do you have any proof of your statement? Do you have photographs or maps of these rivers.”
“Maps? I’ve got plenty of those.” Nora pulled out a cardboard box, and everything fell onto the floor. Quickly, she knelt down and began scooping up pamphlets.
“Do you have a map of the River Fleet? Ms. Strand and I enjoy exploring London. It would be most educational to the follow the course of the Fleet through the city.”
“The Fleet starts up on Hampstead Heath and empties out of a nasty little drainage pipe beneath Blackfriars Bridge. The rest of the time, it’s underground, flowing beneath our madness and confusion.”
“I see. But
you
know where it goes.”
Nora finished picking up the pamphlets and made a sly smile. “And you would, too—if you become members.”
Once again, Simon took out his wallet. “Do we pay dues? Sign a petition? What’s the procedure?”
“Five pounds apiece and you get membership cards, although I might have misplaced the cards.”
Looking flustered, Nora hurried off into what had once been the dining room and began to rummage through boxes and paper sacks.
Maya leaned forward spoke quietly to Simon. “Do you believe any of this?”
“That the River Fleet is still there? There’s no question of that. And ten pounds is a fair price for a good map.”
“Here we are!” Looking triumphant, Nora Griggs stood in the doorway and waved her treasure. “Membership cards!”
W
earing a yellow hard hat and a reflector vest with the City of London logo, Maya stood across the street from the Evergreen Foundation building on Limeburner Lane. It was about ten o’clock in the evening and no one was out, but she was wary of the surveillance cameras mounted on the wall over the building’s entrance.
Roland was halfway down the block searching for a storm drain that emptied rainwater into the Fleet River. According to Nora Grigg’s map, the river was directly below them, flowing in the darkness toward the Thames.
At night, the Evergreen building looked like a chess board—a grid of lines marking out black or gray squares. Light came from the vertical line of windows marking the emergency staircase and from two curtained windows on the fifth floor. Maybe Alice is being held there, Maya thought. Or maybe some accountant forgot to switch off his desk lamp.
Roland raised his hand and she hurried down the street to join him. The Free Runner was also wearing a hard hat and reflector vest.
He rummaged through a knapsack and pulled out a flashlight attached to thirty feet of nylon fishing line.
“This drain is the closest we can get to the building. But I can’t promise you that the outflow pipe leads to the river.”