“Do it anyway. It’s better than nothing.”
Roland switched on a flashlight with a dark red bulb and lowered it through the grate. “When you walk north, you’ll see green, white, blue and red lights. This red flashlight is the most important one. It means you’re thirty meters from the target.”
He tied the end of the fishing line to the grate, and they headed down the street to Ludgate Circus. A hundred years ago, this had been a busy square filled with peddlers, but now it was just another sterile intersection with a grid of yellow lines on the pavement. There were plenty of storm drains in the area, and they lowered the blue flashlight through a grate near the lane. Continuing down New Bridge Street, they lowered the white flashlight near the Blackfriars pub and headed for the Thames.
The fourth flashlight was left in a drain near the Unilever building, a large cream-colored structure with an outer façade that made it look like a Greek temple. Maya knew the building was just another statement of power, but the grand gesture in the classical style was very appealing. And what’s the symbol for my generation? she wondered. A surveillance camera?
When they reached Blackfriars Bridge, they took a staircase down to Pauls Walk, the pedestrian pathway that ran alongside the river. Blackfriars Railway Bridge was directly overhead, and Maya heard the click and clatter of a train crossing over to Waterloo Station.
Jugger sat on a bench with a waterproof knapsack that carried her equipment. He finished a conversation on his mobile phone and switched it off. “I just talked to Sebastian. He followed the charwoman back to her flat.”
“I don’t want her working tonight,” Maya said.
“No worries. Simon Lumbroso called her and said the building was closed because of a chemical spill. She won’t be coming in.”
Maya walked over to the parapet wall and gazed out at the city lights reflected on the Thames. In the daytime, the river was simply part of the scenery. Tourists rode to the top of the Millennium Wheel and took snapshots of Westminster. But at night the Thames seemed dark and powerful, passing like a silent force through the flash and bustle of London.
A steel ladder was bolted to the parapet. It allowed maintenance worker to climb down to a culvert that dribbled water into the Thames. According to Nora Griggs, this outlet was all that remained of the mighty River Fleet.
Roland and Jugger stood beside her with the gear. During the last few days, they purchased most of her equipment and helped her organize the plan. Both Free Runners were still wary of her anger and Jugger looked tense whenever weapons appeared. After rummaging through his knapsack, Roland pulled out a pair of rubber waders. “Better put these on. You’re going to be walking up a river.”
A grim-faced jogger ran past them followed by an East Asian couple holding hands. No one seemed surprised that she was pulling on the waders. With their hard hats and vests, Maya and the two Free Runners looked like city employees about to deal with a drainage problem.
Jugger held up the waterproof knapsack and she slipped it over her shoulders. She adjusted the straps, pulling them tight. When everything was ready, she placed the two special shotgun rounds into the outer pocket of the waders.
“I thought the shotgun was already loaded,” Jugger said.
“Linden gave me these. They’re breaching rounds for blowing out a door lock.”
“Bloody hell …” Jugger looked impressed.
Roland handed her the bolt cutters, and she clipped them to a ring attached to the waders. “Watch out for sink holes and don’t touch your eyes,” Roland said. “Rats live in the tunnels. If bacteria from their waste enter your body, you might get something called Weil’s disease. It’s difficult to cure.”
“That’s a pleasant fact. Anything else I need to know?”
Roland looked embarrassed. “I would like to ask one last question.”
Because you think I’m going to die
, Maya thought. But she nodded to the Yorkshireman. “Go ahead.”
“You Harlequins say: ‘Damned by the flesh. Saved by the blood.’”
“That’s right.”
“So whose flesh and whose blood?”
“We’re damned because we’re human beings. But we’re willing to sacrifice ourselves for something more important than our own lives.”
Roland nodded. “Good luck, Maya.”
“Thank you. You’ve fulfilled your obligation.”
Both Free Runners relaxed and Jugger made a nervous smile. “It was an honor to help you, Maya. I swear that’s true. During the last few days, Roland and me have felt like Honorary Harlequins.”
Mother Blessing would have slapped him across the face for that presumptuous statement, but Maya let it to go. If everyone’s life had value and meaning, then she had to respect citizens and drones.
“Keep your mobiles switched on,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get out of the building.”
Maya scrambled over the wall and climbed down the ladder to the grate. Using the bolt cutters, she cut off a rusty padlock, pulled open the hinged grate, and stepped into the culvert. Mother Blessing had always insisted that
weapons come first. Everything else is second
. Maya’s two knives were already strapped to her forearms. Shifting
the knapsack, she pulled out her sword and a combat shotgun with a carrying strap. She tied the sword’s scabbard to the side of the pack and slung the shotgun strap around her neck. Finally, she pulled out a high intensity headlamp and touched the switch on the power pack.
Moving the light beam back and forth, Maya studied the culvert. She had expected to find a large concrete pipe, but the Fleet was contained within a brick-lined tunnel about eight feet high with a level floor, curving sides and an arched ceiling. Although London’s citizens took the Tube to work, they rarely thought about what was underground. The River Fleet had flowed through London during riots and wars and the Great Fire. It had existed in Shakespeare’s time and in the Roman Era. Perhaps it had drained the melting glaciers from the last Ice Age. All that was past, and now the river was held captive. The lower part of the tunnel was covered with algae, and the rest of the tunnel had a white crust that reminded her of toothpaste left in a sink.
Knee-deep in the cold water, she took her first step forward. Ripples appeared and waves sloshed against the walls. The base of the culvert was covered with silt mixed with gravel. When her boots sunk six inches into the muck, she realized it would take time and effort to reach Ludgate Circus.
Her shadow glided across the walls as she headed up the tunnel. Ten minutes later, she saw the glow of green light coming from a drain pipe that emptied into the tunnel. At least she was moving in the right direction. There was a “Y” juncture about twenty yards north of the light. Using a can of spray paint, Maya made a diamond sign on the wall. She went to the left, following the river where the current felt stronger.
She couldn’t find the white flashlight near Blackfriars pub, but continued onward. The culvert became smaller—about five feet
high—and her hard hat scraped against the rough brick surface. Fiber optical cables appeared, fastened to the top of the culvert with brackets. The communications companies who wired the city for the Internet had realized that ripping up the streets would cost millions of pounds. Somehow they had persuaded the city authorities to give them free access to the Fleet. Maya wondered if Internet cables followed the routes of the other lost rivers.
Throughout her journey, she had passed through pockets of sewage. When the culvert turned right, she smelled an even stronger odor. Grease. Cooking oil. She was walking beneath a London restaurant that was draining its waste into the river.
A rat—about eight inches long from nose to tail—scurried across the bricks. As the cooking smell grew stronger, more rats appeared, and she felt sick to her stomach. Some of the rats ran away from the light, but others stayed frozen on the sloping sides of the culvert. Her light made their eyes look like little red beads. The culvert angled left, and when she came around the corner she saw hundreds of rats clinging to the wall. The light caused a panic, and some of the rats leaped into the river, making high-pitched squeaks as they splashed over to the other side.
The river current pushed the rats toward her. The water was high now, almost to her waist, and she could see the rats’ sharp noses and thin tails. Maya drew her sword and used the tip of the blade to flick the rats away. The grease smell was almost unbearable. A drop of water fell on her forehead.
Don’t touch your mouth or eyes
, she told herself.
A child is inside you, growing within this body
.
After twenty yards of culvert, the rats began to disappear. A few stragglers scurried away when she sloshed up the tunnel. She found the blue light near a Y-juncture, but there was no indication about which way to go. She took the right fork and was relieved to see the red marker.
How far to the Evergreen building? Was it thirty yards? Forty? She continued up the culvert until she found two fiber optical cables that ran into the culvert from a maintenance pipe in the ceiling. The pipe was about three feet wide and sealed with a hinged steel plate. When Maya tapped the plate with her knuckles, she heard a hollow sound.
Water swirled around her and white foam clung to the waders. Trying not to slip and fall, she loaded one of the breaching rounds into the shotgun. Then she held the weapon close to the plate and fired. The noise echoed down the tunnel. It was so loud that she almost fell backward. A six-inch hole had appeared in the plate, and she used the bolt cutters to hack through the steel.
Sweat covered her face, and she tried not to panic when it touched her lips. After transferring her weapons to the knapsack, she tied the bag to a nylon cord and looped the other end around her shoulders. Grabbing one of the cables, she began to climb hand-over-hand, the knapsack swinging beneath her. The cord dug into her skin and the dead weight tried to pull her down, but she kept climbing until she reached a closet-sized switching room. The breaching round had been very loud—the noise might have been picked up with a sensor. Perhaps the guards had been notified and now they were there, waiting for her.
Maya took a deep breath and kicked open the door.
M
aya found herself in a basement with old desks and chairs stacked against the wall. Using the light from her head lamp, she crossed the room and inspected the main electrical panel. Taped to its cover was an inspection certificate that gave the building address:
41 Limeburner Lane
. Her fatigue disappeared and she smiled. Nora Greggs was right: the lost rivers could take you anywhere in London.
She zipped open the knapsack, removed her gear, and tossed the bag and the waders into the closet. The Free Runners had supplied her with a pink smock with a company logo, cleaning supplies and a plastic bucket. Pulling on the smock, she considered an immediate assault on the four guards, then rejected the idea and placed the sword and shotgun in a nylon bag.
Her mind shifted into the Harlequin way of thinking as she left the basement and climbed up a short flight of stairs. Two doors were on the landing, one marked MAINTENANCE and another fastened with a padlock. She cut off the lock, slipped it into the front pocket of her jeans and stepped into the building’s emergency stairwell.
Seize
the summit
, Sparrow wrote in his book of meditations.
It is easier to fight your way down the mountain than to fight your way up
.
When she reached the fifth floor, she opened the door and stepped into a lobby in front of the elevators. A burly security guard sat behind a desk reading a men’s magazine. He looked startled by her sudden appearance.
“Evening,” Maya said, using a strong East London accent. “Where do I start cleaning?”
The guard hid the magazine beneath a newspaper. “And who the hell are you?”
“The regular girl was sick. I’m Lila.” She gestured to her pink smock. “… From the Merry Maids.”
“This is a restricted floor. You don’t clean here.”
It was important to get closer to him, inside the range of her knife. Smiling, she approached the desk. “Sorry! I talked to the guard at the entrance and he told me to go up the stairs.” She stopped near the side of the desk. “If I made a mistake,
please
don’t tell my supervisor. I’ve only had this job for three days. Don’t want to get sacked …”
The guard checked out her breasts and grinned. “Relax. A girl as pretty as you can make all kinds of mistakes.”
One step closer, she thought. Use the stiletto, not the throwing knife. Best target is the lower neck, between the shoulder blades.
“I’m calling down to the main desk,” the guard said. “I just want to see what’s going on.”
Maya came around the desk and stood behind him. “Thank you. I can see you’re a real gentleman.”
As the guard picked up the phone, Maya remembered the padlock she had cut off in the stairwell. She reached into her jeans, slipped the lock into the palm of her hand, then hit the guard on the side of the head. He lurched forward—dazed, but still conscious—so she hit him a second time in the middle of the forehead. The guard
was propelled backward onto the floor. Maya reached down and touched his carotid artery. Still alive.
She took a roll of duct tape out of the nylon bag, gagged the young man, and taped his ankles and wrists. Then she picked up her supplies and hurried down the hallway. There were three locked doors, and all of them used wall-mounted sensors instead of keys. Her lock picks and bolt cutters were useless.
Maya returned to the desk and crouched beside the guard. She wasn’t surprised to find a small scar on the back of his right hand; in order to get the job he had agreed to carry a Protective Link chip beneath his skin. She grabbed the guard by his feet and dragged him down the hallway. When they reached the first door, she pulled up the guard’s hand and passed it in front of the sensor. Nothing. Perhaps he wasn’t authorized to enter that room. A cut on the guard’s head smeared a line of blood across the carpet as she dragged him over to the second door. Once again, she raised his hand. This time the door clicked open.