Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy (25 page)

“Down!” Riley said. They all ducked low, tucking themselves into the bushes as best they could. The car, a sleek black Audi R8, purred south down the road, never slowing. It turned left at Lower Grovesnor Place, just past the park.

When its lights were completely gone, Riley dashed across the wide street and down Wilton, leading them down the south side under a line of trees planted in the sidewalk. The didn’t stop until they reached Upper Belgrave Street, another wide, dimly lit road. Pausing only long enough to check both ways for headlights, Riley ran catty-corner, aiming for a small park. When he reached it, he got out of sight of the road and knelt down, breathing hard. Everyone slid to a crouch.

“Having fun yet?” he whispered, grinning.

They left Eaton Square Park at Lyall Street, a two lane, one way road heading east. There were few lights on the street but many from the large townhouses along the way. The sixth block was long and industrial; they welcomed the darkness. The next block was short, and at the end of it Riley pulled them into a recessed doorway, crowding them in.

“We’ve got to cross Buckingham Palace Road, but the block after that is offices. They should be dark. The Overground track runs across some empty land; once we’re on that, we should be fine. Keep a good pace until we get to the Imperial Wharf Station. If you get separated, hit the tracks, go south to the station, and underground. Find the portal and get home.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Holding up a hand for them to wait, he slid down the building to the corner and checked the road. Waving them forward, they ran flat out across the road, and then crossed the smaller St. George’s Drive to get to the right side of the road. They found themselves in a scrubby area full of saplings in front of a massive building.

Rounding the corner, Riley slowed to a fast walk. Soon they came to the railway tracks. They hadn’t gone fifty feet when two dark figures appeared in front of them, large and menacing.

Riley stopped; the other five gathered around him, the men forming a line in front of Neahle and Sarah. Not taking his eyes off the locals, Riley said in a voice only his friends could here, “Straight down the tracks to the station, right? Don’t look back, just go.” He started to advance.

A male voice called out, “Whatcho want, mate?”

“To pass,” Riley replied. “That’s all.”

“Oh aye, that’s all. And why should we let you pass, leastwise without a dekko at whatcho got in them bags?”

“We’re minding our business. You mind yours,” Riley said, taking his large flashlight from the drink pouch of his back pack. Abacus did the same.

“This here track be our business.”

Monkey slipped back beside the girls and began to nudge them to right. Clay stayed in front of them, masking their movement in the dark. As the two assailants lunged forward, Riley and Abacus swung their heavy flashlights like clubs. Clay picked up a rock. Monkey took Neahle and Sarah by the hand, swung around away from the fracas, and then swerved back to the tracks, running as fast as they could go for the station.

Slamming through the doors, Monkey led them to the escalator. They plunged into the darkness. Halfway down, he clicked on a penlight, shining it at his feet. They jumped the stile, ran across the platform, and leapt to the tracks below, huddling there to catch their breath.

“What about…” Neahle began.

“Our job is to get back. They can take care of themselves,” Monkey interrupted. “We’re almost at the portal. Once we’re through, we’re safe. Ready?”

Looking up over her shoulder at the dark platform and seeing nothing, Neahle nodded. Sarah squeezed her hand. “They’ll come back,” she whispered in Neahle’s ear.

It was only a few hundred yards through the descending tunnel to the portal, and they flew through it to the safety of Paris, tears streaming down Neahle’s face. Grabbing the lit torch from the sconce, Monkey gave her a grim look and started down the tunnel, leaving Sarah to be the comforter.

“What if something happens to him?” Neahle sobbed.

“It won’t. He’s here for a reason, right? This whole thing about the Enigma machine was his idea. We need him.”

“And Abacus… And Riley…” Neahle wiped her face with her soaking wet sleeve.

“Those two have been in plenty of fights before. They’ve always come out on top. Have faith!” Sarah pulled off her own sweatshirt and started squeezing the water out. “Let’s just get home, get warm and dry, and have some food. They’ll be back before you know it.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

T
he men didn’t return for
almost two days. By then, Neahle was frantic. She spent all her time pacing, unable to eat or sleep. She was in the library trying to concentrate on
Jane Eyre
when Kiara ran in, her amber eyes welling with tears.

“They’re back. Riley’s hurt bad.” Kiara turned and ran out again, leaving Neahle to follow.

She found the men in the living room with a crowd ringing them. Her brother’s tall form was easy to spot over the heads of the others; she ran over and gave him a fierce hug. He returned it, then turned her towards the sofa.

Riley lay there, a huge gash in his forehead, both eyes black, an obviously broken nose, and a huge lower lip. His buzz cut blonde hair was caked with dried blood making it look almost black in the torchlight. Through the split lip, it looked like several teeth were missing. His left arm was crudely splinted with a piece of wood and scraps of fabric. His formerly yellow tee shirt was covered with blood.

Neahle covered her mouth with her hands and looked at her brother carefully, checking for similar wounds. His face looked fine but she noticed he was hugging his middle. Looking around the room, her eyes settled on Abacus. He had a black eye, a deep purple bruise on his right cheekbone, a bloody strip of rag around his head, and a grim expression.

“What happened?” Neahle asked Clay in a whisper. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“Those two guys beat the crap out of them,” he said. “I’m fine, just some bruises and probably a cracked rib. Riley… He was unstoppable. He kept their attention and he gave out twice as much as he got.” He was silent for a long moment. “One of the gang guys died and the other is in worse shape than Riley. We just… We left him there, beside the tracks.” He cleared his throat. “They wouldn’t stop. Abacus said they must have been high on something. Even when the second one could barely stand, he kept trying to kill us. By the end they didn’t even want the bags.” His voice cracked. “They just wanted to kill us.” He ran a hand over his eyes.

Neahle turned back to Riley. A woman in her thirties was tending to him, her short brown hair spiked up and a stethoscope dangling from her ears. She had a full medical kit beside her and had already set up an IV. Someone brought warm water. Riley moaned when she touched the wound on his forehead with a wet cloth but didn’t regain consciousness. The medic pulled out a suture needle and thread and started to sew up the cut. Neahle turned away.

“Where have you been?” she asked again.

“We went to a warehouse that’s a little south and on the other side of the tracks. We locked ourselves in an office on the second floor and tried to take care of all the wounds. Riley’s been out almost the whole time. We had to carry him back here.”

Neahle thought of Abacus carrying his dead wife through the tunnels and shuddered. “Is he going to be all right?” she asked.

Clay stared at Riley, then looked at his sister. “I don’t see how.”

Dinner was solemn. The news wasn’t good. Riley was still unconscious and had developed a fever. He was being given penicillin, but the possibility of internal bleeding was great, and they didn’t have a doctor. Angie, the medic, was pessimistic.

“Isn’t there a doctor somewhere? A rebel?” Neahle asked.

“There are a few old ones out there and they’ve trained some others as pretty good field medics; that’s how Angie got her training. But they can’t come down here. They can’t use the portals,” Abacus answered.

“Couldn’t the rebels come down into the tunnels if they’re in Paris?”

“We don’t allow it,” Abacus said, “In case they’re followed. But anyway, no, there’s no doctor up top. Angie trained with an old doctor outside of Chicago; she’s a pretty good nurse. But the damage… It’s extensive.” He touched his own bruise, remembering the piece of wood that had clobbered him.

“So what can we do” Neahle asked, feeling frantic.

“Pray.”

Sometime in the night, Landon arrived. Riley was in the sick ward, a small room with two bunk beds several yards down from the dormitories. Angie was dozing off and on in a small faded upholstered chair next to him, monitoring his blood pressure and temperature every hour. Their one other trained medic, Tyrone, was in Moscow, so she was working around the clock.

“Angie,” Landon said softly from the doorway, trying not to startle her.

“Landon!” Angie said, relieved. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just came. Can I spend some time with Riley? Alone?”

“Absolutely. You mind if I grab a bite and maybe clean up? I’m beat.” Standing, she grabbed her canvas bag and threw it over her shoulder.

“Take your time. We’ll be fine.” Landon smiled at her then sat in the vacated chair and put a hand on Riley’s forehead. It was burning with fever.

“He’s not going to make it,” Angie said, watching him. “Something’s wrong inside, probably internal bleeding, and antibiotics aren’t working.”

“We’ll see. He may yet turn the corner.” Landon waved his hand. “Go on, get something to eat, have some hot tea. No rush.”

Angie returned two hours later, having eaten, bathed and napped. She stood outside the door for a moment, preparing herself for the worst. There was nothing she could do for Riley, and he was too sick to be carried to a doctor. He was lucky he’d survived the trip from London. Slowly turning the doorknob, she pushed on the door and stepped in.