by Mel Odom
Lyra and three agents sat around a conference table. Leah knew the two men and other woman, but only tangentially. Computer hardware filled the walls, and the whole room hummed.
The tri-dee projector in the center of the table kept cycling through images of Simon Cross. Leah felt almost guilty watching Simon. It reminded her of how she’d taken advantage of his protective nature to get inside the Templar Underground and steal away with as much information as she could.
“As you all know,” Lyra said, “Control has come up with a working strategy regarding the Templar.”
“Not exactly a big fan of those armored goons,” one of the women said. “They tend to be in this thing for themselves, not out of any real desire to bring down the enemy.”
“Simon isn’t like that,” Leah said automatically. She’d spoken before she’d even known she was going to. She was immediately embarrassed. In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself as all heads turned in her direction. “He’s worked to get civilians clear of the city, and to provide for them. If he could kill every demon in England single-handedly, he would.”
“Well,” Clarice Thompson said as she steepled her fingers against one another, “it appears as though someone is carrying quite the torch for the Templar.” She was in her early fifties, a thin woman with a pinched face and gray-white hair.
Leah forced herself not to respond to the comment. She liked Clarice, and she knew that if she were sitting in any seat but her own, she’d have felt the same way that the other woman did.
“Simon Cross,” Lyra said, “is different than many of the others. Just as Lord Sumerisle was.”
Clarice lifted her chin and dropped it. “I’ll defer that to you.”
Lyra returned the woman’s gaze full measure. “Good. This will go much more quickly if you do.”
A nerve twitched along the underside of Clarice’s jaw. All of the different teams within the organization remained separated. They didn’t work well together. They weren’t designed to. In theory, they all worked without knowledge of one another. Being together proved hard for them.
“Control wants to find a way to unite the Templar,” Lyra said.
“I thought they were united,” Bernard Carpenter said. He was in his early sixties, sleek and silver.
“No. Simon Cross’s arrival from South Africa split the Templar to a degree. We know that most of the Templar died at St. Paul’s.”
“And the rest of them are hiding out,” Craig Gordon snarled. In his late forties, he held a reputation as a master espionage player.
“We have a plan to change that,” Lyra said.
The statement, uttered so matter-of-factly, blew Leah away. She tried to wrap her throbbing mind around it. The pain in her head made her regret not taking her meds, but she’d wanted a clear mind for the meeting.
“We know there are at least two groups of Templar,” Lyra went on. “One within London and one—Simon Cross’s group—somewhere outside London.”
“Somewhere?” Carpenter echoed. “We don’t even know where this Cross fellow is?”
“We don’t.”
Clarice eyed Leah speculatively. “But you say that Agent Creasey can get in touch with Cross.”
“She can.”
“Then she knows where this hiding place is.” The woman’s tone ended just short of an accusatory slap in the face.
“She does,” Lyra agreed. “And I’ve agreed to honor her request not to divulge that information.”
“Since when do we make deals with lower echelons within this organization?” Gordon asked.
“How do we know Agent Creasey hasn’t been compromised?” Clarise asked.
“I made this deal,” Lyra said, “and I’m on equal standing with all of you. As for Agent Creasey being compromised, she put her life on the line for our efforts to destroy a demon weapons plant only a week ago. She bears her wounds from that encounter now. That’s enough credibility for me.”
No one else in the room said anything, but Leah felt the waves of animosity directed at her. They’re scared, she realized. That surprised her. All of her career she’d figured the people at the top tier of the organization would be cold, collected individuals with ice water in their veins. It shocked, and potentially a little scared her, to realize they weren’t that much different from her.
“Besides that, Cross’s operation is almost bankrupting itself just to take care of the people they brought into their ranks,” Lyra said.
“If the man is overwhelmed by his own undertaking,” one of the men asked, “why would he be of any value to us?”
Lyra looked at Leah. “Perhaps you could answer that, Agent Creasey.”
Caught off-guard, Leah struggled to recover quickly. She hadn’t expected to have to answer any questions. “Simon Cross’s family has always been important in the history of the Templar. Also, many of the Templar hiding in the Underground have become sympathetic to his efforts. A few have deserted the Underground, knowing they’d never again be allowed in that place, and joined Simon.”
“He’s in a position to sway the rest of the Templar?” one of the men asked.
“We believe so,” Lyra answered. “From what we’ve seen, the Templar holed up in the Underground have no intention of taking a truly active part in the battle against the demons.”
“They’re waiting to build up more warriors,” Leah said. “All of that was in my report.”
“You should all know that. I disseminated those reports.”
No one disagreed.
“We can’t afford for the Templar to wait,” Lyra continued. “We need them in the streets fighting back against the demons.”
Because we’re running out of operatives, Leah thought.
“Yes,” Lyra said, gazing at her hard enough to let Leah know she’d guessed her thoughts. “For the moment, Simon Cross hasn’t concentrated on winning the battle against the demons or trying to shut down the Hellgate.”
“Simon’s trying to save people,” Leah said, feeling defensive. She didn’t want anyone to mistake Simon’s motives. “His people operate mostly as scavengers and search-and-rescue.”
“But he’s also training civilians to fight,” Lyra said. “And he’s giving them armor. Templar armor.” She pointed at the tri-dee in the center of the conference table. A tri-dee image ballooned up from the center of the table. Eight others followed the first.
Leah didn’t recognize any of the faces, but she knew the look of death they all wore. She shook her head and instantly regretted it when pain exploded inside her skull.
“None of these people were ever Templar,” Lyra said. “When we found their bodies, we traced them back to credit histories and medical information from before the Hellgate opened. Prior to their deaths, prior to the invasion, they were normal British citizens.”
Gordon leaned forward and looked at the dead faces. “Cross is drawing from the population.”
“Yes.”
“For an organization that has been ultrasecret for hundreds of years, that’s pretty radical.”
“I agree.”
“Is the other Templar group doing the same thing?”
“No,” Lyra answered.
“They wouldn’t,” Leah added. “They’ve got a bunker mentality. I’ve been there in their Underground.” She knew that was going to cause further suspicion, but that couldn’t be helped. “The other Templar are all sticklers for their code of conduct, and that speaks strictly against involving outsiders.”
“Yet it was you who saved young Jessica Sumerisle,” Clarice told Lyra.
“It was,” Lyra admitted.
“Then why don’t you pursue an alliance through her?”
“She’s a child.”
Carpenter shook his head. “Cross isn’t much more than that himself. What is he? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Twenty-nine,” Lyra answered.
“Hardly an elder statesman,” he noted derisively.
Leah’s voice was hard and flat wh
en she spoke. “Simon Cross isn’t a statesman, elder or otherwise. The man is a champion. He’s one of the best the Templar have ever turned out. A warrior and a leader, and he stands for all the compassion and rules that are in the Templar code.”
“Quite the fan, aren’t you?” Clarice asked sweetly.
TWENTY
A ngered almost enough to lose control, Leah turned on the woman. “When was the last time you were out there laying your life on the line?”
Clarice’s face mottled with anger. “That’s not what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to gather intelligence and direct—”
“Simon’s out there every day,” Leah said. “He never asks anyone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. Or risk himself. That’s why he has the unconditional support and respect of his warriors. He doesn’t hide behind chain of command. He sets the standard.”
Her face a mask of rage, Clarice looked away.
“That’s precisely why we want him in our camp,” Lyra said into the silence that followed. “Agent Creasey, I’m authorizing you to take a team to Simon Cross and inform him—within parameters that you’ll be given—that this organization stands ready to support his bid to establish himself as leader of the Templar.”
“No team,” Leah said.
Lyra folded her arms and looked unhappy. “I can hardly ask you to go out there alone.”
“With all due respect, I can’t take anyone there,” Leah said. “I gave my word to Simon that I wouldn’t reveal the location of the redoubt he’s established.”
“Ridiculous,” Carpenter objected. “Given the current nature of how volatile the situation throughout London has gotten, a lone woman can’t hope to get through those streets.”
“I’ll get out of the city,” Leah said to Lyra because that was the one she knew she’d have to convince. “I’ve done it before.”
“In the condition you’re in?” Gordon’s tone made it sound as if everyone should know how impossible that was. “I don’t mean to be overly blunt, but you’re less than what you were the last time you were out there.”
That stung. Leah bit her lip in order to keep from responding.
“I’m confident in her abilities,” Lyra stated.
“If Agent Creasey is the only asset with which we can pursue this endeavor,” Carpenter said, “she needs to be protected. Not risked.”
“We’re all risking,” Lyra said. “Every day that we live in this city under demon occupation, we’re risking all that we are. And all that we will be.” She looked at Leah. “Your med clearance came through. Draw what you need from weps and the motor pool. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“I will. But how do you plan to give Simon control of the Templar? Booth and the others aren’t going to just willingly cede control.”
“We’ve tracked some of the Templar from those underground bunkers,” Lyra said. “We’ve found enough of them to make a point to the Templar that we can work with them or against them. I’m also willing to make it costly for them to decide not to play along.” She paused. “But I’m betting on one other thing, too, Agent Creasey. The Templar organization—every man, woman, and child that grew up in those Houses—was trained to love heroes.”
Remembering what Simon had revealed to her when she’d gone down into the Templar Underground with him, Leah knew that was true.
“I want to remind them that not all the heroes in the world died that night at St. Paul’s,” Lyra went on. “And that not all of them wear Templar armor.”
Clarice shook her head. “You know as well as I do that one of the first things we do in this organization is disabuse new recruits of the notion that they’re going to be heroes. Heroes die far too quickly in the field.”
Lyra looked at them. “The world has changed. Before, we served best by staying within the shadows, and I’m not saying we should step out of them now. But I believe the time has come for heroes. At least, heroic enough to pull more assets to our side of the game board for a time.” She paused. “Is there anything else?”
No one spoke, but clearly no one was happy.
“Agent Creasey,” Lyra said, “I want to wish you good luck.” She crossed over to Leah and extended her hand.
Leah shook hands. “Thank you. And if it’s all the same, I’m going to be leaving straightaway. I’ve sat around my apartment for the past five days. I feel as though I’m about to go mad.”
“Of course.”
Leah left the room, but none of the others made an effort to move. She wondered what else the group would talk about in her absence. Then she cleared her thoughts and concentrated on the trip to see Simon Cross. She couldn’t believe how much she looked forward to that. The excitement felt almost sinful.
By three that afternoon, Leah sat astride a matte-black finish Enduro motorcycle and sped through the metro area with a Blood Angel screaming in pursuit. Clad in the blacksuit, her mask securely in place, and feeling the unfamiliar heavy weight of the eyepiece she was forced to wear that augmented her vision, Leah checked the Blood Angel’s pursuit in the vibrating mirrors.
The demon swooped down again and opened its mouth.
Leah stomped on the rear brakes, locking the tire up and sending the motorcycle into a controlled skid across the street. At least, she mostly controlled the skid. The cracked street surface offered constant challenges to her driving skills.
The Blood Angel flashed by overhead. Not as much resistance existed in the air as on the street. Leah braked quicker and sped faster in the straightaways than the demon.
She had a problem with distance, though. Adjusting to the vision augmentation was going to take time. She skidded uncomfortably close to a wrecked Mini Cooper that housed two shattered skeletons. For a moment, the compact car’s rear bumper held her leg trapped against the motorcycle.
Leah grabbed the handlebars and shoved backward. Without the blacksuit’s strength augmentation, she probably couldn’t have moved the motorcycle, and definitely never in time.
The Blood Angel heeled over in the sky. Two buildings down, a gargoyle that wasn’t actually a gargoyle suddenly took flight. Leah didn’t recognize the type of demon it was. New ones seemed to come through the Hellgate every day.
You’re not going to hang about and find out what it is, she told herself. Move.
She twisted the throttle and roared through the streets again. Turning her inside leg out during turns, she leaned the Enduro over so far that her knee at times kissed the rough street surface. Beams and bullets from demon snipers tore through the air, missing her by inches and punching through the corpses of vehicles as she deliberately sped by close to them for cover.
In the mirrors, the Blood Angel flew after her.
Leah hit the brake again, dropped the shifter into a lower gear, and made a tight turn into the first narrow alley. The alley was hardly wide enough for a lorrie to get through, let alone a Blood Angel with wings fully extended.
With a scream of rage, the Blood Angel pulled up out of pursuit and pushed off one of the buildings to keep from colliding with it. It unleashed a burst of arcane fury that set the alley on fire right behind Leah. The motorcycle’s big engine filled the small space with rolling thunder.
Two Stalker demons, looking like overgrown lizards mixed with wolves and equipped with alligator’s jaws, occupied the alley in front of Leah. Corpses and rotting garbage provided an obstacle course out of Hell. The stench of death and decay fouled the air and made it thick.
The Stalkers turned toward Leah and opened their jaws to reveal rows of serrated teeth. They launched themselves at her. Leah wasn’t sure if the demons were smart enough to think or merely operated on instinct, but if they did think, she felt certain they were convinced she was going to see them and stop or try to turn back to escape.
Leah gunned the engine and headed straight toward them. At the last minute she aimed the motorcycle at a demon corpse to one side, clutched and revved the engine, then popped the clutch and pulled back on t
he handlebars. The front wheel hit the demon’s dead body and shot into the air.
She sailed a good twenty feet before touching down again, well over the snapping jaws of the Stalkers. The handlebar dragged against the side of the wall for just a moment, and Leah fought to keep control.
Then she raced forward again, mentally mapping her route through the city. Getting out would be the most dangerous part.
The Burn had spread past London’s geographical boundaries and sent uneven tendrils into the countryside surrounding the suburbs. The gray buildings of the inner city gave to homes with yards and space in between.
Although the line between the Burn and the snow-covered landscape beyond couldn’t be laid with a straightedge, enough of a change existed to make the difference immediately visual. The land closer to the city was dry and cracked. Inside London only acid rain had fallen in the past few weeks, and that had only been liquid death and not really any moisture.
The land beyond reminded Leah of Christmases with her family, long trips to her grandmother’s house, and a world where seasons still took place all over. Those, at least for the moment, were things of the past.
She glanced at the mirrors as she sped into the countryside. So far, it appeared that she’d left all the monsters behind. Demons filled London, but they weren’t everywhere.
Not yet.
She relaxed only a little as she gave herself to the road. She told herself that the safety she felt was only an illusion, not something to be trusted. The illusion shattered when she passed a roadside stand filled with rotted fruits and vegetables. Bloated corpses hung over the stand like grisly piñatas.
Leah knew the corpses weren’t the people who had owned the stand. Those people would have left years ago, when the Hellgate had first opened.
Something hunts regularly in this area, she told herself. It uses the stand to display its kills like trophies. It’s something that takes pride in its work.
