"We each have our own agenda. You wouldn't have come all this way without one of your own," Devlin countered.
"I don't have to know what your end game is," Payton replied slowly, "to know that you will never succeed. You have seen with your own eyes what Grant Borrows has become. He has not conformed to your plans for him. He is charting his own destiny, free from your influence."
"Is that what you think?" Devlin replied, unperturbed. "More to the point, is that what he thinks?"
"It was all for nothing, you know," Payton continued. "All your meticulous planning, all those thousands of years of scheming and plotting. Antiquated ideas by an organization that outlived its usefulness a very long time ago. For your own sakes, let this thing go. Grant will never do your bidding."
Devlin let out a gust of air that was akin to a laugh. "He's made a believer out of you? The great Thresher himself is now one of the faithful? Then the Bringer is truly without limits!"
The tip of Payton's sword was suddenly pressed against Devlin's chin. Devlin made no display of alarm at this but held perfectly still.
"Going to kill me, Payton?" Devlin asked. "And where did you get that lovely silver weapon you cling to so tightly? Where did you learn those lethal skills for which you are so well known? From us. From the Secretum. From me. I know you better than you know yourself. You are neither blind nor foolish. And I say your part in all of this is not so resolved as you wish me to believe."
"Do not summon me again," Payton warned, circling Devlin but holding his sword under the elder man's chin as he moved, "unless you are prepared to kill me. I vow in blood," the sword pricked the skin beneath Devlin's chin, "nothing less than my death will keep me from destroying you. Whatever you have planned, I will not rest until it is undone."
"The London Library is not like any library you're familiar with in the States," Morgan studiously explained as she, Alex, and Grant exited their taxi at the center of a large square surrounded by buildings. Grant had noted signs designating this as "St. James's Square."
They walked toward the northwest corner, in the direction of a sprawling white building with majestic columns that reminded Grant of the White House or the Supreme Court. The building appeared to have been added onto many times, expanding outward in numerous directions.
They'd decided that morning that taking everyone along would be too conspicuous, and their best chance of getting inside would be with whatever minor disguises they could quickly pull together, used by a small number of team members. Morgan's presence was mandatory; she was the only one who knew what they were looking for and where to find it. Grant of course went as well, and Alex had refused to leave his side since Jerusalem.
"This Library is a self-sustaining, non-profit organization, independent of government influence," Morgan was saying in the maddeningly precise tone she used whenever reciting something from her flawless memory, "and it is not open to the public. A paid membership is required just to get in the door."
"Why here?" Alex interrupted.
"Sorry?"
"You said this would be the place where we can find records that may lead us to this big `Omega Prime' HQ thing. Why will that be here?"
Morgan cleared her throat. She was having a hard time disguising her enthusiasm for sharing her intimate knowledge about this place. But there was an edge to her voice as well.
She experienced the greatest trauma of her life in this building, Grant reminded himself. And she hasn't been back in fourteen-someodd years.
I'd be antsy too.
"You're about to enter the largest independent lending library in the world," she replied. "It contains over one million volumes, some dating back as far as the sixteenth century. There are few places on earth where you can find older or more exhaustive historical records.
"I brought enough money to purchase memberships for the three of us. I read recently that a major renovation is under way to modernize the Library, but in the meantime don't be surprised if it feels a little ... aged."
From the southeast corner of St. James's Square, Ethan watched as Grant, Alex, and a woman with white hair opened wide the doors to the London Library and entered.
He'd tourniqueted his bloodied wrist, but red soaked the strip of fabric he'd torn off his undershirt. He shivered in cold sweats, his skin pale and clammy, and he felt nearly delirious. But he couldn't risk going to local authorities or doctors, alerting them to his infiltration of the barrier. After all, how was he to know who could be trusted, who wasn't in the pocket of whoever had put up the barrier? It was too risky, so he made do alone.
The bandage was dry now at least, meaning the bleeding had stopped. But he'd lost too much blood before he could escape the subway car, and had nearly blacked out several times. Adrenaline-his drug of choice-was all that kept him going.
He'd managed a few hours' sleep last night when he could walk no farther, under a heavy cluster of trees in St. James's Park. After buying some food from a small shop, he landed a break. Pretending to be a homeless man, he overheard two policemen talking about "some sort of business with the superhumans that happened last night" on the Victo ria Embankment, directly across from the Eye.
From there, Ethan interviewed a few locals and was able to track the white-haired woman from Borrows's group to a flat not far from the Mall, which itself was near Buckingham Palace. There he'd waited, picking up the homeless routine again, until Grant Borrows himself had emerged with the girl, Alex, and the white-haired woman that morning. A cab ride later, and he was fairly certain he'd managed to follow them to their destination undetected.
He scanned his surroundings, considering his options. Was it time to make a move? Here, now? It's not like he was operating at his top capacity, but he'd suffered worse injuries than this.
Negative, he could hear Director Stevens's voice in his head saying. Find out what they're up to.
They're in an enclosed space, he replied to his internal monologue. I may never get a better chance.
Absolutely not, he knew Stevens would reply. You will maintain cover until you have ascertained Guardian's purpose for being in London.
He searched the skies, looking for what wasn't there. Those were the strict orders she'd given him before he'd entered the barrier the day before. Stevens was calling him three to four times a day now to check on his progress.
Or at least, she had until he'd crossed the barrier, where all communication with the outside world was cut off.
He looked again at the Library entrance, and despite his beleaguered physical condition, his adrenaline surged once more at the thought of Borrows this close to his grasp.
Too bad you can't stop me, he thought about his superior.
He cut diagonally across the small park in the middle of the Square, on a straight-line course for the Library.
Morgan wasn't kidding, Grant decided after they were granted permission to enter.
The Library didn't just look old. It looked like Noah might have built it after parking the Ark.
It was as if the modern world outside had passed them by and time were standing still inside this cramped, hallowed space. Dozens of other patrons browsed the aisles or searched card catalogs or small computer stations for their treasured prize, and all maintained a hushed reverence.
Row after narrow row of books stretched from floor to ceiling, reminding Grant of Morgan's dangerously stacked piles of books at the old asylum. Musty and drab, the majority of the building's interior light came in through tall windows. It smelled of leather bindings and decaying paper.
Morgan wasted no time as she led the way, winding through the ultra-narrow aisles, up stairs made of rickety metal gratings, and into an area she said was dedicated to historical texts. Her experienced fingers traced the tomes as they turned down an aisle, and she produced three gigantic volumes filled with weathered brown maps that looked like something Columbus might have once used. The pages were inside of clear sleeves, protecting these precious artifacts from human touch.
Grant, Morgan, and Alex seated themselves in cushy brown leather seats near a far wall and began slowly turning the pages.
"There's something else we should check, as long as we're here," Morgan said absently.
"What's that?" Grant replied.
"Sorry," Morgan said, snapping out of an internal thought. "I meant `here' as in London. The British Museum is rumored to hold a secret repository, off-limits to the public, called-believe it or not-'the Secretum.' It's believed to contain mystical artifacts from ancient cultures."
Grant's curiosity was piqued at that.
"Don't get too excited," Morgan went on. "It's probably nothing, and widely regarded as an urban myth. Still, it's worth looking into, just in case."
"Is the Museum inside the barrier or outside?" Alex asked.
"Inside," Morgan replied.
"That's a relief," Alex said sincerely. Then she shook her head irritably, clearing cobwebs. "Ech, I still can't get past this feeling like I never want to leave London."
"Right there with you," Grant comforted her. "We'll look into the Museum later, if we get a chance. Let's focus on one thing at a time."
"What are we looking for, again?" Alex whispered.
"The symbol of the Secretum," Morgan replied. "The asterisk-like shape I showed you back in L.A. You hold in your hands some of the oldest surviving maps in existence. If any of them contain the symbol, then that spot is almost certainly a place of great importance to the Secretum and could quite possibly be the Omega Prime facility itself."
Grant paused flipping through the pages. "So we're looking for their mark on maps drawn by hand that date back to hundreds of years ago? Do you honestly think the Secretum had enough influence in society that long ago to manage something like that?"
"Do you honestly think they didn't?" Morgan replied.
Grant didn't want to believe it but wouldn't be able to prove her wrong until they'd searched every map and document on Morgan's todo list. So he returned his attention to the volume in his lap.
Ten minutes passed, and nothing.
Grant was already growing bored. "So tell me something," he said softly. "Is it after we've found this Substation Omega Prime that you're finally going to share your big secrets with the rest of us, or sometime before?"
"This is not all for nothing, Grant," she explained, slightly ruffled that once again she was being chastised for keeping her secrets. "You think I enjoy keeping you in the dark? Do you think it's easy for me to be back here in this-"
Her voice faded, and her complexion turned stone white.
Grant and Alex followed her gaze twenty feet away in the direction of a smartly dressed woman in her late forties. She was returning a book to a nearby shelf, oblivious to their presence. When she was finished with her task, she briskly returned to wherever she'd come from.
"What?" Grant whispered urgently. "Who was that?"
"That ... was the head librarian of the London Library," Morgan replied, still in shock, facing the corner where the woman had turned and disappeared.
"So you know her?" Grant replied, relaxing back into his seat.
She faced him, her complexion pale, her features gaunt. "I am her."
INTERREGNUM
HE IS CLOSE. Too CLOSE."
"Agreed. He could discover everything."
"And so he must, before the end. Perhaps this is part of his journey."
"I concur. Don't let your fears guide you, my friends. It was destiny that brought him to London, just as destiny will bring him here."
"But what if Morgan leads him to the Library? Our operative in London will be flying blind because of this accursed barrier. What if he finds the-?"
"Enough. It does not matter what he finds. It is all part of a larger plan-a plan much larger and older than any of us. Too much has been set into motion. It cannot be stopped now."
"There is another matter. The Bringer's companions. They will be required in the end, but the Bringer's path must ultimately be walked alone. The ones who surround him know too much. They are becoming a liability."
"Then the time to act is now."
Grant Borrows awoke on the ground.
A sharp yelp roused him and Grant was instantly aware of three things. First, he was flat on his back, staring into the black snout of an imposing bronze horse statue, which sneered down at him from above. Second, the sky behind the statue was a dismal gray while in his periphery he saw the vivid greenery of trees on all sides. Third, what startled him awake was that he was holding someone's wrist.
Someone's wrist that didn't belong.
Rolling his neck to the left, Grant came face-to-face with a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen. Bright eyes offset shaggy blonde locks, which framed his oval face in a messy sort of way. A faded polo shirt was untucked over a pair of jeans that looked like their best days were long behind them.
"You are him!" the boy exclaimed, eyes as wide with wonder as they were with fear. Grant turned loose of the boy's wrist and slowly sat up.
What? Where... ?
He was in the center of what looked like a very small park, surrounded on all sides by trees, a circumference of parked cars outside of them. Beyond the vehicles, a quadrant of buildings loomed, enclosing the park in a box-like perimeter.
The buildings were very old. Historic, even.
A dark-colored statue of a man riding a horse stood atop a white cement pedestal on his right, opposite the boy.
Grant's recognition of it was vague. He was sure he'd been here before, and he was quite certain he was still in London.
But how long... ?
And why was I asleep out here in the open?
"Who're you?" Grant rasped, his voice dry, his thoughts spinning in too many directions at once.
Why can't I remember anything?
His heart rate was increasing with each new possibility that occurred to him.
"Didn't mean nothing by it, man!" the boy cried, tossing Grant's wallet back to him. "Just wanted to see if you had a real name, is all."
But Grant wasn't looking at the wallet. His eyes were still on the boy's wrist, which was bright red where Grant's hand had been.
He lifted one hand and found blood. His other hand was bloody too ... and there were similarly dried stains scattered across his clothing ...
Yet he felt no pain.
A chill stopped his pulse.
This blood was not his. And it wasn't the boy's, either.
Reflexively, he reached out with his mind and touched the minds of the Loci, checking off his friends, one-by-one. The process was a mere flash, lasting less than a second, and his heart skipped a beat when he felt it.
Morgan was missing from his internal radar. Her entire presence gone without a trace. As if there were a hole where she had been.
No!!
His eyes stubbornly refused to focus on anything but the blood covering his hands as his heart raced and the grass beneath him seemed to melt away.
Was the blood Morgan's? What happened to her? And what about Alex? He had a faint impression of her, but it was as if she'd gone blind. He could only see her surroundings, but it was as if she were surrounded by nothing. He couldn't even tell if she was conscious or not.
For the first time in a long time, icy cold fear gripped his heart.
What have I done?
He stood slowly, blood swimming in his head. There was an odd throbbing pain on the side of his neck, and he massaged it. "What's your name?" he asked the boy.
"Stephan."
"What day is it, Stephan?"
"Saturday," the boy replied.
Saturday!?
It was Thursday when he'd entered the Library with Alex and Morgan. Forty-eight hours, gone, just like that.
What's happening to me?
"You know who I am, Stephan?"
"Of course! I mean yes, yes sir."
"Then run straight home, right now. Tell anyone about this, and I'll know," Grant said in his most threatening voice
. "Am I clear?"
"Entirely," Stephan replied with big eyes. He turned and ran, as instructed.
Grant took a moment to get his bearings. The Library.
He found its familiar outline behind the trees and began to walk. Soon he was outside the park and crossing the street that ran between the park and the outlying buildings.
What was the last thing he remembered? He remembered himself, Morgan, and Alex entering the Library two days ago, searching through very old records, until they encountered ...
The head librarian. Who was really Morgan. Or rather, Morgan's old self, the person she'd been before the Shift. Why would that person still be here, fourteen years later? Why maintain the facade for all these years?
"Grant? What's happened to you?" said a voice from behind.
Grant spun. The man who stood there, face pale and weary, was unfamiliar. He looked sick, looked as though he might fall over his own feet, in fact.
"It's Ethan," the man explained as if Grant should already know this. "Ethan Cooke? I helped you out yesterday...."
Hearing the voice again finally clicked it in place for Grant. "You're that FBI agent I met in Los Angeles. Didn't I warn you to stay away from me? How do you know my name?"
"You don't remember?" Ethan asked, suddenly concerned. "What did they do to you?"
He made a move forward, but Grant matched his step backward.
"Grant, we met yesterday afternoon. I helped you stay hidden while you were on the run."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grant replied.
"You have to trust me, Grant. You already decided you do trust me; they just made you forget. We've got to get you out of sight. You're covered in blood; you're not even wearing a disguise. If anyone sees you like this ..."
"Don't," Grant warned, raising his hand threateningly. It was then that he noticed the angry red marks on Ethan's wrists, and a bandage covering one that was soaked in blood.
"Grant, listen to me," Ethan said with slow, labored breaths. "They've erased your memory-I don't know how. But I met you yesterday afternoon, just outside the Library, over on the other side of the building. You were weakened, and I offered to help you, protect you. We were pursued, but they got the drop on us. I wanted to earn your trust and help you and your people. I have to keep up appearances that I'm hunting you, in case anyone is watching, but I told you that you have a friend now inside the FBI. You really don't remember any of this?"
Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2) Page 20
