Hellgate London - Exodus Part 19

"You've been waiting?" Warren was confused. "You couldn't know that I would return."

"It was hoped. I wanted-wewanted-to talk to you." "About what?"

"You've got gifts, Warren. Edith told us about you, just as she told Jonas about you. We didn't believe her. Not until I saw the demon that manifested through the Eye."

"You saw Merihim?" "Yes."

Fear rattled through Warren. He resisted the impulse to glance around. "The demon isn't here now," Malcolm said.

Warren relaxed a little.

Malcolm approached, then slowly reached out to touch Warren's face. Warren stepped back.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I don't like being touched," Warren said. He never had. Growing up in those foster homes had ensured that.

"You were badly hurt." Malcolm studied Warren's face. "When I'd heard how badly you were burned, I have to admit that I'd believed the man I was talking to was exaggerating. Now that I see you, I don't think he knew the extent to which you were injured."

"I'm getting better," Warren said.

"I can see that." Malcolm locked eyes with Warren. "You have a lot of power. I know Edith and Jonas offered to train you to use it and you went to them. I'd like to extend the same offer."

Warren nodded meaningfully at the burned-out husk of the nearby building. "The last time I agreed, things didn't work out so well. For anybody."

"We can handle Merihim."

"Jonas and Edith thought they could too."

Malcolm smiled a little. "The people that I'll be taking you to are much stronger than Jonas and Edith. Also, you'll be in a better-protected area."

"I don't think so," Warren said. He didn't want to be anyone's guinea pig. "I've got enough troubles already, so-"

"The demon has marked you," Malcolm interrupted. "I can see it. Anyone who has eyes can see it.

Right now you're living at his largesse. You don't have a life." His words were flat and d.a.m.ning. "You will die whenever you cease to amuse or interest him. Is that what you want?"

Warren looked at the burned-out building, then at his dead-white left hand. He was certain Malcolm was lying to him about something. Even without the gift or curse that he'd been born with, he would have known that. No one could make the promises Malcolm was making.

So what do you do, Warren?he asked himself. He wanted to live. He knew that for certain. After coming so close to dying-twicein his life now-he knew he wanted to live. More than that, he believed he truly deserved to live. The question was whether throwing his lot in with the Cabalists would help him stay alive.

In the end, though, he knew he didn't have a choice. He found himself grasping at the unbelievable...just like his mother had. The thought shocked and angered him. He hated feeling trapped. He'd grown up that way, then lived that way for years.

"No," he said quietly. "No, that's not what I want."I want my life back. No matter what it takes.

Twenty-One.

Through his slitted fingers, Simon saw a dozen armed Templar standing before the opening. They held swords and rifles at the ready. Even as a group, they looked worn and haggard.

"Mr. Cross," one of the Templar said, "divest yourself of your weapons.Carefully."

Simon looked at Giselle, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. Being addressed asMr. Cross, like a civilian instead of a Templar, stung. He thought about ignoring the command, but decided against it.You knew they were going to hate you. You knew that when you chose to come here. Carefully, he lowered his weapons to the ground at his feet and laced his fingers behind his head.

Leah was forced to do the same.

Simon forced himself to remain calm when two of the men stepped forward with manacles and placed them on his wrists. They secured his hands behind his back, then placed another set around his ankles. They only secured Leah's hands behind her back.

"Who's the woman?" one of the Templar asked.

Simon didn't know the man. The armor gave no evidence of his ident.i.ty or his rank. If Simon had been wearing his own armor, his HUD would have identified the man at a glance.

"She was with Cross when we found him," Giselle answered.

"I came here to search for my father." Leah looked scared. "I'm not here to hurt anyone." "You shouldn't have brought her here," the Templar said.

Giselle frowned. "I couldn't very well leave her out there to die. That's not what we're here for."

After a moment, the Templar replied, "We're here to kill the demons, Sergeant Fletcher. Don't forget that." Before Giselle could respond, he wheeled and walked away, giving orders to his men to follow with the prisoners.

Two of the Templar jerked Simon into motion.Welcome home, he thought bitterly. He wasn't really surprised about their behavior. But he was surprised he'd thought things might have gone differently.

The Templar Underground was huge compared to what the average Londoner knew about the subterranean transportation routes. Simon didn't know how much bigger it was. All of the various parts worked together, but they were also kept separate so they couldn't all be compromised at once.

Besides residences, medical facilities, and training areas, the Templar Underground supported security posts, generator rooms powered by turbines driven by the River Thames, medical and weapons labs, forges where the armor was made, mausoleums, and the hydroponics farms that were kept ready in case of siege. They were at that point now, Simon supposed.

The guards took him to one of the security posts and left Leah there inside a cell. At least they had the decency to remove her shackles first.

Giselle stayed at Simon's side, and he took some comfort in that. Until he remembered that she would slit his throat if she believed he was a threat to the Templar. Other Templar pa.s.sed them in the corridors.

None of them would meet Simon's gaze.

Sharp-edged fear moved restlessly in the back of his mind. He kept thinking about ways to escape, and that impulse was kept in check only by the fact he knew the Templar would kill him if they had to.

A short distance farther on, they came to another security checkpoint. After a quick exchange, the Templar guards posted there stepped back while the ma.s.sive palladium door swung open. It clanged shut behind them after they stepped through.

Several of the doors were air- and water-tight. Sections of the Templar Underground could be shut off and exist independently.

Still, living a subterranean lifestyle hadn't suited Simon. There had never been a time when he hadn't felt the crus.h.i.+ng weight of the city above him and longed to be outside.

One of the Templar put a gloved hand on an elevator door in the next hallway. The doors opened and they stepped inside. The elevator went down so fast that Simon felt lightheaded. He swayed and swallowed bile, but remained erect.

Lights flickered as the elevator sank. The deeper the levels, the more important the person was that he was going to see. Simon hated the idea of that, too. His father had occasionally taken him down into the lower reaches of the Templar Underground and Simon hadn't enjoyed it. The deeper someone went, the fewer escape routes there were.

The elevator stopped suddenly. The temporary increase in gravity pulled at Simon, then faded. His escort guided him from the elevator and through another maze of tunnels till they arrived at their destination.

More Templar guards stood before a palladium door. They stepped aside and the doors recessed back into the walls.

Computer equipment filled the room beyond. Men and women sat at workstations. The centerpiece of the room was a tri-dee projector that displayed a section of London. On closer inspection, Simon realized the area was several blocks around the Elephant and Castle station.

A handful of figures ran through the alleys, pursued by demons. As Simon watched, a Blood Angel swooped from a building top and grabbed a fleeing man. Flying high, the demon screamed in triumph, then released its prize. Arms and legs pinwheeling, the tiny figure dropped to the street and lay still.

The other figures tried to fight, but their weapons couldn't hurt the demons. It was a ma.s.sacre. The pale light from the tri-dee projection limned the hard faces of the men and women around it.

Simon recognized some of the six Templar gathered at the tri-dee, but not all of them. They were all young. The oldest among them was Terrence Booth, now the High Seat of the House of Rorke.

Booth was three inches shorter than Simon now, but he'd been taller when Simon had broken his nose.

He had dark hair and wore a goatee, which was new since the last time Simon had seen him. Perhaps Booth thought it made him look older.

Booth shot Simon a mocking glance. "Do you believe in demons now, Simon?" he asked.

Simon started to take a step forward. Giselle interposed herself and kept her back to him. Two guards, both of them there to protect the High Seat of the House of Rorke, stepped forward as well. There was no doubt in Simon's mind that they would cut him down if they felt he was a threat. "He's come back," Giselle said in a calm voice.

"A pity he didn't come back sooner," Booth said. "He could have joined the others at St. Paul's Cathedral."

Simon took a deep breath and tried to push his anger away. It was easier than he'd imagined, but that was because he felt ashamed to be there among those who had been his peers. All of them knew what he had done to bring disgrace to his father's name. Simon focused on being able to strike back at the demons that had killed his father and the other Templar.

"Do we suddenly have so many warriors," Giselle asked, "that we can afford to turn them away?" Booth turned his dark eyes on Giselle. "Are you here to fight his battles then?"

"Am I fighting his battles? Or am I correcting your mistakes?"

The blunt honesty aggravated Booth. He waved a hand over the tri-dee, switching views to different parts of the city. The Templar had long ago wired the city with security devices, using the post-9/11 paranoia to cover their tracks. From their inception they'd had independent power sources.

"Your father is dead." Booth stared into the city.

Many of the buildings in the downtown area had fallen and left piles of rubble strung across the narrow streets. Fires still burned within some of them, feeding on ruptured gas lines and combustible materials within those buildings. London had burned before, Simon realized as he looked at all the carnage before him.

"I know," Simon said in an emotion-thick voice. "You came anyway."

Simon made no reply. His presence was proof enough of his intentions. "It was a foolish thing to do," Booth stated.

"What should I have done?"

"Stayed in South Africa. Wherever it was you were before you were here."

"That wouldn't have done any good. You know that. The demons have established a foothold here. They're not going to just walk away. Other h.e.l.lgates will open soon. If they haven't already."

Booth walked over to face Simon, looking up at him. Simon knew that his height irked the other man as it always had.

"You left us once," Booth said. "Why should I believe you when you say you'll stay this time?"

"I want to see my father avenged."

Booth flashed a cruel grin. "Vengeance isn't enough."

It is for me, Simon thought.

"You were taught that," Booth went on. "Vengeance is a narrow road leading to disastrous consequences."

"I'm not here for revenge. I'm here to do what my father trained me to do. What the Templar trained me to do. If I do that, vengeance for my father will take care of itself." Booth smiled. "You lie."

Simon tried not to show any emotion but felt certain he failed. "You're not a very good liar," Booth said.

"It's not something I've cared to practice." "Pity." Booth started to turn away.

"I came to fight, my lord," Simon declared, hating his attempt to win favor from Booth. "Whether I fight here, with you and the rest of the Templar, or I claim what's mine by my birthright and go out into the streets, I'm going to fight the demons. You can't stop me."

Booth turned to Simon. "No. I can't stop you. But I don't have to help you." "My lord," one of the other Templars said.

Simon looked at the man, recognizing him as Derek Chipplewhite, a cla.s.smate he'd had while growing up.

"I'll vouch for him," Derek said. He was broad and beefy, his body hard from countless hours spent in the training areas. His skin looked black as coal and slightly blue in the darkness. "My word as a knight."

Drawing a slow, quiet breath, Simon waited. A knight's honor was a precious thing. Not accepting it would be tantamount to slapping Derek in the face.

"Very well then," Booth said, looking displeased. "But make certain he lives up to the honor you've shown him."

Derek nodded. "I will."

"Because if you don't, because if he doesn't, I'm going to put him out into the streets." Simon barely kept from speaking. Booth was pus.h.i.+ng the limits of honor.

"Get him out of here." Booth turned away and ignored Simon.

It's just as well,Simon thought.If he looks at me, I don't trust myself.

Derek gestured to the warriors. "Remove his cuffs." The warriors did as they were told.

"Thank you," Simon told Derek.

The other man smiled at him. "Just live up to the trust I have in you. That's all I ask." "There's a woman here," Simon told Derek. "She arrived with me. Her name is Leah."

"I'll tend to her," Derek said. "But first let's deal with you. If you've come all this way, I know you've got to be hungry."

Twenty-Two.

You can't fault Booth," Derek said. "He takes that holier-than-thou att.i.tude with people because that's the way he was brought up. His dad was an absolute stickler for the old ways." Simon nodded and released a pent-up breath. "I know."