The Golden City: Book Three of the Fourth Realm Trilogy

by John Twelve Hawks

  Maya took a deep breath and kicked open the door.

  31

  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.

  She entered a residence suite that was probably used by the members of the Brethren who visited London. The living room was filled with modern furniture, and framed photographs of nature scenes were on the wall.

  The living room was attached to a kitchen and a small dining room. A hallway on the left led to a bedroom. Maya drew her knife, moved cautiously to the open doorway, and peered inside. A night table. Dresser. Bed. And there was Alice Chen with her black braids lying like two strands of rope on a pillow.

  “I’m here,” Maya whispered. “I’ve come for you ”

  Alice opened her eyes and sat up in bed. “Don’t come in the room, Maya! An alarm will go off!”

  Maya stood a short distance from the doorway and saw that cameras had been mounted in each corner of the room. The four cameras clicked and whirred, following every movement of the child’s body.

  “Take off your nightgown and put on your street clothes,” Maya said. “I’ll count to three and then you’ll run out of the room. We’ll be halfway down the stairs before they respond to the alarm.”

  “No. I can’t do that. The machine is watching me.” Alice pushed back the quilt, revealing a thick plastic shackle fastened around her ankle. “They call this a ‘Freedom Bracelet.’ If I leave the room, I get a big shock.”

  “Okay. I understand. Get dressed and I’ll figure out a plan.”

  The cameras panned back and forth as Alice jumped out of bed and hurried over to the dresser. Returning to the living room, Maya took out her sword and the combat shotgun. How do we get out of there? she wondered. And what would happen if we just ran out of the apartment? We can’t return to the underground river—the water level is too high for a child.

  Rummaging through the kitchen, she found a coffee mug in the cupboard and filled it with water. Then she boiled the water in a microwave oven and used a dish towel to carry the hot cup down the hallway.

  Alice had pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying her shoes. “What are we going to do, Maya?”

  “Stay there. Don’t move. We need to find out what kinds of cameras are watching you. Machines can be very clever and very foolish at the same time.”

  Maya tossed the cup into the room and it rolled across the carpet. Instantly, the surveillance cameras detected the object, panning back and forth and making little whirring sounds as if they were talking to each other.

  “See how the cameras follow the cup?” Maya said. “They’re infrared devices, focusing on your body heat. The computer program attached the cameras is making sure that one warm object—about your size—is the room at all times.”

  “Then you better leave me here. Boone said the guards will hurt anyone who enters the building.”

  “You met Nathan Boone?”

  Alice shook her head. “A man named Clarence brings my food. Once he handed me a cell phone and said that Boone wanted to talk to me. Boone no longer controls the guards in this building. He said he’ll try to help me when he comes back to London.”

  “He’s lying.” Maya watched as the four cameras turned away from the cup and focused on Alice. “Are there extra clothes in the closet?”

  “Clarence bought some stuff at a department store.”

  “Go to the closet. Put a few sweaters on the same hanger, then place it in the shower and turn on the water as hot as you can.”

  “Okay.”

  “When the clothes are soaked with water, come out of the bathroom holding them close to your body.”

  “I understand. Then the cameras will focus on the warm clothes and not on me.”

  “I hope so ”

  Alice hung two sweaters and a wool skirt on a hanger and hurried into the bathroom. Maya heard water surge through the pipes as the shower started running. A few minutes later, Alice came back out holding the wet clothes.

  “Now what?”

  Maya held up the bolt cutters. “Place the hanger on that gooseneck lamp over there, then immediately come through the doorway. Are you ready?”

  “I’m okay. Let’s try it.” Alice hung the clothes on the lamp and was out the door in three steps. Moving quickly, Maya cut the ‘Freedom Bracelet’ off with the bolt cutters and tossed the
shackle back into the room. The cameras had been agitated—whirring back and forth—but now all four of them were focused on the wet clothes.

  Alice stared at the shackle lying on the carpet a few feet away from her. “Would that really hurt me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very much?”

  “Don’t think about it anymore.”

  Alice embraced Maya, holding her tightly. “I thought you might come. I made a lot of special wishes.” She let go and stepped away. “I’m sorry, Maya. I know you don’t like to be touched.”

  “Just this once.” Maya extended her arms, and the girl hugged her again. “We need to be careful, Alice. It might be difficult to get out of this building.”

  “All the security guards have guns. I’ve seen them.”

  “Yes, I know. So when I touch your shoulder like this ” Maya squeezed Alice’s shoulder, “ then I want you to close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what my father did when I was a little girl and he didn’t want me to see bad things.”

  “I’m getting older.”

  “I know you are. But just do this for me. We’re going to leave this room, go down the staircase and—”

  Maya heard a faint “plop” and spun around. Heavy with water, the clothes had just slipped off the plastic hanger. The cameras were moving again, and little red lights flashed on their holding brackets.

  “Does the computer know what happened?”

  “Yes. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Clutching the shotgun, Maya ran out of the suite with Alice. They stepped around the unconscious guard and ran into the stairwell. Her mind was calm and detached as she tried to assess the danger around them. Three armed guards were still in the building and there was only one way out.

  Maya took two steps at a time, grabbing the railing and turning quickly at each landing. She reached the ground floor first and got ready to fire the shotgun as Alice caught up with her.

  “Are you going to shoot someone?”

  “Only if I have to. Stay here until I come and get you.”

  Maya tried the door to the lobby. It was locked. The shotgun was already loaded with regular shells, but she loaded the second breaching round and pumped it into the firing chamber. Get ready, she told herself. The breaching round blew a hole in the door, and she kicked it open.

  The entrance guard drew his handgun, dived behind his desk, and fired two wild shots in her direction. Maya fired her shotgun directly at the desk and pellets hit the desk. With the folding stock pressed against her shoulder, she stepped forward, firing again and again. The pellets hit a glass security barrier, and it disintegrated into shards.

  When she reached the desk, she lowered the weapon. All she could see was the guard’s hand emerging from the behind the desk. A line of blood trickled across the floor. Maya hurried back to the stairway door and yanked it open.

  “Let’s go!” she shouted. As they both left the building, Maya reloaded the shotgun, folded its stock and wrapped the Merry Maids smock around the weapon. “Walk. Don’t run,” she told Alice. “All we have to do is get down to the river. The Free Runners are waiting for us there.”

  They entered Ludgate Circus and waited for the stop light before they crossed the intersection. It was close to midnight; only a few cars were on New Bridge Street. Maya felt as if she had just emerged from a collapsing house, but no one had noticed.

  “Maya! Behind us!”

  Two men wearing white shirts and black neckties ran around the corner. Maya pulled Alice down Pilgrim Street, a narrow lane lined with office buildings. For a few seconds she thought they were going to be trapped in a dead-end, but a staircase led them up to Ludgate Hill.

  St. Paul’s Cathedral was directly in front of them. Spotlights on the building made its white dome and two towers look as if they were floating above the city. Maya tried to wave down a taxi, but the driver didn’t stop. A group of drunken teenagers were on the opposite sidewalk, clapping and laughing as one of the girls tried to dance.

  “They’re getting closer, Maya!”

  “I see them.”

  They crossed over to St. Paul’s and followed the cobblestone walkway that ran along the left side of the cathedral. A young busker was scooping up the tips from his guitar case and he bowed gracefully. “What’s the rush, ladies? I’ll play you a song!”

  At the end of the lane she looked left and saw a Tube station sign on Panyer Alley. Now they were running as fast as possible, not caring if anyone saw them dash down the alley to the Tube station entrance. They hurried down the stairway to the station, passed through the turnstile and jumped on the escalator.

  Maya took sunglasses out of her jacket and the dark lenses dulled the glare from the florescent bulbs on the ceiling. The escalator glided downward with faint grinding sound. Posters for a West End musical showed a woman leaping over a man’s head.

  When they reached the transit area, Maya saw that a second escalator led to the eastbound trains. She glanced upward. The two Tabula mercenaries had just reached the top of the escalator, and one of them was pulling out a handgun. A night of stars! one of the theatre posters read. You’ll never stop laughing!

  Maya handed the mobile phone to Alice. “Go to the platform and take the next westbound train. Get off at Bank, change onto the Northern Lane to Camden Town. Ask for the African drum shop and avoid the cameras.”

  “What about you?”

  “We can’t keep running.”

  “But they both have—”

  “Do what I say!”

  Alice headed down the short corridor that led to the Tube platform. Maya followed her for a few yards and dodged behind a pillar. The two mercenaries would reach this point in about five seconds.

  The shotgun was ready. Her thoughts were clear and precise. Years ago, her father had left alone her in a tube station like this so that she could learn to fight alone. He had wanted her to be strong and courageous, but instead she had felt betrayed. That memory stayed with her like a wrathful spirit. But now, at this moment of danger, close to death, it had finally lost its power.

  “They’re taking the train!” a man shouted.

  She pumped a round into the shotgun’s firing chamber, stepped into the corridor and saw the two mercenaries. When she fired, the sound was immense, echoing off the walls of the tunnel. The shotgun pellets knocked the first man off his feet. Turning slightly, she fired again at short range. The second man’s chest seemed to explode from within and blood sprayed across the tiles.

  Maya wiped off the shotgun with the pink smock and dropped it onto the floor. Leaving the two dead men behind her, she walked slowly onto the platform. Alice was there with her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists.

  When Maya stroked the child’s hair, Alice opened her eyes. “You fired the shotgun.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What happened?”

  There was a slight movement of air, as if the earth itself was breathing out, and then a train rolled into the station. Maya turned her back to the platform camera and took Alice’s hand. “We’re safe,” she said. “But we have to keep moving.”

  32

  G abriel sat with his father on a balcony near the top of one of the towers. That morning they had wandered up the slope and picked some green berries from one of the hillside plants. Matthew boiled water in the solar oven and used the berries to brew tea. The tea had a sharp citric taste, but it seemed to go well with the cold mountain air and bright sunlight.

  After days of conversation, the relationship between father and son had reached a certain equilibrium. They were both aware of each other in subtle ways, and complicated emotions could be expressed with a smile or a quick movement of the eyes.

  Gabriel’s father reminded him of the figures created by Alberto Giacometti. The Italian sculptor used wire and clay to make a horse or a dog or a human being, then slowly cut away every unnecessary detail until only the elemental form remained. Matthew Corrigan had gone through a similar transformation. His face was thin and bony, and his clothes hung lo
osely on his body. Like Giacometti’s statutes, he was spare and unencumbered. He had lost the vanity and pride that others wore like armor in the Fourth Realm.

  Matthew picked up a pot that was carved from a dark green stone and poured some tea into his cup. “You look very serious this afternoon.”

  “I’m trying to figure out why these parallel worlds exist. Are there only these six realms?”

  “Of course not. They are only a reflection of our human world.”

  “And what if there was another form of life in the Alpha Centauri system?”

  “I would assume that those beings would have their own six realms. The parallel worlds are infinite.”

  “So what about the gods and the half gods? Did they create everything?”

  “They don’t have that power. The creator goes by many names, but Aristotle called it the “Unmoved Mover”—that being that is eternal and indivisible. The half gods in the Fifth Realm are something else. I see them as ‘bad angels,’ and the ‘good angels’ were living here.”

  “So why did these good angels build the golden city?” Gabriel asked. “Someone designed these buildings in a particular way.”

  “Tell me what you felt when you walked through the first building.”

  “At first I thought it was a trap, and then I realized it was empty.”

  “Yes. It’s like an immense museum without guards—or visitors.”

  “I looked around a little bit, but there didn’t appear to be any short cuts or hidden staircases. So I walked through every room until I reached the second terrace.”