Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy

by Jennings Wright

“Did Siffredo know anything that he could tell the Firsts about your cells?” Vasco asked.

  “No, he know nothing. He was smart, had fire,” Rigoberto thumped his fist to his chest. “But he know nothing to hurt us. Is okay. So that leave us with one hundred ninety altogether. Many peoples. Plus children and some nonno, grandparents, who are very old. We cannot take children to Rome, yes?”

  Vasco thought for a long time. They hadn’t planned for children. “I think if you can use your bus we can take the children. The cells in Rome have children, too. We’ll make sure they’re cared for in a safe place when it’s time for the raid. But if you must walk, you will have to leave the children and enough people to care for them.”

  “Si, is good. We find out about the autobus. Maybe there is time, if Vinci he need more parts, you can send peoples to find? In all the other places, yes?” Rigoberto smiled.

  “Yes. I already have Clay and Samson going to Rome to work on the bikes; I’ll reroute them here first for a few days first to help with the bus. We’ll be able to use the motorcycles at your Depot for the people who know how to ride them. I’m sure Clay can help with the bus and service it between trips.” He thought for a moment, trying to make plans. “I’ll need to leave in a few days and go to Rome, to let them know you’ll be there sooner than we thought. Meanwhile, we’ll meet with the other cells here and let them know what’s going on.”

  “They will be so happy! Is big blessing, to be here to help free Darian. Is what everybody dream of every night.”

  “Then let’s hope your dreams come true.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Four days later, Clay and Samson were led to the Naples equipment Depot by Beppe. As Beppe chattered on in a hybrid of Italian and English, Clay looked around him in wonder at the beautiful city. He spent most of his time outside of the tunnels stuck in Depots fixing things, except while they were hunting for the Enigma machine and code books. Even in the dark, Naples was beautiful.

  “Vinci, he have the autobus to the Depot now, for you to check, yes? The peoples, they no want walking all the way to Roma!” Beppe grinned at his companions.

  Samson laughed. “No, I wouldn’t want to walk either. Did he bring all his parts?” Samson asked. Beppe looked at him, without comprehension. “Parts? Uh…” Samson turned to Clay. “Got any Italian?”

  “Filtrar?” Clay said. “It’s Spanish—maybe it’s close.”

  “Ah, si, parts,” Beppe said, carefully forming the word. “Filtro, yes, and many other things.”

  “Bueno,” Samson said.

  With a grin, Beppe said, “Buono.”

  They walked in silence for five minutes, then turned down a narrow alley in an industrial section of the city. It looked like every other Depot Clay had visited: an old, dark, creepy warehouse. Sliding open the door, Beppe pointed to an office that was up a flight of rickety metal stairs. A small light was flickering there, most likely from a candle. Looking around the warehouse, Clay could make out the dark rounded shape of an old bus at the back near a roll-up door.

  Following the others upstairs, Clay smiled when he entered the office. An old man was smoking a pipe in the corner. He grinned up at them from his mattress on the floor. Next to him was a child of about four, curled up around a giant pink bunny.

  “Benvenuto! Welcome, welcome!” the man said softly. “I am Vinci, this is my granddaughter Mila. She is my assistant.” He grinned and ran his hand gently over the shiny black hair of the girl, his dark eyes crinkling in welcome. He started to get up, but Samson crossed over to him and shook his hand.

  “Stay where you are, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Samson, this is Clay.” Clay stepped over and shook his hand. “We’ll join you in calling it a night and get to work in the morning, if that’s okay with you?”

  Vinci nodded and pointed to a half dozen mattresses stacked against the wall. “We get Darian this time, si?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Samson said. “This time, we’re gonna get him.”

  Neahle was assigned to work with three others in her group helping Rigoberto sort out the transport schedule, the exact number of rebels and children that would be going, and what each would need to take with them to Rome. The rebels were used to traveling light, but they were finding that children needed considerably more stuff when contemplating an extended stay.

  “When there are kids on board, we’re only going to get eighteen on at a time because of the extra baggage,” Neahle said with exasperation, throwing down her pencil. “The more trips we have to take, the more likely we are to be discovered. This is impossible!”

  Rigoberto rubbed his chin and stared at the list again. Including the children, there were two hundred and forty people to transport to Rome. Several of the older rebels had elected to stay in Naples — there were a half dozen who were almost eighty and who were as retired as it was possible to get when you were being hunted. Thirteen of the children were babies or toddlers who required diapers, multiple changes of clothes, portable cribs, and at least a few of their familiar toys.

  The Italian sighed. “If we are not to leave the bambino, we will have to take these many journeys. I cannot see another way.”

  “How long is the drive to Rome?” Neahle asked.

  “Is not so far. Before the war, maybe one and one half hour. Now we cannot take the main road. We must go at night through small villages. It will be six hours at the least, I am afraid, maybe more. We will know after the first time.”

  Neahle thought awhile. “The first trip will be one of the most dangerous. It would be best if the children can sleep while they are in the bus, but that will take up even more room.” She stared off into space. “We need a young, strong group along with some of the outsiders for the first trip, to see how it goes. The driver needs to be someone who knows the roads well. I think it might be best to send all the children on the second, third and fourth trips with just a few adults and let them get settled in Rome. If we put mostly children on the bus so they travel without their parents, we can get more in, even with all their stuff. Maybe twenty-five instead of eighteen.”

  “Is good idea, but I not know if the parents, they will say is okay,” Rigoberto said.

  “It’s the safest way for the children. We can make sure that the cells in Rome are ready to receive them. Doing it this way saves us one trip. Perhaps some of the parents can go along on the motorbikes. How many motorbikes do we have here?”

  “Samson say we have twenty-seven that work well enough for the long journey. So for each trip we send eighteen peoples on motocicletta, yes?” Rigoberto scribbled on his pad of paper.

  “Yes. If we do that, we can get all the children out of Naples and have eighty-five or ninety adults there in the first four trips. The ones on the bikes can provide security for the kids...” Neahle refused to think about heavily armed Firsts ambushing a busload of children and taking them or worse.

  Rigoberto nodded. “We have guns. We give guns to the driver, peoples on the bus, the bikes. Yes, they be safe with so many.”

  From your lips to God’s ears, Neahle thought as she jotted the plan down.

  “I’m not totally happy with the parts inventory for that bus,” Clay said to Samson for the third time. “We need more. If Neahle’s schedule is even close to do-able, the bus is going to make at least a dozen trips to and from Rome the long way. If that’s three hundred miles a trip, that’s thirty-six hundred miles. Not bad for a new Honda—it wouldn’t even need an oil change. But for this thing…” He waved his arm towards the sixty year old Ikarus bus. “This thing is going to need oil every couple hundred, and a complete change out probably every trip. That’s a dozen filters.”

  “I know. I’ve got a list. Vinci has a maintenance book so I know what the compatible parts are. I’m going to have to go on a scavenger hunt.”

  “Her
e? They’ve probably already raided every auto parts store.” Clay crossed his arms, looking with dismay at the bus. They had to make a decision within a day. If the bus couldn’t make the trip, the rebels needed to prepare to walk.

  “No, I’m going to use the tunnels. I’ve gotten thousands of parts over the years. The good news is that there are portals to places where no one lives. Odessa, for one. Guernsey. I shouldn’t have to go anywhere dangerous. We’ve been able to find plenty of bike parts; there should be parts for this monster out there somewhere. It’ll take a couple days.” Samson slung his back pack on. “You get these bikes in tip-top shape and tell them the bus is a go. I’ll be back.”

  Clay watched the big man leave the Depot, then stared at the bus. They really needed that bus. He’d make sure it and the bikes were ready.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Rod took the woman’s hand across the table. He’d been visiting the cells, helping to get the rebels ready for their journey. Those without children were excited about freeing Darian and ready to go. Others, like this young mother, wanted to stay in Naples.

  “Abrianna, I know you’re scared for your children. But everyone who can help with the raid is needed. Everyone says you are the best tracker in Naples, that you move like smoke.”

  Abrianna smiled. “Is true, but the children… I cannot now leave the children. What if something happens?” Tears filled her eyes.

  “If we don’t get Darian out of that prison, what kind of life will your children have? There are gangs, junkies, Firsts… Your children can’t run and play, they can’t have a life without fear.” He squeezed her hand. “We need you to help us. The children will all be taken care of in Rome; the Roman cells have children, too. They will keep them all together in a safe place. I know it’s dangerous. People are going to die. I promise you, your children will be taken care of no matter what happens.” Rod squeezed Abrianna’s hand. “If you stay here alone, what will you do? How will you live? Your husband is going, isn’t he?”

  The young woman nodded and Rod noticed the deep lines around her eyes and mouth. She was too young to have such worry; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

  “He go. He pray every night that Darian will save us. If he no go on the bus, he walk. If he cannot walk, he crawl. He will help.”

  “The only other people staying here are very old,” Rod said. “They can’t take your children or help you when you are alone. We need you, Abrianna. Please.”

  Her eyes strayed to a closed door on the other side of the living room. The children were there, napping. Tears ran down her face as she studied that door, but finally she nodded.

  “I go with Gaetano and the others. I take my bambino and I pray.”

  “Pray for all of us,” Rod said. “We’re going to need it.”

  “We have enough parts for four trips. Maybe five, depending on how much oil this bad boy uses. All I can say is, trust Samson.” Clay sat on a worn leather seat inside the bus. Vasco was sitting in the driver’s seat and Abacus was across the aisle.

  “But if they don’t start walking now, they won’t make it in time for training,” Vasco said, frustrated.

  “Start sending the bus tonight. We know we can get all the kids there with what we’ve got, right? And the first group of rebels. Send anyone that would have a hard time with the walk with those first groups. If Samson doesn’t come back in time…” Clay swallowed. His friend had been gone five days, and he was secretly a lot more worried than he was letting on. “If he doesn’t come back in time, the rest can walk.”

  “At twenty miles a day, that’s a week’s march,” Abacus said. “They’d have to take food, bedrolls, clothes.”

  Vasco shook his head. “If Samson’s not back for the last trip we know we can make, we’ll load the bus up with everything else and it can go with the walkers.”

  “They could probably walk the main road,” Clay said. “So it would be shorter. Five or six days.”

  “Why do you say that?” Vasco asked. His hazel eyes had puffy bags under then and his short blonde hair was well past the need for a cut.

  “Well, on every highway I’ve seen here, the woods have grown right up to the road and the branches hide a lot of the asphalt. I don’t think even a large group of people walking would draw anyone’s attention and they could stay under cover on the sides of the road.”

  “You might be right,” Abacus said. He slapped his thighs and stood. “I’m going back to the tunnels. I keep hoping that Landon is going to pay us a visit, maybe have something helpful to share.”

  “Or have his ducks bring over a platoon of Marines. That would be good.” Clay stood up and shook the older man’s hand. “I’ll keep the bus running. When you see Samson, tell him to get his butt back here.”

  The first busload left the next night. The driver was a middle aged man named Mozart who had driven long-haul semis before the war. He said he knew a back way to Rome and patted the ancient rifle strapped to his back. “Is good,” is all he could say in English. Looking at his chiseled face, his wavy salt and pepper hair, and his strong, stocky body and clear eyes, Clay merely shook his hand and wished him buona fortuna, good luck.

  Besides the driver, twelve of the most dedicated rebels went on the first trip, along with seven older rebels who were good at strategy but for whom the walk would be debilitating. Rod was the twentieth, accompanying the group for security and to help introduce them in Rome. All had weapons of one sort or other: rifles, handguns, knives, and one machete. Under each seat were bags of clothes, food, supplies, medicine, and other things the newcomers would need when they arrived at their new safe houses.

  The bus made its way slowly, its lights off, and everyone quiet. Mozart was true to his word, knowing back roads through villages where he had once made deliveries. They saw no one but could hear packs of dogs in the distance. They saw several large herds of deer. Sleeping in shifts, the rebels were constantly alert for any signs of trouble: a light, a mechanical noise, or anything else that seemed out of place. They saw and heard nothing. Italy had gone back to the wild.

  It took them six hours and thirteen minutes to reach the outskirts of Rome. Using directions from Vasco, Mozart wound through the ancient city, following streets that seemed too narrow for the old bus. In another hour, they pulled into the Depot, the dark roll-up door raised by two men wielding shotguns. One knocked on the bus door and entered as soon as it was open. Monkey.

  “Ciao!” he said, grinning. “One trip down, eleven to go. I’m Monkey—some of you I know, some I don’t. We’ve got a safe house not far from here and we need to get you all off and in there before first light, which is in…” He consulted his watch. “Forty-five minutes. Don’t worry about unloading; we’ll do that later today and your new cell leaders will help you get your stuff tonight.” Seeing a lot of blank faces, he smiled and waved. “Anyone who knows English please translate! Adio!”

  Rod followed Monkey down the steps and the men on the ground directed Mozart to a tight parking space. Motorcycles filled the rest of the warehouse. The passengers quickly disembarked and the Italian man who’d opened the door with Monkey led them away. The whole process had taken less than five minutes.

  Monkey peered into the bus at Mozart. “Coming? We’ve got a mattress for you. You’ve got to go back tonight—you want to get some sleep.”

  “He doesn’t speak English,” Rod said.

  “Huh. Hang on.” Monkey pulled out a worn English-Italian dictionary and paged through. “Dormire? Sleep?” he asked Mozart.

  “Si, grazie,” the man said, climbing down and grabbing his rifle.

  “How ‘bout you?” Monkey said to Rod.

  “I’m okay for now. I caught a little sleep on the way. Any news?” Monkey shook his head, leading them to a small storage room off the back of the warehouse where four mattresses were in a line on
the floor.

  “Grazie,” Mozart said again, flopping onto the mattress closest to the wall. He was asleep in less than a minute.

  “He’s gonna be tired after a few weeks of this,” Rod said, closing the door.

  “It’s going to take too long like this,” Vasco said that evening, tilting his chair onto the back legs. “We can’t take two days for each trip.”

  “This was just the first run. We didn’t even know if the roads would be passable,” Rod said. “Mozart will get faster as he gets more familiar with the route, and we should be able to start earlier in the evening. We wanted this whole run to be in the dead of night, just in case.”

  “Even if he gets it to six hours door-to-door, which would be taking an hour and half off the trip, we can’t get in a round trip run in full dark. That’s a problem.”

  Monkey broke in. “If he goes the main road…”

  Vasco shook his head. “Too risky.”

  “How do we know that?” Rod said. “We haven’t taken the main road. As far as I can tell, no one in Naples or Rome has driven it since the war.”

  Vasco looked at him for a long time. “That’s probably true. We really do need to figure out how to shave some time off this trip. Ideas?”

  “Motorcycles,” Rod said. “Monkey and I can take bikes and check out the road. If it’s good, we can do a hundred and twenty-five miles in less than two hours. Four hours round trip, tops.”

  Monkey nodded. “It’s a good idea. You’ll have to send someone with Mozart tonight for security, if Rod doesn’t go back with him. But if the road checks out, we can talk to Rigoberto and tell him the plan. They could start doing a trip a night.”