There was a flurry of activity on a side aisle and Donna appeared with her arm around a small Latina woman. She pulled the woman up onto the dais, guided her over to Michael, and whispered in his ear. “Ana Cabral. You said her son’s name.”

The mother was weeping as Michael embraced her. Yes, he thought. A good visual. And flashguns filled the room with light.

36

Around nine o’clock in the evening, Winston drove Maya and Alice across the river to the South Bank and dropped them off in Bonnington Square. Maya had assumed that the meeting was near Vinehouse, the illegal squat once used by the Free Runners, but they circled the square twice and couldn’t find Edgerton Lane.

The Vinehouse chimney was still standing, but the rest of building was a pile of collapsed brick and charred floorboards. Maya paused beside the safety barrier and remembered the night she had dragged Jugger and his friends out the back door. A hundred yards away, near the edge of the square, she had killed two Tabula mercenaries with a handgun attached to a homemade silencer. It was a Harlequin rule to never look back or express regret, but sometimes she felt like the past was following her like a hungry ghost.

“Where’s Edgerton Lane?” Alice asked. “Let’s call Linden and get directions.”

“ Linden wanted a blackout on cell phone use two hours before the meeting.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find it.”

Alice ran around the square checking the street signs, then darted into a fish and chips shop. She came out with a triumphant smile on her face. “We go three blocks south and turn right.”

They left the square and headed down a cobblestone street. Maya glanced up at the windows of the surrounding row houses and saw an older man watching television while his white-haired wife poured tea.

“Why does Gabriel want you to come to the meeting?” Maya asked.

“I thought he told you.”

“He spoke to you for almost an hour, Alice. Since he came back, I’ve only talked to him for a few minutes.”

36 Edgerton Lane turned out to be a vegetarian restaurant called The Other Way. A bulletin board outside was a virtual compendium of the different social and political movements in the last few years. Stop the war and save the whales. Raw food and hot yoga. Birth centers and new age hospices.

She had seen notices like this since she was Alice ’s age. But this time, there was a significant addition. On the lower right hand corner of the board, someone had placed a sticker that showed a surveillance camera with a bar slashed through it. Had enough? asked the sticker. Fight the Vast Machine.

Maya expected to find a few Free Runners at the restaurant, but the shabby room was filled with strangers. She heard several different languages being spoken as people sipped drinks and waited for the meeting to start. Every table was taken, but Simon Lumbroso had saved them two chairs.

“Buona sera. It’s a pleasure to see you both. I was worried that you didn’t receive the message.”

“We got lost,” Alice said.

“I didn’t think that happened to Harlequins.”

“Winston dropped us off on the square,” Maya explained. “But we couldn’t find the street.”

“So I asked the fish and chips man.”

“Ahhh, I see. You weren’t really lost,” Simon winked at Alice. “As Sparrow suggested, you were cultivating randomness.”

While Simon chatted with Alice, Maya studied the crowd that had assembled to hear the Traveler. Everyone in the room could be placed in one of two categories. Jugger and his friends were there along with various off-the-grid tribes that were their natural allies. Regardless of their different political philosophies, the members of this group dressed pretty much the same-jeans, boots, and old jackets. They were an odd mixture of low and high technology: some refused to use credit cards and grew food in rooftop gardens, but their mobile phones and computers were cutting edge.

There was a second group at the restaurant-faces she didn’t recognize. Unlike the Free Runners, these new members of the Resistance were citizens that looked like they paid rent, raised children and held down regular jobs. They seemed uncomfortable to be sitting in cast-off chairs next to a group of shabby looking twenty-year-olds

The owner of the restaurant was a little man with a white beard who resembled a ceramic garden gnome. As both cook and waiter, he scurried back and forth, serving herbal tea and juice smoothies. Maya wondered if any strangers had crashed the meeting, but the gnome was checking names. When he approached their table, he spoke in a low voice.

“This is the monthly meeting of the South London Compost Society. Are you members?”

“We are charter members,” Simon said grandly. “I am Mr. Lumbroso, and these two ladies are my friends.”