Sweat covered her face, and she tried not to panic when it touched her lips. After transferring her weapons to the knapsack, she tied the bag to a nylon cord and looped the other end around her shoulders. Grabbing one of the cables, she began to climb hand-over-hand, the knapsack swinging beneath her. The cord dug into her skin and the dead weight tried to pull her down, but she kept climbing until she reached a closet-sized switching room. The breaching round had been very loud-the noise might have been picked up with a sensor. Perhaps the guards had been notified and now they were there, waiting for her.

Maya took a deep breath and kicked open the door.

31

Maya 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. Seizethe 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.