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 massive 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 crushing 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 massacre. 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 Hellgates 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
