Chapter 23
Every step across the dark grounds tightened the tension across Sharyn’s shoulders.
The mists continued to thicken with the falling temperatures.
The night dissolved into glowing patches of fog and deeper shadows.
While this offered their group ample cover, it also strained her eyes as she searched for any threat.
“Shouldn’t there be more security out here?” Tag whispered.
Moira grimaced. “You’d think so, but it’s closing time. The witching hour. Most security congregates around the Crown Jewels building. Everyone else is closing places or scurrying out the last tourists.”
Sharyn continued to watch for any of the above. She held her pistol at her hip, hidden under the fall of her jacket. Duncan did the same with his weapon. At any moment, she expected to hear the crack of a sniper’s rifle, to see one of her friends fall.
Still, their group safely cleared the green and headed behind the massive rise of the White Tower. They kept tightly clustered, trying to hide that Moira was propped up by Archie.
“Oy, there!” a voice shouted behind them.
They all turned as a Beefeater stepped from the misty stairwell, jangling a set of keys.
“Tower’s well closed,” he called over. “Shouldn’t still be about.”
Moira shifted forward, hanging on Archie as if he were her boyfriend. “It’s just me! Moira Kelly. Getting a late start with some friends.” She motioned with her chin. “Heading to the Hung, Drawn, and Quartered.”
“Good pub, but not as nice as The Keys right here at the Tower. With this pea-souper dropping on us, you and your friends are welcome, if it suits you.”
“Cheers for that, but we have others waiting for us.” Moira waved a goodbye that nearly took her legs out from under her.
Archie kept her going. “A pub? Here? I could use a pint about now.”
“Not a good idea,” Moira wheezed out. “The Keys is a private Warder’s pub, friends and family only. Either way, we don’t want to be caught there.”
“Why?” Naomi glanced back to the Beefeater as he headed off into the fog. “When all hell breaks loose, which will happen before long, what better place to be?”
“And you need medical attention,” Duncan reminded her.
“No.” Moira continued on. “Don’t let the Beefeaters garb mislead you. All the Warders have at least twenty-two years of military service. They’re no nonsense when it comes to security of the Tower. Once they realize something is awry, they’ll lock this place down—and us.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Tag asked.
“Not if they confiscate the book, which they’ll certainly do. Afterward, it will no doubt vanish into the Brotherhood as they pull their strings.”
Archie added the other concern. “And don’t forget, we’re all framed for murder. The deaths here will not help our case.”
“Good riddance to the book, I say,” Duncan muttered.
Moira glared at him. “My father risked his life . . . possibly gave it . . . to get the book to safety. I will not fail him. And neither will you. You owe him that much.”
Naomi glanced back to the Tower Green. “What about your father?”
“He . . . he’s a soldier. Once you’re away, I’ll raise the alarm, try to get help to him before they . . . before he . . .” She shook her head, unable to finish the grim sentiment. Instead, she hobbled faster. “Which means I need to get your butts out of here as quickly as possible.”
Sharyn kept next to her, gripping her pistol.
Moira continued. “I’ll reach out to Laurent. Let him know about the ambush. Arrange a new rendezvous. He said you had a burner phone.”
“We do,” Sharyn agreed.
“He also told me that he had made arrangements to get you all out of the country until matters could be sorted. It’s another reason he was delayed. To secure forged papers for you all. Papers at least good enough to get you into France.”
“France?” Naomi said.
“The Gardiens’ main quarters are in Paris.”
Sharyn raised a concern that they all likely shared. “Can we trust this man? He was the one who sent us here.”
Into a trap.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Moira admitted. “I would’ve never suspected him before this. But if he had meant to betray you, he could’ve sent you anywhere, certainly to a location far easier to set up an ambush than the Tower of London.”
Sharyn recognized this made sense, but she could not shake her paranoia. Professor Wright’s warning blazed behind her eyes.
Trust no one.
The group continued and cleared the corner of the White Tower. They followed along the castle’s eastern facade, hurrying past the hulk of a cannon, turned a rich verdigris by age. On the other side, a parked white service van unloaded crates and supplies toward the open doors of a café.
Sharyn’s stomach stirred at the smell of baked bread.
When was the last time I ate anything?
Still, she kept going, drawn by the arched tunnel through the Tower’s inner wall.
Almost out.
As they headed into the tunnel, the outer curtain wall appeared. The bulwark rose on the far side of a street that ran between the Tower’s two walls. An archway cut through it and led to a narrow wooden bridge that spanned the castle’s dry moat. It ended at a park that bordered the Thames.
Sharyn stared longingly at the misty river as it glowed, illuminated by the shining bulk of Tower Bridge that crested high over the water.
Freedom lay so close.
And so far.
Tag groaned, clearly recognizing this, too.
A pair of police vehicles blocked the bridge’s far side, along with a gray-paneled truck that looked military. Blue lights flashed and spun everywhere. Uniformed figures stirred amid the chaos.
Archie shook his head. “Seems we’re not getting out of here any time soon.”