Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

went unrecorded in the history books, the puppet-master elites who had played a role in shaping the world order.

In the past, Andie would have scoffed at such speculation, despite Cal’s ability to rattle off a startling array of networks and connections.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She caught her breath when the passage dead-ended at the bottom of the slope. Without pause, Henrik approached the stone wall and heaved on it with both hands. A seamless door opened with a groan that caused them all to crouch in alarm.

The door had only moved a few feet, exposing a cobblestone street. Henrik put a hand on the door and slipped his head out, then stepped all the way through and waved everyone forward. The door was invisible from the street after he shoved it closed.

The canvas shades on the buildings were all drawn. Not a soul in sight. The medieval towers of central Bologna loomed above a shuttered osteria across the street.

Henrik started walking to his left. “I’ll warn the sentries in the courtyard of the security breach. We can leave in my car.”

“What if the Archiginnasio is compromised?” Zawadi asked.

“The exits are secure, and they won’t dare step into the courtyard.”

Despite his confidence, Henrik gripped his gun in both hands and held it chest-high as he crept toward the intersection a hundred feet away. Zawadi was on high alert, her eyes sweeping the balconies and rooftops. Andie and Cal huddled close behind and tried not to make a sound. The scuff of Andie’s shoes on the cobblestones sounded to her like a ringing fire alarm.

As they neared the intersection, they noticed a homeless person sleeping under a blanket in a doorway. Henrik and Zawadi exchanged a glance. She signaled for him to approach the prostrate form, of which only a handful of dark hair was visible beneath the soiled cover.

It was strange for someone to be buried under a blanket on such a warm night. As Zawadi leveled her gun, Henrik bent to get a look at the person’s face. Andie held her breath, waiting for a shot to ring out or the person to jump up, but instead Henrik took a step back and turned, his face pale. “It’s one of our sentries. His throat was cut.” He swept an arm for everyone to follow, then hurried back the way they had come.

“What does this mean?” Andie said, trying not to panic. “Where are we going?”

“They’re expecting us to leave through the courtyard. We have to get away from here.”

“I thought you said the courtyard was secure?”

“What it means,” Zawadi said, “is the situation is far graver than any of you realized.”

Instead of disagreeing, Henrik balled his fists as they hustled toward the next intersection. “Everything could be compromised. Everything! Zawadi, you took one of our cars tonight—how far away is it?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “We don’t know how they found us. Perhaps they hacked the interface.”

“Impossible.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “And still, in your hubris, you underestimate them. James told you this would happen! You know what they want—and they’ll do anything in their power to get it.”

“I don’t care what anyone wants or thinks right now,” Cal said in a harsh whisper, “unless it involves getting us the hell out of this city.

“We’ll have to try for a safe house,” Henrik said. “The closest is half a mile away.”

“It’s foolish to assume anywhere is safe tonight,” Zawadi said.

“Then what do you propose?”

“Improvisation.”

The narrow street curved like a snake toward the intersection of a wider one. Headlights swung into view, forcing everyone to flatten against the side of a building, but the car passed by.

When they reached the intersection, Zawadi took a moment to scan their surroundings. Andie figured it was only a matter of time before the Ascendants began sweeping the streets. She felt terrified and weak and helpless, and she hated it.

Hated that these people had taken so much from her.

Hated that her life hung in the balance of their next decision.

Hated that all she could do was run.

“Come,” Zawadi said. She glanced at the parked cars on their right as they fled down the street, past a cathedral with marble steps. Andie assumed she was looking for a car to hot-wire, but Zawadi surprised her by stopping not at one of the speedy BMWs or Alfa Romeos, but beside an older, rusting Fiat hatchback.

Zawadi tried a door and found it unlocked. “Get in.” She slid into the driver’s seat and began tugging on the panel beneath the steering wheel.

Andie and Cal jumped into the back seat. Henrik sat up front, rolled down the window, and trained his gun on the street. After one of the longest minutes of Andie’s life, the engine began to rumble.

“Why’d you pick the slowest car on the street?” Cal asked Zawadi. “To throw them off?”

“Because the electronic ignitions on newer cars make them hard to hijack.”

“And now?” Henrik asked. “Won’t the routes leaving the city be watched?”

“That’s why we’re not leaving by car.”

“Then how?”

“Take the wheel,” she said.

With a frown, Henrik leaned over to steer the car while she took out a phone and sent a hurried text.

“Who was that to?” Henrik asked.

“Our only chance at escape. He’s already on standby.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“If I didn’t trust you, you’d be dead.”

Henrik started to say something, thought better of it, and slammed a fist into the dash.

Zawadi switched into a higher gear and whipped the Fiat through the living museum of Bologna, past hulking cathedrals and ancient towers and moonlight-washed piazzas, the endless porticos a blur of concentric arches.

“Someone’s coming,” Cal said, keeping an eye on the side window.

“You’re sure?” Zawadi said.

“I’ve spent the last three years looking over my shoulder. SUV with its lights off, pacing us on a parallel street to the left. I’ve seen them twice through a courtyard.”

Zawadi swore and threw caution to the wind, ramping the curb and racing down pedestrian-only byways. The car’s suspension rattled Andie’s teeth on the rough cobblestones as Zawadi careened around tight