Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

night, and he instantly launched into an excited swarm of questions.
    “Oh, boy, that was close. Did you set off the alarm? Guards swarmed the room for quite a while after you left, and who was that bloke on the floor? Where did he go? They put the cameras and computers in emergency lockdown mode right after that, so I got kicked out, and Fee, I think they knew I was in there. They’ve got somebody top-notch. It would have to be somebody really, really good to know I was there and find out it was actually me, you know? Not in an arrogant way, but you know. What did you think of the Siren? Did you get a really good look? It’s absolutely gorgeous, but I’ve always been moved along by the guards when I try to—”
    She finally stopped him, dazzled by the sheer volume of words. “What did I tell you about caffeine after midnight? Slow down, let me in, and we’ll talk about it. I don’t really care to discuss this in the hall.”
    Not that the hall housed anyone but herself and Declan; those few of the staff who didn’t return to their own homes at night had the other wing, but it never hurt to be careful. She took a step toward the combined office and computer room she thought of as her brother’s private nerve center, but this time Hopkins clamped a hand on her arm with the tensile strength of a cast-iron manacle.
    She glanced up at him, and her question died in her mouth at the sight of the flames practically shooting out of his eyes.
    “There was a bloke?” he said, enunciating very, very precisely, always a bad sign. “A bloke on the floor?”
    “Inside. Let’s get out of the hallway and I’ll tell all,” she repeated. “But let me warn you now: you’re not going to like it.”
    Christophe opened his eyes to total darkness, and just for a moment, that instant between conscious and not conscious, terror swept through him. Not again, not now, not the box, I’ll be good, please no.
    Before he could smash his fists into whatever hard surface he lay on, however, or howl his fear to the menacing dark, realization dawned. The present reality snapped back into focus with the power of a moon-pulled wave crashing around his head in high surf.
    He was safe. He was in the trunk of the car—the ninja’s car. It was no longer moving, so hopefully they’d arrived at her home base or headquarters. Unless they’d stolen the car and then dumped it, in which case he was screwed. Yet again.
    Funny, he hadn’t considered that it might be a stolen car until now that it was too late. He was better than that, when he wasn’t drugged and chasing a silk-covered ninja. He closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat to slow.
    Calm. Serene. He was one of Poseidon’s elite, not that little boy. Never again that pathetic boy. Never again helpless.
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
    Page 30 of 188
    He was also feeling stronger. The sleep must have allowed his body to metabolize the rest of the drug out of his system and recharge Atlantean magic that had been far too frequently channeled this night.
    Stretching out his arms, he carefully felt in the usual places for any type of release mechanism. Ven, the car enthusiast, had told them all about that after Christophe had wanted to put an uncooperative shifter in the trunk of one of Ven’s cars once. Newer cars generally had release levers, Ven had said; a protection for children who might accidentally lock themselves in the trunk.
    Accidentally. Lock themselves in the trunk. The words themselves mocked him. Mocked his helplessness, all those years ago. The word “trunk” then meant a heavy wooden thing, not part of a vehicle. Cars had been a thing of the far-distant future back then.
    No. Not accidental at all. When they’d locked a terrified little boy in that trunk. Demon-borne, they’d said. Hours and hours in that trunk, but what came later had been even worse.
    No. He shook his head and took a deep breath to escape the memories. His trembling fingers found the release lever, and he paused to listen carefully for the sound of anyone in the area who might be surprised to see a man climb out of the trunk of a car. Surprise sometimes equaled guns shooting at his head. Or worse: vampires’ kind of surprise.
    He hated surprise.
    But there was nothing. Not road noise, either, so the car was inside a garage or parking structure, or else he’d been asleep for long enough for the car to travel far beyond London’s busy streets. He couldn’t be sure, but it