“So it’s a sport?”

“For some. But the crews here tonight are hard-core underground. That means we run where we want. No boundaries. No rules.” Jugger glanced to the left and right as if he were about to tell a secret. “Ever hear of the Vast Machine?”

Gabriel resisted the impulse to nod. “What’s that?”

“It’s the computer system that watches us with scanner programs and surveillance cameras. The Free Runners refuse to be part of the Vast Machine. We run above it all.”

Gabriel watched the door as another group of Free Runners entered the pub. “So is this some kind of a weekly meeting?”

“No meetings, mate. We’re here for a straight-line race. Dogsboy is our man, but he hasn’t shown up yet.”

Jugger held his seat as his crew began to gather in the snug. Ice was a fifteen-or sixteen-year-old girl, small and severe-looking with painted eyebrows that made her look like an underage geisha. Roland was a man from Yorkshire who talked slowly. Sebastian was a part-time college student with paperback books stuffed into the pockets of his frayed raincoat.

Gabriel had never been to England, and he found it difficult to understand everything they were saying. Jugger had once driven a “juggernaut”-which was what the British called a certain kind of truck, only it wasn’t a truck-it was a “lorry.” Potato chips were “crisps,” and a glass of beer was “a bitter.” Jugger was the informal leader of the crew, but he was endlessly teased about his weight and his “bobble hat.”

Along with the British words, there was also a Free Runner vocabulary. The four members of the crew chatted casually about monkey vaults, cat leaps, and wall runs. They didn’t just climb up the side of a building; they “murdered it” or “wolfed it down.”

People kept talking about their best runner-Dogsboy-but he still hadn’t arrived. Finally, Jugger’s mobile phone began beeping and he motioned for everyone to be quiet.

“So where are you?” Jugger asked. As the conversation developed, he began to look annoyed and then angry. “You promised, mate. This is your crew. You’re letting the crew down… Sod this for a game of soldiers… You can’t just…Damn it!”

Jugger closed the phone and began to swear. Gabriel could barely understand half of what he was saying.

“I assume Dogsboy will not be in attendance,” Sebastian said.

“Bastard says he’s got a bad leg. I bet a tenner he’s in bed with a bit of fluff.”

The rest of the crew began complaining about their friend’s betrayal, but they quieted down when the man with the wraparound glasses approached them. “That’s Mash,” Roland whispered to Gabriel. “He’s holding all the side bets for tonight.”

“Where’s your runner?”

“I just talked to him,” Jugger said. “He’s…he’s trying to find a taxi.”

Mash sneered at Jugger’s crew as if he already knew the truth. “If he doesn’t show up in ten minutes, you lose your side bets plus the hundred quid forfeit money.”

“He might-maybe, perhaps-have a bad leg.”

“You know the rule. No runner and you lose the forfeit.”

“Gormless bastard,” Jugger muttered. He looked up at his crew after Mash had returned to the bar. “Okay. Who’s the runner? Somebody volunteer.”

“I do technicals, not straight lines,” Ice said. “You know that.”

“Got me a bad cold,” Roland said.

“You’ve had it for three years!”

“So why don’t you do the race, Jugger?”

Gabriel had always enjoyed climbing up trees and running across the rafters of the family’s barn. He continued to challenge himself in California with motorcycle racing and parachute jumps. But his strength and agility had been taken to a new level in New York when Maya recovered from her injury. In the evening, they would run through kendo exercises. Instead of wielding bamboo sticks, Maya would use her Harlequin sword while he fought with the talisman sword. This was the only time they both looked freely at each other’s bodies. Their intense relationship seemed to express itself in a relentless combat. At the end of the kendo workout, both of them were breathing hard and drenched with sweat.

Gabriel leaned forward and nodded to Jugger. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll run for your crew.”

“And who the hell are you?” Ice asked.

“This is Gabriel,” Jugger announced quickly. “An American Free Runner. Expert class.”

“If you don’t have a runner you lose a hundred pounds,” Gabriel said. “So pay me the forfeit money. Either way, it’s the same. And I just might win your bets.”

“You know what you got to do?” Sebastian asked.

Gabriel nodded. “Run a race. Climb some walls.”

“You got to run the roof of Smithfield Market, cross over to the old slaughterhouse, get down to the street, and make it to the churchyard at St. Sepulchre-without-Newgate,” Ice said. “If you fall, it’s a twenty-meter drop to the street.”

This was the moment-he could still change his mind. But Gabriel felt as if he had been drowning in a river and suddenly a boat had appeared. He had just a few seconds to grab for a rope.

“When do we start?”

THE MOMENT THE decision was made, Gabriel felt as if he were surrounded by a new group of best friends. When he admitted that he was hungry, Sebastian hurried off to the bar and returned with a chocolate bar and several bags of salt-and-vinegar crisps. Gabriel ate the food quickly and felt a surge of energy. He decided to stay away from alcohol, although Roland offered to buy him a pint of beer.

Jugger appeared to regain his confidence now that his crew had a runner. He circled the bar a second time, and Gabriel heard his swaggering voice rise above the general noise. Within a few minutes, half the crowd believed that Gabriel was a well-known Free Runner from the States who had flown over to London because of his friendship with Jugger’s crew.

Gabriel ate another chocolate bar, and then went to the men’s room to splash some water on his face. When he came out, Jugger was waiting for him. He pushed open a door and led Gabriel to an outside courtyard that was used by the pub during the summer.

“It’s just us now,” Jugger said. All his bluster had disappeared and he acted shy and unsure of himself-the fat boy who had been teased in school. “Tell me straight, Gabriel. Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

“A thing like this is not for the ordinary citizen. It’s a right fast way to get killed. If you want, we can sneak out the back.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Gabriel said. “I can do it…”

The door burst open. Sebastian and three other Free Runners appeared in the courtyard. “Here he is!” someone shouted. “Hurry up! Time to go!”

As they left the pub Jugger was absorbed by the crowd, but Ice fell in beside Gabriel. Gripping his arm tightly, she spoke in a low voice: “Watch your feet, but don’t look farther down.”

“Okay.”

“If you’re climbing up a wall, don’t try to hug it. Push your body out a bit. It helps your center of gravity.”

“Anything else?”

“If you get frightened, don’t go any farther. Just stop and we’ll get you off the roof. When people are scared, they fall.”

No one was on the street except for the Free Runners, and some of them began showing off-jumping onto the edge of concrete traffic barriers and doing backflips through the air. Lit up by security lights, Smithfield Market looked like a massive temple of stone and brick dumped into the center of London. There were plastic sheets hanging over the steel doors that covered the loading docks, and the night wind made them sway.

Mash led them around the market and explained the route for the straight run. Once they made it up onto the roof, they would run the entire length of the building and use a metal awning to cross the street to an abandoned slaughterhouse. Somehow they would get down to the street and run up Snow Hill to St. Sepulchre-without-Newgate. The first runner to reach the fenced-in churchyard was the winner.