Robie didn’t just have an escape plan in case something went wrong on one of his missions. He had a safe house too. Now, with someone else in tow, he had opted for Plan C.
Unfortunately, Plan C was already getting complicated.
Robie’s gaze swept the end of the alley. He’d put his goggles on. It was only a glimpse, but he clung to it, because he knew it was important: reflected light off a gun scope.
He removed the goggles, slipped back into shadows, looked down at the girl.
“What’s your name?”
“Why?”
“Just something to call you. It doesn’t have to be your real one,” he added.
She hesitated. “Julie.”
“Okay, Julie. You can call me Will.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Is Julie your real name?”
She fell silent, looked past him, out into the darkness. They had covered about ten blocks, so far in fact that the sound of the sirens had receded. She had not committed to go with him. They had silently agreed to leave the scene of the explosion by simply turning and walking away together.
Robie could visualize the activity surrounding the bus. The first responders would be trying to determine what had caused the explosion. Faulty gas tank? Or terrorist attack? But then he concentrated on that glimpse.
“There’s someone out there,” he told Julie in a low voice.
“Where?” she asked.
Robie pointed over his shoulder even as his gaze was running over her. “Any chance you have a tracking device on you? Because I’m good at getting away, and that was pretty fast to catch up to us.”
“Maybe they’re better than you.”
“Let’s hope not. Tracking device? How about your cell? I didn’t notice one in your pocket. But do you have one? And is your GPS chip enabled?”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” she replied.
“Don’t all kids have cell phones?”
“I guess not,” she said stiffly. “And I’m not a kid.”
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“Forty.”
“That’s really old.”
“Trust me, I’m feeling it. How old?”
She hesitated again. “Can I lie?” she asked. “Like with my name?”
“Sure. But if you say you’re over twenty I probably won’t believe you.”
“Fourteen.”
“Okay.”
He looked the way they had come. Something in his gut very clearly told him not to go back that way.
“What did you see that made you think there’s someone there?” she asked.
“Reflection, just like yours in the bus window.”
“It could be anybody.”
“Reflection of light off a rifle scope. It’s a pretty unique signature.”
“Oh.”
Robie studied the walls on either side of them. Then he looked up.
“You afraid of heights?”
“No,” she said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. He hustled to a construction Dumpster parked in the alley and searched through it. He finally pulled out several lengths of rope and quickly knotted them together. There was a lenth of plywood in the Dumpster too. He positioned it so that it rested on top of the Dumpster’s rim, giving them a platform on which to stand.
“Strap your backpack down tight around you.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
She yanked the straps tight and looked at him expectantly.
“What are we doing?”
“Climbing.”
Robie lifted her up and placed her on top of the plywood and hoisted himself on top of it.
“What now?”
“Like I said, we climb.”
She stared up the brick face of the building.
“Can you really do this?”
“We’ll find out.” He motioned to her. “Come on. You need to stand on my shoulders.” He pointed up. “We’re aiming for that.”
It was a fire escape ladder that in its up and locked position ended well above street level.
“I don’t think I can reach it.”
“We can try. Keep your legs rigid.”
He lifted her up and onto his shoulders and then, grabbing her ankles, military-pressed her higher. Even with her arms stretched out fully she was still about a foot short of the goal. He set her back down.
Robie took the rope he’d gotten from the Dumpster and tossed it up and over the bottom rung of the ladder. He took one end, fashioned a knotted loop, and pulled the other end through it. He gripped the rope and quickly climbed up to the ladder, then freed the rope and passed one end back down to her.
“I’m not great at rope climbing. I flunked PE,” she said doubtfully.
“You don’t have to be. Tie the rope around your backpack straps. Make sure the knot is tight.”
She did this.
Robie added, “Now cross your arms and hold them tight against your body. That’ll keep the backpack from slipping.”
She did so and he started pulling her up.
As soon as she reached him, Robie knew they were in trouble. Running feet were never a good sound.
“Climb, now,” he said, the urgency clear in his voice. “As high as you can.”
She struggled up the fire escape ladder while Robie turned back and focused on what was coming
CHAPTER
18
The man turned into the alleyway, stopped, cleared the lane by sight, and moved forward. Ten yards in he stopped again, looked left, right, and then ahead. He kept moving, his rifle swinging in precise, controlled arcs. He did this two more times. He was good, but not good enough, because he hadn’t yet looked up.
When he finally did it was just in time to see the bottom of Robie’s feet rushing at him.
Robie’s size twelves smashed into the man’s face and drove the rest of the attached body violently to the asphalt. Robie landed on top of the man, rolled, and came up in an attack posture. He kicked the rifle away and looked down. He didn’t know if the man was dead. But he was certainly unconscious. He took a few seconds to search him.
No ID.
No phone.
No surprise.
But no official credentials either. No gold badge.
