dinners, macaroni and microwave fries. It was obvious that nobody had been giving a lot of thought to the culinary side of this trip, which I bet Sarah didn't like, and none of it was any good to me. Then I found something I could munch: a Magnum bar. I closed the freezer, took off the wrapper and put it in my pocket, sat back down by the door, put my ear against it and started eating as I joined in the film.
It was now two twenty. This was cutting it really close to the bone.
I finished the ice cream, and the stick joined the wrapper in my pocket.
I looked at my watch yet again. Two twenty-five. I couldn't afford to wait any longer.
With the Maglite in my mouth, I opened the screwdriver part of the Leatherman and worked it into the keyhole. When it had a firm purchase I started to turn the key along its natural line to unlock the door, at the same time pulling the door toward me to release the pressure on the bolt as it lay in the door frame. The key turned until it hit the lock; it would need a lot more pressure now to open it, but that would make noise. I waited. Whoever was pissing off the cops would be doing it again, really soon. Thirty seconds later, it happened: shouting, gunfire and sirens. I gave the key the final necessary twists and switched off the flashlight.
With the door ajar a couple of inches I could hear the TV much more clearly. Going by the intensity of the shooting, screaming and shouting, the whole state police force was out trying to get the bad guys.
There was no distinct light shining down from above, just a faint glow.
I picked up the bow and prepared an arrow. Keeping it in place with my left hand, I got my right hand on the door handle, ready to go. I was going to have a rolling start line: remain covert for as long as possible, and only go noisy if they did. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was enough. If you worry too much about these things, you never get down to starting the job;
just get on with it and half the battle is won. Then hope that experience, knowledge and training will get you through the rest.
I checked that nothing was about to fall out of my pockets, then gently pulled the door open toward me, ready to stop at the slightest creak, holding my breath so I could hear it happen. There wasn't a sound from the people upstairs. It must be a good show.
I was facing a flight of worn, bare wooden stairs that climbed directly to the first floor. There was a wall on either side; on the left it was the external wall of the house, and on the right it was plasterboard, which sealed the stairs from the garage, then became a bannister on the right-hand side where the first floor began. Anyone standing up there could easily look down and see me.
Beyond the top of the staircase, and facing me, was another wall, and just off to the right-hand side was a door that was closed. Apart from that, all I could see were flickering images, composed of different tones of light from the TV screen as they flashed on the wall and the closed door facing me. I was happy about that; if the TV was facing the top of the stairs, it meant that the fuckers would have their backs to me as I went up.
The smell had changed. The mustiness of the garage had given way to a more domestic odor: spray polish and cigarettes, the smell of good housekeeping, heavily overlain with nicotine. They must be having a Camel-fest up there; I'd have to be quick about this or I'd be going down with lung cancer.
Drawing the cable half back, focusing my eyes and the weapon on the top of the stairs, I placed my left foot very carefully on the bottom step, then my right. I stopped and listened.
I lifted my left foot again and put it down on the second step, easing my weight down gently, hoping there wasn't going to be a creak. I had both eyes open, cable half drawn and ready to fire. My ears had cut away from the sound of the rain; they were totally focused, on the alert for signs of movement upstairs. I pulled the bow cable back a little bit more and took another step.
I1E
The music and the police chase suddenly stopped. So did I, foot raised, bow at the ready. I must have looked like the statue of Cupid. A very macho American voice boomed out, 'Back soon, with TNT's movies for guys who like guy movies.' There was a long burst of machinegun fire, no doubt as bullet holes sprayed over the titles. Then it went into a commercial for a fitness plan that could change all our lives in just fourteen days.
couldn't tell how many people were in the room, but the one thing I knew for sure was that Sarah was unlikely to be one of them. She wasn't a guy who liked guy movies.
There was some mumbling coming from the room. I couldn't understand what was being said, but something was agreed on. Floorboards creaked again. I hoped he wasn't coming back down to the freezer; if he was after the last Magnum he wasn't going to be a happy teddy.
The shadow of a moving body hit the wall at the top of the stairs, blocking the dancing reflections from the TV screen. It got bigger and higher. I slowly brought the bow up the last two inches, into the aim. The cams at each end of the bow started to strain as I tensed the cable almost to full draw, stopping about three inches from my face. I wasn't too sure if I needed as much power for the arrow to do its job at this range. But fuck it, I wasn't taking any chances. I could smell the rubber gardening gloves as I waited, motionless.
The shadow became the body's back and I saw it was MIB. He now had the TV flickering on his shirt. He didn't turn and come down toward me.
Instead he went straight ahead and through the door to the right of the top
of the stairs. Fluorescent lights came on to reveal kitchen cabinets and brightly colored mugs hanging from hooks.
There was the sound of crockery and cutlery being moved about. The others were talking amongst themselves, maybe about the film, and there was a little laugh as someone made a funny. Still no sound of Sarah, though, which tended to confirm what I'd thought.
A bit more clanging came from the kitchen. I kept the bow in the full draw position. The strain on my arms was starting to take its toll; sweat was pouring down the sides of my face and I knew it wouldn't be long before it got into my eyes.
I heard thejfsshhht! of a ring-pull being opened in the TV room, then another. Maybe this meant there were three of them in all. With any luck the cans they were opening held beer: if they'd been soaking up alcohol while watching the film that should slow down their reaction times rather nicely.
Mr. Macho Voiceover was with us again: 'We're back with movies for guys who like guy movies.' He was greeted by ajfsshhht! from the kitchen.
MIB emerged, can in hand, muttering away. The others immediately gave him a hard time and he stepped back a few paces and switched off the light, left the door open and went back to join them.
I let the cable relax, brought my arms down and wiped away the sweat.
There was more gunfire. It sounded as if the final big shootout was under way. People were screaming at each other as only actors in cop thrillers do. I'd probably seen it, and was trying to work out what movie it was, so I could guess when the noisy bits were and when they'd finish anything to help get Sarah out of there without us all getting involved in our own 'movie for guys who like guy movies.' But no luck.
Someone in TV land was being really brave and shouting for covering fire as he took on the bad guys single- handed. Dickhead.
I really couldn't delay any longer. I still didn't know where Sarah was in the house, and this stairway was my only entry point. I checked that the spare arrows were still fixed in the quiver, and that everything on me was secure. I didn't want the Maglite clattering to the floor the moment I moved.
Keeping the bow in my left hand, arrow still in place, I took a deep breath and lifted my right foot. To reduce creaks, I used the very edge of the stair, then stopped to listen. The shooting had finished and there were murmurs from the audience again. I carried on.
When my eyes got level with the top stair I lay down with my head against the end of the bannister. The cloud of tobacco smoke was thick enough to make me choke. I checked the bow to make sure it was out of my way, then eased myself up on my toes and the heels of my hands, tilted forward and looked around.
I could see at once that the TV was in the far-right corner of the room, facing me. On the screen, someone was getting a doctor to patch his gunshot wound.
Three men were watching; two on a sofa with their backs to me, one of them swigging back on his can; the other guy, MIB, was in an armchair, and at an angle, so that he half faced the kitchen wall. He still had the beads in his right hand, and was feeding each one individually through his fingers as he watched. The room was like a Turkish bath, except with smoke instead of steam. There was also a strong smell of pizza and beer.
On the floor beside the sofa on the right-hand side was a twenty-four-pack of Bud, ripped open.
I checked for access to the next floor. This wasn't going to be easy: the stairs were at the far side of the
