“I may have a less risky solution.”
“Really? How interesting? May I ask what is it?”
Congreve stepped back and looked from the top of the tower to the tip of the ladder, his brow wrinkled with concentration.
“Extend the ladder to its full height,” Congreve said. “Swing it around hard. Don’t be shy. Just be careful you don’t accidentally slam the ladder into the top of the parachute tower when you’re bringing it around.”
“What did you just say?” Mariucci said, looking up at him, and then the ladder, through squinty eyes.
“When you swing that ladder into position, be careful.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean about the ladder. Naturally, we got to be very, very careful when we move it. We wouldn’t want to hit the tower or nothing.”
“Definitely not. The Chinaman might fall off if you did that.”
“Accidentally.”
“Exactly.”
“He could get badly hurt. Even die.”
“Surely the latter.”
“Would you excuse me for a moment, Inspector Congreve? I would like to go over and have a quiet word with the fire chief of Ladder Company 103 over there. Name’s Bellew. Old friend of mine. No one in this very unfortunate turf battle has seen fit to inform him of the risks the man on the tower poses to our national security. I think I should do that, don’t you?”
“I certainly do.”
Ten minutes later, he was back.
“He’s going to do it.”
“Good for him.”
“What do you mean? Of course he’s going to do it. I told him the whole story. He’s a great American. Okay, here we go. Watch this.”
The turntable atop the fire engine began to rotate. The ladder, fully extended, began to move toward the tower in a great sweeping arc.
“You think this will work?” Mariucci whispered.
“I do. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”
“How come you look so worried?”
“I must say I hadn’t considered the fact that you would have to involve your friend Chief Bellew.”
“What do you mean?”
“Repercussions. The law of unintended consequences. There will in all probability be an investigation into the ‘accident’ that is about to occur. Chief Bellew may face serious questions about his role.”
“Serious questions? He’s faced a whole shitload worse than that, Inspector. That’s a terrorist up on that tower. The tower’s going down, and he’s going with it. Poetic justice, right?”
“I suppose it is.”
“Inspector Congreve, listen to me. The New York Fire Department alone lost 343 of the bravest men in the world one very shitty day in September. It’s a day we’d all like to forget. But we won’t. We’re all in the antiterrorist business now. Every last one of us.”
“He’s doing the right thing. So are you. I’d like you to keep your job, though.”
“If I lose my job over this—look, it’s getting close—if I lose my job over this one, Inspector, I—”
“Yes?”
“I guarantee you I will leave the NYPD just like I arrived.”
“And how is that?”
“Fired with enthusiasm.”
“Oh, my God, look!” someone shouted. In the confusion, a few civilians had managed to evade the posted police and duck under the police tape strung up to cordon off the midway. It was mostly teenagers and younger children, but there were a few adults as well.
A cry went up from the small crowd when it became obvious what was going to happen. The heavy steel- reinforced aluminum ladder was moving fairly rapidly. Congreve thought it might just lop the top of the rotted tower clean off. But what happened was, it didn’t. The ladder slammed into the tower with a resounding clang that shuddered down the rungs from above. But the ladder had stopped dead upon impact with the iron structure. And when it had stopped, the Chinaman was still there.
The crowd below, in its ignorance, cheered.
When the ladder reversed direction away from the tower, the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief. Only to cry out again when they saw that the ladder was swinging once more toward the tower. And this time, it was moving very, very quickly indeed.
“See what I mean about my guys?” Mariucci said. “New York City doesn’t forgive and it doesn’t forget.”
Ambrose couldn’t muster a reply. He was simply transfixed by the sight of the Chinaman’s death struggle at the top of the tower. He couldn’t go any higher. And he knew what was waiting for him at the bottom.
Chapter Forty
Bavaria
“I FORGOT SOMETHING,” STOKE SAID, TRYING TO CATCH HIS breath. They’d been climbing in deep snow for nearly an hour. The sun was barely up. The boughs of the high-altitude pines were heavy with new snow already starting to melt. Last night’s freakish storm had eased up to flurries, and you could see bright blue sky behind the clouds. It was going to be a beautiful day. But that didn’t help Stoke’s mood much. It was still bitingly cold and heavy slogging. He looked at Jet and tried to fake a smile.
“I’m sorry, Jet, we got to go back down to the damn hotel.”
“What did you just say?”
“We have to go back down.”
“I cannot believe this,” Jet said, ripping her goggles off and flinging them into the snow.
“I can’t believe you!” Stoke said. “Here I save your ass and—”
“You saved me? I’m the one who took out Viktor when—”
“No, I meant the other time when—you know—back on Schatzi’s yacht. That cage thing.”
“Jesus, Stoke.”
Jet was not a happy camper. Slogging through heavy snow up a steep mountainside in the dark and cold didn’t appeal to some women. But it had to be done. They’d left in a hurry. Stoke had pointed out that before their deaths either Viktor or Irma could have put in a call to von Draxis. It could have easily happened while Jet was giving Stoke the tour of Schloss Reichenbach. There was obviously no way to know. But you had to assume it was a possibility. So it had made sense for them to vacate immediately before they were trapped in the gasthaus by the snowstorm.
Jet agreed. The good news was the storm was probably keeping all aircraft grounded. Von Draxis wouldn’t be able to put a chopper in the air. But, Jet told Stokely, there was a strong likelihood von Draxis would already have men with their descriptions posted at the local train and bus stations. Yeah, Stoke said, they would have to go back the way they came. On foot. Over the mountains to Salzburg. There, they could rest and then catch the first Schnellzug smoking to Berlin.
Snow was rare this time of year. But, at this elevation, it was not at all unheard of. So, before bidding fond adieu to the late Viktor and Irma, he and Jet had turned the house upside-down. They’d rummaged through all the drawers and closets and found enough snow gear and parkas to get them back to Salzburg. But, at the last minute, Jet had handed Stoke two long skinny sticks with leather straps on them and told him to put them on. Stoke looked at her like she was crazy.
In that way, Jet had learned that Stokely didn’t know how to ski cross-country. So, now, they were making
