saw apartment towers rising over the rooftops. And right in front of the church steeple ran an elevated expressway with cars zipping along. Rays of late afternoon sunshine streamed between the bars. That way had to be west.
Matt dropped to the floor and hauled the chair so he was facing south. More devastated buildings, and a muddy scar where old houses had been bulldozed. Beyond that, however, rose a wall of rosy brick, enclosing expensive-looking brick and paneled buildings that looked like they’d escaped from colonial Williamsburg. Expensive cars stood in driveways surrounded by brilliant green lawns.
Letting go of the bars, Matt dropped back to the belfry floor again.
“What did you see?” Caitlin demanded.
“Bunch of pig-houses,” Serge replied in his broken English.
“Slums,” Luc Valery translated.
The Balkan boy nodded. “Like Cernograd after the shelling. Nowhere I seen before.”
“Well, I know where we are,” Matt said. “Remember that map Rob Falk showed us? We’re in the middle of the orange splotch, the houses waiting to be knocked down and turned into expensive condos. Back that way”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder—“is the Gardens at Carrollsburg. In the other direction, if we go far enough, is the Mall and all the museums. To the west, once you get past the parkway and the dead neighborhood, are the luxury high-rises along the Potomac. East of here—” Matt frowned, trying to recall the maps he’d seen of the area. There’d been a large blank spot….
Then he remembered. “The Washington Navy Yard. They haven’t built a boat there in seventy years, but they use the land for offices and stuff.”
“How nice,” Luc said in a snotty voice. “Now we know exactly where we’re going to die.”
Matt shook his head. “Only if we let that happen.”
“Let it?” Luc said. “How do you expect to stop it? It’s not like we can call your cops. Those pigs took our wallet-phones. I don’t think we’ll find any phone-kiosks out there.” He gestured to the desolation surrounding them. “Besides, we’re trapped at least four stories off the ground with no way down and bars around us—”
He was interrupted as Matt’s hand shot out to grab his tie. “Real silk?”
“W-what?” The French boy sputtered. “My cravat? Yes, it’s silk.”
“Heavy silk,” Matt said, yanking at the knot in the tie.
Luc said nothing. He only stared at Matt as if the American had gone out of his mind.
Matt yanked the tie free of Luc’s collar, then turned to one of the chairs. He brought it up over his head and smashed it against the wall.
“What are you doing?” Caitlin yelled. She, too, had become convinced that Matt had gone out of his mind.
Matt grabbed another chair, and the other prisoners cringed back. But this one he leaned against the east side of the bell tower and began climbing.
Carrying the tie and a broken leg from the first chair in one hand, Matt hauled himself up. He looped the tie around two bars, tied it tight, then stuck the wooden stick into the loop and began twirling it. The heavy silk wrapped around the stick, making the loop tighter and tighter. Something had to give — and it wasn’t the tie. With a deep, rasping creak, the two bars of old iron began to bend together.
A second later, Serge was pulling a chair up beside Matt. He tucked another broken chair leg under his arm while he undid his belt. “Real leather from the homeland,” he said, looping it around the bars next to where Matt was working.
The work didn’t go quickly or easily. Matt’s face was streaked with dust and rust as he levered against the raw wood, trying to twist his loop tighter. Serge’s belt broke from the mistreatment of the leather, and they had to replace it with Matt’s.
As they worked at bending the bars, the prisoners also argued over the next part of their escape. At least it helped pass the time. Luc had friends in the Gardens at Carrollsburg, and had visited the area several times. “The hovercraft does not run all day,” he said. “Last boat is at eight o’clock.” He glanced from the setting sun to his wrist-watch. “Which is not so far away. We must get to the guards at the gate and warn them!”
“If we run that way, we’ll be stuck right where Rob and his pals want us,” Matt objected. “All they have to do is move up their timetable, and we’ll be trapped with all the other people in the development.”
“We should be trying to get out on the other side,” Caitlin said. “Get the attention of the people driving on the parkway.”
“Luc and I tried that,” Serge replied. “We shouted. I even waved my shirt. Nobody notices. They go by too fast.”
“Our one hope is the Navy Yard,” Matt insisted. “There are military people there, and a Marine base nearby. If anyone can derail Rob’s crazy plan, they’re the people to do it.”
He heaved against the wooden stick, thinking that Luc’s tie would never be the same again. With a final grating shriek, his two bars came together.
They’d done it! The bars had been bent apart enough that a kid — even a stocky kid like Serge — could squeeze between them. Matt pushed his way through, then swung himself around until he was hanging by his hands. He stretched out his feet, searching with his toes for a hold. There! Matt rested his weight on the questing foot. The roof tiles held. Balancing against the wall, he slid down until he was sitting astride the peak of the roof.
Matt looked up at the three worried faces peering down at him. “So far, so good,” he reported. “Send down the chair leg.”
Luc leaned out, extending one of the legs from the chair Matt had broken. It was an L-shaped piece of wood, with part of a bracing piece sticking out.
Matt knew the next part wouldn’t be easy. The steep roof slanted down for a good two stories. If he could worm his way down to the rain gutters at the edge of the roof, he should be able to leap the rest of the way to the ground. If he lost control and slid down, he’d probably crash and break his neck.
While he’d been working on the bars, Matt had noticed that there were gaps among the roof tiles. That was why he’d brought his crude wooden hook. If he began to slide, he’d jam the hook between tiles and catch himself.
Above him, Luc was already squeezing his way out. Cat would follow, then Serge. Matt let himself down so he lay on top of the sun-warmed tiles, trying to spread his weight as widely as possible.
“Here goes,” he whispered, letting go his hold of the rooftree.
The angle was too steep! He began to slide down the roof tiles, faster and faster! He was out of control, and heading straight toward certain death!
Chapter 19
Once or twice, Matt had gone on virtual mountaineering adventures. He’d learned a technique called the glissade, where mountain climbers slide down icy glaciers using their ice axes to brake their descent. Matt had thought he could use the same technique if he got in trouble on the church roof.
Now he was finding that there was a difference between ice and roofing tile, especially when he only had a piece of shattered wood to slow himself up.
His trusty chair leg cracked and splintered as he tried to dig it in and stop his fall. When he finally caught it in a crack, it nearly jerked right out of his hands. He held on desperately, and stopped — until the tile tore loose and he was tumbling again.
He was moving a little more slowly, but the edge of the roof was coming up fast. Matt was doing his best to keep his head. With luck, he might be able to catch himself on the rain gutter at the edge.
But when he got there, the gutter was gone! Somebody must have torn it away to sell the copper sheeting.
Matt had one last chance. This part of the roof seemed to give under his weight. He thrust down as hard as he could with his stick. The roofing gave a bit, until — finally — the wooden stick in his hands bit through. He stopped just in time — his legs were dangling over the edge.
