Maloney's Law by Anne Brooke

go back to it. There’s a wave of laughter from five elderly men at a side table, and one of them slaps his neighbour’s shoulder, squeezing forth another burst of laughter. I signal for the bill, leave money enough for a generous tip on the table, take the parcel I made up in the hotel room, and cross the square to Delta Egypt.
    Outside, the air is clearer, but still just as heavy on the skin. The street shimmers with life and people and need, but tonight none of it calls to me. I take a sharp right and jostle my way past chattering businessmen dressed western style, and groups of young men still selling their wares. I dodge the old battered Renaults and donkey carts on the street and head to the Delta building, my plan, such as it is, inhabiting my flesh, becoming part of it, with the promise of making it work, making it real.
    When I peer through the glass, the smaller guard is on his own. One minute and thirty seconds ago, the taller one left for the routine tour. I have just over twenty-two minutes at best to get what I want from Blake Kenzie’s set-up and get out. The package is in my hand, along with a mocked-up signing sheet, and I know the whole idea is crazy, but I’m hoping it will work, as it might be my only chance.
    I knock on the window, wave the package and the sheet, gesticulate down at them both. The guard glances at me, looking so bored I swear he sighs. He can’t suspect anything; dressed like this I look like everyone else, and he can’t see the colour of my skin from where he’s sitting. He gets up, jangling keys at his side I’m sure he won’t be needing. Come on, come on. Each second ticks itself by with the beat of my heart. He must take a lifetime, no several, to reach the door.
    At last he opens it. I slam it hard against him, and he staggers back with a low oomph, recovering enough to aim a swift punch at my stomach. Sidestepping, I kick his legs from under him. Once he’s down on the floor, I kneel across him, grab his right hand so he can’t go for any concealed weapon, and slap a large plaster over his mouth. Ten seconds later his hands and feet are tied, his mouth still silenced, and I’ve disarmed him — one handgun, one small knife. I should keep them, but they’ll only slow me down and I’m skilled at neither. All I really have to offer are fast reflexes and balls. I just hope tonight they’ll be enough.
    Five seconds after that the guard is locked in a cupboard amongst brooms and mops, and I’m feeling grateful there are no signs of curiosity from outside. I climb onto the desk, reach for the CCTV and smash the tape, pocketing the evidence.
    I glance at my watch and see three minutes have ticked by. Another quick glance over the system confirms what this morning’s visit told me; the alarm is laser and computerised, and there’s no way of telling how it connects to each floor. And no time to put Jade’s detailed instructions to the test. I’ll have to take the lift. Because of the noise and because the guards have been using them too this evening, the stairs are too dangerous. I need to move like a cat for as long as I can to give myself all possible chances.
    The lift rises upward like a cruise ship drifting out to sea. It takes one minute and ten seconds from the time I call for it to when it stops at the Delta Egypt floor. One second, two seconds. A soft whoosh of air as the doors open and when I peer out there’s no sign of any guard. I slip through the closing gap and watch as the numbers tick their way up from 2 to 3. It pauses there and then the number changes to 4. It stops. Good. That must be where the second guard is. The fourth floor. I hope he’s not questioning why he needed to call it up. I hope he’ll assume it’s his colleague messing with him. Most of all I hope my luck will hold.
    Padding along the corridor, I see nothing’s changed from this morning. Same closed doors, same atmosphere of hushed reverence, but this time it’s because no-one is