looked at Michael, and said, “We don’t have much time.”
The building in question stood at the corner of Monroe and Michigan, overlooking Millennium Park. I had to park a couple of blocks away and walk in, with both swords stowed in a big gym bag. Father Douglas hadn’t specified where I was supposed to stand and show him the swords, but the streetlights adjacent to the building were all inexplicably dark except for one. I ambled over to the pool of light it cast down onto the sidewalk, opened the bag, and held out both swords.
It was hard to see past the light, but I thought I saw a gleam on the roof. Binoculars?
A few seconds later, a red light flashed twice from the same spot where I’d thought I had seen something.
This would be the place, then.
I’d brought my extremely illegal picklocks with me, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to use them. Father Douglas had already circumvented the locks and, presumably, the security system. The front door was open, as was the door to the stairwell. From there, it was just one long, thigh-burning hike up to the roof.
I emerged into cold, strong wind. You get up twenty stories or so and you run into that a lot. It ripped at my duster, and sent it to flapping like a flag.
I peered around the roof, at spinning heat pumps and AC units and various antennae, but saw no one.
The beam of a handheld floodlight hit me, and I whirled in place. The light was coming from the roof of the building next to mine. Father Douglas flipped it off, and after blinking a few times, I could see him clearly, standing in the wind in priestly black, his white collar almost luminous in the ambient light of the city. His grey eyes were shadowed, and he was maybe a day and a half past time to shave. A long plank lay on the rooftop at his feet, which he must have used to move over.
Alicia sat in a chair next to him, her wrists bound to its arms, blindfolded, with a gag in her mouth.
Father Douglas lifted a megaphone. “That’s far enough,” he said. I could hear him over the heavy wind. “That’s detcord she’s tied up with. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah.”
He held up his other hand. “This is the detonator. As long as it’s sending a signal, she’s fine. It’s a dead man switch. If I drop it or let it go, the signal stops and the cord goes off. If the receiver gets damaged and stops receiving the signal, the cord goes off. If you start using magic and destroy one of the devices, it goes off.”
“That’s way better than the electromagnet thing,” I muttered to myself. I raised my voice and bellowed, “So how do you want to do this?”
“Throw them.”
“Disarm the explosives first.”
“No. The girl stays where she is. Once I’m gone, I’ll send the code to disarm the device.”
I considered the distance. It was a good fifteen-foot jump to get from one rooftop to the other. An easy throw.
“Douglas,” I shouted. “Think about this for a minute. The swords aren’t just sharp and shiny. They’re symbols. If you take one up for the wrong reasons, you could destroy it. Believe me, I know.”
“The swords are meant for better things than to molder in a dingy basement,” he replied. He held up the detonator. “Surrender them now.”
I stared at him for a long second. Then I tossed the entire bag over. It landed at his feet with a clatter. He bent down to open it.
I steeled myself. This was about to get dicey. I hadn’t counted on the dead man switch or a fifteen-foot-long jump.
Father Douglas opened the bag and the smoke grenade Michael had rigged inside it in his workshop went off with a heavy thud. White smoke billowed back into his face, and I took three quick steps and hurled myself into the air. For an awful portion of a second, twenty stories of open air yawned beneath me, and then I hit the edge of the other roof and collided with Father Douglas. We went down together.
I couldn’t think about anything but the detonator, and I
The building in question stood at the corner of Monroe and Michigan, overlooking Millennium Park. I had to park a couple of blocks away and walk in, with both swords stowed in a big gym bag. Father Douglas hadn’t specified where I was supposed to stand and show him the swords, but the streetlights adjacent to the building were all inexplicably dark except for one. I ambled over to the pool of light it cast down onto the sidewalk, opened the bag, and held out both swords.
It was hard to see past the light, but I thought I saw a gleam on the roof. Binoculars?
A few seconds later, a red light flashed twice from the same spot where I’d thought I had seen something.
This would be the place, then.
I’d brought my extremely illegal picklocks with me, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to use them. Father Douglas had already circumvented the locks and, presumably, the security system. The front door was open, as was the door to the stairwell. From there, it was just one long, thigh-burning hike up to the roof.
I emerged into cold, strong wind. You get up twenty stories or so and you run into that a lot. It ripped at my duster, and sent it to flapping like a flag.
I peered around the roof, at spinning heat pumps and AC units and various antennae, but saw no one.
The beam of a handheld floodlight hit me, and I whirled in place. The light was coming from the roof of the building next to mine. Father Douglas flipped it off, and after blinking a few times, I could see him clearly, standing in the wind in priestly black, his white collar almost luminous in the ambient light of the city. His grey eyes were shadowed, and he was maybe a day and a half past time to shave. A long plank lay on the rooftop at his feet, which he must have used to move over.
Alicia sat in a chair next to him, her wrists bound to its arms, blindfolded, with a gag in her mouth.
Father Douglas lifted a megaphone. “That’s far enough,” he said. I could hear him over the heavy wind. “That’s detcord she’s tied up with. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah.”
He held up his other hand. “This is the detonator. As long as it’s sending a signal, she’s fine. It’s a dead man switch. If I drop it or let it go, the signal stops and the cord goes off. If the receiver gets damaged and stops receiving the signal, the cord goes off. If you start using magic and destroy one of the devices, it goes off.”
“That’s way better than the electromagnet thing,” I muttered to myself. I raised my voice and bellowed, “So how do you want to do this?”
“Throw them.”
“Disarm the explosives first.”
“No. The girl stays where she is. Once I’m gone, I’ll send the code to disarm the device.”
I considered the distance. It was a good fifteen-foot jump to get from one rooftop to the other. An easy throw.
“Douglas,” I shouted. “Think about this for a minute. The swords aren’t just sharp and shiny. They’re symbols. If you take one up for the wrong reasons, you could destroy it. Believe me, I know.”
“The swords are meant for better things than to molder in a dingy basement,” he replied. He held up the detonator. “Surrender them now.”
I stared at him for a long second. Then I tossed the entire bag over. It landed at his feet with a clatter. He bent down to open it.
I steeled myself. This was about to get dicey. I hadn’t counted on the dead man switch or a fifteen-foot-long jump.
Father Douglas opened the bag and the smoke grenade Michael had rigged inside it in his workshop went off with a heavy thud. White smoke billowed back into his face, and I took three quick steps and hurled myself into the air. For an awful portion of a second, twenty stories of open air yawned beneath me, and then I hit the edge of the other roof and collided with Father Douglas. We went down together.
I couldn’t think about anything but the detonator, and I
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