The World House by Guy Adams Page B

from downstairs, a loud crash followed by the tinkling applause of breaking glass. The cleaners would be in trouble when Garcia came home, Kesara thought. Something caught her eye on a bookcase facing the window: amongst the thick leather spines and document folders was a light-brown square of wood. Her breath caught in her mouth and she dashed across to the shelf. It was the box, surely it was, covered in Chinese writing – at least she thought it was Chinese, lots of curves and squiggles; she saw them sometimes on crates offloaded at the port. It was acting as a prop, keeping the books wedged against the wall so they didn't spill out. Was it possible that something so valuable was being treated in such a careless fashion? She tried to open it but her fingers couldn't discover the trick. She shook it: it was light and seemingly empty. Suddenly it gave a ticking sound and she dropped it in surprise. Stooping down to pick it up she tensed as footsteps clapped the marble stairs beyond the open door. Someone was coming!
      She grabbed the box and dashed across to the window, seeing no option but to escape across the roof. As she climbed out, she heard a voice behind her. Looking back over her shoulder she found herself gazing straight at Jimenez, here to carry out his own thievery. He noticed the box in her hand and, swearing profusely, pulled a revolver from the belt of his trousers. Kesara jumped on to the tiled roof of the terrace, fighting not to drop the box as she scrabbled to keep her footing. She kept moving, coming to the end of the roof and looking over the edge for a way to descend. The pool… A bullet was fired at her for the second time that day. Her luck held as she sailed through the air before crashing into the clear water of the pool. Her skin smarted with the impact but she kept her breath, kicked with her legs and yanked herself out at the pool's edge. Dripping wet, she hoped the box was undamaged but had neither the time nor the inclination to check. The terrace was protecting her from Jimenez above but he would be downstairs in seconds. She looked all along the garden wall, at a loss as to how she could climb it from this side. She would have to try the front.
      Running around the side of the house she heard the double doors at the rear clatter open. She was praying under her breath as she darted around the large urns and decorative pagodas, sure that her pursuers wouldn't fire on her once she was out on the street. The front gate was slightly ajar and she ran toward it, laughing in relief. She saw another man – one of Jimenez's friends, presumably – out of the corner of her eye but ignored him, keeping her attention fixed on the gate and the square beyond it.
      "Don't!" Jimenez shouted behind her, though whether he was addressing her or his accomplice she could neither tell nor care. She ran out of the gate and into the square. Spanish squares are always filled with old men, standing around smoking cheap cigars, chatting and avoiding the women at home (who gather together in one kitchen so as to avoid all the men). Kesara pushed through a small group of them, drawn no doubt by the sound of the initial gunshot.
      "Devil on your tail?" one of them asked as he spun on the cobbles to keep his balance. One of his friends laughed, opening his sagging mouth to reveal a single yellow tooth.
      Kesara ran out of the square and into one of the side streets, sure that Jimenez would still be following. She had five thousand dollars of his in her hand and he was hardly likely to give it up easily. Her best hope was to get to the port as quickly as she could; once there he would never find her.
      As she ran through the city streets she found she was still laughing. She knew she was being premature, she was hardly in the clear yet, but the sense of relief – to be out of that house and with the box in her hand… She had never known anything like it and the elation added speed to her legs and