Backfire

72

A young man wearing a nice blue suit came striding toward them, waving his hands. “You’re not supposed to be up here. Who are you?”

Savich knew Charlene wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. He said quickly, “I’m Agent Dillon Savich, FBI. We need to check out the roof. We’ll be okay by ourselves.” Please believe me and turn around. Go back to your office.

The man seemed to think about asking to see his ID, but then he shook his head at himself, said, “Hurry it up. No one’s supposed to be up here. Security should have told us. Everyone’s on edge, I guess. Sorry, do what you’ve got to do.” He flapped his hand at them and walked away.

Charlene said, “Good dresser, but he’s got a whine in his voice. I wonder if he’s married. Bet he is and his wife can’t stand him, probably wants to walk out the door and take some loser lover-” She looked blankly at him for a moment. “Now move it. That’s right, you open the roof door.”

Another disconnect, Savich thought, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for him to make a move. He had to be ready when she did it next. She said, “Another dozen steps to the roof, then there’s a door latched on this side.

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it, not unless you want to live five minutes less. And you really want to live, don’t you? Even if your little FBI wife isn’t breathing anymore, you still want those five extra minutes for yourself.”

He felt the gun shoved hard against his back.

He unlatched the roof door, thought about jumping out and diving out of her sight, but Charlene grabbed his jacket, stayed close to him.

They stepped out onto the graveled roof together and looked out at the sprawl of San Francisco. The wind was sharp, a chill in the air, but the sun was bright overhead.

“Let’s walk over to the edge. See, they’ve got the thigh-high railing. I wonder what good they think that’ll do? I mean, if you want to end it all, you just gotta step right over and then you’re flying. Or in your case, you’re going to get a little encouragement.”

She poked the gun hard in his back. “Walk.”

He walked. Savich knew he had to do something or he would shortly be dead. That couldn’t happen. He had to get to Sherlock. She was alive, she’d managed to beat Xu, or Harry had, Savich knew it to his gut. He felt her, strong and whole. He saw Sean, so tickled he was going to Yosemite, his arms around his neck, giving him a big wet sloppy kiss before pulling away to go to his grandfather to begin his excellent adventure. El Capitan were the last words he’d heard Sean say.

He saw her glance at her watch again. The explosion had to be overdue. How long would it be before she realized it?