Stones of Fire

4

To Edie’s surprise, no fire alarm sounded. There was only the reverberating clunk of the bar handle as she swung open the fire door.

The killer had disabled the alarm system.

Hit by a blast of cold wintry air, she found herself over the precipice between the open door and an external fire escape that zigzagged down the rear of the museum. Completely enclosed in black chain link, the escape was designed so that only those inside the museum had access to it, keeping vagrants and thieves at bay.

No time to worry that it was lightly snowing, that she had no coat or that she was afraid of heights, Edie stepped across the threshold into the caged stairwell, the fire door swinging shut behind her. She kept her gaze on the alley below, knowing that if she looked anywhere else but down, she’d get dizzy, maybe even faint. Like that time she watched the Fourth of July fireworks from a friend’s rooftop patio.

A white-knuckled grip on the railing, she made her descent. The sound of her boots hitting the metal steps echoed in the alley below. At the bottom she opened the cage door, emerging into the alleyway. As with the emergency exit above, the door automatically closed and locked behind her.

Hurriedly she glanced around, disoriented, uncertain in which direction to go. Like a weird nether world, the alley was filled with bins, skips, SUV-sized air conditioning condensers and parked vans. Against an adjacent building there was a tall pile of discarded office furniture, the offices recently remodelled, the old stuff still waiting to be taken away. Given it was December, every window that looked onto the alley was closed. And since no one wanted a bird’s eye view of big blue rubbish bins, the blinds were all pulled shut.

From above her, Edie heard a door suddenly swing open.

The killer had found the fire escape.

Not wasting a second, she ducked behind a condenser, praying she hadn’t been spotted. If she hurried, she could escape the alley before he reached the bottom. But she couldn’t exit the alley without moving into the killer’s line of sight. That left only one option — she had to hide.

Keeping to the shadows, she dashed some fifteen feet to the heap of jumbled chairs, their wooden arms and legs jutting into the air at odd angles. Like so many broken bones. As far as hiding places went, it was pretty pathetic. The pile wouldn’t stop a bullet. Or prevent a big, meaty fist from grabbing her. But it was the best that she could do at short notice.

Espying a small opening at the bottom of the pile, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the hole. It was no more than twenty inches in height and she had to navigate with care. One wrong move and the heap of furniture could well tumble to the ground. With her underneath. Unable to crawl any farther into the pile, she came to a halt. Tucking her legs beneath her body, she made herself as small as possible. Invisible would have been better. Better because she knew with a sickening sense of certainty that the man on the fire escape wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

Hearing the rattle of a metal door, she peered through the jumble of furniture, watching as the killer exited the fire escape. He had removed his ski mask. Edie could see that he sported a military-style buzz cut. His face mottled with what looked like rage, he seemed on the verge of a steroid-induced rampage.

In hunting mode, the killer swivelled his head from side to side, scanning the alley. Edie saw a large bulge at the back of his waist. The gun that had killed Dr Padgham. Methodically, the man’s gaze moved from target to target: blue bins, green condenser, white van. And then his gaze zeroed in on the furniture pile.

These might very well be the last few moments before my death.

Edie envisioned her bleeding body sprawled beneath a pile of discarded chairs. No doubt that’s who would find her, the orange-suited guys from the sanitation department.

Holding her breath, Edie slowly counted backwards from ten.

Ten, nine, eight, seven —

The killer’s gaze suddenly swung to the other side of the alley, where a group of recycling bins overflowed with cans.

She’d gone undetected.

Surprisingly light-footed for such a large man, the killer walked all the way down the alley towards 21st Street before turning round and heading back to the fire escape. As he did, a police cruiser pulled into the alley from the opposite direction. Relieved beyond words, Edie released a pent-up breath. Opening the door to the fire escape had obviously triggered a silent alarm. The DC police had arrived to investigate.

For some strange reason the killer didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the sudden appearance of the cop car, actually raising his hand to flag down the cruiser. Why would he do that? she wondered. Might as well announce that he set off the alarm.

A few seconds later she had her answer. A uniformed police officer got out of the cruiser and approached the killer, who removed a bag from his shoulder and handed it to the cop.

The breastplate.

The cop was in on it.

The cavalry had come to kill her.

‘Looks like the op is a go,’ Edie overheard the cop say as he took custody of the stolen relic. ‘We fly to London at nineteen hundred hours.’

The killer shook his head. ‘We’ve got loose ends. Someone else was in the museum besides Padgham and the two guards. The little shit escaped down the fire escape.’

A resounding bang ensued as the cop slammed his fist down on the bonnet of the police cruiser. ‘Shit! We’re fucked! The English fag was supposed to have been the only staff person in the building.’

‘It gets even worse,’ the killer said. Reaching into his breast pocket he removed the same notepad that Edie had seen earlier. ‘Padgham may have emailed photos of the breastplate. I notified the tac team at Rosemont. They’re hunting down the person at the other end of Padgham’s email.’

Watching the exchange, Edie took slow, deep breaths, willing her cramped legs to stop quivering, her body protesting the straitjacket confinement.

‘This was supposed to have been a simple snatch and go,’ the cop muttered.

‘And sometimes a mission gets bogged down in the mire. What we need to do is find this fucker — what’s his name — E. Miller and get things tidied up.’

Thank you, God. A small break. They thought she was a man. They would be looking for a man, not a woman. They also didn’t know that Padgham never sent the email. But that wasn’t her problem. Her problem was getting free and clear of the alley.

‘So far, there’s been no calls made to 911.’

‘When Miller does call, I want to know ASAP.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m on it,’ the cop said before getting into his cruiser.

The knot in Edie’s stomach tightened painfully. If she contacted the police, the killer would know where to find her. And since one of the killer’s cohorts — maybe more — wore a police uniform, she’d have no way of distinguishing the good guys from the bad.

More scared than ever, Edie watched as the cruiser drove away. The exchange ended, the killer walked over to the service entrance of the museum and punched in a code, the locked door buzzing open. Like he owned the place. Padgham’s killer went back inside the museum.

Edie hurriedly backed out of her hidey-hole. Standing upright, she took a big gulp of air. The alley reeked of urine and rotting garbage, the stench so strong her eyes welled with tears.

Hearing a loud mechanical rattle, she spun on her heel.

Across the alleyway a garage door slowly opened. She could exit the alley without having to go past the museum. No sooner did a black BMW emerge from the underground garage than Edie broke into a run towards the door. Or at least tried to. Hobbling on her cramped leg muscles, she lurched forward. The driver turned his head and glanced at her — a wild-haired terrified woman with an ungraceful gait — then just as quickly glanced away.

‘Obviously one of the apathetic multitudes,’ Edie mumbled under her breath as she dodged into the garage.

Seeing a lift, she headed towards it. Not until she was safe inside the elevator, the doors closing with a melodic chime, did she permit herself a sigh of relief. Although in actuality it was more like a sag of relief, her body going into an old-lady slump, her legs barely able to support her weight.

A few seconds later the elevator doors opened onto what looked like an upmarket apartment building lobby. Straight ahead a pair of plate-glass doors beckoned. Overcome with a sudden burst of giddiness, she limped towards the beautiful doors with their big beautiful brass handles. Yanking the door on the right side wide open, Edie barely restrained herself from hugging a postman in the vestibule, who was busy inserting letters into rows of identical-looking mailboxes. Instead, she smiled at him. A big, toothy, glad-to-be-alive smile.

Just then a cab pulled up to the kerb in front of the apartment building.

Free at last. Thank God Almighty, free at last.