35 Into the Snowy White

In a single shirt and sweater, Evan felt less bulky than on his previous excursions. He had to be for what he was about to do.

He stepped out onto the balcony. The moonless sky was black as pitch, broken only by flurries of snowflakes that swept through the welded bars. A trio of guards clustered around the fire outside the barn, warming their hands, Kalashnikovs resting at their sides. They did not look over.

He had a limited window of time out here in the dead of night. His gloveless hands already felt cold, and the more numb they got, the more useless they’d be.

Raising the scissor jack, he jammed it between two of the bars. Then he cranked the handle. The jack expanded, irising open with enough force to lift a four-thousand-pound car.

The bars bowed. Evan kept rotating the handle, leaning into the effort. The sounds of creaking metal intensified. The resistance grew stronger, his forearms straining. And then two of the bars gave way at the welded joints, popping free. One struck him lightly in the chest and clanged to the floor of the balcony. The other plummeted into the snowy white.

He shot a glance at the guards by the barn, but they were telling stories, focused on the flickering light of the fire, not the darkness beyond. Sticking his head through the gap, Evan looked down, but the fallen bar was lost to the white bank below, the thin black slot in the ground already being layered over.

Onward.

He squeezed his head and one leg through the hole, then drew his body carefully behind him. The bag of Doritos crinkled in his waistband, where he’d tucked them. The RoamZone phone bulged in his pocket, awaiting the kid’s next call. Despite the extra baggage, Evan made it through the gap.

The bars provided a ready grip from the outside. The only problem was how cold they were, sticking to his palms. When he adjusted his grasp, he left some skin behind. He lowered himself down into a squat, his ass hanging in thin air, his heels cantilevered off the outside edge of the balcony.

He checked the guards, firmed his fists. Then he let his feet slide free, his legs dangling. For an instant his grip faltered, and he thought he was going to plummet two stories onto the open ground, landing in full view of the guards. But somehow he held on.

Bucking his legs, he swung himself out and away from the chalet and then back in. Another swing built momentum, and as he flew toward the building, he let himself drop. He landed off balance on the slick balcony below, his heels skidding out from beneath him. He hit the balcony flat on his back.

Manny was standing on the other side of the sliding glass door right in front of Evan, peering directly at him. Evan’s inhale caught in his throat. Then he realized: Manny couldn’t see him. The room lights were on, and he was using the glass door for a mirror as he buttoned his shirt.

Evan lay perfectly still. Snow fell on the side of his cheek.

Two feet to the glass. Two feet more to Manny.

Manny’s mouth twitched to the side as he finished with his shirt, and then he flashed his golden smile at himself and turned away to grab socks off the bed.

Evan rolled smoothly back over his shoulders and out of view.

The neighboring balcony was within reach. He jumped onto it from the railing. He came down awkwardly but at least didn’t Charlie Brown the landing like last time.

The attached room looked empty. He checked the sliding glass door, found it locked.

Onto the next balcony, another graceless ballet leap through elegantly falling snow.

This slider opened under his touch.

He entered a dark bedroom that looked to be a match of his own. Moving swiftly, he crossed to the door, cracked it, and peered out. His vantage showed a clear shot up the hall to the stairwell.

Gliding the doorknob forward, he wheeled out, pivoting to check the blind length of hall to the hinge side of the door.

He found himself face-to-face with Nando.

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