He spun and he fired, the blasts from the gun bright and heat-dizzying in the dim of the hallway.
I fell back off the bike and it roared forward the remaining few feet, straight toward him. He threw himself out of the way. The bike rocketed past him, smashing through the glass wall. It tipped out into the sudden glare of the day, and I distantly heard it crash three stories down onto the pavement.
For a second, lying on my side, time froze. Jack leveled the gun at me, face wrenched with shock and horror – I had nearly run him down with the motorcycle, and the gust of wind from the window ruffled his hair.
Now I could see every detail of his face. He was barely past being a kid. He fumbled at a door lock, the door marked with a red Exit sign. The knob wouldn’t move.
I groped at my back, my fingers searching, my ragged voice saying, ‘I’m sorry.’
But my gun was gone from my holster.
He stared at me as he worked the knob.
Oh, God, I must have lost it, either in the jump to the car or along the hallway when I skidded.
Then he fired the gun. But not at me. He shifted its aim, sent a bullet into the lock of the door marked STAIRS. The lock broke. He shoved the door open and he ran.
I lurched to my feet as he bolted through the door.
I followed. He hurried up a short stairway and then through a rooftop door he opened and then slammed shut.
On a rooftop I could be king, and Jack Ming had no chance.
I grabbed the doorknob as he tried to shut it. The door froze in our tug of war. Then the little gun appeared in the gap, close by my head.
I ducked. He fired. I let go.
The door slammed shut.
I counted to ten. Fifteen. The moment I opened the door he could shoot me in the head.
Twenty. I yanked open the door, just a bit.
I could hear, in the open air, the approaching whine of a police siren. This building would soon be swarming with New York’s finest and, if they caught me before I could reach Jack Ming, my son was dead.
I eased out onto the roof. I didn’t see him. Lots of places for him to hide: water tanks; AC units; vents. All he had to do was wait until the police showed. Maybe he’d surrender to them and they’d ferry him to August or Special Projects. Compared with the option of dying at my hands, he’d prefer the police.
The roof was quiet. The neighboring roofs were both a half-story higher; but I didn’t think he’d have had time to clamber up them. Then I saw him. Running. He had scrambled onto the roof next door, hunkered down for a moment, but I could see the top of his head, ducking back down. He’d risked a look. It was a bad risk.
I ran toward him and scrambled onto the neighboring building – there was no alley dividing the two – and Jack sprinted full out, dodging between the obstacles on the roof and jumping across a narrow gap to the next building.
Most people hesitate at a jump. He didn’t. Brave. Or desperate.
His arms caught the wall. He screamed in terror, that sort of blind terror that makes your bones hurt, then he pulled himself over to safety.
My turn. I shoved my mind into the old parkour groove. See the obstacles, find the fastest and most effective way over them, under them, through them. I timed the jump and launched myself. I cleared the edge of the building and landed in a roll. My muscles howled – they had missed this particular form of exercise. I spotted Ming, running full out. Looking back at me once, terror bright in his gaze. Then he fired a shot at me and kept going.
Just chase him off the roof, I thought. If he falls he’s still dead at this height. And Daniel is safe.
I ran. I had to catch him. Daniel, the son I’d never held, crowded out every other thought but run, jump, catch. My blood fevered, my mind went primeval. Simple. He had a head start of fifty yards on me, and I had to catch him.
Forty yards. He pulled himself up a REMODELING NOW CONDOS AVAILABLE SOON! banner, using the edge of it like a rope, onto the roof of a neighboring building. I arrowed straight toward him. He stumbled again. I glanced behind me. The roof we’d exited onto was empty but it wouldn’t be for long. The police would be swarming. What with the cycle crashing and shots fired, it would be more than a single patrol car responding.
The thoughts went scattershot through my brain in seconds. I focused on running. Jack was running very, very hard. Survival instinct kicked into full. But I was trained in this, and I was faster.
‘Police!’ I heard a voice boom across the rooftops. ‘Stop! Lay down your weapons!’
I glanced back. Two officers, scrambling out the door where Jack nearly shot me in the head.
I put my gaze back to where Jack was running.
Gone.
I scanned the roof I was approaching. Ming had been running across it, stupidly, in a straight line, and he’d vanished onto a lower roof when I’d glanced back at the sound of the pursuing officer. Now I’d lost him. No.
‘Halt!’ the police yelled as I topped the roof’s edge and dropped onto the next building. He’d run out of space. Chimneys, vents, a brick shack for the doorway to the stairs into the building. There was equipment up here, the bright blue blisters of building wrap, scaffolding climbing above the farthest edge of the roof. Renovations were underway. Maybe he’d ducked under the wrap, which was everywhere. Maybe he’d gone through the door. If he dropped down into a building’s stairwell I could run right past him. Panic frosted my heart. I headed for the door. I had to choose, now; the police would be broadcasting my location and other units responding would be directed to intercept me.
I rounded the corner to the stairwell entrance and Jack swung a heavy flowerpot at me. I caught it on my arm and the bone screamed. I fell back and he raised the gun; it clicked, empty. He moaned.
I slammed my foot into his stomach. He grunted, breathlessly, and staggered back.
‘Police! Down on the ground! Down!’ They were drawing closer. Maybe forty yards away. Two of them climbing up onto the roof. I guess the other cops didn’t want to make the same leap Jack and I had made.
I jumped to my feet.
‘Don’t kill me, please, God, don’t kill me.’ His voice pleading. A voice ragged with tears. He yanked on the door; it was locked from inside.
I grabbed him with my good arm.
I’d had thoughts of trying to use him against Novem Soles, build an insurance policy to get my son back, fragments of a crazy plan that wouldn’t have worked.
But there was no time. No time for him or for me or for Daniel. My arm didn’t feel right where he’d clipped it with the heavy pot. I could break his neck if I had a minute. But the police were closing in on us, just thirty feet away. I didn’t have the time.
I shoved him hard toward the edge of the building. Pushing him toward the edge, keeping him off-balance, in an unyielding grip.
‘Sorry.’ I said it so soft I didn’t think he heard me.
‘Get away from there! Get on the ground!’ one of the cops bellowed at us.
Jack fought me, screaming, begging. If I just wrap arms around him and shove, we both go over, and the cops can’t beat gravity, I thought. Ten more feet.
‘No, no!’ Jack screamed.
‘ They’ll kill my kid if I don’t. I’m sorry,’ I yelled.
If we both went over… maybe they would give Daniel to Leonie when they give her back her daughter. She would make sure he’s okay. I knew her well enough to know her basic decency.
He’ll be dead, it’ll be in the paper, my job would be done. My son, free.
‘No! No!’ Jack Ming screamed. My grip on his forearm closed like an iron cuff. This is the only way.
I threw us both off the gravel roof.