Page 18 of The 9th Man

“To say the least.”

He liked her coolness in a crisis. It was something that could not be taught. You were either born with it, or not.

Both of them were wet.

Him particularly.

He still had his 9mm. She’d tossed hers.

“Now what?” she asked.

The sound of feet clanking on ladder rungs filtered through the floorboards. The pile of bags shifted slightly from movement below. He drew a finger to his lips signaling quiet.

“Politie,” a hushed voice said from below.

Police. But they were no salvation.

The bags bulged upward again, held there for a few moments, then went slack. Feet clanked back down the ladder.

In his ear Jillian whispered, “We need to go. I doubt they are the give-up type.”

He agreed, and headed for the open doorway.

A wooden stairway led up.

He climbed to a closed door, which he eased open into a small commercial kitchen. No lights on and no one in sight. Two windows opened out, which he ignored. Instead, he headed for the other open portal. A quick peek revealed a small bakery with glass cases. All dark. Empty. No lights or people. This place was closed. The front windows were wide and opened to the street with a single exit. Through the glass he spotted more police cars on the street, each of the uniforms sporting an automatic rifle.

He retreated back into the kitchen and faced Jillian. “If I were a betting man, I’d say they’re gearing up for a house-to-house, trying to figure out where that hatch below us is located. We need to get moving. I saw another doorway on the other side of the bakery. Seems our only choice. Stay low and use the counters for protection.”

He led the way out and crouched down, scampering across the bakery behind the counters. They made it to the other side and through the second open doorway. Another set of wooden risers led up. They climbed to a second floor and a locked door. One more set of stairs led up to the third floor, which opened into a small furnished apartment.

His senses went to red alert, especially since the door had been unlocked.

Anybody home?

It soon became clear that the place was unoccupied.

He crept to one of the windows and peered out. The view overlooked a valley of gabled rooftops that dived into their building one story below. The evening sun cast much of the slate shingles in shadow. He spotted no access to ground level. But to the side of the window, just around the corner, he caught the outline of a tangle of pipes that led downward. Below he heard a crashing sound, followed by a commanding voice calling out in Dutch.

Jillian whispered a translation. “He’s saying, ‘Armed police, if anyone is in here, make yourself known.’”

Apparently someone had done the math quick and found where the hatch was located.

Time’s up.

He stuffed the gun at his waist and quietly opened the window. “Climb down, using the pipes at the corner, to the roof next door.”

Jillian didn’t hesitate and squeezed through the window, reaching around and grabbing the pipe, then planting her feet on the outer wall and shimmying down. He followed and was halfway to her when he heard “Politie” from the other side of the window. Below, Jillian had already dropped to the roof next door. He mouthed,Hide, and she scurried to a chimney and disappeared on the other side. He could do nothing but hang in place around the corner, hoping the lengthening shadows were cover enough. He changed his position to the pipe farthest from the edge to conceal his grip from any prying eyes. Jillian signaled to him from her hiding spot that someone was at the window. He risked a quick peek and saw a forehead and a police garrison cap. He gritted his teeth and tightened his fingers, the heel of his boots knocking against the wall.

Stay still. Don’t move.

He could manage a few more seconds, but no more.

“Politie,” the officer called.

He closed his eyes and held his breath.

Finally, the window screeched shut.

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