Having cleared away the last barrier, he stuck his head out through the window and looked down. As he’d remembered: a smooth, straight shot down to the street. He would need rappelling rope of some kind.
Gabriel looked around the bedroom for something that might work. The cable on the television wasn’t long enough. He didn’t have enough clothing to tie together. His eyes landed on the bed. Sometimes the old ways were the best.
He yanked off the thin bedspread and the lower and upper sheets. He tied them to one another with secure sailors’ knots. Unfortunately, even tied corner to corner diagonally, the combined length was only around eighteen feet. Not enough to get down to the ground.
But—it was enough to get down to Lucy’s window. One step at a time.
As quietly as he could, Gabriel pushed the bed across the floor so that it butted against the windowed wall. He then twisted the top sheet and tied one end to the leg of the bed closest to the window. He tugged on the knot to make sure it would hold, then tugged once more on each of the other knots for good measure. Having satisfied himself that they were secure, or at least as secure as they were going to get, he tossed the loose end out the window. Gabriel positioned himself on the bed and crawled out backward, his legs dangling in the air. He put his weight on the rope slowly, cautiously. It held. He found the surface of the wall with his feet, planted his soles firmly. Clasping the sheet-rope tightly with both hands, he began to descend.
Rappelling to Lucy’s window only took him onto the second of the two sheets. The bedspread still extended below, not quite reaching to the second floor.
Looking down, he saw the pavement far below. The broken remnants of the boards were a fine reminder of how much damage a fall from this height could do.
Speaking of which—
He released the sheet with one hand and worked his fingers under the edge of the board outside Lucy’s window that he had loosened earlier. He pried it off the rest of the way and let it fall. Now he could see in through the window. The room was dark—but he could make out Lucy’s shape, curled up in the bed. He tapped lightly against the glass. No movement. Rapped again, a little louder. Still nothing.
Wake up!
The drugs, he figured; even if they hadn’t dosed her again, whatever was still in her system was probably making her sleep more soundly than usual. And if they had dosed her again . . .
He knocked as loudly as he dared. This time it elicited a response. The humped shape moved on the bed, turning over. He knocked again. She sat up.
Holding on to the sheet-rope with one arm and his twined ankles, Gabriel pried another board off the soft sandstone. He tapped once more. She turned toward the sound, saw him, and ran to the window, flinging it open. She was dressed in a long T-shirt, her legs and feet bare. She seemed fairly alert, though still a bit muzzy—or perhaps just bewildered at having been awakened by the sight of her brother dangling on bedsheets outside her window.
“Gabriel! How did you get out there?”
“They put me in the room above you. Come on.” He pried the remaining board loose and let it fall. “I’ll need your help to get these bars off. My leverage isn’t so good from here.”
He passed her the metal bar from his pocket and instructed her to use it as a lever. She wedged it between two of the bars, gripped the free end in both hands, and pulled. She may have been small and she may have been thin—but she wasn’t weak. The bar she was trying to loosen shifted with a groan of metal against stone. Gabriel helped her with his free hand. Soft sandstone powder spilled out of the holes around the screws. He held onto the bar as it came free so it wouldn’t fall, and Lucy carefully brought it inside. They repeated the performance with the others.
In five minutes it was done. Gabriel threw a leg over the sill and climbed inside, leaving the sheet-rope dangling behind him.
“Come on, help me take the sheets off your bed,” he said. Then he changed his mind. “No, I’ll do it. You get dressed. Hurry.”
Gabriel removed the sheets and bedspread, tied them together, and then pulled his line in from the window. He tied the new set onto the old and then threw the entire assembly outside. Gabriel looked down and saw that the end was just above the top of the first floor. That was good enough. The drop to the ground from there shouldn’t be too dangerous.
Lucy was dressed and ready to go.
“How do you feel? Did they drug you again?”
She shook her head. “Not since yesterday.”
Gabriel gestured to the window. “You think you can climb down?”
“With my eyes cl—”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door. They froze. “Hey,” came a voice. “What’s going on in there?” They heard the sound of a key in the lock. Turning.
Gabriel bolted for the bathroom and flattened himself against the wall. Lucy moved quickly to the door and stood beside it with one hand on the knob, preventing it from opening too widely.
The face at the door belonged to Chigaru.
“Wait!” Lucy said, pushing back on the door so that there was only a narrow opening. She stuck her head around the edge. “I’m not dressed!”
“I heard something,” Chigaru said.
“I fell out of bed,” Lucy said.
“It sounded like voices,” he said.
“Yeah, that was me cursing,” Lucy said, “when I fell out of bed. Would you please leave me alone, Chigaru?”
Chigaru put one hand on the door, forced his thick fingers inside. “I’m going to take a look around.”
“I told you, I’m not dressed. Stay out!”
But he shoved his way in. And the first thing he saw was that she was completely dressed.
“What’s going on?” he said, his voice loud, angry. “I’ll make you tell me—” He raised an arm to backhand her across the face. But he found himself unable to lower it.
He looked over at the man who’d seized his wrist in a steel grip.
“Close the door,” Gabriel told his sister.
As Lucy did, he squeezed tighter, his thumb on the inside of Chigaru’s wrist.
Chigaru’s face showed a mixture of pain and fear—like he wanted to cry out for help, but some last ounce of pride kept him from doing so.
“You are dead, Hunt. You and your whore sister.” He grimaced as Gabriel increased the pressure further. The pain drove him to his knees. “You won’t get away with this,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Khufu will kill you.”
“Maybe so,” Gabriel said. “But not tonight.” Reaching over to the desk, he hefted one of the metal bars they’d removed from the window. Chigaru saw it and finally opened his mouth to scream—but Gabriel brought the bar down across his temple and Chigaru went out like a snuffed candle.
Gabriel dropped the bar and the man’s wrist. “Go,” he told Lucy. “I’ll be right behind you.”
While Lucy climbed onto the windowsill, Gabriel stooped to search Chigaru. He found a wallet and took out the few bills it contained in local currency. “Sorry, pal.” Patting him down further, Gabriel felt a bulky item in the man’s jacket pocket—a gun? He reached inside and almost shouted as he pulled the object out. It was his Colt .45! Gabriel gave it a kiss on the barrel and stuck it in his waistband.
He went to the window. Lucy had already gone eight feet or so, letting herself down hand over hand.
“When you get to the bottom,” Gabriel whispered, “drop and roll. Drop and roll, understand? I don’t want you to break your leg.”
Lucy didn’t answer; he didn’t know if she’d heard. But she kept going. All he could do was hope.
He looked back at the door, at Chigaru’s unconscious form on the floor beside the bed. How long would it be before one of the other guards wondered where he was? Or till someone else heard something?