Kit squeezed through the window. Alex braced himself, then rapidly top belayed Kit down.
Meghan was below. “I couldn’t make the calls,” she said, as Kit came closer. “Everett cut the phone line and microphone line for the PA system.”
“We’re beyond that now,” Kit said, reaching the ground and quickly freeing himself of the rope. He signaled to Alex that he was clear of it. He watched as Alex rapidly pulled it back up. “Where’s Gabe?” he asked Meghan.
“Helping a wounded FBI agent.”
Up in the tower, Alex heard another chime. Seven of the nine connections were in place. He told Spooky to go next. She looked mulish, but Alex, thinking of the loss of time, made it a sharp order. Chase watched as she was lowered. Alex found himself sweating again, thinking that it was taking too long. What if he had missed hearing one of the chimes? Maybe there were eight in place, and any moment now, the explosives would go off.
“She’s doing okay,” Chase said. “Kit has her!”
As Kit released Spooky from the rope, he turned to Meghan. “Take her out of here-please, Meghan! Go to the stables-run-get as far away as you can. You should be safe with Gabe.”
“Promise you’ll be right behind us.”
“I promise.”
Spooky opened her mouth to argue with the plan, then shut it and gave him a quick hug as she left with Meghan.
Alex pulled the rope up again.
“As fast as you can, Chase,” Alex said.
“Sure.”
Alex helped him secure the loop of rope beneath his arms, all the while afraid that he was asking too much of him in his present state. “Are you feeling dizzy?”
“No,” Chase said, smiling at him. “I’m fine.”
“Talk to me as you go, all right?”
Chase began the descent without trouble, calling as he went. It seemed he would manage after all. But when Chase was nearly to the base of the tower, Alex felt a change in the rope, and heard Chase’s cry of pain even as the belay device locked under the sudden load. “Chase!”
“He’ll be okay,” Kit called back. “I think he’s hurt his leg, though. Can you keep lowering him? I can almost reach him.”
Alex slowly eased the rope out. He could feel the moment Kit had Chase, and hurried to look below. Kit had lifted Chase into a fireman’s carry. Chase wasn’t small, but Kit seemed to hold him easily.
“His ankle,” Kit called up to him. “I think he’s broken it. He passed out when he tried to put weight on it.”
Another chime sounded below.
“Get him away from here!” Alex shouted. “Go, now!”
Alex heard the eighth ball snap into place.
“I don’t want to leave you behind!” Kit shouted.
“I’ll catch up. Kit-for God’s sake, if anything happens to that boy-better one of us than all three. I’ll make it. Just go!”
Kit hesitated a moment more, then hurried away.
Alex fumbled as he set up the harness and rope, his hands growing stiff, his fingers suddenly clumsy. He heard the final chime just as he reached the window, and knew he could not possibly make it down in time. Strangely, knowing that released him from his fear. He thought of Chase safe with Kit and leaned back to enjoy one last rappel.
Kit heard sirens as he ran across the baseball field. He was slowed by his burden, but began to hope they might make it clear of the explosion. Chase had passed in and out of consciousness, protesting mildly about being carried, but Kit ignored him and moved on. His chest felt tight, but he knew it was not from exertion or the weight of the teenager on his shoulders.
Just as he reached the edge of the woods, he heard the roar of the bomb going off. Its force knocked him off balance, and the ground shook beneath them. He moved to shield Chase as debris rained down on them in hard little pellets of stone and mortar. A cloud of dust rolled from where the tower had stood. The buildings nearest to the tower collapsed seconds later.
“Alex!” he screamed, but there was no answer. He stood and saw Meghan and Spooky coming toward him. “Take care of Chase,” he called to them.
“Kit!” Meghan cried. “No-!”
But he had already turned back toward the cloud of dust that had once been stone.
He moved cautiously over the rubble. Fires were burning now, lighting his way, but the heat and smoke and stench were nearly unbearable.
He thought about the fact that he had been running without counting to seven. He told himself that didn’t matter. But he didn’t see Alex, and when he called Alex’s name, there was no answer. Kit wondered, not for the first time, why he had been allowed to live.
There was still a fog of dust mixed with the smoke. It made his eyes dry. He coughed. As he moved closer to the tower, the air became worse. His nose and lungs hurt, as if he were breathing shards of glass. He coughed, then realized he hadn’t, but had heard, faintly, someone else’s cough. “Alex!” he yelled, but there was no answer-except the coughing. He crouched lower and followed the sound to the remains of one of the classroom buildings.
He heard a helicopter overhead now. It made it hard to hear anything else. A bright light shone from it, though, on him, and on a figure slowing freeing itself from a pile of rubble-a ghost. The ghost was completely white, except for his blue eyes, which were squinting up at the helicopter’s light. He coughed.
Alex.
Kit ran toward him, shouting, and then realized that a man who had been this much closer to an explosion wouldn’t be able to hear a thing, at least not right away.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Somewhere in the South Pacific
The man who had once been known as Everett Corey awoke with a headache.
He tried to dispel the lingering effects of whatever he had to drink the night before, to make sense of the situation he found himself in. He saw a woman’s navel come into view. It was a nice enough navel, he supposed, but she seemed to be upside down. It took him a little while to realize that, in fact, it was he who was upside down. That he was naked. That he was being held above the deck of a boat by a winch that was attached to ropes tied around his ankles. That his wrists, dangling uncomfortably below his head, were also bound. That there was a piece of duct tape across his mouth. There was something terribly familiar about it all.
“I think the roofies are finally wearing off,” the woman said. She bent down so that he could see her face.
She was pretty, even upside down. Her hair was thick and wavy, an almost apricot-gold color. She had large green eyes. She was athletic-looking. He smiled at her, as best he could.
Alex Brandon and Moriarty stepped out of the hotel bar and into the island’s afternoon heat. They began walking toward the harbor.
The hotel was favored by the most discriminating of American tourists. Everett Corey had not been a guest there, but a man matching his description was often found in its bar, buying drinks for those from his native country. Wealthy American visitors to the island found him a helpful man of many interests, who asked nothing of them but news of home. In the few weeks he had been on the island, he had become a favorite of the staff-he was a man of style and charm-and a generous tipper.
Last night, the bartender told him, was the first time he had seen the gentleman drink too much. The bartender swore he did not serve many drinks to him, but perhaps he had been drinking before he came to the bar. He didn’t behave obnoxiously. Everything was fine-he had left on the arm of a beautiful woman, a wealthy widow who was going to let him sleep it off on her yacht.
The bartender liked the newcomers, who were also generous and charming. He told them that the American gentleman was there almost every night-they should come back.