Badly enough to be sitting here in this darkness, a machine gun cradled in his lap, waiting to steal and to kill.
Could he kill? He hated the Kasempas for their rape of his homeland. He was afraid of them for their reputations as brutal men. What the hatred and the fear would combine to form he didn’t yet know. He had never killed anyone, had rarely ever fought with anyone. He had a secret admiration for men like Parker, who could face the bloodiest possibilities without flinching, but he believed he could never be like them.
He heard movement, a rustling sound, and knew it was Formutesca looking at his watch again, reading the green fingers of the luminous dial. Then Formutesca whispered, “Two o’clock.”
Time. Manado nodded, even though Formutesca couldn’t see him, and moved on hands and knees to the rear of the truck dragging his machine gun behind him. He looked out the window in the door and the street was empty, so he pushed the door open and climbed out to the street, leaving the machine gun on the floor of the truck.
Formutesca climbed out after him. “Start unloading,” he said and went around to talk to Gonor in the cab of the truck.
Manado brought out the ladder and propped it against the rear of the truck. Then he got his own machine gun, found Formutesca’s, and wrapped them both in an old pink bedspread and laid the package on the curb. Finally he took out the long wooden toolkit and put that also on the curb. He shut the doors, and Formutesca came back.
“All set,” Formutesca said.
Manado looked up at the museum’s top-floor windows. They were dark; they’d been dark for over an hour now.
Formutesca carried the ladder; Manado carried the toolkit and guns. They crossed the curb and walked to the building next door to the museum. Formutesca had a key that would open the inner door. There was no one around.
They couldn’t use the elevator; they didn’t know whether the superintendent could hear the motor or not. He had seemed unusually conscientious Parker and Formutesca had both said so and he just might come out to see who was moving around in his building at two in the morning.
So they climbed stairs to the fifth floor, and Formutesca led the way down the hall to the men’s room. He switched the light on and Manado said doubtfully, “Should we do that? What if somebody sees?”
“We can’t work in the dark,” Formutesca said.
“We have flashlights.”
Formutesca shook his head. “Parker says people don’t pay any attention to an ordinary light in a window,” he said. “But they see a flashlight moving around, right away they think it’s a burglar.”
“I suppose so,” said Manado, but the bright light continued to bother him. It made him feel exposed, as though hundreds of people were watching. Unconsciously, he moved with his shoulders hunched.
Formutesca was the one who’d been through this before, so Manado allowed himself to be taught. Formutesca showed him how the ladder was placed and then said, “You go across. Take your time, and you’ll be better off it you look straight ahead. I’ll hold the ladder steady at this end.”
“All right,” said Manado.
“You going to take the guns?”
“Yes.”
“Get up on the windowsill and I’ll hand them to you.”
Manado had no particular fear of heights, but crossing a space five stories up on a ladder was making him very nervous. He crouched on the windowsill while Formutesca handed him the package of guns, then put the package down gently crosswise on the ladder. He pushed the package ahead of himself and went crawling slowly out over the air.
In a way, he was glad this was happening at night. All he could see below him was blackness, with only the ladder itself and the roof rim ahead illuminated by spill from the window behind him. The package of guns gave him something to think about too, besides his nervousness.
He got across, lowered the package to the roof without making a clatter, got on to the roof himself, and turned around to signal to Formutesca that everything was all right.
Formutesca called softly, “Hold it steady for me.”
“I will.”
“One minute.”
Formutesca left the window, and Manado saw him walk over to the door and switch off the light. They wouldn’t be coming back this way, so Formutesca would have to cross in darkness.
Nothing happened for quite a while, and Manado understood that Formutesca was waiting for his eyes to adjust. Manado stood leaning on the end of the ladder holding it steady and waited. Now that the light was out, now that he was safely across the emptiness, he felt much better. The darkness cloaked him. His presence on this roof meant the enemy’s stronghold was already breached. Manado was beginning to feel good.
A small clatter, and vibration of the ladder against his hands. Peering across there, he saw that Formutesca had placed the toolkit on the ladder. Now here he came, pushing the heavy box ahead of him, moving slowly.
When the toolkit was close enough, Manado took one hand from the ladder and lifted it over on to the roof. Then he helped Formutesca over the edge, and the two of them pulled the ladder over and laid it down on the roof. They had to leave the window open over there; they had no choice, but it shouldn’t matter.
The day’s drizzle had ended several hours ago, but the air was cold enough so that a wet, slushy slickness covered most of the roof. They had to walk carefully carrying their equipment, and Manado wondered what would happen if he lost his balance and fell, the machine guns crashing around.
But it didn’t happen. They got to the elevator housing, and Formutesca used the key to unlock it. Now they did use a flashlight, seeing that the interior was as Parker had described it. The elevator was just below them on the fourth floor. Apparently, the Kasempas kept it on the first floor during the day for security’s sake but didn’t bother about doing that at night.
In the toolkit was a coil of rope. While Manado got it out, Formutesca climbed inside the elevator housing and stood spraddlelegged on the metal beams in there. Manado handed the rope in to him, and Formutesca tied one end to the central beam, being sure it was on tight and secure. The other end he lowered on to the elevator top, where it lay looped like a brown snake. They’d brought enough to reach the first floor, just in case.
While Formutesca climbed back out of the housing, Manado was getting the gloves from the toolkit. They worked now in silence, having gone over the details of this time and again with Parker. They both knew their parts.
Manado handed Formutesca a pair of gloves and put on the other pair himself. Then he climbed in where Formutesca had been. Their flashlight had a magnet on the side and was now attached to the housing, pointing down. In its light, Manado grabbed the rope and lowered himself slowly to the top of the elevator.
It made a metallic popwhen he stood on it, like a cooling oven, not loud, but startling in the middle of silence. Manado froze, one hand still on the rope, and listened. But there was no more sound, and when he looked up, Formutesca already had the other rope around the package of guns and was lowering it to him.
Manado eased the package down and untied the rope. As Formutesca pulled the rope back up, Manado opened the bedspread, smoothing it out over a large area of the elevator roof. It would muffle any more sounds they might make and it would keep them from getting filthy from the years of accumulated dust up here. He left the trapdoor area clear, and he put the two machine guns out of the way to one side.
The toolkit came down next. Manado got it, set it on the bedspread, and then gathered in the rope as Formutesca dropped it to him. He rolled the rope into a ball while Formutesca slid down the other one. Light and shadows flickered crazily for a minute, since Formutesca was bringing the flashlight down with him, and when Manado looked up he felt one sudden instant of irrational and superstitious fear. Like himself, Formutesca was dressed entirely in black, shoes and trousers and mackinaw and gloves, and sliding down the rope there, the flashlight beam bouncing this way and that, he looked absolutely satanic, lithe and lean and dangerous.