“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m throwing you off this ledge. You’re in my way.”
I moved one foot, then the other.
“Faster,” he said.
The covered bridge to the parking garage wasn’t far away. A few more steps. Don’t look down, I told myself. Concentrate on the bridge. It wasn’t a far drop, and it had a nice wide, flat roof. I could do it.
“Keep moving until you’re in the middle of the bridge,” Vlatko said. “I’ll tell you when to jump. We’re going to jump together.”
“Aren’t you afraid of a sniper?” I asked him. “The FBI probably has you in their sights.”
“You’re my insurance policy. If they shoot me now, you’ll go down with me.”
“Surely you don’t think you can get away.”
“It’s not over until it’s over. I’ve been in worse spots. And if I’m captured I’ll be extradited to Russia, where I’ll get bonus pay. I came here on a diplomatic visa, and I have friends in very high places.”
I reached the middle of the bridge and allowed myself to finally look down. The cement roof was about four feet below me. If for some reason I skidded off the roof, I’d fall three stories to the street. Not a good thought.
“Jump,” he said, stepping off the ledge, taking me with him.
I landed hard, my legs buckled, he pulled me up and yanked me forward.
The parking garage was a ten-story reinforced concrete structure that wasn’t totally enclosed. At each level the thick outer wall was five feet high, leaving five feet of open space between the top of the wall and the beamed structure of the next concrete deck. In theory this should have allowed the wonderful sea breeze to waft through the garage. In practice, the hotel blocked the sea breeze, and what wafted through the garage was the smell of fried food spewing out of the kitchen ventilation system on the second floor.
The pedestrian bridge very nicely opened onto the third-floor parking deck, but if you happened to be on the roof of the bridge, there was no easy access. The bridge’s roof connected to the five-foot very solid wall of parking deck number 4. Even with a knife to my throat and adrenaline surging through me, I had no ability to get over the five-foot wall. Maybe with a running start, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Vlatko said. “I’m going to give you a boost up, and before you even hit the ground on the other side, I’m going to be over the wall. So don’t think about running away. If you even attempt to run, I’ll catch you and kill you.”
He gave me a boost that belly-flopped me onto the top of the wall and tumbled me off onto the floor on the other side. I landed on my back, and looked over at Ranger pressed flat against the wall. Vlatko swung himself over, and Ranger snatched him out of midair. There was the flash of Vlatko’s knife blade, and in the next instant Ranger flung Vlatko off the fourth floor of the parking garage.
I was still on my back, and Ranger knelt beside me.
“Is anything broken?” he asked.
“Holy crap,” I said. And a tear leaked out of my eye.
Ranger brushed the tear away and lifted me to my feet. We went to the wall and looked down at Vlatko, sprawled on the road below us.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I asked.
“Babe,” Ranger said. “He’s one inch thick.”
“Your arm is bleeding.”
“He tagged me when I grabbed him.”
“How did you know we’d be coming over the wall?”
“I was listening to you the whole time. I didn’t trust you to hang on to the earbud, so I had a mini-microphone sewn into your shirt. It’s just under the rolled hem on the neckline.”
I glanced at it. “I thought it was just another rhinestone.”
Men were running at us from all directions. Uniformed Rangeman guys, two guys in suits and ties that I knew were FBI, a hotel security guard.
The Rangeman guys secured the perimeter a short distance from us. The two FBI agents went to the wall and looked down at Vlatko and then looked over at Ranger.
“What happened?” one of the FBI guys asked.
“He jumped,” Ranger said.
The agent nodded. “I figured. I could tell by the way he sailed out into space.”
“He released the poison,” I said. “He told me it would reach the ballroom in fifteen minutes.”
“The fire alarm emptied the entire hotel,” the FBI guy said. “The ballroom emptied in less than ten. Right now we’re waiting for the hazmat team to suit up and go into the mechanical room to retrieve the canister. We’ll know more when they get the canister out and take air quality readings in the ballroom.”
I looked down at my bloody shirt and jeans. “My face hurts all over,” I said to Ranger. “Where’s all the blood coming from?”
“You’re getting a bruise on your cheek. You have a small cut on your lower lip. You were bleeding from your nose, but that seems to have stopped. You have a puncture wound on your neck.”
“I’m a mess!”
Ranger wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “You’re beautiful. You evacuated the hotel and you delivered Vlatko.”
We stared down at the street. It was clogged with police and firemen and vodka salesmen. No one was being allowed back into the hotel.
“What’s next to us?” Ranger asked the hotel security guard.
“It’s the new hotel that’s all jungle theme. The Monkey Pod.”
Ranger told Tank to get a suite and an extra room at the Monkey Pod. And he asked him to get us new clothes and to bring a first-aid kit from one of the Rangeman cars. We took the elevator to the ground level and exited the garage from the rear, away from the crowd. Ranger’s men came with us, and the FBI went to check out Vlatko.
The Monkey Pod manager met us in the hotel lobby and escorted us upstairs. There were monkeys everywhere. Monkey wallpaper, monkey designs on hall carpets, and monkey sconces. It was worse than the birthday cake hotel. It was dark, and the monkeys didn’t look happy.
Ranger took the key cards and assured the manager that everything was wonderful. He gave one card to the two men who accompanied us, and they went next door.
The suite had the same monkey theme as the hall. Monkey lights, monkey candy dishes, monkey wallpaper. At least it was large and everything was new and clean. And it felt far away from the horrors that had just happened in the poor birthday cake hotel.
My cellphone buzzed in my pocket. Grandma.
“Hey,” I said.