hand over hand, and took another step. Walking straight up the wall.
That is, until the hooks came undone. Landing Wayne on his back. Blowing him hard.
He lay there for a minute, letting his ribs complain, reaching hard for breath. It was either tuck tail and retreat or try again. And Wayne had never been one for taking the wise course.
He rose to his feet, tested his spine, rubbed the spot where he was growing a pistol-shaped bruise over his right kidney, and recurled the lanyard. Swung and swung and swung and tossed. This time, when the hooks grabbed hold, he tested them carefully.
The climb was not hard and not easy. Wayne was in pretty good shape. His problem was the memories that came up as he climbed. Of other rock walls and cave mouths he had puffed his way around, hanging limpetlike and listening hard to all the sounds he was probably just imagining.
His muscles were doing a jelly dance by the time he made the fake balcony rimming the third floor’s largest window. There was probably a set of French doors behind the roll-down shutters, with the balcony meant to keep the occupant from doing a face-first into the succulents Wayne had just mashed flat. Wayne propped himself on the balcony railing, gripped the wall where it connected to the metal shutter, and tugged. Harder.
The news was so good Wayne actually turned and mouthed a silent thanks to the smiling silver face in the sky. As in, this much good fortune had to be acknowledged.
Again, assuming Wayne had the right house.
He pulled once more, just to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. The shutters accordioned through aluminum runners. Midway down, the right-hand runner was no longer firmly attached to the wall. It gave. Not a lot. But enough for Wayne’s purposes.
Wayne got to work, all without touching the balcony floor. Which was probably overkill, but it would be just his luck to have the security freak put motion sensors there. So Wayne balanced on the railing as he molded little rings of plastique around the two middle stanchions and then along the shutter lid and down the sides of the top housing. He imbedded minidetonators, connected the wires to the trigger, and looped the trigger through the front of his belt.
Wayne tested the lanyard hooks once more, just to make sure they hadn’t slipped free while he did his dirty work. He rose to his full height and looped the lanyard around his back, making himself a sort of hammock. Then he rolled the lanyard once around his gloved right hand. With his left hand, the one closest to the shutters, he plucked another item from his ready-belt.
The proper name for a flash-bang was compression grenade. As in, a lot of sounds and light and no frags. The purpose of a flash-bang was to so stun a quarry they were left incapable of thought, much less attack.
What a flash-bang would do when slipped between a steel shutter and a set of impact-resistant French doors was anyone’s guess.
But unless the doors were molded titanium, Wayne imagined he might earn himself a way inside.
Wayne pulled the safety clip with his teeth. Took a long breath, wondering if it was too much to make his first prayer in fifteen years be that he was actually aiming at the right room in the right house.
He pried the shutters out a trace and slipped in the grenade.
The canister rattled on the stone flooring. Which Wayne took as his signal to slip away.
He scrambled around the corner, unfurling the wires with his left hand. His heart raced fast enough to chop the seconds into billionths. He was in position and had the trigger out when the grenade went off.
He punched the trigger so fast the two booms, one from the grenade and one from the C-4, sounded as one. A great roar of sound. Then nothing.
This time round, there was no question which of the neighbors had dogs.
Wayne punched his legs out and leaned into the swing, such that he cleared the corner entirely. Just swept around the house and came flying over the balcony
That is, until the hooks came undone. Landing Wayne on his back. Blowing him hard.
He lay there for a minute, letting his ribs complain, reaching hard for breath. It was either tuck tail and retreat or try again. And Wayne had never been one for taking the wise course.
He rose to his feet, tested his spine, rubbed the spot where he was growing a pistol-shaped bruise over his right kidney, and recurled the lanyard. Swung and swung and swung and tossed. This time, when the hooks grabbed hold, he tested them carefully.
The climb was not hard and not easy. Wayne was in pretty good shape. His problem was the memories that came up as he climbed. Of other rock walls and cave mouths he had puffed his way around, hanging limpetlike and listening hard to all the sounds he was probably just imagining.
His muscles were doing a jelly dance by the time he made the fake balcony rimming the third floor’s largest window. There was probably a set of French doors behind the roll-down shutters, with the balcony meant to keep the occupant from doing a face-first into the succulents Wayne had just mashed flat. Wayne propped himself on the balcony railing, gripped the wall where it connected to the metal shutter, and tugged. Harder.
The news was so good Wayne actually turned and mouthed a silent thanks to the smiling silver face in the sky. As in, this much good fortune had to be acknowledged.
Again, assuming Wayne had the right house.
He pulled once more, just to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. The shutters accordioned through aluminum runners. Midway down, the right-hand runner was no longer firmly attached to the wall. It gave. Not a lot. But enough for Wayne’s purposes.
Wayne got to work, all without touching the balcony floor. Which was probably overkill, but it would be just his luck to have the security freak put motion sensors there. So Wayne balanced on the railing as he molded little rings of plastique around the two middle stanchions and then along the shutter lid and down the sides of the top housing. He imbedded minidetonators, connected the wires to the trigger, and looped the trigger through the front of his belt.
Wayne tested the lanyard hooks once more, just to make sure they hadn’t slipped free while he did his dirty work. He rose to his full height and looped the lanyard around his back, making himself a sort of hammock. Then he rolled the lanyard once around his gloved right hand. With his left hand, the one closest to the shutters, he plucked another item from his ready-belt.
The proper name for a flash-bang was compression grenade. As in, a lot of sounds and light and no frags. The purpose of a flash-bang was to so stun a quarry they were left incapable of thought, much less attack.
What a flash-bang would do when slipped between a steel shutter and a set of impact-resistant French doors was anyone’s guess.
But unless the doors were molded titanium, Wayne imagined he might earn himself a way inside.
Wayne pulled the safety clip with his teeth. Took a long breath, wondering if it was too much to make his first prayer in fifteen years be that he was actually aiming at the right room in the right house.
He pried the shutters out a trace and slipped in the grenade.
The canister rattled on the stone flooring. Which Wayne took as his signal to slip away.
He scrambled around the corner, unfurling the wires with his left hand. His heart raced fast enough to chop the seconds into billionths. He was in position and had the trigger out when the grenade went off.
He punched the trigger so fast the two booms, one from the grenade and one from the C-4, sounded as one. A great roar of sound. Then nothing.
This time round, there was no question which of the neighbors had dogs.
Wayne punched his legs out and leaned into the swing, such that he cleared the corner entirely. Just swept around the house and came flying over the balcony
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