Stone 588 (41 page)

At that moment Strand and Scoot arrived, having gotten out of the trunks of the blue Bonneville and the gray Cutlass and come up the stairway from nine. Without hesitation, Scoot, the veteran swift, climbed out the window. Then Audrey, Springer, and Strand.

It was surely night now.

Even with the rain, the lights of the city reflected on the atmosphere above it and provided adequate visibility.

They paused on the twelve-foot-wide ledge to get used to being out there. Within moments their clothing was soaked through and sticking to them, their hair was plastered to their skulls. At that height there was more wind, and the storm they had thought so prerequisite seemed a dubious ally. After a

short while, they accepted that this was how it was going to be and moved left along the ledge to where it abutted the next building.

The roof of that next nine-story building was only about five feet higher. For that very reason it was protected by a six-foot-high steel mesh fence topped by concertina-type barbed wire. It was the sort of obstacle Scoot had opposed and won out over countless times. He toed his sneakers into the mesh openings of the fence and climbed up. Using a pair of snippers he cut the barbed wire at the few points where it was attached to the fence. It hadn't been conscientiously installed. The coiled-out wire sprang back into itself. Scoot continued up and over without a scratch. The others followed.

There was nothing extraordinary about the roof of the next building, nor that of the next two buildings over. All were typical of older New York City apartment houses: tar-black, puffed up in some places, depressed in others. Television antennas, pre-cable relics, were like sky-worshiping mantises. Tubular aluminum patio chairs lay crippled and thus forsaken near the squat, square structure above the roofline that housed the elevator winches and the stairway that gave access.

Separating the three apartment houses were fences that ran all the way from front to rear, expressing the usual mutual distrust. The fences were alike, six-foot-high steel mesh with concertina-type barbed wire along the top. Same as the first that Scoot had so quickly reduced to little more than a schoolyard climb-over. Perhaps all these fences had been put up by the same company—one that knew nothing would stop whoever was motivated enough not to be stopped.

Such as Springer and Audrey, Strand and Scoot. Stealthily, although the pelt of the rain would prevent their footsteps from being heard by the tenants just below, they crossed the first apartment house roof and the second and were crossing the third when they saw the cigarette stub. Flicked from the doorway, it was immediately extinguished by the rain. The superintendent of the building. He'd come up for a solitary moment away from complaints and stopped-up toilets, and had it not been for the rain he would have been out on the roof rather than standing just inside the access doorway.

Strand, who was leading the way, came only a couple of steps from walking right into the superintendent's view. As it was, they were only a few feet from him, huddled against the wall of the elevator housing. If he happened to pop his head out and glance to his left he would be looking right at them.

The roof access door was metal coated yet a bit swollen from the humidity. It scraped on its threshold and required a solid shove to fit into its jamb. There was no doubt when the superintendent slammed it shut; nevertheless, the four remained in place awhile to completely recover from the effects of such a close call. Strand, Scoot, and Springer considered it a matter of fortunate timing. Audrey took it as a demonstration of how fate was determined to smile their way.

They continued on across the roof, to an obstacle more formidable than a fence: the side of a building four, nearly five stories higher.

It was the annex to the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, where the church's administrative offices, social rooms, and so on were located. The plan had been to go up and over it using the grappling hook and climbing ropes, but they had underestimated, had believed it three stories higher at most. Perhaps, Springer thought, its height was exaggerated because they were standing close up to it. He backed off from the wall and measured it with his eyes and knew he would be fooling himself if he said it was less than forty-five feet. Were they stumped? Was this as far as they'd be able to go? Might he or Scoot be able to toss the grappling hook that high? Even then it would be a hell of a climb.

Scoot had the grappling hook and climbing rope out to give it a try. Audrey, meanwhile, went along the wall to the rear edge of the roof. From there she had an overview of the enclosed backyard-like space formed by the buildings of the block. Below to the right were the roofs of the buildings that faced onto Fifth Avenue. It was easy to make out which was Townsend's. First there was a six-story building, then a three-story one, and then Townsend's. So close it seemed she could take a flying leap and land on it. She stepped closer to the edge to better see the rear of the church annex building, peered around the corner of it. What a blessed gift it would be if there was a fire escape and they could simply walk right down, she thought. Her eyes scanned the rear surface of the church annex building. They caught upon what occurred to Audrey might be an alternative. She hurried back to tell the others, led them to it.

About three feet down on the rear of the adjacent annex building was a ledge. Not a nice, wide, perfectly safe ledge such as the one of the garage. This ledge was barely a foot wide, a mere outcropping that defined a structural aspect, probably a horizontal beam covered over.

Strand shined his flashlight on it, very briefly but long enough to see that it went the entire width of the building. About thirty feet out, the ledge was interrupted by a six-inch exterior metal pipe, apparently a permanent drain. The pipe seemed to run all the way down the rear of the building. Perhaps at the sixth-floor level it ran close enough to that first building that faced upon Fifth Avenue, the one immediately north of the church.

Worth a try?

Audrey thought so.

Springer wasn't so sure. He'd never been one for heights; not phobic about them, but high places, even Audrey's apartment or the Windows on the World restaurant, always caused a slight hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He peered over the edge at the nine-story drop, told himself it made no difference whether it was nine or a hundred stories. He thought of Jake.

Strand was able to be a little philosophical about it. In all things improvisation was seldom without extra risk. That was certainly true here. The step-by-step plan had been to go up and over the church annex and down onto the church roof and from it easily over onto the roof of that first building facing Fifth Avenue. Strand looked at his watch. Whatever was decided, it would have to be soon or their timing would be off.

For Scoot it was just a matter of weighing risk against reward: no different, really, from the terms of any other burglary. There were legends about huge scores that had been easy, but he knew in his light-fingered heart they probably weren't true.

They huddled there near the edge and discussed whether to give up or go on. The thought of giving up was, for their separate reasons, unacceptable. The prospect of what lay ahead brought them to agree on trying the ledge and the pipe. They swiftly devised how best to do it, the mistakes that could be made, the advantages and cautions to be taken. Not the least of their considerations was the problem of being able to get back up.

Scoot felt inasmuch as he had the experience it was his responsibility to be the first to give it a go. A demonstration of his practical knowledge was the way he prepared the climbing rope. It was the type of five-eighths-inch woven rope used by mountain climbers, soft to the hands, lightweight, and yet extremely strong. Scoot arranged the rope into a series of reverse loops, laying one loop upon the other neatly. He threaded the end of the rope into the eye of the pile of loops and pulled it through. The result was magical. A knot appeared every two feet along the rope, accomplished in a fraction of the time it would have taken to tie that many knots individually.

Both Springer and Audrey drew some reassurance from observing that trick of Scoot's trade. It promised others in a pinch.

Scoot secured the end of the rope to a nearby standpipe. Tested how well it was secured by having a brief, vigorous tug-of-war with the pipe, because his life might depend on it. He lay prone with his shoulders and head over the edge of the roof to examine the ledge. He played his flashlight along the ledge, covering every inch of it. He examined the wall and the pipe for several minutes and took another comprehensive look at the ledge. He stood and removed his vest. The bulging pockets and back compartment of the vest was not compatible with the ledge. If he wore it he wouldn't be able to flatten against the wall. The vests would have to be carried for this part of it. Fortunately the armholes were large enough. Scoot put his head through one of the armholes so his vest hung down the front of him. It was awkward. The vest with all its contents felt heavier. It would be all the more difficult to maintain balance.

Improvisations, Strand thought cynically as he took off his vest and slung it around his neck. How much more improvising, additional risking, would there be?

Springer and Audrey did the same with their vests.

Scoot tossed the rope over the edge and then wrapped two turns of it around his forearm. He sat on the edge of the roof with his lower legs dangling over. He extended his right leg, reached for the ledge with it. Slid down until the edge of the roof was beneath his buttocks. His right foot found the ledge, then his left. As gradually as possible he transferred his weight and was standing on the ledge.

The others watched his every move, would try to imitate.

Scoot just stood there for a while to get used to being on the ledge. It was about three inches wider than the length of his sneakers. He knew, and he had told them, the key to it was the head. And the feet, of course. The head had to be kept up, the back of the head in constant contact with the wall. Much of it would be a matter of depending entirely on feel. He felt the heels of his sneakers lightly in touch with the wall.

He took his first step.

A six-inch sidestep with his right foot.

He drew his left foot to his right.

That was how it went. Six inches or so at a time. Nibbling at the distance.

The weight of the vest hanging from his neck seemed to be trying to make him violate the rule of keeping his head up. The pouring rain was a help and a hindrance. The wetness increased the traction of the soles of his sneakers, but at places along the ledge it also slickened the accumulated pigeon droppings. Several times his mind tried to beat him, tried to get him to visualize where he was, how high up he was, the precarious thing he was doing. He knew such thoughts were traps and closed them off, concentrating on the back of his head, his heels, the wall, the ledge, the playing out of the rope around his arm, his little sidesteps.

His right elbow came in contact with the drainpipe before he realized it was that near. The thick pipe was cast metal, sturdy. There was, he found, room enough between it and the wall for his arm. He hugged the pipe with his right arm and let out that deep breath he'd been holding.

Using his right hand he pulled the rope taut and took a turn with it around the drainpipe. At a point about chin level a section of the pipe was fitted into the wider collar of another section below it. It was one of the things he had noticed initially and was counting on. He adjusted the turn he'd taken so it was snug above the collar, took a second turn, overlapping it into a good bite.

Now the rope was dangling in line with the pipe, the down end of it reaching to the third or fourth story.

Scoot committed to the rope, got it with both hands. He faced the pipe now, the rope over his shoulder and down his back. Quickly he scissored the rope between his legs. He raised his feet, placed a foot on each side of the pipe, the toes of his sneakers tucked in behind it, his ankles hugging it, monkeyish. That way he wasn't hanging by his hands with all his weight.

He went down the rope and the pipe slowly, in somewhat of a rappeling fashion, hand under hand, knot by knot. When he reached the sixth-floor level, off to his left was the roof he wanted. Five feet away. He maintained his position on the rope while shifting his upper body, and thus most of his weight, to and fro. From a slight motion the momentum increased and soon he was swinging like the emerald bead on the end of Audrey's pendulum. As he swung left far enough he loosened his grip and slid down the rope and landed well on the roof.

He looked up.

Only three stories, but it had seemed a longer way. It wasn't going to be an easy climb back up, when it came to that. He put his vest on properly, signaled to the others with three shining blinks.

They came as Scoot had: imitatingly, and with a slight advantage as they inched along the ledge because of the rope he'd strung across to the drainpipe. To have it under their chins was reassuring, although had one of them lost balance and grabbed hold of it, it wouldn't have saved anyone for long.

Audrey was the first down, her eyes open a bit wider than normal, breathing almost entirely through her mouth. She peered up into the rain and was still on the ledge, still coming down the rope, until Springer was there beside her.

It was nine forty-three when Strand got down.

They were seventeen minutes early.

They crouched reflexively as they proceeded across the roof to its north edge, where there was a raised facade of about two feet. Kneeling behind the facade they peeked over at their objective: Townsend's, the sheer south side of Townsend's. It was about forty feet opposite and down a floor from them, across the chasm created by the three-story building which adjoined.

They had a good view of Townsend's roof and knew the snare it was with all its security devices. On the front and rear comers were the television cameras, deeply hooded so the lenses were protected from the rain. There was no way of knowing how the wide-angle lenses were set. Perhaps they included this second roof over, even though it was a story higher. Better to be careful, keep down.

Scoot knotted another length of climbing rope and secured it to a stand-pipe.

At five minutes to ten Springer and Audrey crawled along the facade to the front edge of the roof for a peek at Fifth Avenue. They remained there. At twenty seconds to ten they took another more anticipatory peek. The sweep hand of Springer's watch approached straight up and started around again.

What had gone wrong?

At that moment there was absolute darkness in the Con Edison chamber fifteen feet below the avenue in front of Townsend's. Drips subtly disturbed the surface of the water that had seeped to the bottom of the chamber. Concentric circular wakes were, on their lesser relative level, tiny tidal waves that sloshed turbulently.