Resonance (26 page)

They couldn't. But they found a door in a room at the back. A narrow staircase lay behind—steep, dimly lit. They stepped through, closing the door quietly behind them. Tamisha removed her shoes. The stairs were so steep and it was so dark that Graham had to use both hands to guide his progress. The staircase opened onto a small attic corridor. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could make out four doors, two to the left and two to the right. He opened the first one and stepped into a small attic room with a low sloping ceiling and a narrow dormer window.

Annalise pushed past. She ran to the small sash-window, looked out then beckoned the others over.

"Look," she whispered, "we can walk along the roof."

She unfastened the catch and pulled the lower pane up as far and as noiselessly as she could. Before Graham could say anything she'd wriggled through the window and pulled herself onto the roof.

"Come on, your turn," she whispered, peering through the top pane.

Graham wasn't so sure. He leaned out of the window and looked along the roof line. There was a one-foot-high brick parapet running along the entire terrace. Annalise was standing with her feet wedged in the gutter between it and the slate roof, her hands holding onto the sides of the dormer.

Annalise beckoned to him again. He could hear voices downstairs. They'd find the stairway to the attic any second.

He pulled and wriggled and crawled outside onto the gutter. Annalise helped him up and waited for Tamisha.

Tamisha stood in the window and shook her head.

"Go," she whispered. "No one's seen you. They probably don't even know you're here. I'll hide here. Heights never agreed with me."

She smiled sadly, slowly dragged the window shut and pushed the lock back into place.

"Good luck," she mouthed and turned away.

Annalise led the way, walking along the roof, wedging her feet into the angle between brick and gutter, leaning into the roof and occasionally touching down with her right hand. Graham followed. There were nine, maybe ten, dormers ahead. Each dormer taking them further away from number fifty-six and the chasing pack.

Annalise tried the first window, and the next, both of them locked. Graham could see the latches through the glass securing the top and bottom windows. They continued along the roof, glancing behind them every few steps, speeding up as they became more accustomed to the terrain.

They reached the gable wall. Every dormer had been locked, every attic room empty. Could they smash their way in without being heard from the street below? Could they make sure no glass fell onto the pavement?

"We'll try the ones at the back," said Annalise. "We can climb up the gable wall."

Graham looked up at the roof. The gable wall was rough rendered and nearly two feet wide. It stood one foot proud of the roof and ran for about thirty-five feet up to the ridge. He glanced back along the roof line. Any second now a head could appear from one of the dormer windows. They were bound to search the roof.

Annalise moved upward, ascending like a caterpillar, using her knees and feet to lock either side of the gable wall, pushing off, finding a handhold, clamping her hands and forearms against the rough render.

Graham followed, glancing to his right, waiting for the first head to appear, the first shout of pursuit, and trying not to think about the huge drop to his left.

Annalise reached the top and pulled herself astride the terra-cotta roof tiles before dropping over, feetfirst, onto the other side. She looked back at Graham and smiled, and for a brief moment Graham forgot all about gravity and being chased across rooftops. She was beautiful, captured in that moment, her face set against an azure blue sky, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair.

And then she was gone, her head dropping out of sight. Graham glanced back along the long line of dormers. Nothing stirred.

Yet.

He pulled himself to the top and swung his right leg over the slates towards the ridgeline. He hooked his leg at the second attempt and rolled his body over the ridge and down onto the other side.

By the time he reached the bottom, Annalise was standing on one leg by the first dormer, wrestling with a shoe.

"We've got to break in," she said, pulling her shoe free. "Stand back."

She smashed the upper window at her second attempt, pushed away the shards and forced open the rusted latch. The bottom sash was stiff but she tugged it free and pulled the window up as far as it would go.

She swung down feetfirst into the attic room and hopped as she struggled to avoid the broken glass and slip her shoe back on at the same time. Graham followed close behind.

It was dark, the only light coming from the one small window. Furniture appeared out of the shadows—desks and chairs piled on top of each other, filing cabinets, telephones—everything heaped together, haphazard, dusty and abandoned. Graham closed the window behind him and locked it.

Annalise had found the door and had opened it a crack. No light came in. There was a corridor outside—unlit and musty. Graham could see the outline of a door opposite—presumably to the room at the front.

They crept into the corridor and closed the door behind them. Everything went black. There was a hum of noise from somewhere below, the source difficult to place—machinery? people?

They felt their way along the corridor. The stairs should be close. Annalise started to descend, leaning back into Graham as she slowly moved down the steep staircase.

The sounds increased—a telephone rang in the distance, a snatch of conversation, a background hum of activity. A thin strip of light shone from under the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Suddenly, the stairs were bathed in light. Graham jumped in panic. Annalise hissed an apology.

She'd found a light switch. They were at the bottom of a narrow staircase. Their only line of escape lay through the door ahead of them. And neither of them knew what they'd find on the other side. A family, an office or ParaDim.

They had to do something. People could be on the roof by now. They were bound to find the broken window.

Annalise's hand rested on the door handle. Was she going to bluff it out? Open the door and walk straight into God knows what? A wedding reception, a ParaDim hitmans' meeting?

Maybe they should throw themselves on the mercy of whoever was on the other side of the door? Maybe get them to call the police? Or would ParaDim intercept the call and have their men run in from next door?
We're Special Branch, we'll handle this.
 

There had to be another way. There had to!

"Got any matches?" whispered Annalise, pointing at a smoke alarm on the ceiling.

Graham shook his head. He'd never smoked in his life but he patted at his pockets just in case. Who could tell what habits his alter ego had acquired?

Annalise turned off the light and opened the door a crack. The background hum of conversation rose. There had to be over a dozen people, maybe more. The door closed.

"It's an office," whispered Annalise. "Open plan from what I could see. Very busy. You could slip out."

"What about you?"

"I'm orange girl, remember? People kinda notice me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Look confident. Pretend you work there, pretend you're a messenger. Find some matches or a lighter and bring them back here. I'll find something to burn."

Graham brushed himself down, took a deep breath and slipped through the door. After the darkness of the stairwell, everything was suddenly bright. He blinked. He was in a large open plan office—they'd removed all the internal walls and replaced them with pillars. Graham was in a walkway at the back of the office screened off at shoulder height from the rest of the room. There had to be dozens of people, he could hear them talking, he could see heads bobbing behind screens, people at the coffee machine.

He kept going, his head up and back straight.
I belong here. I'm the office messenger
. He passed an out-tray on a table by the wall and emptied it. He glanced briefly at the addresses.
I work here. I'm the office messenger.
He passed a bank of filing cabinets, a coffee machine, two men with their backs to him. The screen wall parted and he turned into an aisle. Screened compartments came off to his left and right, each cell containing a desk, a chair and a computer. No one looked up, everyone was busy—tapping on keyboards, talking on the phone, collecting printouts.

Some stations were empty.

In one there was a packet of cigarettes on the edge of a desk. A lighter lay on top. Graham slipped in, removed the lighter and left. He retraced his steps back towards Annalise. No one stopped him or called out. He felt elated. His pulse raced. He reached the walkway at the end of the aisle and turned towards the coffee machine. The two men were still there—talking, cups in hand—one glanced in Graham's direction. Graham looked straight ahead, his fingers tightening on the envelopes.

He passed the two men. Their conversation had stopped. He could feel them looking at him. The back of his neck burned. He wanted to run but couldn't.

"Excuse me," said a deep voice a few yards behind him.

Graham kept walking, the door was ten yards away. Ten yards and he could slip the lighter to Annalise.

"I say,
you
." The voice was louder. "Who are you?"

Graham kept walking. He was nearly there. Six yards, five. The door was open a crack. He couldn't see Annalise but she had to be there.

Three yards. He could hear a commotion behind him; someone was running—hurried footsteps, the jingle of keys, the flex of the floorboards.

"Stop!"

He kept going. He switched the envelopes to his left hand, reached into his pocket with the right, closed his fingers around the lighter. One yard.

A hand grabbed his left shoulder and jerked him back. He caught a glimpse of orange through the crack in the door. The lighter was in his right hand, he opened his fingers and tried to guide the lighter through the air towards her as he was spun around almost off his feet.

"Are you deaf or something?"

Graham nodded and pointed at his ears, and tried to block the man's view of the door behind him. The man looked confused. Graham attempted sign language, banging his fist against his palm, flashing his fingers, touching his head and body. He
was
deaf, couldn't the man see?

He could. A look of embarrassment swept over his face.

"Sorry," he said, speaking loud and slow and exaggerating his lip movements. "I didn't realize."

Graham smiled.

The man looked down at the floor by Graham's feet.

"You've dropped something."

Graham's blood drained. The lighter! Hadn't Annalise managed to grab it?

The man bent down. Graham watched, moving his weight onto the balls of his feet, ready to grab the lighter and run.

"Your letters," he said, straightening up and holding out a wad of brown envelopes.

Graham mouthed a "thank you" and took them. They must have flown out of his hand when the man grabbed him.

An embarrassed silence followed. Graham wasn't sure what to do. Should he walk away or was Annalise behind him at the moment, her hand reaching out from the crack in the door, trying to grab the lighter?

A bell rang—loud and insistent—other bells on other floors chimed in. A light flashed from the ceiling. She'd done it.

"Fire alarm," the man said, pointing for some reason at the ceiling.

Graham nodded and prayed the man would leave. Why couldn't he panic and run screaming from the building? Instead it looked like his conscience was so deeply pricked he was going to take Graham by the arm and personally lead him to safety.

A sharply dressed middle-aged woman appeared from the central aisle.

"Mike, there wasn't a fire drill scheduled for today was there?" she asked looking in Graham's direction.

Mike turned and instantly forgot Graham. "If there was, Ursula, no one informed me."

"I think I can smell smoke," said a voice from behind 0Graham—a young woman, hurrying by, struggling to put on her coat and hold her handbag at the same time.

Others were streaming away from their desks, grabbing jackets and briefcases, phones and bags. Mike was walking towards the exit, his hand placed at the center of Ursula's back. No one was looking at Graham.

Or the door behind him.

He stepped back and opened it. Annalise slipped out.

They followed the exodus down the staircase; people streamed out from every floor, the same questions repeated—
is it a drill? anyone seen any smoke?
 

The crowd spilled out onto the street—across the pavement, around the parked cars and into the road. Some people turned and shaded their eyes as they looked back at the roof of the building—no doubt expecting to see smoke billowing from every attic window. Graham and Annalise drifted amongst them, slowly moving towards the periphery and the corner—keeping as many people between them and whoever might be outside number fifty-six as they could.

A siren wailed in the distance, conversation thrummed all around them.
Where was the fire? Was it a drill, a hoax?
 

They reached the corner and turned, a few steps more and they ran, crossing the street three cars down and taking every side street and turn they could find.

They leaned back against the wall and breathed hard. They'd been running for nearly five minutes without any sign of being followed.

"I'll contact the girls," said Annalise in between breaths. "There's so much to tell them."

Graham closed his eyes and tried not to panic.
The day after the Resonance project closes they find you unconscious in the street
. The Resonance project had just closed. The clock was ticking.

They had to hide, that was obvious, but where? Hotels cost money. He checked his wallet. He had twelve pounds. A room for the night would cost more than that. His checkbook was at home. All he had on him was a debit card but couldn't ParaDim trace him every time he used it?