The Prisoner's Dilemma (34 page)

McCracken was far cleverer than Sharpe was. He knew a boomerang when he saw it, even one thrown at such a high speed, and gracefully ducked Milligan’s as he moved to get into a better position. Worse, he had sniffed out the truth about the tranquilizer gun and was moving now with much greater freedom and speed.

Milligan caught the boomerang and prepared to throw it again. He knew he would never hit McCracken with it. He had known it the first time, in fact. But he also knew that McCracken would never let him reach the stairs, that the Ten Man was gathering himself for a furious attack, and that the only advantage left to him was surprise.

Milligan threw the boomerang again, this time much lower, and the throw seemed so obviously errant that McCracken glanced around to see if Milligan had been aiming at something else—something explosive, perhaps. Seeing nothing, he looked back to find Milligan bearing down on him with startling speed.

McCracken had no time to reach into his briefcase. Indeed, it was all he could do to retain possession of it, for Milligan came after him with such astonishing swiftness and agility—sometimes swinging Garrotte’s briefcase, sometimes flying out with his hands and feet—that McCracken was hard-pressed to defend himself. He was not a Ten Man for nothing, however, and backing away from Milligan he parried and countered with his own briefcase. And in this way, in close and furious combat, the two men moved rapidly across the rooftop, away from the courtyard, with Milligan constantly on the attack and McCracken struggling to keep his balance.

And then abruptly they arrived at the edge of the roof and found themselves battling there, balancing upon the very precipice, four stories above the rear of the prison complex.

Both men were perspiring. Both were smiling. But only one of them was winning—and both of them knew it. The Ten Man was stronger by far, and Milligan had been at a disadvantage from the beginning.

“It’s almost over, Milligan,” McCracken said, swinging his briefcase around with the force of a wrecking ball. “You see that, don’t you?”

Milligan ducked—the wind from the briefcase ruffled his hair—then rose in a burst, swinging Garrotte’s briefcase up toward McCracken’s chin. “I can’t,” he panted. “Your big head’s in the way.”

McCracken leaned back just in time. He wobbled at the edge, recovered, and brought his briefcase down like a cudgel, narrowly missing Milligan’s twisting shoulder. But the dodge had put Milligan off balance, and in the next instant McCracken kicked the briefcase out of his hand. It went sailing out and away off the roof—and Milligan, in a desperate attempt to catch it, slipped from the edge.

Even as his keen eyes scoured the wall for a handhold, Milligan heard Kate’s cry of horror from somewhere across the rooftop. But his eyes were focused on a tiny section of crumbled brickwork below him, with a gap in the mortar in which some long-ago bird had built its nest. Milligan managed to thrust his hand into this gap as he fell, and his strong fingers found their grip. Twigs and lint from the destroyed nest sifted down over his face as he hung there, twisting this way and that several feet below the rooftop.

“Kate!” Milligan shouted. “Kate, I’m all right! Run!
Run,
Kate!”

But Milligan was not all right, and Kate knew it. She had peeked out from the rooftop stairwell just in time to see him fall, and she understood the situation perfectly well. Maybe for the moment Milligan had found something to hang on to, but he was a sitting duck for McCracken, who glanced toward her with a delighted expression and called out: “Yes, do, Kate! Run off now and let the grown-ups speak privately!” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “I’ll be along in a moment!”

Kate didn’t budge, however. Her heart was pounding; she was boiling with anger and fear; and yet she was trying hard to think clearly, for she would need all her wits to save Milligan.

Seeing her still standing there, McCracken cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Yes? Are you really going to be so bold?” And he was smiling as if he hoped she would be.

Kate flipped open her bucket.

McCracken laughed and reached into his briefcase.

Then Kate charged, and McCracken stopped laughing.

The Ten Man knew the girl was talented, but he was quite unprepared for the ferocity of the attack she now unleashed upon him. Though a great expanse of rooftop lay between them, the items from her bucket that she flung at him now arrived much faster than he would have expected—and all were thrown with uncanny accuracy. First came a barrage of marbles, mere nuisances he deflected with his briefcase, but then a horseshoe magnet winged past his face, narrowly missing him. Next came a flashlight, which actually managed to knock a pencil from his hand, stinging his fingers. With a twitch of irritation McCracken took out another pencil—more quickly this time—and whipped it toward the girl, who had already cut the distance between them by half.

Clink!
went the pencil as Kate deflected it with her bucket, and then she was on the offensive again. What came flying at McCracken next were a bottle of extra-strength glue, an almost empty roll of twine, and a slingshot. These last attacks were pathetic, however, and as McCracken batted the projectiles away he reflected that she was running out of steam, not to mention things to throw. What was more, McCracken noticed that she was puffing hard on what appeared to be a broken whistle (it produced only a sort of thin squeal)—no doubt trying, and sadly failing, to summon help.

Then the girl threw the precious bucket itself. It came soaring along at such an enticingly slow speed that McCracken had time to laugh with anticipation before smashing it sideways with his briefcase. It made a satisfying metallic crunching sound as it flew away off the roof.

And now she was only ten paces away, still coming toward him, still puffing absurdly on that broken whistle—and apparently with one last thing to throw. She lofted it now, and it flew toward his face at a pitifully slow speed, a small dark object of indeterminate substance. McCracken was tempted to snatch it out of the air just to see what it was. But it appeared somewhat oily and nasty, and so he merely tilted his head to let it fly past without soiling him.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, something larger and far more frightening appeared, something with glistening cold eyes hurtling directly toward his face, its wickedly sharp beak and talons extended—and the colossal, elegant McCracken could not help but cry out and flap his arms and shield his face like a panicked child trying to ward off a bee. He was so completely taken aback that he almost didn’t notice his briefcase being yanked from his hand.

Then the moment passed, and McCracken dropped his arms. The falcon was sailing away with its piece of meat, and the girl—the clever girl!—was running off with his briefcase. Halfway across the roof she skidded to a stop, stooped to pick something up, and then calmly walked back in his direction. She was aiming Milligan’s tranquilizer gun at him.

McCracken’s mood improved at once. He straightened up again, smoothing his tie, and said, “I’m impressed, plucky! What a trick! Why, you have more talent than most of my men! You should be proud—your ploy almost worked!”

Kate, who had indeed been feeling proud (and not a little surprised) to have gotten McCracken’s briefcase away from him, and even to have gained the upper hand, felt her confidence diminish. Why had he said “almost”? She stopped and said, “You can keep your compliments. Now get away from the edge of the roof.”

“But why should I do as you say?” McCracken asked, crossing his massive arms like a petulant child. He was eyeing his briefcase.

“I assume you’d prefer not to fall off when I knock you out,” Kate said.

“Oh! So you intend to shoot me with a dart?”

“I might spare you a minute or two if you do what I say,” Kate said cagily. “Now why don’t you take your tie off and leave it there? After I pull Milligan up, we’ll decide what to do with you.”

“Very well,” said McCracken, and with a mysterious smirk he reached for his tie.

It had taken Milligan a few moments to understand what was happening above him, but now he shouted, “Kate! Run! He knows the gun’s jammed!
Run,
Kate!”

Kate blanched. “Oh. Well, it
has
been two minutes, I bet. Do excuse me.” And with that, she turned and bolted for the stairs.

Disappointed, McCracken watched her go. She really was impressively fast, even carrying his heavy briefcase. He hurried over to the edge of the roof and smiled down at Milligan, still hanging precariously by one hand. “I have to run, Milligan—the little vixen took off with my briefcase—but please do hang on if you can. I’ll be back in a jiffy with something heavy to drop.”

Milligan started to say something—anything to give Kate a better head start—but McCracken had already turned and run away across the rooftop.

In the courtyard, Constance and the boys were crouching behind Sharpe, whom they had propped into a sitting position against the wrecked desk. Their hope had been that anyone glancing out a window would be too preoccupied to look closely and spot them. It was like hiding behind a tiger to avoid lions, but at least the tiger was asleep.

“That was more like three minutes,” Constance mumbled when Kate appeared. She hadn’t even opened her eyes. Kate didn’t seem to hear her, though, and Constance whimpered pathetically, too miserable to repeat herself.

Kate was panting hard, but there was no time to catch her breath. “We need to… hide the… briefcase!”

“What happened, Kate?” Sticky asked. “What’s going on?”

“Where’s Milligan?” Reynie asked.

“He’s coming,” Kate said between gasps, then with an apologetic look she added, “but I think… McCracken’s coming first. That’s why… we need to…”

She was interrupted by an explosion of glass and wood. What appeared to be an enormous cannonball—it was large, black, and round—had just burst through a second-floor window. The three of them went reeling backward in surprise. The object hit the ground rolling, then abruptly unfurled and straightened up, revealing itself to be a man in a dark suit. It was McCracken. He had taken a shortcut.

“Hello, dumplings,” McCracken said with a gap-toothed smile. Gripping the lapels of his suit coat, he flapped and shook vigorously, sending bits of glass and wood splinters flying in all directions. “Goodness! I haven’t hurried so in years. But, you see, I was afraid you’d be naughty and hide my briefcase.”

They wanted to flee, but they had Constance to consider, and Kate was so winded she was still trying to get Constance off the ground when McCracken snatched the briefcase from her. In an instant he had reached inside and taken out his laser pointer.

“If one of you would like some attention,” McCracken said, wiggling the laser pointer, “please try to run away. I’ll be happy to single you out.”

No one moved.

McCracken laughed. “So shy!” Keeping the pointer at the ready, he glanced around the courtyard. “I need to run back up to the roof for a minute—I have some unfinished business with Milligan—but I’m afraid there’s nothing proper to chain you to here, and I can’t have you wandering off…” He sighed. “Very well, I’m afraid it’s nap time, children. I suppose I’ll be carrying you later, but there’s no help for it. Do line up.”

The children huddled together. The older ones put their arms around Constance, and they all steeled themselves and looked up at McCracken defiantly.

And in looking up, Reynie saw a figure on the rooftop. At least he thought he did. He quickly lowered his gaze so as not to draw McCracken’s attention, and when he glanced up again a moment later, the figure wasn’t there. He had thought—hoped—it might be Milligan. Was he so desperate that he’d imagined it?

“Excellent,” McCracken said. “If you hold on to one another like that, this will go much more quickly.” He cocked his head, squinted, and held up two fingers as if framing them for a photograph. “Yes, now hold it just like that…”

“Can’t we get you in the picture, too?” Reynie said, as friskily as he could. He was trying to stall, and McCracken always seemed to enjoy bantering with his victims.

“I’m touched,” McCracken said, amused. Then he snapped his fingers. “I know! Perhaps we should have Pandora in the picture as well!” McCracken reached into his briefcase again and took out an elegantly decorated cigar box. He gave it a shake. From inside came a squealing, snapping noise.

“Um, just for the record, I’m fine with not having her in the picture,” Sticky put in.

“Me, too,” said Kate. “She sounds fussy.”

McCracken grinned. “Who’s the fussy one?” he said. “Very well, perhaps later, after you’ve had a chance to get to know her.” He set the box at his feet. “Well, then. I have enjoyed our conversation, but there is work to be done for us grown-ups. Hold still, please.” He began shaking his arms.

It was clear there would be no more stalling. Once again they braced themselves, their eyes drawn irresistibly to McCracken’s large silver shockwatches, which glinted menacingly as they came clear of his shirt cuffs. And as McCracken raised his arms, holding his palms toward them, Reynie and Kate were both thinking helplessly,
Milligan, where are you? Where are you? Where are you?