There was a narrow catwalk on the inner side of the balustrade, a thin strip of lead flashing that acted as a drainage channel for the infrequent but tumultuous rain showers that hit the area. I could fit one boot in at a time, which made me keep moving to avoid losing my balance. I jogged along, left arm extended from my side, my right busy with my SIG. Occasionally I had to steady myself with the butt of my gun striking the roof tiles. The sound was a giveaway, but then again so was the hollow thud of my boots. As I approached the chimney stack I raised my gun, expecting Rickard to pop out and take a shot at me. Thankfully, I made it to the brick stack without being shot, and I jammed my back to the wall. I waited, steadying my breathing, then swung around the stack.

The son of a bitch wasn’t there.

I’d picked the wrong hiding place.

Looking back the way I’d come I couldn’t see him either.

Farther on—a good fifty feet at least—was the next chimney stack, but there was no way he could have got that far without me seeing him.

I even looked over the edge of the roof. The two annexes were below but too far away for him to have jumped to the rooftops unless he was as agile as a spider monkey. The fire escape I expected wasn’t there, it must have been on the side of the building. Rickard wasn’t flattened in the earth below me so he hadn’t fallen. That left only one place he could have gone: up and over.

Studying the roof tiles, I saw that there were indeed a number of scuff marks, a smear where a boot had slipped and dislodged a growth of algae. The peaked roofline was about twelve feet above me, on an angle of about thirty-five degrees. He must have scaled it, using the bricks of the chimney as handholds.

I was just about to start up when I heard shouts from down on the ground. Three troopers were down there, guns raised. In silhouette against the sky my clothing would be indistinguishable from any other and Rickard had a similar body type to mine, so I suppose their mistake could be forgiven. They began firing at me. I plastered myself flat to the roof as bullets cut chunks from the brickwork and balustrade.

Pinned down, I had nowhere to go.

I shouted something, but my words were lost amid the racket of bullets and challenges from below.