Staying under cover of the balustrade, he began crawling toward the left front corner of the hospital. He couldn’t stay up here forever, because it was only a matter of time before gunmen made their way on to the roof, or the FBI called in air support. His best chance at getting away and reestablishing his plan for killing Alisha was making his way to the ground. He was confident that if he made it into the swamp no one would find him there.

Coming to the corner of the hospital, he found that a fancy embellishment of the balustrade allowed him to come to his feet while still being blocked from two angles from those searching for him from below. He looked for a fire escape on the side of the building and found it, the problem being it was a floor lower than his current position and could only be accessed via doors from the building. An awning with latticed sides had been erected above the stairs to stop birds from nesting on the steps, but it looked a little flimsy and he doubted it would bear his weight as he climbed down. He could possibly grip the awning and use it to swing onto the stairs, but as he did so he’d be open to a sniper on the ground. He didn’t fancy his chances.

At the back, there were a couple of structures jutting out from the main building. If he could get down to the roof of either of those he could smash his way back inside the building and reach the fire escape. Or he could take his chances by going back down through the building, and finding himself a hostage to use as a shield while he made his escape. Preferably that bogus nurse at the front counter: he’d come here to kill a woman and she would do.

Decision made, he went to his hands and knees and set off for the next corner. He heard the pounding of feet below him. He glanced over the balustrade and saw two troopers running to add extra firepower to those at the front of the building. Good, less for him to worry about at the back.

A chimney stack loomed on his right, but he went past it, determined now that he knew his way down.

He was on all fours, gun pressed against the gutter, a compromising position in the purest sense. Not the best of places to find yourself when a man with a huge knife attacks you from above.

Chapter 47

47

Having four hands would have been useful. One to hold my gun, one to slap on the wound in my thigh to stop the bleeding, another two to hold on to the edge of the roof to stop me from plunging three floors to a nasty landing.

As it was I had only one free hand, which didn’t say much for my chances of survival.