When I thought I had an obstacle-free zone, I rehooked my flashlight to my belt. I studied the window, trying to make my leg muscles absorb the height I’d have to jump. It was about the distance of a lay-up, and I’d proved only last week I could still play basketball.

My fingers were tingling and my palms damp. I wiped them on the sides of my jeans. “Okay,” I whispered to myself. “This is your lane, Vic. On ‘three.’ ”

I counted to three under my breath and charged up the path I’d cleared to the window. About four feet shy of it I started my jump, arms extended, pulling myself through the air. My fingers caught on the bottom of the sill. Sharp metal ledges cut my palms. I grunted in pain, scrabbled for a handhold, and hoisted myself up. Move over, Michael Jordan. This here is Air Warshawski.

32

Swinging Evening

Perching on the metal runners lining the window, I used the flash briefly to make sure I wasn’t going to fall onto a spindle or some other death-dealing machine. Except for the radiators lining the walls, the floor beneath was clear. I turned, grabbed the sill as comfortably as I could, lowered my legs into the room, and let go.

I landed with a soft thud that jolted my knees. Rubbing my sore palms I crouched behind one of the high work tables, waiting until I was sure the noise of my arrival hadn’t roused anyone.

The assembly room door had a simple latch lock, open on the inside. I pushed back the catch on my way out: if I needed a quick escape route I didn’t want to have to pick even a simple lock. No one was in the hall. I stood by the door for a long moment, straining to pick up breathing or some restless twitch on the cement floor. The width of the factory lay between me and the trucks. In the stillness of the building I could hear their engines faintly vibrating. Other than that all was calm.

Fire lights placed at wide intervals gave the place a faint green glow, as though it were under water. The murkiness upset my sense of place; I couldn’t remember how the assembly room connected to the plant manager’s office. I took a wrong turn down a connecting hall. Suddenly the diesels sounded very loud: I was coming to the corridor that led to the loading bay.

I pulled up abruptly and tiptoed to the corner. I was looking at the cement cavern that opened directly onto the bays. Again the only light came from two green fire blocks. I couldn’t see clearly but I didn’t think anyone was there.

Although the corrugated doors still covered the bays, diesel fumes were seeping around them. My nose wrinkled as I tried to fight back a sneeze. It came out as a muffled explosion.