I could already see our point of access—it was a fire escape door, which had been propped open an inch or so by a small book wedged in the opening. We made it across the street and pressed ourselves against the side of the building, then we crept along, under the ground-floor windows. I reached forward and carefully opened the door, and we slipped inside. We were in the cold, fluorescent-lit concrete stairwell. I closed the door softly.

“We did it,” Jazza whispered.

“Seems that way.”

“Now we just wait here?”

“I guess.”

“I don’t feel very hidden.”

“Me either.”

We quietly approached the inner door that led to the ground floor of Aldshot. I could hear male voices and a television. Jazza and I huddled together, unsure what to do next, until we heard a door open on the floor above us. Jerome’s curly head peered down at us over the railing, and he waved us up.

“I disabled all the alarms,” he said. “Prefect secret. Everyone’s downstairs watching.”

He looked very satisfied with himself. He took us up two more flights, until we reached another door. This one was a lot more serious-looking, with a bar across it and a huge DO NOT OPEN: DOOR ALARMED sign in red. Jerome pushed this open with a bold stroke. The Klaxon I had been expecting didn’t sound. We were suddenly on the wide roof of Aldshot in the bright cold, nothing but the sky above us.

“My God,” Jazza said, cautiously stepping out. “I did it. We did it. We really did it.”

We all took in the freedom for a moment. Jazza stood back, but Jerome and I went up to the edge. Below, I got a good view of our square, the halls, and all the streets around. Everything was lit—every streetlight, every window, every shop. The tall buildings of the City—the financial district of London that was right next to our neighborhood—were beacons, filling the air with even more light. London was awake, and watching.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” he asked.

It was great. This, I realized, is what I came for. This view. This night. These people. This feeling buzzing through the air.

“I suppose it’s safe up here,” Jaz said, coming a little closer and hugging herself for warmth. “The building is locked, and it’s not easy getting up here. Plus, there’s police all round. And helicopters.”

She pointed at the bright lights of the helicopters drifting above like oversized bees. There were at least three we could see from where we were standing. The dragnet was on.

“Safest place in London right now,” Jerome said. “As long as we don’t fall off.”