He regarded the second tower. Some of the windows where he expected to land were broken, but it would be almost impossible to aim at them precisely enough to get through unscathed. Plan B it was, then . . .

He wound the hose around his left wrist before squeezing both legs over the brass nozzle. ‘Let’s get into the swing of things,’ he said, then started to move.

Legs back, then forward, then back again, the length of his swing increasing each time. The wind whistled in his ears – but not loudly enough to drown out a bang from behind. Fires were now licking from the broken windows, the noise caused by a swathe of the facade shearing away. Hailstones of glass and broken concrete fell past him as he picked up speed.

Forward, and he came to within thirty feet of the other tower’s fractured mirror before falling away. He would reach it next time – or hit it, if he didn’t judge his sweep accurately. He unshouldered the rocket launcher, wrapping its strap around his other wrist, then held it on his thighs, pointing forward.

He slowed at the top of his reverse arc. Acrid smoke hit his nostrils. A momentary pause . . . then he swished forward again, extending his legs to gain momentum – and to support the rocket launcher.

Past the lowest point of the swing, narrowing his eyes against the slipstream, then he hurtled upwards. The tower rushed at him. He located the approaching point of impact. The windows were intact. He turned his feet, heels together but toes apart, and pushed the launcher’s tube between them, bracing it in position with his outstretched arm.

His reflection grew ever larger. About to hit—

He buried his face against his arm to protect his eyes – and whipped his feet back beneath himself.

The launcher hit the glass like a battering ram. The window shattered – and Eddie hurtled through the falling pieces into the room beyond.

Sparkling debris showered over him, cutting the exposed skin of his hands and head. But he had to ignore the pain. The impact had robbed him of the speed he needed to complete the arc. He kicked away the Type 08 as he dropped—

And slammed down on his back. The pressure around his left wrist eased, but would return at any moment. The rest of the hose was about to fall back down – and would pull him with it.

Glass crunched beneath Eddie as he rolled to the neighbouring, undamaged window and flattened himself against the glass—

The hose’s full weight suddenly yanked his arm against the frame, almost breaking his wrist. He yelled, but held on. A moment to recover, then he crawled from the window, dragging the hose with him and tying it around a pillar. It wouldn’t come loose, unless the entire floor collapsed.

Which was now not an unlikely possibility.