She walked up onto that and settled in to wait.
Finally, a semi
roared up the road beneath her, heading west, back toward the District. Timing
it just right, she waited until the truck was racing under the bridge then
dropped over the side. She landed on top of the trailer and pressed herself
flat on top of it, fingers gripping the sides.
Matt lived in a
row house in the Adams Morgan neighborhood. Alyssa had been there many times
for "friendly" dinners that Matt consistently let run late into the
night, hoping she'd open the door to more. Now, she peered at the place from
the roof of another one across the street and up a few houses.
Matt's house
was quiet, but she didn't let that fool her.
The FBI would
be there, of course. They had to be watching all her known haunts. Or the
Secret Service. Either way – it didn't really matter. The second floor bedroom
window was dark, for example. But Matt always left his bedside light on. And
the silhouette in the living room – apparently staring at the TV – was bulkier
than her reporter friend. No doubt it was a federal agent, and there was
probably one in the bedroom as well, with the light off to hide his shadow.
Ever so
slightly, something on Matt's roof moved.
OK, so they had
a man on the roof, too. She was unsurprised. She would do the same, if the
circumstances were reversed. But she was the master of her craft – a black
belt, a world-class athlete, and above all else, a Chambers.
Careful
observation of the house across the street from her current location – three
doors up from Matt's – revealed that the FBI didn't have a man on it. A
mistake. Had it been her, she'd have guards on the roofs at both ends of the
street as well. But even for this investigation, she supposed the feds'
resources would eventually reach their limit. She clambered back down to the
ground and, wrapped in shadows and darkness, she made her way to Matt's side of
the street.
By means of
windowsills, ledges, and a rain gutter, she pulled herself to the roof of the
next building. In her normal life, she hated townhouses. Having a common wall
with one's neighbors seemed to spoil the whole concept of owning a home. But
tonight she was glad for it. It meant she could just walk across the roofs to
Matt's place.
She'd spotted
the roof guard, crouching and mostly watching the back yard. That meant she was
approaching him at a right angle. She simply sat still and watched for a time,
trying to get a feel for his rhythm.
The man was
good. Obviously, he considered the back yard the most likely means of trying to
sneak up to the house, so he spent most of his time looking that way. But every
now and then he turned around to look to the front yard, and to either side.
Never on a regular schedule though. In the time she watched him, he turned
front after fifteen minutes one time, and then the next after only a minute. He
threw in looks to the sides as well, several times looking right at Alyssa. But
on a cloudy night with no moon, it was nearly impossible to spot a completely
motionless person – especially one wearing dark colors.
Alyssa’s stolen
combat fatigues kept her invisible to the night vision system on the man’s
head. A lifetime of skill kept her invisible to ordinary vision.
Watching the
guard on the roof, she waited until he was watching the back yard. She crept
slowly forward, never coming out of her crouch, and never stepping fast or hard
enough to make noise. The guard swiveled her way again when she was only
halfway there, and she froze to wait it out.
In her head,
she knew that she was effectively invisible. There was no light; she wore dark
clothing; she was protected from infrared; she crouched without motion – there
was nothing to draw the attention of a human eye. But still, her heart hammered
like the offspring of a bass drum and a metronome. She could feel the man's
eyes on her but then he kept on turning – first to look into the front yard for
a minute or two, then
Finally, a semi
roared up the road beneath her, heading west, back toward the District. Timing
it just right, she waited until the truck was racing under the bridge then
dropped over the side. She landed on top of the trailer and pressed herself
flat on top of it, fingers gripping the sides.
Matt lived in a
row house in the Adams Morgan neighborhood. Alyssa had been there many times
for "friendly" dinners that Matt consistently let run late into the
night, hoping she'd open the door to more. Now, she peered at the place from
the roof of another one across the street and up a few houses.
Matt's house
was quiet, but she didn't let that fool her.
The FBI would
be there, of course. They had to be watching all her known haunts. Or the
Secret Service. Either way – it didn't really matter. The second floor bedroom
window was dark, for example. But Matt always left his bedside light on. And
the silhouette in the living room – apparently staring at the TV – was bulkier
than her reporter friend. No doubt it was a federal agent, and there was
probably one in the bedroom as well, with the light off to hide his shadow.
Ever so
slightly, something on Matt's roof moved.
OK, so they had
a man on the roof, too. She was unsurprised. She would do the same, if the
circumstances were reversed. But she was the master of her craft – a black
belt, a world-class athlete, and above all else, a Chambers.
Careful
observation of the house across the street from her current location – three
doors up from Matt's – revealed that the FBI didn't have a man on it. A
mistake. Had it been her, she'd have guards on the roofs at both ends of the
street as well. But even for this investigation, she supposed the feds'
resources would eventually reach their limit. She clambered back down to the
ground and, wrapped in shadows and darkness, she made her way to Matt's side of
the street.
By means of
windowsills, ledges, and a rain gutter, she pulled herself to the roof of the
next building. In her normal life, she hated townhouses. Having a common wall
with one's neighbors seemed to spoil the whole concept of owning a home. But
tonight she was glad for it. It meant she could just walk across the roofs to
Matt's place.
She'd spotted
the roof guard, crouching and mostly watching the back yard. That meant she was
approaching him at a right angle. She simply sat still and watched for a time,
trying to get a feel for his rhythm.
The man was
good. Obviously, he considered the back yard the most likely means of trying to
sneak up to the house, so he spent most of his time looking that way. But every
now and then he turned around to look to the front yard, and to either side.
Never on a regular schedule though. In the time she watched him, he turned
front after fifteen minutes one time, and then the next after only a minute. He
threw in looks to the sides as well, several times looking right at Alyssa. But
on a cloudy night with no moon, it was nearly impossible to spot a completely
motionless person – especially one wearing dark colors.
Alyssa’s stolen
combat fatigues kept her invisible to the night vision system on the man’s
head. A lifetime of skill kept her invisible to ordinary vision.
Watching the
guard on the roof, she waited until he was watching the back yard. She crept
slowly forward, never coming out of her crouch, and never stepping fast or hard
enough to make noise. The guard swiveled her way again when she was only
halfway there, and she froze to wait it out.
In her head,
she knew that she was effectively invisible. There was no light; she wore dark
clothing; she was protected from infrared; she crouched without motion – there
was nothing to draw the attention of a human eye. But still, her heart hammered
like the offspring of a bass drum and a metronome. She could feel the man's
eyes on her but then he kept on turning – first to look into the front yard for
a minute or two, then
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