That Time in Cairo by Logan Ryles (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

to the cold pavement two hundred feet below. She swallowed, then turned to the door as shouting voices and thumping boots erupted from the Latina woman’s apartment.

That was all the motivation she required. Megan threw her legs over the rail and repeated Wolfgang’s move. By the time she landed, Wolfgang was already moving to the next railing, climbing to the outside before lowering himself into a monkey-bar-style hanging position, then dropping the final eight feet. The next fall hurt worse than the first, but adrenaline blinded the pain as the two of them proceeded from balcony to balcony, dropping fourteen feet every time and moving slowly around the circumference of the tower.

“Charlie Lead! We’re on our way,” Wolfgang said.

“We see you, Charlie Three,” Edric replied. “There are no balconies below the fourth floor. Jump to the awning over the main entrance. We’ll pick you up there.”

Wolfgang threw his legs off the railing off the sixth-floor balcony, knocking over potted plants and a bird feeder. A moment before he released the railing, the sliding glass door of the fifth-floor balcony hurtled open, and Marine appeared, his eyes bloodshot and his Glock clamped in one hand.

It was too late to stop. Wolfgang let go of the railing and dropped straight toward him. The guard’s eyes bulged, and he had no time to move. Wolfgang’s left foot hit him in the sternum, knocking him onto his back, and then Wolfgang crashed down with his butt smashing the guy’s face like a boxer’s glove. The guard shouted in muffled pain, and the pistol skidded across the floor of the balcony.

Megan landed next to Wolfgang and grabbed his hand, then shot a quick foot into Marine’s groin as the big man twisted to grab her by the leg. Projectile vomit exploded across the balcony as Megan and Wolfgang flipped over the rail and dropped to the final balcony. They could see Charlie Team’s van now, hurtling down the street toward the main entrance of the tower. The roof of the main entrance portico lay only ten feet below them, but there was an eight-foot gap between the edge of the balcony and the edge of the roof. Megan hesitated, gauging the distance as she panted for breath. Blood oozed from cuts on her palms, and her pants were torn, but her eyes were alight with the thrill of the run.

Wolfgang gave her a reckless wink that was far from sincere, then threw himself over the railing and into midair before he could think twice. The roof of the awning was fifteen feet off the ground, increasing his total fall to twenty-five feet if he missed it and hit the asphalt instead—a certain bone-breaker, but he didn’t have time to second-guess himself.

Cool Egyptian air blew through his hair and tore at his jacket as he fell like a cannonball, arcing through the air toward the edge of the roof. Only a split second after he jumped, he knew he wouldn’t make it. The edge of the roof was a foot too far, and Wolfgang leaned forward and caught it with one hand as he hurtled down. His fingers scraped against metal as his full weight descended on his right arm. He grunted in pain, then heard the squeal of tires on pavement. The van slid to a stop directly beneath him, and Wolfgang let go of the roof. He fell the last couple feet and landed on the roof of the van like a dead body hitting a baking sheet, his head spinning.

The back door of the van popped open, and Kevin jumped out, already hurling grenades at the main entrance of the tower. A moment later, the air flooded with thick, grey smoke, clouding the cameras and shielding the view of the guards rushing in from the lobby.

Wolfgang coughed and blinked. His head swam, and the tower above him swayed in the dim light of the moon. He was vaguely aware of something falling toward him, sliding through the air toward the van’s roof like a cruise missile.

It was Megan.

Wolfgang rolled to the left just in time to avoid being crash-landed on by his fellow agent. A bullet struck the van near Wolfgang’s elbow, and then powerful hands drug both him and Megan off the roof and onto the ground. He landed on the concrete in a heap, every joint erupting in pain. Kevin pulled them both into the van as Lyle lay on the gas and Charlie Team rocketed to freedom.

10

Back in the hotel, Lyle stood next to the minibar, sucking on a Yoo-hoo. “I’ve got scans of the images routed to headquarters.”

Wolfgang didn’t know Yoo-hoos were available in Egypt, but somehow, he wasn’t the least bit surprised Lyle drank them.

The tech wiz burped, then wiped his mouth. “We should have a translation back within a couple hours.”

Wolfgang nodded and adjusted the icepack on his right knee. His entire body ached—his back, his knees, his ankles, and the soles of his feet. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself crashing from one balcony to the next, wincing with each impact.

Smooth idea. Really. Grade-A work.

“You all right?” Megan spoke from his left. She wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, with her hair dripping down her back. Megan had opted to soothe her swollen joints with hot water as opposed to ice and now looked ready to run a marathon.

Wolfgang grunted as if their recent exploit were no more significant than a trip to the grocery store. “Never better. Just a little stiff.”

She smirked and settled down on the couch next to him. He caught a whiff of her shampoo and couldn’t resist stealing a sideways glance.

She brushed hair out of her eyes and wiggled into the couch. Her skin glistened, and even though she was without makeup, he found himself lost in the smoothness of her complexion.

Megan twisted toward him, and Wolfgang looked away, switching the ice to his left knee.

“You did a good job,” she said. “You thought quickly and took action.