perform her own recognizance. By that time, I had made contact with Callis too. Knowing that she would watch me. Knowing that he could push me in the direction he wanted. Knowing that Phoebe would follow…
The second Arcadian shouts at the one watching the stairs, who turns his head. Unfortunately, as he does, his field of vision encompasses me. He brings his rifle up, and I dart to my left, putting as much of Pachacutec's legs as possible between him and me. Bullets ricochet off the bronze statue, and as I come around the statue's left side, I return fire, sending the Arcadian ducking down the recessed stairs.
The other Arcadian has nowhere to hide and so he charges me. I pull the trigger on the MP7 and nothing happens. The magazine is empty. I forgot to check how full it was before I started climbing. He's on me before I can eject the magazine and put in another. He shoves my gun aside with one hand, grabbing me with the other. As if we were going to grapple, Greco-Roman style.
With very little effort, I throw him. He bounces once, slides a meter or so, and then discovers he's out of roof. He has a surprised—and somewhat hurt—look in his eyes as he scrabbles at the edge of the roof, as if I have somehow cheated. And then he is gone.
I've just been wrestling longer than he has. Quite a bit longer.
The third guy is still hiding in the stairwell, and there's no easy way to approach him without giving him a clear shot, and so I dig in my pocket for my last grenade. Pull the pin, toss it over like I'm throwing a bean bag at a lawn party, and shake my head at the foolishness of hiding in a hole.
I drop the empty magazine from my MP7, and slap another one in.
The grenade goes off, and I'm sure the noise and flame are signal to the helicopter crew that something is amiss on the rooftop. There's no sign of Phoebe and the Arcadian who went up with her—they must be on board already—and the cable is still hanging down beneath the helicopter. On its way for the other two, who are no longer in need of it. For a second, we're caught in that moment of transition: Brains processing signals. Decisions being made.
I leap for the statue, scrabbling like a monkey up its bronze chest. I hoist myself up onto its outstretched arm, and as the sound of the helicopter's engine changes and its nose starts to dip, I leap off the statue. The helicopter pulls away from the tower, but it takes a second for that change to travel all the way down the cable. The clasp at the end of the line hangs in the air over Pachacutec. I stretch out my arm, not unlike the statue beneath me, my fingers straining for the clasp.
As I wrap my hand around the metal loop, it is yanked forward, pulling hard against my fingers. My arm follows, my shoulder complaining from the sudden tug. I fumble with the strap of my rifle, trying to get the weapon under control as I sail through the air beneath the helicopter. It's only going to be a few seconds before someone notices me, dangling down below. We streak across the promenade, roaring over the traffic jam, and I hear the distant noise of gunfire below. Something bites my right leg, down on the calf, and blood begins to flow.
Twisting on the end of the cable, I point the rifle up at the helicopter fantail and try to wreck the assembly with several bursts from the MP7. The cable bounces, dropping me a meter or so, and I shift my aim toward the main portion of the helicopter. Several more bursts from the gun and I'm out of ammo again, but at least the cable has stopped dropping. For the moment.
I hit the button that drops out the empty magazine and try to figure how I'm going to get the last magazine out of my back right pocket and into the gun without letting go of the cable, and I decide that isn't going to happen.
The helicopter turns to the north, climbing to a height that will allow it to clear the hills that ring Cusco. Discarding the empty gun, I start climbing the cable. It's slick, meant to be wound quickly and efficiently around a drum, but I've climbed worse. It's