Gray's Talent by Chandler Roy F

Author:Chandler, Roy F. [Chandler, Roy F.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Katherine R. Chandler
Published: 2013-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

Gray tapped on Gilmore's window, and the handler opened the passenger door.

Gray said, "I can't sit down with this rig on. Is the sniper ready?"

Gilmore squirmed. "Well, they got a mini-14 to one of the stakeouts. He says he can shoot."

Grayson groaned aloud.

"Damn it, Gray, we don't have snipers standing by. Neither does the FBI, and just hinting that we might be trying something on their turf would really turn on their alarms."

Grayson said, "To hell with it. I'll be back in a blink, anyway. Make the signal."

Gilmore turned on his headlights, blinked once, and shut off. Up the street a heavy car left its parking place, veered wildly, and crashed into another parked vehicle. Both drivers were instantly out, cursing and shoving. Gilmore said Go, but Gray was already at the building corner.

The diplomatic structure's exterior was stuccoed concrete, but each corner had been enhanced by imitation concrete quoin stones that projected four inches from each wall surface. Each artificial stone was two feet high and separated above and below by nearly a foot of normal wall. The extended corners were to be Grayson's ladder to the fifth floor.

Gray appeared from behind decorative shrubbery planted along the sidewalk. He rose almost wraith-like spidered against the corner, each upward step stretching his reach and forcing his body away from the wall's safety.

The climb would be tricky under the best of conditions. A shorter man could not have reached the upper lip of the next stone, and the almost three foot step up resulted in a spraddled and awkward grip before Gray could release a hand and snatch another hold before his weight threw him backward.

Brad Gilmore found he had forgotten to breathe. Grayson was a darker form obvious to anyone chancing to look up, but each step improved the angle, and if he could remain unseen for the first dozen steps upward, Gray would be above casual notice.

The fight in the street had turned physical. Two combatants were on the ground flailing, and a third party was apparently kicking both. Damned convincing, Gilmore decided. He recognized no one, but they were his people.

Gilmore could make out a rope coil behind Gray's belt, but his killer had no obvious pack of equipment. How...? Grayson had not given much detail.

It was harder than Gray had expected. The quoin stones had been shaped with a downward sloping top edge to run off water. His only grip was at a stone's corner, and his footing on the downward slant was slick and forced his balance away from the wall. Committed, he had no comfortable choice, but it was reasonable to suppose that if he could handle two steps he could manage two dozen.

Grayson worked at it. He forced concentration. His mind did not consider his exposed back or the deadly fall. His pulse rose from effort, not from debilitating fear. His body heated, and the thought of sweating hands could have been defeating, but Grayson's talent held. His mind stayed focused, and each step brought him closer.

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