A quick glance told him that it had to be an abandoned church. Leaks from the steeply angled roof had caused huge smears down the dingy walls, rotting the plaster away from the red brick beneath. Most areas were thick with dust, except for the pews. They were thick with people, but these people hadn't come to pray.

The congregation consisted of hard young men, many younger than Matt, the rest ranging in age on up to a couple of guys who looked to be in their late twenties. Beefy or rail-thin, black-skinned, brown, or pale and freckled, they all had the same wary, street-smart hardness. And whatever they wore-most were in jeans and shirts with the sleeves torn away-their outfits mixed the colors green and black.

There had to be a couple of hundred of them, smoking, laughing, checking their guns. Yes, each young man was armed. Hunting rifles, stolen armory weapons, and every variety of pistol Matt had ever heard about seemed to be on display. There were even a couple of antique Beretta M9s like the one Rob Falk had waved around.

This was Rob's strike force, the fighting strength of the Buzzards called together at their warlord's orders.

They fell into a dangerous silence for a second as they saw strangers coming through the door. But James came in after them, and the warlord was definitely in a cheerful mood. "Be nice to these people, now," he warned his troops. "They're the ones who're helping us get into the Gardens at Carrollsburg!"

A roar filled the air like nothing that had been heard in that church before-half ironic cheer, half wolf's snarl at sighting red meat.

James gestured to Matt and Caitlin. "Put these where you kept the others. And no foolin' around with 'em! We want them all in one piece for when we need them."

Matt and the others were marched down the aisle to the rear of the church, and Matt thought they were going out. But before they reached the church doors, the lead guard turned aside, to the gaping entrance of a dusty stairwell.

Are they sticking us in the choir loft? Matt wondered. But the stairs kept going up, until Matt realized they were climbing inside the church's steeple. Then they came to a moldy wooden ladder leaning drunkenly against the lip of a trapdoor overhead.

Matt climbed, and found himself in a s.p.a.ce a little larger than his bedroom-but a lot taller. Once bells had hung here, rung on feast days and to celebrate marriages. They were gone now, probably taken when the church was deconsecrated. A bell was a valuable thing, even if it was only melted down for its metal.

This s.p.a.ce was empty, except for dust, the remains of a couple of bird nests, and what looked like mouse droppings on the floor. Four reasonably clean folding chairs were scattered around. Apparently, they'd been brought up for the comfort of the prisoners.

Caitlin, Luc, and Serge had all reached the upper story now. From below came a sc.r.a.ping sound. Their guards were removing the ladder!

"Y'all just sit quiet up there," w.i.l.l.y's voice echoed up the steeple. "We'll come fetch you when we're ready to move."

As soon as the guards were out of sight, Matt s.n.a.t.c.hed up one of the chairs and pushed it against the wall. The belfry had no windows, but above their heads, the enclosure was open to the air. This was where the sound of the bells had rung out in the old days.

At some point, though, there must have been a problem with intruders. Iron bars, s.p.a.ced five inches apart, wouldn't have blocked the tolling of the bells. But they'd keep anyone out of the belfry-or in.

The bars didn't block the view, though, as Matt pulled himself up on his improvised step stool. He looked out-upon a vista of empty, crumbling buildings. The roofs of the surrounding stone and wooden row houses seemed to sag as if the weight of too many years pressed down on them. Paint peeled off the siding boards like diseased, scabby skin, revealing the gray of moldering wood. Obviously, it hadn't been a great neighborhood even when people lived there. Scattered among the houses were square, raw brick buildings. They'd housed auto-body repair shops, chemical warehouses, all the parts of a city that get shoved into out-of-the-way corners where nice people didn't have to look at-or live with-them.

It did keep the rents down, of course. Poor folks were expected to put up with the noise and the corrosive smells. This was a neighborhood that had been hard-used. And once it was deserted, the buildings, both old and new, began quickly falling into ruin.

To Matt, it looked like a town abandoned in the face of an enemy army's advance. No-man's-land. But where would you find such a desolate area in the middle of a teeming cityscape like greater Washington?

No-man's-land! The words seemed to echo in Matt's thoughts as he scampered down from the chair and dragged it to another wall. Nearby, he saw a similar blasted landscape. But farther off, he saw apartment towers rising over the rooftops. And right in front of the church steeple ran an elevated expressway with cars zipping along. Rays of late afternoon sunshine streamed between the bars. That way had to be west. The words seemed to echo in Matt's thoughts as he scampered down from the chair and dragged it to another wall. Nearby, he saw a similar blasted landscape. But farther off, he saw apartment towers rising over the rooftops. And right in front of the church steeple ran an elevated expressway with cars zipping along. Rays of late afternoon sunshine streamed between the bars. That way had to be west.

Matt dropped to the floor and hauled the chair so he was facing south. More devastated buildings, and a muddy scar where old houses had been bulldozed. Beyond that, however, rose a wall of rosy brick, enclosing expensive-looking brick and paneled buildings that looked like they'd escaped from colonial Williamsburg. Expensive cars stood in driveways surrounded by brilliant green lawns.

Letting go of the bars, Matt dropped back to the belfry floor again.

"What did you see?" Caitlin demanded.

"Bunch of pig-houses," Serge replied in his broken English.

"Slums," Luc Valery translated.

The Balkan boy nodded. "Like Cernograd after the sh.e.l.ling. Nowhere I seen before."

"Well, I know where we are," Matt said. "Remember that map Rob Falk showed us? We're in the middle of the orange splotch, the houses waiting to be knocked down and turned into expensive condos. Back that way"-he jerked a thumb over his shoulder-"is the Gardens at Carrollsburg. In the other direction, if we go far enough, is the Mall and all the museums. To the west, once you get past the parkway and the dead neighborhood, are the luxury high-rises along the Potomac. East of here-" Matt frowned, trying to recall the maps he'd seen of the area. There'd been a large blank spot....

Then he remembered. "The Washington Navy Yard. They haven't built a boat there in seventy years, but they use the land for offices and stuff."

"How nice," Luc said in a snotty voice. "Now we know exactly where we're going to die."

Matt shook his head. "Only if we let that happen."

"Let it?" Luc said. "How do you expect to stop it? It's not like we can call your cops. Those pigs took our wallet-phones. I don't think we'll find any phone-kiosks out there." He gestured to the desolation surrounding them. "Besides, we're trapped at least four stories off the ground with no way down and bars around us-"

He was interrupted as Matt's hand shot out to grab his tie. "Real silk?"

"W-what?" The French boy sputtered. "My cravat? Yes, it's silk."

"Heavy silk," Matt said, yanking at the knot in the tie.

Luc said nothing. He only stared at Matt as if the American had gone out of his mind.

Matt yanked the tie free of Luc's collar, then turned to one of the chairs. He brought it up over his head and smashed it against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Caitlin yelled. She, too, had become convinced that Matt had gone out of his mind.

Matt grabbed another chair, and the other prisoners cringed back. But this one he leaned against the east side of the bell tower and began climbing.

Carrying the tie and a broken leg from the first chair in one hand, Matt hauled himself up. He looped the tie around two bars, tied it tight, then stuck the wooden stick into the loop and began twirling it. The heavy silk wrapped around the stick, making the loop tighter and tighter. Something had to give-and it wasn't the tie. With a deep, rasping creak, the two bars of old iron began to bend together.

A second later, Serge was pulling a chair up beside Matt. He tucked another broken chair leg under his arm while he undid his belt. "Real leather from the homeland," he said, looping it around the bars next to where Matt was working.

The work didn't go quickly or easily. Matt's face was streaked with dust and rust as he levered against the raw wood, trying to twist his loop tighter. Serge's belt broke from the mistreatment of the leather, and they had to replace it with Matt's.

As they worked at bending the bars, the prisoners also argued over the next part of their escape. At least it helped pa.s.s the time. Luc had friends in the Gardens at Carrollsburg, and had visited the area several times. "The hovercraft does not run all day," he said. "Last boat is at eight o'clock." He glanced from the setting sun to his wrist-watch. "Which is not so far away. We must get to the guards at the gate and warn them!"

"If we run that way, we'll be stuck right where Rob and his pals want us," Matt objected. "All they have to do is move up their timetable, and we'll be trapped with all the other people in the development."

"We should be trying to get out on the other side," Caitlin said. "Get the attention of the people driving on the parkway."

"Luc and I tried that," Serge replied. "We shouted. I even waved my shirt. n.o.body notices. They go by too fast."

"Our one hope is the Navy Yard," Matt insisted. "There are military people there, and a Marine base nearby. If anyone can derail Rob's crazy plan, they're the people to do it."

He heaved against the wooden stick, thinking that Luc's tie would never be the same again. With a final grating shriek, his two bars came together.

They'd done it! The bars had been bent apart enough that a kid-even a stocky kid like Serge-could squeeze between them. Matt pushed his way through, then swung himself around until he was hanging by his hands. He stretched out his feet, searching with his toes for a hold. There! Matt rested his weight on the questing foot. The roof tiles held. Balancing against the wall, he slid down until he was sitting astride the peak of the roof.

Matt looked up at the three worried faces peering down at him. "So far, so good," he reported. "Send down the chair leg."

Luc leaned out, extending one of the legs from the chair Matt had broken. It was an L-shaped piece of wood, with part of a bracing piece sticking out.

Matt knew the next part wouldn't be easy. The steep roof slanted down for a good two stories. If he could worm his way down to the rain gutters at the edge of the roof, he should be able to leap the rest of the way to the ground. If he lost control and slid down, he'd probably crash and break his neck.

While he'd been working on the bars, Matt had noticed that there were gaps among the roof tiles. That was why he'd brought his crude wooden hook. If he began to slide, he'd jam the hook between tiles and catch himself.

Above him, Luc was already squeezing his way out. Cat would follow, then Serge. Matt let himself down so he lay on top of the sun-warmed tiles, trying to spread his weight as widely as possible.

"Here goes," he whispered, letting go his hold of the rooftree.

The angle was too steep! He began to slide down the roof tiles, faster and faster! He was out of control, and heading straight toward certain death!

19.

Once or twice, Matt had gone on virtual mountaineering adventures. He'd learned a technique called the glissade, where mountain climbers slide down icy glaciers using their ice axes to brake their descent. Matt had thought he could use the same technique if he got in trouble on the church roof.

Now he was finding that there was a difference between ice and roofing tile, especially when he only had a piece of shattered wood to slow himself up.

His trusty chair leg cracked and splintered as he tried to dig it in and stop his fall. When he finally caught it in a crack, it nearly jerked right out of his hands. He held on desperately, and stopped-until the tile tore loose and he was tumbling again.

He was moving a little more slowly, but the edge of the roof was coming up fast. Matt was doing his best to keep his head. With luck, he might be able to catch himself on the rain gutter at the edge.

But when he got there, the gutter was gone! Somebody must have torn it away to sell the copper sheeting.

Matt had one last chance. This part of the roof seemed to give under his weight. He thrust down as hard as he could with his stick. The roofing gave a bit, until-finally-the wooden stick in his hands bit through. He stopped just in time-his legs were dangling over the edge.

"L-looks like one heck of a ride," Cat Corrigan called from her place on the top of the roof.

Matt made violent shushing gestures. From his dangerous perch, he could see that the Buzzards had posted guards around the church. The one on this side was the Asian kid. What was his name? Ng.

It was not exactly like watching a military sentinel. Ng sort of slouched along the street with w.i.l.l.y's pistol stuck in his belt.

But Ng could pull out that gun and use it if he heard the prisoners calling to one another.

At least the others took his hint. Their heads went together, and they came up with a pretty good plan. They formed a human ladder. Serge held on at the top while Luc worked his way down until he was holding onto Serge's ankles. Then it was Caitlin's turn. She slid down, clutching at the others to keep from going too fast.

She still had to let go of Luc's feet and slide free the last six feet or so, but Matt had braced himself to catch her.

Even so, they almost went over together. Cat dangled for a heart-stopping minute. But she quickly transferred her grip to the stick dug into the roof instead of Matt's arm.

"Phwooooh!" she breathed long and hard. Then she spotted Ng patrolling below. "Now I see why you wanted us to shut up," Cat whispered.

Matt nodded.

The girl glanced uneasily from the guard to their two companions stretched across the roof. "They can't hold on up there forever," she whispered. Then she nodded toward the wooden hook. "And I don't know how long this will hold, either."

This time Matt didn't answer. He was busy watching Ng slouch along on his return march.

When the guard was under them, Matt released his hold.

Maybe he should have warned Caitlin. She gave a sort of strangled cry, which made Ng look up. The Asian boy's eyes went big, and he tried to haul the pistol from his waistband.

Then Matt landed on him. They both tumbled to the ground, but Matt was on top. This time, Ng didn't have a hostage to hold Matt frozen. Matt applied a quick but painful hold, and the gun dropped from Ng's nerveless fingers.

Then Ng yelled at the top of his lungs.

Matt swore to himself. He knew knew he should have gone for a knockout blow, but he'd been too worried about that gun. Now he didn't worry about finesse. He hit, hard, and Ng flopped back, silent. he should have gone for a knockout blow, but he'd been too worried about that gun. Now he didn't worry about finesse. He hit, hard, and Ng flopped back, silent.

"Move! Fast!" Matt hissed, looking up at the two pairs of legs dangling over the edge of the roof. Caitlin dropped down, and Matt caught her. Luc's legs waved wildly, and then another pair appeared. Serge had made it.

They both dropped together, just as a Buzzard guard came around the corner-Matt's old pal w.i.l.l.y.

"Yo, Ng, what's the big problem?"

The blond boy stared in astonishment at the escaping prisoners. His mouth opened to yell a warning as his right hand tore under his shirt to get his gun.

Serge s.n.a.t.c.hed Ng's pistol from the ground.

The sound of the two shots seemed to blend together. w.i.l.l.y screamed and spun, his left hand clamping to his shoulder. Serge charged forward.

"Serge, you idiot, you're heading the wrong way!" Luc called. He, Matt, and Caitlin were already pounding down the street to the east.

Scooping up w.i.l.l.y's gun, Serge shouted back, "I go to the road!"

There was no time to argue. The sound of the shots would definitely bring the Buzzards out of their staging area.

Matt risked a glimpse back as he and his companions reached the nearest street corner. Gang members came boiling out of the abandoned church like ants from a disturbed anthill.

Then the gunfire began by the church entrance.

"Guess somebody spotted Serge," Luc said.

But a loud, growling voice rose over the scattered shots. Matt recognized it. James was giving orders to his troops. "Where are the others?" the gang warlord yelled. "Find 'em! Find 'em now now!"

Matt whipped around the corner, herding the others in front of him. "Come on," he said. "They're going to have search parties out in a minute."

"We won't even make it down this street before they get around the corner," Caitlin said.

"So we hide." Matt scanned the rows of houses opposite them and chose one at random. It still had a door rather than a plywood barrier or a rough wall of cinder block across the entrance. He was afraid it might be locked, but there was neither a lock nor a doork.n.o.b. They'd been chopped out of the wooden panel, which simply swung in when he hit it with his palm.

They stepped into the shadowy interior, lit with a couple of streams of light coming from c.h.i.n.ks in the warped plywood panels that were supposed to seal the gla.s.sless windows. Matt shut the door, peering out through the chopped hole. It gave him enough of a view of the street to show gang members in their green and black Buzzard colors running down the street the escaped prisoners had just left.

"Now they'll have people ahead of us," Luc said. "And they have enough people left to begin a house-to-house search."

Matt turned from the doorway. "We'll barricade the door to slow them down. While they fool with that, we'll get out the back."

They were in the front hallway of the old house. Obviously, a long time ago it had been cut up into apartments. To the right, a flight of stairs rose to the second floor. On the left was an apartment entrance, its door hanging at a drunken angle from broken hinges.