But the rocky hillside was a danger in itself. Philips’ foot snagged and he fell headlong, just missing an outcropping. As he pulled himself up, he saw a path veering off to the right. Pushing away the underbrush, he made his way toward it.
A second shot was followed by an agonizing scream. Philips’ heart leaped into his mouth. Once clear of the forest he ran as fast as possible, hurling himself down the walkway into the darkness.
Before he realized what was happening, he had launched himself into the air at the top of a stairway. It seemed like an incredibly long time before he hit the ground again. Instinctively, he fell forward to absorb the shock, tucking his head under and doing a somersault, like a gymnast. He ended up on his back, and sat up, dazed. From behind, he could hear running footsteps on the walkway, so he forced himself to his feet. He ran on, struggling against dizziness.
This time, he saw the stairs in time, and slowed. He took the steps in threes and fours, then ran on with rubbery legs. The path intersected another, crossing at right angles. It came up so quickly that Martin had no time to decide whether to change his direction.
At the next intersection, Martin’s path ended, forcing him to hesitate for a moment. Below and to the right he could see the forest ended. At the edge of the trees there was some sort of balcony with a cement balustrade. Suddenly, Philips heard footsteps again and this time it sounded like more than one person. There was no time to think. He turned and raced down to the balcony. Below him, stretching out about a hundred yards, was a cement playground with swings and benches and a central depression that was probably a wading pool in the summer. Beyond the playground was a city street and Martin saw a yellow cab go by.
Hearing the running steps draw closer, he forced himself down the wide cement stairs that descended from the side of the balcony to the playground. It was only then, hearing the pounding footsteps drawing closer, that he realized he could not get across the open area before whoever it was behind him reached the balcony. He’d be exposed.
Quickly he ducked into the dark recess beneath the balcony, mindless of the stench of old urine. At that moment, he heard labored feet reach the roof. He stumbled blindly back until he hit up against a wall. Turning, he allowed himself to slowly sink to a silting position, trying to control his loud gasping for breath.
The columns supporting the balcony stood out against the dim image of the playground. A few lights could be seen in the city beyond. The heavy footsteps ran across the roof, then descended the stairs. Abruptly, a dark ragged figure whose frantic wheezing breath carried back to Martin was clearly silhouetted as the man stumbled out into the playground, heading for the street beyond.
A series of lighter steps sounded on the balcony above. Philips heard muffled words. Then silence. Ahead the figure was cutting diagonally across the wading pool.
The rifle spoke sharply above Philips and simultaneously the fleeing figure in the playground was sent crashing on its face. Once it hit the cement, it didn’t move. The man had been killed instantly.
Martin resigned himself to fate. Further flight was impossible. He was cornered like a fox after a chase. All that was left was the coup de grace. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, maybe he would have thought of resisting but, as it was, he just stayed still, listening to light footsteps cross the balcony and start down the stairs.
Expecting to see silhouetted figures appear momentarily within the frames of the columns in front of him, Philips waited, holding his breath.