Free Gut Instinct by Brad Taylor Page A

stopped walking.”
    Knuckles tried to become the wall, breathing in a shallow pant, straining to hear if anyone came toward him.
This was stupid. Only way out is through the guard. Which means compromise.
    “He’s moving again. You’re clear.”
    Knuckles duck-walked as fast as he could, finding the ladder right where Decoy said it would be. And a chain with a padlock sealing a cage at the base of it.
    Damn it.
    “Decoy, it’s locked with a cage that goes up to the second floor. It’s going to take me some time. Stay sharp. I need serious early warning.”
    “Roger.”
    “Brett, Brett, you copy?”
    “I got you.”
    “I get compromised, same plan; I’m going to deal with the initial issue, then come straight over the wall back to Luk Luang. I’ll need you there immediately.”
    “Roger that.”
    Knuckles pulled out a red-lensed penlight and studied the lock. An old Schlage. Not too much trouble. He placed his pack on the ground, pulled out a bunch of paperwork and brochures designed to support his cover if he was caught, and peeled back an inner lining, exposing his lock-pick kit. Besides the slave device for the fiber-optic cable, he carried no other special equipment. If caught, he felt it would be a hell of a lot harder explaining a bunch of 007 gee-whiz gear, so he’d opted not to bring any.
    Putting the penlight in his mouth, he raked the lock set for about a minute before the pins sheared and the bolt sprang open.
    “Decoy, am I clear? This cage is going to make some noise.”
    “Yeah, you’re good.”
    He pulled the gate open, wincing at the screech it made, the hinges reluctant to break out of their rusty hibernation. He opened it just enough to enter, then slid through. He spent a couple of seconds relocking it from the inside, then made his way to the roof.
    Crouched on the shale tile, he began to scuttle the length of the roof, keeping the apex between him and the people on the lawn out front. He reached the far side without any trouble, seeing his target building below him. Then his predicament sank in.
    “Ahh . . . Decoy, is there a ladder on the far side?”
    From the pause, he knew Decoy was feeling like just as big of a dumbass as he was.
    “I’m looking.”
    Knuckles waited, wondering how many cases of beer this was going to cost him.
    “There appears to be a drainpipe fifty feet behind you. In the crook where the building tees.”
    Knuckles spat out, “Drainpipe.”
    “Yeah. Looks like you get to be Koko after all.”
    He didn’t bother to respond to the inside joke, simply inched along the edge of the roof until he reached the T of the building. He saw the pipe, grateful that it was an ancient cast iron one instead of some flimsy aluminum gutter.
    He lay flat on the roof, leaned over, and wrapped his hands around the top of the pipe, taking note of the location of the first anchor point into the wall.
    “Get ready for some adventure. This thing breaks and we’re in a world of hurt.”
    Brett came on. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

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    Knuckles slipped over the side, clamping his hands in the opening at the top like a vise grip. He hung in the air for a split second, then did a chin-up until his face was level with the roof. He placed his legs on either side of the pipe and slid down until his feet made contact with the anchor.
    He slid his hands on the outside of the pipe and began a slow descent, grateful for the gloves he’d worn, initially to prevent any fingerprints but now saving the skin on his palms.
    He shimmied down until he was at the first-floor level. He looked beneath him, then simply dropped, hitting the ground harder than he wanted, rolling with the impact into the pool of light from an outside lamp. He scuttled back into the shadows, his target door fifty feet away.
    “I’m down. Am I clear?”
    “Stand by. Let me sweep.”
    Knuckles used the time to break out the lock-pick kit.
    “Okay, the four out front are still gabbing, but you’re shielded by the