EIGHTY-FOUR

I had to flick the Bic a couple of times, but once the flint was free of dirt, I got a flame.

“What do we do now?” Madame asked.

“First we very quietly move that bed frame . . .”

Madame and I positioned the metal frame so it would barricade the front door. If our guard tried to get in, the angled frame would dig into the floor and make it difficult to enter—without time and effort. And that critical bit of time was what I needed to buy if my escape strategy was going to work.

“Now what?” Madame whispered.

“Now we’re going to set a fire outside that window. The smoke will go into the courtyard, and someone in an adjacent building is sure to dial 911 . . .”

I remembered Esther’s “Open fire!” complaint last week about Nancy’s failed cook-out, and I prayed for the same alarmed reaction among the neighbors.

“With luck, by the time our guard realizes firefighters are on their way, he’ll choose to make a clean getaway rather than risk sticking around and getting caught.”

Madame nodded with enthusiasm. “The plan is afoot!”

We quickly and quietly tore up the newspapers and dropped balled pieces through the hole in the broken window. Soon we had a nice pile of kindling on the ground next to the brick building.

I struck up the Bic again and lit a paper and dropped it on top of the pile. Soon there was a bonfire. As the flames rose, Madame and I used more papers to wave the smoke away from us.

The fire spread, as I kept feeding it. We were starting to cough when we heard the sirens. A moment later, I tensed at the sound of our armed guard trying to get in.

“The firefighters and police are here!” I shouted through the door. “And we have weapons to fight you!”

While I was yelling through the door, trying to scare away our would-be killer, Madame was breaking the windows and shouting, “Help! Help us!” at the top of her lungs.

My plan worked. Within minutes, two firefighters heard our cries and came to break down the door.

By then, the bodyguard with the dead cold eyes took my advice and ran. I didn’t care. I could ID him, and I knew where to find him.

I had a much bigger concern at the moment—finding Matteo Allegro!