The boy was waking up in front of her.
Four heads poked up from the far side of the table.
Trolls!
They’d been sleeping in the boardroom chairs, but they were too short for Charlene to have seen. They came awake groggily, but with looks of fierce determination. She’d heard trolls called cute, but there was nothing cute about these. Two jumped up onto the table. Two others leaped down to the floor and ran beneath the table toward her.
The sleepy boy rubbed his eyes and looked at her as if she were a ghost. It was too late for her to try to all-clear. She ran to Wayne and was reaching for the knot on his right wrist when a troll grabbed her legs from behind, pulling her away from the chair. She kicked back and the little man went flying into one of his friends.
Wayne continued to stare off into space.
“Hang in there,” she said, no longer able to think about untying him. A third troll latched onto her lower leg. He opened his mouth and bit her.
Charlene cried out and kicked him. The little man rolled like a soccer ball and crashed into the far wall below one of the Mary Poppins Carousel horses.
The door banged as it was struck hard from the other side.
She had to time this just right. The trolls were going to make a mess of that. The three had recovered and now joined hands with the fourth to form a semicircle of small, ugly dwarves taking small steps toward her.
She didn’t have to worry about Wayne—Finn and Maybeck could take care of him. Her job was to get back through the door and lead the Overtakers away from here. Timing her exit was critical.
Another tremendous crash. One more of those and the doorjamb would give.
She judged the height of the trolls—three and a half feet. If they raised their arms, maybe as high as five feet.
Her track hurdles were set at “low”: thirty inches. The trolls were too tall for her to hurdle over.
She stepped to the wall and ran at them at an angle, envisioning herself in the high jump. She lifted her chest, arching her back, and kicked her feet high. She flew over them upside down.
As she smacked down onto the floor—wishing there had been some kind of mat for her to land upon—the surprised trolls turned around. The Norwegian boy stood up in his chair. At the same moment, the door blew open in a spray of splinters.
Charlene spun the boy in the swivel chair and pushed him; he fell into the trolls and they collapsed as a group.
The Norwegian barreled through the broken door and was carried forward by his momentum straight into the boardroom table.
Charlene timed it perfectly, sprinting behind him and out the door. She had no doubt that everyone in that room would now be chasing her, but she never looked back to confirm it. She took off at full speed, through the door to her left, and out to the glassed-in sunroom, making for the same window she’d used only hours before.
The lights went out.
At the same time, a loud electronic clunk signaled that the elevator was in use and coming up.
Three feet from the window Charlene saw the brace. It was an adjustable and lockable tube of metal that now prevented the same window from opening. Every window had a similar brace in place. She was locked inside.
The elevator clunked again. The doors were coming open. Behind her came the Norwegian and his posse of trolls, but she wasn’t sure they could see her in the dark. They stopped and looked around.
If she made for the elevator and it turned out Overtakers were inside, she would be caught. If she waited even a second or two longer the Norwegian was going to see her crouched down beside the wall.
Something winked at her from high up on the wall: a piece of glass reflecting the small amount of ambient outdoor light that came through the glass ceiling and walls.
A security camera.
Philby.
He’d seen the locked windows. He’d sent the elevator for her. It was a gamble. If she guessed wrong…
Behind the Norwegian, Maybeck and Finn would have by now descended from the room’s tower and gone after Wayne. She had to keep the Norwegian and his pals busy for a few seconds longer.
The elevator doors…
She ran and dove like she was sliding into third base in a tied game—and slid right into the elevator.
The empty elevator.
Was about to reach for the panel when the CLOSE DOORS button lit up, as did the 1.
Philby.
The doors eased shut just a fraction of a second ahead of the Norwegian trying to stop her.
The problem was, the elevator was far slower than the Norwegian. He raced down the curved staircase to meet the elevator on the first floor.
He stood there—all six-foot-four of him—as the elevator doors slid open.
It was empty.
* * *
Finn and Maybeck sneaked down the circus-pole ladder and then hurried to the door, where they paused, with the boardroom to their right. Philby’s phone vibrated in his pocket.