Phoenix

13. Escape

​"Quick!" Jin urged in a hushed, strained voice.

​Together, they began hauling back the cable. A moment later, the six-foot steel stand jammed itself horizontally against the four-foot window frame of the opposite building.

Jin gave it a strong tug. It held. The makeshift anchor was solid; there was no fear of it slipping.

​Behind them, the door rattled violently. The two guards had unlocked it, but the heavy wooden chair wedged under the handle and the mountain of broken racks Jin and Arya had piled against it held firm.

​"What's going on in there?" muffled screams erupted from the corridor. "Open this door immediately!"

​Jin ignored the shouting and looked at Arya. "Hurry. Go first."

​"We have to make sure the cable stays taut!" Arya whispered.

She glanced upward, her eyes landing on the heavy-duty hook of a ceiling fan.
​She pointed to the empty hook. Jin nodded, bracing himself as he crouched down. Arya scrambled onto his shoulders, and Jin stood up with a grunt of effort. Reaching the hook, she looped the trailing end of the cable-previously tied to the rack-through the metal eye.

She pulled with all her strength, securing it with a series of complex, reinforced knots.

​Jin lowered her back to the floor. "You first. Go."

​"But-"

​"If we're going to get caught, it should be me," Jin interrupted firmly. "You are the key to this mission, Arya. Go now."

​Arya hesitated for a split second, then threw her arms around him, whispering, "I love you."

​She climbed onto the window sill and looked down. Her acrophobia, usually manageable, flared as she stared at the rocky courtyard 150 feet below. The sight of the tiny, ant-like people made her stomach roll with sudden nausea.

​"I'm scared, Jin," she confessed, her voice small.

​"Don't look down," Jin commanded gently. "Remember your rope training. Focus only on the wire."

​Arya took a ragged breath and committed. She swung out, hanging beneath the cable by her hands and feet.

Despite the terror gnawing at her, she moved with practiced efficiency, shimmying across the fifty-foot void. Reaching the other side, she kicked out the remaining jagged shards of glass from the shattered window and tumbled safely into the Taxation Office.

​Now, it was Jin's turn.

​He looked back at the storeroom door one last time. The pounding had stopped. An eerie silence had fallen over the hallway. He didn't wait to find out why. Jin climbed onto the sill and stepped into the air.

​

​Outside in the corridor, the two agents were dumbfounded. They were guards, not a breach team, and they lacked the authority to destroy federal property without a direct order.

But the sounds coming from inside-the crashing glass, the dragging of metal-told them the situation was spiraling out of control.

​One of them finally pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and contacted Mr. Bullock.

​"What is it?" the Bureau Chief snapped, his voice thick with irritation.

​"A problem, sir," the agent stammered. "We heard a loud crash from the storeroom. We tried to enter, but the prisoners have barricaded the door from the inside."

​"What!" Douglas Bullock roared.

​"Yes, sir. We can't get through."

​"I'm coming," Mr. Bullock growled. "Break the door down! Now! That's an order!"