Role Reversal

Chapter 7: Trap

Chapter 7: Trap

Ideally Esposito would have preferred the Allen Hospital rooftop. The bridge corner would have put him within a hundred feet of the near-end and three hundred off the far end; a nice, easy range. But carrying a fishing rod case through hospital reception, hallways and stairwells without someone raising eyebrows and remembering the fishing fanatic was too much of a risk.

The six floor residential brownstone on the other side of the river was his second choice. It was about twice the distance to the target, but offered easy access via the outside fire escape on to the top floor. He had had to wait a bit in his car further up the street until the mini market store on the corner had closed up for the night; the owner obviously believing in working late hours. He'd used some empty crates and the store's awning to get to the fire escape's ladder and had then cracked the door on the sixth floor giving him access to the hallway.

Now he's on the corner of the roof, the bag of rice wrapped in the blanket sits on the stone bulwark in readiness. He slides the Remington out of the fishing case, makes sure the safety is set before flipping up the covers on the scope and swinging the bipod out. He slides the magazine out, drops it into his pocket and checks the chamber. He eases the rifle's bipod onto the blanket and taps the barrel to settle the feet either side of the bulge formed by the bag of rice.

Carefully he sets the sights on the middle section of girders, just above head height. He moves the scope slightly, spots the strip of fluorescent orange that is being picked up by the breeze blowing down the canal. He watches it a moment, then shifts the sights to the opposite side of the structure, it takes him a bit longer to pick up the other orange indicator. He pulls the rifle back, clips the magazine into place and rests it against the brickwork.

He takes the binoculars from around his neck and scans the area, memorising the position of static objects, spending extra time on the darker patches which might hide something, learning the patterns of movement that this area of Manhattan offers at night.

Finally he settles down behind the wall, keeping himself off the skyline, pulling his jacket around himself .... now the worst part ... the waiting.

The figure in the old, heavy overcoat and woolly hat walks slowly along the left hand sidewalk, stopping each time it reaches a waste bin to rummage through it before moving on. The lamps create pools of light criss-crossed by the darker shadows cast by girders and structures, the control room cameras pick him up and lose him as he shifts from one patch to the next. The operator watches him for several minutes and then goes back to listening to the western conference game. Half an hour later, he spots the same homeless guy walking back along the right-hand sidewalk, still checking on the contents of the rubbish bins positioned along the structure. He shakes his head and concentrates on the last few minutes of the game.

The figure disappears off the Inwood end and gets lost amongst the trees lining the riverbank. He waits a moment in the darkness, listens for any sound of following footsteps or unwanted company. Only the rustle of leaves overlaying the sound of lapping water, the occasional rumble of passing vehicle and the mating call of a frog impose themselves on the night. His breathing is steady, shallow, consciously blocked from his aural analysis of the surrounding environment. Satisfied, he moves down to the water's edge, strips the old coat off and drops it into the water. The black clothes revealed underneath blend in to the surrounding darkness, the dark woolly had unfurls to cover the face, only the eyes giving him away. He settles down, waits, his back to the concrete support behind him.