Having failed to get Prochazka to see the light, Jaime reverted to Plan B and began to cry, dropping her head to her chest.
One man produced duct tape from a bag, and roughly began to wind it around Oscar's ankles, binding him the chair. The second man kept his gun pressed to Oscar's head - and a suspicious eye on Jaime.
Meanwhile she fixed her wide, watery eyes on the gun, developed a shake and then a gulping sob.
"Miss Sumner!" Oscar muttered, "Please – try to remain calm!"
She bent forward, each sob doubling her over further. She looked as though she was going to throw up.
"I don't want to die!" she gargled.
The man tying Oscar seemed distracted by her performance, while the other man murmured anxiously.
"And I don't want to be sent to Siberia either!" she howled, grateful for the fact that most men fully expected women to routinely pull stunts like this. In fact, she was sure that when one man turned to the other and muttered, it translated from Czech to English as "Women"! The accompanying eye roll was in the universal language.
Finally - the moment Jaime had been hoping for - the first man pulled his gun from Oscar's head and took a tentative step toward her. She launched at him, jamming her shoulder into his stomach, piling him straight into the second captor, the two of them landing at Oscar's feet. Before they had the chance to regroup, Oscar leaned down and slugged them both smartly into unconsciousness, Jaime wincing with each blow. While he then furiously worked to release himself, she furiously bound up the two Czechs, finishing with a neat patch of tape over each mouth.
"I am going to have a word with Intelligence over this one!" Oscar fumed, getting to his feet.
"Heads are going to roll?"
"Heads are going to hurt, that's for sure."
He picked up the gun lying on the floor, and shoved it into back of his trousers.
"Don't shoot your butt." Jaime whispered, grinning wickedly.
Rolling his eyes, he whispered back, "This is like being on a mission with my kid sister."
"Not quite." she said with a wink and a pat on the aforementioned butt. "Okay… let's get out of here." Turning her thoughts to escape, she checked the window. One glance down those long two stories told her that was not going to work. She ran to the door and listened – there was movement out there… armed Soviet Agents? The Seniors hiking group? Who could tell? She gulped – the world was now filled with potential enemies.
Then she looked to the ceiling, and saw a big grate – it was a heat vent, and the heat vent had to lead elsewhere. She pointed up. Oscar regarded her glumly.
"I think I'd rather jump out the window."
"What are we going to do about the papers?" Jaime demanded.
"They're missing bits – bits I save for the truly trustworthy."
"Oh, good!" she blurted. Oscar seemed to have made so few precautions for this meeting she was pleased to encounter one now. "Now, lift me up, will you?"
Maintaining an expression of deep reluctance, he squatted low and hugged her tightly around the thighs, and with a wobble, stood upright. She yanked the grate sharply, relieved when it came off right away.
"Have I ever mentioned to you that I'm no fan of tight spaces?" he grumbled.
"Now come on, Oscar," she cajoled as he put her down, grate in hand. "you can do it! I'm going to give you a leg up, and then I'll jump."
"Okay." he said morosely.
Jaime bent over and offered her cupped right hand. Oscar gingerly placed his foot into it and stepped upward, Jaime easily lifting him to the ceiling. Once he had grabbed hold of the edge of the vent, she continued to push as he folded himself into the narrow space. She felt like she was stuffing him in – and she could only hope he wouldn't get panicky.
Surveying her room one last time, she saw her purse, which contained the datacom Russ had given her. She had almost forgotten it!
"Code Snow White…it's Sneezy. Snow White and I need OUT now. Help!"
"Roger." said a calm female voice on the other end.
She stuffed the tiny communicator into her suit pocket, and leaped up to pop the grate inside the vent. Then, holding herself there with her trusty bionic arm, she took hold of Oscar's ankle with her left hand and asked him to pull. Slowly and agonizingly they worked together to lift her up into the tight, dark space. She felt her skirt catch, followed by the sound of tearing. Terrific. Once she had finally tucked herself inside that confined and dusty space, she realized she could not replace the grate - it was impossible to turn around.
This business could be amazingly irritating. She would have thought the adrenaline would push annoyance away, but it didn't. They had to cover their tracks, so she slid backward until she was behind the hole, snapped the grate into place and moved forward again. Slowly they began their trip through the vent, pulling themselves along by the elbows. She could hear Oscar trying to suppress his breath –he was clearly intensely uncomfortable. As they moved, the metal warped and banged under them - probably announcing their presence to all who cared to listen, and even to those who didn't. Maybe it would be attributed to a stiff breeze from the heating system?
Suddenly Oscar stopped dead.
Was he resting? What was he doing? "What are you doing?" she hissed.
A short, nearly inaudible "Shh!" was his reply. She rolled her eyes. Just then she heard sounds wafting up through the vent in front of them – shuffling papers and irritable muttering – and it dawned on her that they were close to Oscar's room, Prochazka likely rifling through the contents of the safe below them.
She tuned her ear through the tin can filter of the vent and heard the wheelchair moving on the carpet, the doorknob turning, the latch clicking, silence.
When she said, "He's gone." Oscar turned as best he could and whispered, "What now? Do we actually have a plan?"
"We need to get to the roof, so we have to find a good spot to get out."
They slithered forward over several more rooms before Oscar found himself above a grate that was larger than the rest – over a utility room.
"This is our stop, I think." he said. Studying the size of the hole, and the hard linoleum ten feet below, he realized he could not go out any way but head first, which was not an option. Jaime could do it – she was small enough. "You'll have to go first – you'll have to somersault out." he whispered.
He shimmied forward so that Jaime could look for herself. She popped the grate, and stuck her head out for a quick look around. It seemed safe. Shifting so that her upper body was hanging upside down out of the vent, she grabbed the edge, curled her body tight into a somersault and eased her lower body through the opening. It was tricky and she almost got stuck and then almost fell, but then she quietly dropped to her feet. Oscar backed up and exited feet first, Jaime catching him around the legs to help guide him to the floor. He was quite a sight when he finally stood before her – rumpled and covered in gray dust. Even his eyelashes were dusty. Trickles of sweat made trails down his forehead.
"Close your eyes." she said, and blew in his face, sending a dirty cloud up between them.
"Oh oh." he coughed, blinking hard, looking her up and down. Her skirt had a four inch tear over the left thigh, and her blouse sported a couple of small holes as well. She wasn't quite as dusty as he was, he having picked up much of it by leading the way.
They took a quick look around. The small room held supplies – towels, sheets, cleaning fluids, and – Jaime's heart leaped - maid's uniforms.
"Get in there." she ordered, pointing to a wheeled laundry hamper as she slipped out of her clothes and into the uniform. Standing there, half undressed, bossing him around, she was struck by just how comfortable they had become with each other – almost too comfortable.
With another weary look he obeyed, carefully easing himself into the hamper. It was made of canvas, and once he was crouched in the bottom he made the heftiest load of laundry ever seen.
She pulled a sheet from the shelf, crushed it and threw it over top of him. Just as she was patting her hair down and doing a final dusting, the door opened. What happened next took place in a matter of seconds, but it in those seconds time slowed to a crawl. Jaime saw a maid staring at her, harsh black eyes, pale skin, a wedge of black hair. This particular maid was not looking for fresh towels. Jaime saw her mouth opening to yell, saw a small white hand reaching for the gun shaped item in her apron pocket. Jaime lunged at her, grabbed her arm, and slung her noisily into the shelving at the back of the room. Oscar reached out of the laundry hamper and discreetly closed the door. Jaime grabbed a large towel and tied it roughly around the woman's head, making a big knot at the back. She tied a sheet firmly around her body and left the odd looking package trussed up on the floor. She was suddenly grateful for the intrusion when she noticed the maid's cap, sitting askew on the unconscious woman's head. No disguise was complete without a hat. She whipped her hair up into a quick bun, pushed the cap onto her head, and turned to Oscar, who was peering at her with interest over the top of the hamper.
"Do I look legit?"
"Delicious." he replied in a low, admiring whisper.
She placed her hands on her hips to prompt a serious answer.
Oscar made circles with his index fingers and thumbs and held them up to his eyes. The glasses! She had forgotten about them entirely. She was momentarily surprised by how clean and clear the world was when she removed them.
Oscar then mimed a cap-straightening motion, and once that was done, gave her the thumbs up.
"Good – now, down!" Jaime ordered. He obeyed, disappearing like a gopher down a hole. They wheeled into the hallway, Jaime looking as nonchalant as possible. For the moment they were alone. At a brisk pace, she pushed the cart toward the end of the hall, the red exit sign a beacon in front of them. It was the longest hallway in the world, and instead of getting closer Jaime could have sworn it was receding. Her heart was pumping double time and she was jittering with anxiety. They were simultaneously exposed and trapped. Fifteen feet away from their goal she heard footsteps from the adjoining corridor. It was possible that these were real hotel guests, so Jaime told herself to stay cool. They rounded the corner - two men dressed in hiking boots, shorts and sweaters. They looked like they had something on their minds – and they marched right past her.
There now - the exit sign was right above her head. She was reaching for the doorknob when she heard them stop dead behind her. As she turned, from of the corner of her eye she could see the guns - pointed right at her. With so little time to react there was only one thing Jaime could do, regrettable as it was…