The Tower

The boys all looked at each other. Finally, a pudgy kid who was sitting cross-legged spoke. "We have a debate today at St. Bellarmine's," he said, digging at his sneaker with a stick. "It doesn't start till eight, though. Our parents dropped us off early."

St. Bellarmine's was the all-boys private school across the street. A junior high school in downtown San Jose, it was in a league with some of the top schools in the Bay Area. These kids were probably from San Francisco or across town, Jade decided. They didn't know what a dangerous neighborhood was yet. They'd probably never seen one before.

Jade checked his watch: 7:50. "You'd better wait over at the school," he said.

The ringleader let his breath out through his teeth. "Yeah. Whatever. I don't think we have to listen to you." The other kids looked scared, but they wouldn't move against their leader's will. "Just keep running," the boy said. "You're not in charge of us."

Jade scowled. "You're right. You're not my responsibility. Get yourself knifed. I don't give a shit."

He walked off, a nervous silence lingering behind him, and started jogging when he passed the front gate of the park. He ran for a few blocks, then stopped, cursing. He turned around and ran back to the park, stopping on a side street.

He watched the kids through a chain-link fence, keeping an eye out for gang members. No signs of trouble. After a few minutes, the kids got up and went across the street to St. Bellarmine's. Jade watched them until they'd safely entered the school, then turned to finish his run, cursing himself for stopping mid workout.

He felt the sun warming his shoulders as he made his way home. Jade always ran without a shirt, and as he passed, women watched his chest and stomach muscles flex with each step. They would stop walking and stare until their dogs pulled their leashes; they'd gaze through their kitchen windows and turn around in their cars.

But Jade didn't notice. He didn't think about anything except where his next seven steps were landing, and he didn't hear anything except the rush of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled.

As he came up on his house, Jade saw a shadow behind the front curtain. He kept jogging with his head forward, straining his eyes to the side to watch the figure in his house. He noticed a black Oldsmobile parked well up the street.

After passing his house, Jade circled back around to his driveway, carefully lifting the latch on the gate. His backyard was spacious, a lawn stretching from one fence to the other, broken only by a small cement path. A rectangular patio stood out from the back of the house, edging the lawn. Running along part of the back wall of the house, underneath the kitchen window, was a thin, tiled counter.

He tiptoed across the back patio and peeked through the glass sliding door. He could see over the kitchen's countertops and into the dining room at the front of the house.

A figure stood in his dining room, facing the window.

Jade reached under the tiled counter and removed a Glock, which he had kept from his training days in the FBI. Access to a pistol, he thought. First and foremost.

After checking through the other windows in the house, Jade carefully approached the glass sliding door, holding his breath as he eased it open. He slipped inside and moved cautiously to the doorway directly behind the stranger, who stood gazing out the window through the blinds. Because the room was unlit, Jade couldn't clearly make out much more than a figure, but he did see the blond hair spilling over the back of the man's collar.

Keeping his eyes trained on the stranger, Jade let his right hand wander over to the desk by the doorway. He brushed a glass paperweight that sat next to the phone, and his muscles tensed as it started to slip. His fingers closed over it swiftly as it balanced on the edge, just about to fall.

He allowed himself a deep exhale, pacing the rush of air through his mouth as his shoulders dropped. The calmness returned to him after he waited for a few seconds, and he felt his vision narrow to the target. Then, he threw the paperweight to the left side of the stranger and stepped silently up behind his right shoulder.

It hit the floor and the stranger jerked to the left, his hand expertly diving inside his jacket. He was good, Jade thought. Gun motion-like reflex.

Jade wrapped an arm around the stranger's neck and picked him up off the ground, twirling him 180 degrees to slam his head against the dining room table. He pressed the metal tip of his pistol firmly to the stranger's temple.

"Relax. Let's see your hands."

The stranger put his hands next to his face, which was pressed flat against the table. From the muffled voice, Jade realized that the stranger was a woman. She wore slacks and a loose-fitting jacket over a white shirt.

"Jesus Christ, Marlow. Calm down. I'm FBI." She turned her head and Jade saw the delicate line of her cheek.