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was more terrifying at that moment than that of his body as a heap of broken bones at the foot of the pyramid. He could imagine himself as the smallest guy in the cell receiving the unwanted attentions of some tattooed gangbanger.
    That unpleasant image propelled the identity thief into action. He began to climb out the window. He did not, fortunately, have much fear of heights. In fact, in his boyhood, the rooftop of the mansion where his mother worked as a maid had been one of his places of refuge.
    "Stacy" managed another muffled protest - perhaps warning him of his folly.
    "Yes, I'm almost there," he groaned as he slithered out.
    X's fingers and toes fought for purchase on the tiny ridges as he inched his way toward the other window. The ridges were slighter than he'd thought - no more than a few centimeters deep. Another thing he hadn't factored in was how windy it was up here. It felt as if a sudden gust might at any second yank him from his precarious position. Those 14 feet looked awfully far away now. X resisted the temptation to shut his eyes.
    That's it, he thought , that's it. Keep going. Not far now.
    A loud noise from his suite - a door being kicked in - startled X and he lost his grip. Suddenly, he was cascading down the pyramid like a child sledding on ice. He was too scared even to shriek. Now he did shut his eyes, although the image that filled his mind - his body smashing into the pavement and splattering like a tomato - didn't much put his mind at ease. He slid down at least 30 feet - down a full three stories - picking up speed as he descended. Then, miraculously, X skidded across another open window. His hands caught the metal window ledge and he gripped it for dear life.
    X dangled for a couple of seconds, letting out a deep sigh of relief . I can't believe I'm alive, he thought.
    Using all his upper body strength, the identity thief hauled himself up. X clambered in through the window with difficulty and rapidly slid it shut.
    By now the agents had burst into the Pharaoh Suite and were rampaging through it. One peered out the window, scanning for any open ones and spotting a few to the side, above and below. Fortunately for X, he'd closed the one he entered in the nick of time.
    X crawled on his hands and knees through the stranger's room. Damn, the shower is running. Someone is in here. X hopped like a rabbit into the closet and cowered there, peering through the crack between the double doors.
    A middle-aged couple, dressed in Giza bathrobes, emerged from the bathroom. Oh, no, he thought. They'll head straight for the closet for their clothes. X balled his fist, ready to strike. The guy was only a little bigger than X, but had a rugged build that worried him. X was no fighter; hadn't struck a blow since middle school. He tried to concoct a story that would innocently explain his presence, but everything that came to mind seemed ridiculous. A tech checking out a WiFi outage?
    But fortune was on X's side. Instead of approaching the closet, the couple headed for the room door. They were going down to the pool, X realized.
    If he continued to be blessed by such serendipity, he had a good chance of getting out of this in one piece.
    "Jon, your wallet," the wife said.
    "Oh, yeah."
    Through the crevice, X watched as the man turned back and took a bulging wallet from the night table. He strode toward the closet. X glanced down and much to his dismay saw that in the far right of the closet sat a squat little room safe.
    The husband reached the closet 10 seconds later and yanked open the right door. He flicked the light switch and the closet remained dark.
    "Bulb's blown. Can't see a thing. I'll just stuff it under the sofa cushion."
    "You know I hate when you do that."
    "I don't trust these things anyway," the husband said grumpily.
    "Jon ... "
    "Okay, okay! Can barely see the numbers."
    The husband punched in a four-digit code, opened the safe and stuck in his wallet.
    A moment later, the room door slammed