He looked around himself for some kind of weaponry, anything would be good. He didn’t carry anything himself, and he felt stupid, seeing he lived in the city. He snatched a stapler and some scissors, which he stuffed in his pocket as he looked for a way out of the complex.

The main doorways (the elevator and stairway) were blocked off. Then he remembered about the window washers coming today. By pure luck he had slid into the cubicle right next to the executive office, where the work was being done.
Mr. Jamison slid his lean, lanky body across the carpet, not daring to make a sound. The door was open slightly and Mr. Jamison managed to get his six foot frame through without nudging it.

Any sound or movement could mean his capture. As he stared out the wide-glass window he gulped, almost too loudly. He was sweating bullets so he took off his stiff leather shoes and his suit top. He opened the window and slid onto the scaffolding.

He held his breath and inched himself forward.