At the same time. On two separate ropes."
Swallowing hard, she said, "Not me."
"Yes, you."
Her heart was thumping so furiously that she thought it might burst. "I
can't do it."
"You can. You will."
She shook her head: no.
"You won't rappel the way I've done."
"That's for damned sure."
"I've been doing a body rappel. You'll go down in a seat rappel. It's
safer and easier."
Although none of her doubts had been allayed, Connie said, "What's the
difference between a body rappel and a seat rappel?"
"I'll show you in a minute."
"Take your time."
He grabbed the hundred-foot line on which he had descended from the
twenty-eighth-floor setback. He tugged on it three times, jerked it to
the right. Five stories above them, the knot came loose; the rope
snaked down.
He caught the line, piled it beside him.
He examined the end of it to see if it was worn, and was satisfied that
it wasn't. He tied a knot in it, looped the rope through the gate of
the carabiner. He snapped the carabiner to the free piton that was one
mortar seam above the peg that anchored his safety tether.
"We can't rappel all the way to the street," Connie said.
"Sure we can."
"The ropes aren't long enough."
"You'll rappel just five floors at a time. Brace yourself on a window
ledge. Then let go of the rappelling line with your right hand-"
"Brace myself on a two-inch sill?"
"It can be done. Don't forget, you'll still be holding onto the line
with your left hand."
"Meanwhile, what will my right hand be doing?"
"Smashing in both panes of the window."
"And then?"
THEFmm oFFEm "First, attach your safety tether to the window.
Second, snap another carabiner to the center post. As soon as that's
done, you take your weight off the main line and then-"
"Tug on it," Connie said, "pull apart the overhead knot like you did
just a minute ago."
"I'll show you how."
"I catch the line as it falls?"
"Yes."
"And tie it to the carabiner that I've linked to the window post."
"That's right."
Her legs were cold. She stamped her feet on the ledge. "I guess then I
unhook my safety line and rappel down five more floors."
"And brace yourself in another window and repeat the entire routine.
We'll go all the way to the streetbut only five stories at a time."
"You make it sound simple."
"You'll manage better than you think. I'll show you how to use a seat
rappel."
"There's another problem."
"What?"
"I don't know how to tie one of those knots that can be jerked loose
from below."
"It isn't difficult. I'll show you."
He untied the main fine from the carabiner in front of him.
She leaned close to him and bent over the rope that he held in both
hands. The world-famous glow of Manhattan's millions of bright lights
was screened by the storm. Below, the rimed pavement of the street
reflected the light from the many street lamps; but that illumination
scarcely affected the purple shadows twenty-three floors above.
Nevertheless, if she squinted, she could see what Graham was doing.
In a few minutes, she learned how to attach the rope to the anchor point
so that it could be retrieved. She tied it several times to make sure
she would not forget how it was done.
Next, Graham looped a sling around her hips and through her crotch. He
joined the three end-points of the rope with yet another carabiner.
"Now, about this rappelling," she said as she gripped the main line. She
manufactured a smile that he probably did not see, and she tried not to
sound terrified.
Taking another snap link from the accessory strap at his waist, Graham
said, "First, I've got to link the main line to the sling. Then I'll
show you how you should stand to begin the rappel. I'll explain-" He
was interrupted by the muffled report of a gun: whump!
Connie looked up.
Bollinger wasn't above them.
She wondered if she actually had heard a gun or whether the noise might
have been produced by the wind.
Then she heard it again: whump! There was no doubt. A shot. Two
shots. Very close. Inside the building. Somewhere on the twenty-third
floor.
Frank Bollinger pushed open the broken door, went into the office,
switched on the lights. He stepped around the receptionist's desk,
around a typewriter stand and a Xerox copier. He hurried toward the
windows that overlooked the side street.
When the lights came on behind the windows on both sides of them, Graham
unhooked his safety tether from the piton and told Connie to unhook her
own five-foot line.
There was a noise at the window on their right as Bollinger pushed up
the rusty latch.
"Follow me," Graham said.
He was perspiring again. His face was slick with sweat. Under the
hood, his moist scalp itched.
He turned away from Connie, from the window that Bollinger was about to
open, turned to his left, toward Lexington Avenue. Without benefit of a
safety line, he walked the narrow edge i Instead of sidling along it. He
kept his right hand on the granite for what little sense of security it
gave him. He had to place each foot directly in front of the other, as
if he were on a tightrope, for the ledge was not wide enough to allow
him to walk naturally.
He was fifty feet from the Lexington Avenue face of the highrise.
When he and Connie turned the corner on the ledge, they would be out of
the line of fire.
Of course, Bollinger would find an office with windows that had a view
of Lexington. At most they would gain only a minute or two. But right
now, an extra minute of life was worth any effort.
IL He wanted to look back to see if Connie was having any difficulty,
but he didn't dare. He had to keep his eyes on the ledge ahead of him
and carefully judge the placement of each boot.
Before he had gone more than ten feet, he heard Bollinger shouting.
He hunched his shoulders, remembering the psychic vision, anticipating
the bullet.
With a shock he realized that Connie was shielding him. He should have
sent her ahead, should have placed himself between her and the pistol.
If 'she stopped a bullet that was meant for him, he didn't want to live.
However, it was much too late for him to relinquish the lead.
If they stopped they would make even better targets than they already
were.
A shot cracked in the darkness.
Then another.
He began to walk faster than was prudent, aware that a misstep would
plummet him to the street. His feet slipped on the snow-sheathed stone.
The corner was thirty feet away.
Twenty-five....
Bollinger fired again.
Twenty feet....
He felt the fourth shot before he heard it. The bullet ripped open the
left sleeve of his parka, seared through the upper part of his arm.
The impact of the slug made him stumble a bit. He lumbered forward a
few quick, unplanned steps. The street appeared to spin wildly below
him. With his right hand he pawed helplessly at the side of the
building. He put one foot down on the edge of the stone, his heel in
empty air. He heard himself shouting but hardly knew what he was
saying. His boots gripped in the drifted snow, but they skidded on a
patch of ice. When he regained his balance within half a dozen steps,
he was amazed that he hadn't fallen.
At first there was no pain in his arm. He was numb from the shoulder
down. It was as if his arm had been blown off. For an instant he
wondered if he had been mortally wounded; but he realized that a direct