Part 27 (1/2)

”Ready?” she asked.

”Not quite.”

His hands were getting numb. His fingertips stung, and his knuckles ached as if they were arthritic.

He tied carabiners to both ends of one of the five-foot pieces of rope he had cut. He snapped both carabiners to a metal ring on her harness. The rope between them looped all the way to her knees.

He clipped the hammer to the accessory strap on the waist belt of her harness.

”What's all this for?” she asked.

”The next setback is five stories down. Looks about half as wide as this one. I'll lower you the same way I got you here. I'll be anch.o.r.ed to the window post.” He tugged on his own five-foot tether. ”But we don't have time to rig a seventy-five-foot safety line for you. You'll have to go on just a single rope.”

She chewed her lower lip, nodded.

”As soon as you reach that ledge,” Graham said, ”look for a narrow, horizontal masonry seam between blocks of granite. The narrower the better. But don't waste too much time comparing cracks. Use the hammer to pound in a piton.”

”This short rope you just hooked onto me: is that to be my safety line when I get down there?”

”Yes. Unclip one end of it from your harness and snap the carabiner to the piton. Make sure the sleeve is screwed over the gate.”

”Sleeve?”

He showed her what he meant. ”As soon as you've got the sleeve in place, untie yourself from the main line so that I can reel it up and use it.”

She gave him his gloves.

He put them on. ”One more thing. I'll be letting the rope out much faster than I did the first time. Don't panic. Just hold on, relax, and keep your eyes open for the ledge coming up under you.”

”All right.”

”Any questions?”

”No.”

She sat on the edge of the setback, dangled her legs over the gulf.

He picked up the rope, flexed his cold hands several times to be certain he had a firm grip. A meager trace of warmth had begun to seep into his fingers. He spread his feet, took a deep breath, and said, ”Go!”

She slid off the ledge, into empty s.p.a.ce.

Pain pulsated through his arms and shoulders as her full weight suddenly dragged on him. Gritting his teeth, he payed out the rope as fast as he dared.

In the thirty-eighth-floor corridor, Frank Bollinger had some difficulty deciding which business lay directly under Harris's office. Finally, he settled on two possibilities: Boswell Patent Brokerage and Dentonwick Mail Order Sales.

Both doors were locked.

He pumped three bullets into the lock on the Dentonwick office. Pushed open the door. Fired twice into the darkness. Leaped inside, crouched, fumbled for the wall switch, turned on the overhead lights.

The first of the three rooms was deserted. He proceeded cautiously to search the other two.

The tension went out of the line.

Connie had reached the ledge five stories below.

Nevertheless, he kept his hands on the rope and was prepared to belay her again if she slipped and fell before she had anch.o.r.ed her safety tether.

He heard two m.u.f.fled shots.

The fact that he could hear them at all above the howling wind meant that they were frighteningly close.

But what was Bollinger shooting at?

The office behind Graham remained dark; but suddenly, lights came on beyond the windows of the office next door. but suddenly, lights came on beyond the windows of the office next door.

Bollinger was too d.a.m.ned close.

Is this where it happens? he wondered. Is this where I get the bullet in the back?

Sooner than he had expected, the signal came on the line: two sharp tugs.

He reeled in the rope, wondering if he had as much as a minute left before Bollinger found the correct office, the broken window-and him.

If he was going to reach that ledge five stories below before Bollinger had a chance to kill him, he would have to rappel much faster than he had done the first time.

Once more, the rope pa.s.sed over regularly s.p.a.ced windows. He would have to be careful not to put his feet through one of them. Because he'd have to take big steps rather than little ones, and because he'd have to descend farther on each arc and take less time to calculate his movements, avoiding the gla.s.s would be far more difficult than it had been from the fortieth to the thirty-eighth floor.

His prospects rekindled his terror. Perhaps it was fortunate that he needed to hurry. If he'd had time to delay, the fear might have grown strong enough to immobilize him again.

Harris and the woman were not in the offices of Dentonwick Mail Order Sales.

Bollinger returned to the corridor. He fired two shots into the door of the Boswell Patent Brokerage suite.

36.

Boswell Patent Brokerage occupied three small rooms, all of them shabbily furnished-and all of them deserted.

At the broken window, Bollinger leaned out, looked both ways along the snow-swept six-foot-wide setback. They weren't there either.