halfway up and then run out of steam. He was ten feet back from the edge now, keeping the tension on.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“Where are you?”
“A third,” she gasped.
“Rest when you get halfway up,” he said.
“Grip with hands and feet.
Relax the rest of your body. Deep breathing. The pipe and I have your weight.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Acknowledge,” he barked.
“All right. Halfway. Rest. Got it.”
He kept the tension steady, waiting until he felt her ankles grip and then pulling a little to help her. He had to save his own energy in case she slipped.
“Halfway,” she said.
“But I think I’m done.”
“Grip with hands and feet. Deep breathing for two minutes.”
“Okay.”
He tried to picture her as he held tension in the line. The pipe at about an eighty-degree angle, almost straight up and down. She was halfway up the pipe, trying not to spin around on it. That would be a real disaster, because he couldn’t get her over the lip if she was upside down. His own footing wasn’t that solid as he backed uphill. He tried to think of another way to help her, but the pipe was about all they had. He looked around the tunnel for a projection to anchor the rope, but there wasn’t anything visible in the green gloom.
“The pipe stable?”
“So far,” she said.
“Can you climb any farther?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“I’m afraid of rolling on the pipe.”
“All right,” he said.
“You concentrate on staying upright. I’m going to pull you the rest of the way. Ready?”
“Very,” she said. Good, he thought. A little wise crack meant she was still in charge of herself. He set his feet, took a second belaying turn around his shoulders, and then pulled back with his arms and his upper body, leaning backward at the same time. The rope moved. She must be 140, 150, he thought, and I’m losing some pull to friction at the lip. He stepped backward, leaning way back so as not to lose ground. Then he felt a slight slack in the line, which meant she was trying to help, probably using her legs on the pipe.
It took him fifteen minutes of excruciatingly slow effort to get her to the lip of the tunnel, and even then, it wasn’t over. In fact, this was the dangerous bit, because he had to get her over the lip, and her whole body would add to the friction.
“Put your hands up on the top of the pipe,” he called. He watched as she slid first one hand and then the other up to the top of the pipe, about four feet above the lip.
“Lock them there. When I tell you, try a chin-up.”
“You’ve got… to be shitting me,” she said. It sounded as if talking was almost beyond her.
“No. Do it. The pipe’s going to go when I pull again. Push off from it, let it go, and then let me do the rest. Now, deep breathing. One minute.”
“Me or you?” she asked.
He almost grinned, except that his whole body was straining to hold her at the top of the pipe. But she had a point. He went into deep breathing, his body bent backward, his knees bent and flexing like springs, his hands hurting where he had the rope, the palms of his gloves actually hot with the pressure.
“Okay, stand by,” he said. He needed her help to get some other body weight over the lip.
“One long pull on the top of the pipe, both hands, then let it go when it moves and stretch out with your arms, like you’re diving. Then we’re done.”
She didn’t answer and her head was hanging down. Her hands were visibly white at the top of the pipe. She was done. He had to go now.
“Pull!” he commanded.
“Pull! Pull!”
He saw her try to pull up on the top of the pipe, and he laid into it, pulling back with all his might, jerking her right off the pipe, which disappeared behind her. Her head, chest, and arms came over the lip, but the heavy part, her lower body, stuck on the edge, just above her waist. Her head was down and he couldn’t see her face. The pipe clanged softly once on something hard and then fell into some water down behind her. She was a deadweight now and he couldn’t move her. He felt the line start to go backward, small tugs toward oblivion down the inclined floor of the tunnel.
Browne went through the procedure at the steel door into the nitro building, telling her to put the blindfold on, to turn around. He waited, unlocked the door, and shone the flashlight at her. She was right where she was supposed to be. He stepped in and put the food sack down. He didn’t bother to pick up the remnants of the last food delivery. The big room smelled fusty and stale, and the stink of sewage was more pronounced.
“It’s almost over,” he said, not knowing exactly what he meant by that.
She did not reply. He thought for a moment.
“I have two options,” he said.
“I can either take you with me as a hostage or I can simply leave you here when I go.”
“Take me where?” she asked.
It was the first time she’d spoken to him, and it surprised him. Her
tone of voice was not what he had expected. There was a matter-of factness about it, almost a tone of defiance. His first reaction was not to tell her anything, but then, why not? She would either be with him in the truck, suitably subdued, or she’d be mewed up here in this concrete building.
No, wait: He couldn’t leave her alive—if they searched the whole facility for the missing security people, they’d search all the buildings. So he either had to kill her outright or take her with him. He considered the prospect of simply pulling his gun and killing her right now. He shook his head. No, he’d kept her as a bargaining chip, and that’s what he would use her for. He rehearsed his mantra: The two boys killed themselves when they stumbled into Jared’s traps. They should not have been here. The flash flood had killed them.
“To Washington,” he said.
She didn’t answer at first, then coughed and asked him why.
“With a hydrogen bomb.”
“Bullshit,” she said immediately.
“No individual can make a hydrogen bomb.”
“Oh yes I can. In fact, I have.”
“It takes a fission device to trigger a hydrogen bomb,” she said.
“You’re going to tell me you made one of those, too?”
“I have made a hydrogen bomb,” he said.
“But it’s not what you think.”
“I’ll bet,” she said.
“What do you want with me?”
“You are insurance. A hostage, in case things go wrong. I don’t want to have to kill you.”
“If you’re taking a hydrogen bomb to Washington, you’re going to kill lots of people; I’m supposed to believe you’ll spare me?”
“That’s different,” he said, shining the light around the interior of the building, making sure she wasn’t trying to distract him from something she’d set up.
“This is personal, and as far as I’m concerned, this is an entirely legitimate target. You blundered into this by accident, which is the only reason you’re still alive.”
“Where’s the other one?” she asked.
