the opposite bridgepost. The villagers then took over.
Another rope was passed across and tied to the second bridgepost. They then had two parallel lines stretched taut across thechasm. Spence didn't see how that could possibly help them, buthe kept quiet and let the men from the region work. He and Gitasat down on a rock nearby and watched the new bridge take shape.The sun was a murky yellow ball low in the sky when thethird rope was tied off. This one was actually made up of fourseparate lines braided together and slung between the first two.There were workers on both sides of the gorge now, a group having shimmied over on the first lines, pulling themselves across hand over hand with their legs entwining the rope.
Next, more ropes were woven from the two upper strands to the bottom one to form a vee-shaped trough. And though the work went quickly enough, Spence was acutely conscious of the passing of time-the day was almost gone. Night came on quickly in the high hills. Once the sun had slipped behind the curtain of mountains, darkness crawled across the high places and valleys, though the sky might stay light for hours.
The sun's last rays were already shining on the peaks, turning their snowy caps into golden crowns, and Spence felt the night chill seeping into the air when the new bridge was finished. And even though he had witnessed its construction from the first moment to the last, the rope bridge still appeared a thing of miraculous invention, as if it had suddenly appeared and spun itself across the void like a magical spider web.
'Well, who's first?' asked Adjani.
Spence looked at him for a moment, not quite understanding the meaning of his question. Then it struck him-it was time to cross. 'Oh, uh-you go first, Adjani. You have more experience in these things.'
'Me?' He looked around. The hillpeople, watching them eagerly, smiled and pointed at him.
'You see, Adjani? They want you to be first to inaugurate the new bridge. You don't want to disappoint them.'
Adjani took a deep breath and said, 'I suppose not. All right, here goes.' He fixed his gaze on the bridge and stepped up to it, clutching the parallel ropes, one in either hand. A cheer went up from the crowd. 'I feel like a tightrope walker in a circus!' he called back over his shoulder, and with a look of deep concentration on his face he began to walk across, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, gripping the sides and not stopping until he was on the other side, beaming back at his friends. 'Come on! It's easy!' he called.
'Gita, you're next,' said Spence. 'Let's go.'
'But, sahib! I-'
'Don't worry, I'll be right behind you. Just do what Adjani did. You won't have any trouble.' He led the sputtering Gita to the bridge and placed his hands on the lines.
Gita gulped and gaped and stared into the darkening depths of the chasm below.
'Don't look down, Gita. Keep your eyes on the other side. Watch Adjani; he'll help you.'
Gita, his face ashen and his hands trembling, put one hesitant foot on the footline and tested its strength. He carefully positioned his weight on the rope and then moved out a centimeter at a time.
'Keep coming,' hollered Adjani from the opposite side, 'Don't stop and don't look down.'
Gita inched his way across in agonizing slowness, swaying violently from side to side with each step. He reached the middle and then stopped, afraid to go any farther.
'Don't stop!' cried Spence. 'Go on, you can do it. You're doing fine. Just keep moving.'
'Dear God in heaven!' cried Gita, helplessly.
'Come on, Gita. You can do it,' coaxed Adjani.
But Gita, eyes shut tight, hands clamped on the swaying rope, could not move.
'Don't panic,' said Spence. 'You're doing fine. Stay calm. I'm coming to get you.'
Without a second thought, Spence stepped on the footline and began working his way out to where Gita remained frozen in the center of the bridge. He kept up a reassuring banter as he went, and Adjani offered soothing words from the other side.
'We're going to make it, Gita. Just stay calm. Don't make any sudden moves.'
The bridge swayed and bounced as Spence moved out. The breeze whistled in the rocks below and the ropes creaked with the combined weight of the two men. It was then that Spence knew Gita's fear to be real, for he felt it too. He swallowed hard and willed himself to go on.
Gita was right ahead of him. He had stopped in the center of the bridge, and his weight made the angle of descent somewhat sharper for Spence. This, combined with the natural tendency of the bridge to swing and bounce, made the footing even more hazardous.
'Gita, I'm right behind you. I'm coming up on you now; don't move.'
Spence did not want to frighten him further by surprising him. He could see Gita's hands like claws clutching the hand lines, his knuckles white.
'I'm here, Gita. Now, we're going to move together,' soothed Spence when he came within two paces. A sound like a sob . drifted back to him from the Indian's throat. Spence realized it was the beginning of the Lord's Prayer repeated rapidly over and over. 'I want you to start moving again, Gita. Ready? Move when I tell you. We'll go together. Left hand first. Okay. Move.'
Gita slid his hand along the rope and took a step.
'Good. That's it. Now the right.'
They moved a few more steps together and then Spence stopped to help steady the bouncing bridge. Gita went on and reached the other side. There was a burst of acclaim as Gita's feet touched solid ground once more.
Spence made to follow Gita, but was watching Gita's reception rather than attending to his feet. He lifted his foot, the bridge swung, and Spence, his eyes still on the scene before him, felt the awful sensation of treading out into empty air.
Unbalanced, the bridge pitched further, and Spence felt his other foot slip off the footlines. His right hand lost its grasp and scratched for a hold. He saw the darkness below him and heard the rush of the river below. It all seemed to come flying up toward him to pull him down and swallow him. He heard someone yell his name.
Even as it was happening Spence knew that it had happened once before. In a dream. The thin line between his dream and the terrible reality that now engulfed him blurred in that instant and melted together. That he would fall, he knew. Knew it with rocksolid certainty. He would be crushed on the rocks below and his body swept away in the river. It was all foretold in the dream.
The world spun around him. The sky above, the bridge, his friends, the villagers, the greedy darkness below- all revolved in kaleidoscopic fashion. He felt his grip on the handline slipping and a fuzzy confusion passed over him. He shook his head to clear it and cried out for help. The echo of his own voice rang sharply in his ears and died away in peals of laughter.
His fingers, burning with pain, slackened and he felt the rope twist in his hands as it slipped away.
26
…
I DON'T LIKE IT. It's getting too dangerous.' Packer stood (with his arms folded across his chest and his back to his listener. His red hair, uncombed for many days, stood out in all directions like a shaken red mop. His normally fresh jumpsuit was rumpled and sweat-stained, and his face, gray with fatigue, bristled with long red stubble.
'What would you have us do about it, friend? It is dangerous, yes. We are not playing a child's game.' Kalnikov slumped back round-shouldered in his chair and frowned at the ceiling. He, too, showed the strain of the passing days.
'We could try to get him out,' suggested Packer.
'Too risky. Besides, just the attempt would tell them they have captured an important prisoner. It would also tell them that we have a good network of spies reporting their every move. In cases like this, unfortunately, it is better to wait and do nothing. We must not endanger the network.
'Just leave him? It's my chief assistant we're talking about, you know; head of our glorious network.'
