Читать книгу The Height of Secrecy - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 9

Luiz tugged at the rope and groaned. “This isn’t right.”

The words sank in and Jack turned, suppressing a shudder.

Luiz probed at the knot. It came easily undone. “Who did this?” No one answered. “Who tied this knot?”

Foss raised a hand.

“Get your head out and get over here.”

Foss picked his way across the slope.

“Watch. This is how you tie a bowline.”

Foss watched him methodically retie the knot and hold it out for inspection. No time for reassurances, Luiz turned his attention to the knot at the end of load rope.

“Looked good to me,” Foss said, in Jack’s direction. He flashed a smile, turned, and worked his way back to where he’d been.

“Inspect all you want, Luiz,” Jack said, laughing nervously. “No rush.”

“That’s not what the guy over the edge is thinking.”

Jack watched his fingers trace the rope through knots, then thumb knots, and then on to equalizing ropes and anchors. He rechecked everything. No one seemed to take it personally. Only Foss saw humor in it.

Jack let his eyes fall on the caver’s rappelling rack, sitting ready to lower him down the cliff face. The rope wove in and out, around the cams on the device. His eyes widened. It’s wrong. It looked right only a moment ago. He closed his eyes and looked again, following the rope as it went around one cam, disappear behind the next, then emerge before the next, feeding in and out. Okay, it’s right. It’ll work. Quit looking.

“Listen up,” Luiz shouted. “Everyone has their role. Take your positions.”

Half the team moved into the shade of the wall, out of the way. They would not be needed during the first part of the operation, the lowering. During raising, everyone would be needed. All four of the others, all their muscles.

Foss plopped down at the lowering station, reached around and clipped himself into an anchor. Johnny settled in at the belay line.

“Luiz,” Jack shouted, and then waited as he made his way over. He whispered, “I’d rather have Johnny on the load rope.”

“Foss is bigger. He’s the bulkiest guy we got.”

“Let’s just say I trust Johnny’s training, even though it might not be much.”

“Foss said he had a little training and we’ve got Johnny on belay, but it’s up to you. You’re the man on the rope.”

“Johnny on the load rope.”

“If we need more rope and need to pass the knot, Foss will be on belay, holding everything, at least for a moment.”

Didn’t think of that. “Just keep an eye on him. Johnny on load.”

Luiz spun around. “Foss, I want you on belay. Insurance, if anything happens. Johnny, you’re on the main rope.”

Foss shook his head. He twisted around and disconnected from the anchor. Luiz pointed him over to the belay line.

Reger moved over. He clipped into the anchor, braced his feet against a rock and took hold of the rope, pulling it around his body, practicing moves to give it more friction, to stop or slow the load.

The load. Jack cringed. Johnny knew the moves, but would he be instinctive in using them?

Quit worrying. The cams on the rappelling rack do the work. Johnny’s strength is insurance. Anyone can do it. Luiz is in control.

The amount of rope coiled beside Johnny, the sheer mass of it—scary. Was it really that far down?

Jack dropped his eyes and caught sight of his shaking fingers. He ran them along the buckle of his climbing harness. Then the buckle on his helmet, then his radio harness. Everything’s fine. Still.

Luiz stepped under the safety line and clipped himself in. He studied the knot at the end of the load rope, and tested the locking carabiner. He spun around. “I need the belay line.” A young ranger carried the end of the other rope to Luiz. He clipped it into Jack’s harness, locked it down, grabbed the knot on the load rope and tugged, jerking Jack forward. “Good. Harness is tight.” He took hold of the sling draped over Jack’s shoulder. “Let’s see what you got,” he said. “Runners, several sizes. Carabiners. Good.” His eyes narrowed “What’s in the bag?”

“Harness for the victim. Helmet. A few tools.”

“Good.” He sighed. “The guy doesn’t look injured, so this should work, but he looks scared as hell.” He motioned toward the orange, body-shaped litter, stashed off to the side. “If we need it, we’ll use it, but we might have to haul you back up and do it again.”

“If he’s on a ledge, I can get him into a harness.”

“Take your time.” Luiz stepped over to the edge and looked over. “He’s still there. He ain’t movin’.” Luiz turned to the others. “Final rehearsal.”

Luiz quickly walked the others through their use of the assembly of ropes, webbing and pulleys. “The most difficult and confusing phase will be converting from lowering system to raising system,” Luiz said, once again. “We’ll secure the load rope to the anchor, take it out of the rappelling rack, and attach to the z-rig, all while the load is on the rope.”

The load. Jack cringed.

“Are you sure everything won’t go tumbling down the cliff when we take it off the rack?”

Jack turned to see who asked, but all the eyes on Luiz had the same look of uncertainty.

“Trust me,” Luiz insisted. “But there’s no room for mistakes.”

“If I get an itching to go home, don’t go missing me,” Foss said, to Jack. He flashed a smile.

“Quiet,” Luiz said. He turned back to Jack. “You just worry about getting that guy off the ledge without him taking a screamer.”

The guy on the ledge. The big unknown. Would he freak out? The victim—apparently not a climber. Apparently no equipment. Not a jumper—Luiz didn’t think so anyway. Probably stumbled onto a ledge, went too far while exploring, got scared. But how the hell did he get on that ledge? He’s lucky visitors saw him, dark hair, spot on the wall, several hundred feet above the canyon floor. Probably sitting there now, wondering if he’ll ever see another day.

Jack leaned back to look. Too bad there wasn’t enough rope to lower them all the way to the canyon floor. Be easier, if it wasn’t so damned far.

“Jack, you ready?” Luiz asked.

“Ready.” Jack locked eyes on Johnny.

Johnny gave a thumbs up.

Luiz raised a hand and held it as if on a control knob. “Let out a little rope. Slowly.”

Jack stepped back, putting his weight on the rope.

Johnny let the rope slip through his fingers.

“Want another bar in the rack?” Luiz asked. “Either of you?”

“I’m fine,” Johnny answered.

Jack checked his eyes. “Uh, me, too.”

“Good!” Luiz shouted. “We’re lowering. Slowly.”

Jack sat back as rope fed out, his butt sinking out over the edge. Sound washed over him from the left. The waterfall. He’d forgotten the waterfall. How had he blocked that out? The rope kept coming.

He glanced over. Hundreds of yards away, Sipapu Falls poured over its hanging alcove, splattering onto the rocks below.

“Stop,” Luiz barked, moving edge rollers into position. “See the guy?”

Jack looked down. Through his legs he could see the man. Black hair, white-shirted shoulders, blue-jeaned knees. Back to the wall, he sat on a tiny section of ledge, a little off to the left. At least he wasn’t directly below. “He’s there.”

“Good,” Luiz said. “Lowering, Johnny.”

“So much for terra firma,” Johnny shouted, as he let rope slip through his fingers.

Jack shifted on the balls of his feet. “Plenty firm. Only vertical.”

Rope speed increased, and Jack dipped below the rim.

Luiz leaned out over the edge, watching.

The wall extended forever. The man was a hell of a long way down.

Jack backed down the rock, descending smoothly, rope in his face, legs parallel to the ground, back parallel to the wall. He ran his eye down the fall line. When he reached the man, he’d have to kick left to fight gravity. Only a little. Shouldn’t be hard.

“Everything feel right?” Luiz asked, his hand at the ready to signal a stop.

“Everything’s good.”

“Johnny, a little faster,” Luiz said.

The pace quickened.

Twenty-five feet.

Step . . . step . . .

Fifty feet.

The amount of wall below him didn’t seem any less.

Step . . . step . . . step . . .

Almost a hundred.

Step . . .

The rock in shadow was cool. Gritty at his feet—like sand-paper. Grains of sand. Thousands of them, staring back. The wall—millions of infinite millions of them.

Step . . .

The radio popped, then carried Luiz’s voice. “Looking good.”

Still a hell of a long way down.

Step . . .

Skies sure are blue against the red rock in shadow.

Half way. Maybe. Maybe not. He looked down. Lots of wall. He looked up. Lots of wall. If not halfway, close. The rope kept feeding out.

Step . . .

A fissure slid past. Feathers. Nesting materials. No sign of a bird.

Step . . .

He looked down. The ledge. Jack couldn’t remember ever seeing it. He looked to the right, where it emerged from a chasm in the wall, hundreds of feet above the canyon floor. A hanging canyon. How did this guy get in there, much less onto the ledge? This guy’s got bad luck.

In the other direction, the ledge ended near Sipapu Falls, below an edge of the hanging alcove, above mist-darkened rock. Never noticed the ledge before. Not from below, not even when sitting there watching the waterfall. Strange.

From below the lip of the fall, water seemed to launch out over the edge.

Step . . .

Nearly close enough to talk to him. A little more.

Step, step . . .

“Hold on, guy,” Jack shouted. “Almost to you.”

The head tilted up, slowly, in jerky moves. A face. Scared eyes. Dark hair. Pony tail. He looked Native American.

“I’m coming to you. You don’t have to do a thing. Stay where you are.”

Twenty five feet.

Jack studied the ledge. Tiny—a few feet wide at most. Either direction from where he sat—ten feet or so—the ledge was wider. Scalloped edges. A piece of the ledge must have broken off sometime in the past. The guy must have gotten halfway through the gap and froze.

A few feet. “Almost there.”

The man shivered, his back to what was likely cool wall. Hands behind him, fingers in cracks, he had his knees at his chin, his feet set close.

Jack keyed his radio. “Slow.” He looked up and watched as Luiz—hanging out over the edge—signaled with a hand.

The descent slowed.

“Stop,” Jack said.

Complete stop.

Jack kicked left and set his feet on the ledge.

The man sat hunkered against the wall. He pushed back with his feet.

“How are you doing?” Jack asked, leaning closer. “Hurt in any way?”

“I’m not hurt,” he said, an accent suggesting English wasn’t his first language. He winced, and pushed again with his feet. He took in a breath. “I think my legs are falling asleep.”

Jack sorted through webbing runners on the equipment sling. He found a long one. Reaching up on the load rope, he wrapped it several times, slipped the tail through the loop, and pulled it tight. That should be secure enough to hold the man’s weight. Just in case.

Jack keyed the radio. “Give me another couple of feet.” The rope slithered down. He stooped on the ledge.

Jack clipped a carabiner into the runner. “Do me a favor. Let me put this around you . . . up under your arms. That way I’ll know you’re safe while I get you in a harness.” He stretched forward. “Ease up, left arm.”

The man relaxed his hold on the crack at the back of the ledge. Slowly, he raised his arm and reached out his hand.

“No, you stay put. I’ll do it.” Jack leaned in, reached behind him, and threaded the runner and carabiner between his back and the wall. Reaching in from the other side, he grabbed the carabiner and pulled the runner through. He tied a quick knot to keep it from cinching, then clipped it around the man’s chest. “Relax your arms.”

Slowly he lowered his arms.

“If anything happens, you’re safe. Uncomfortable as hell, but safe.”

The man, dark eyes wide, moved his feet and pushed back firmly against the rock.

“Relax. You’re safe.”

Jack pulled the helmet from the mesh bag, placed it on the man’s head, and buckled it under his chin. Now the harness. He keyed the radio. “Luiz, give me three more feet.”

“Three feet?”

“Make it two.”

Jack placed his feet on the lip and sat back over the edge, dropping as the rope fed out. He took a step down the wall and came to a stop. He kicked out with his right leg, moved left, and propped his leg against the fall line. He fished the harness out of the bag. “What’s your name?”

Wide-eyed, he opened his mouth to speak. “T-t-thomas.” He pushed back hard with his feet.

“Thomas, what?”

“Too complicated for white man,” he said, self-consciously. “You’ll never remember, I promise.”

“Okay, then, Thomas it is. I’d ask how you got in this mess, but let’s worry about that later. Relax. You’re tied in. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Give me your legs one at a time.”

He nodded.

“Okay, left leg first.”

He pressed back hard with his right foot and lifted the other.

“Relax,” Jack said. He pulled the leg loop up over Thomas’ boot, and slipped it up his leg. “Okay, give me the other.”

He set the foot down, pushed back hard with both, and slowly raised his right.

Jack reset himself on the wall, put the right leg loop over the man’s foot, and worked the harness up his leg.

“Now, raise your butt a little, so I can pull the harness around your waist. And relax.”

Thomas reset his foot on the ledge and pushed back with both, hard. Placing his hands behind him, he sunk his fingers into a crack, and slowly lifted himself off the rock.

Something moved.

The ledge floated closer. The wall drifted away.

Jack focused his eyes. What is . . . ?

The ledge peeled away, hinging from the wall, floating, dropping, coming toward him.

Thomas kicked his feet, trying to get back to the wall. He twisted, catching the rope with his leg, sliding it along the edge, slipping it into a crack in the rock. The knot caught.

“Thomas, let go.”

Rope stretched.

“Thomas!”

The rope! The slab kept coming.

Jack grabbed Thomas’ legs and kicked back, hard, jerking him out of his hold. The rope snapped free.

The slab passed beneath them.

They kept moving.

The slab grew smaller, tumbling toward earth.

Smaller.

Smaller.

The rock crashed into the ground.

—·—

Luiz rubbed his neck.

Waves of sound and shock rolled over him.

He eyed the rope, then Johnny, afraid to look down. “What the hell just . . .”

Slowly, he looked.

—·—

Their movement stopped.

Sound filled the canyon. Echo rose up and reverberated through it.

Movement started, slow at first, then gaining speed.

The wall soared toward them.

Jack cringed, knowing. “Thomas,” he shouted. “Lock your arms. Brace yourself. This is gonna hurt.”