Borderlines (38 page)

the warm engine would actually be an asset, implying you were close, and thus encouraging the police cordon to be so tight that it might even exclude you.

I smiled at the thought. There was one problem, though. Bishop, the dog, and everybody else were hot on Julie’s trail, or of someone wearing her clothes. They were way the hell and gone-from what I could hear-on another quadrant of the pit. If they were on the right track, Julie’s track, then who the hell was I following? And if she and my guy were associates, why had they taken separate paths? The first theory-using the pit as an escape route-appealed to me; the second theory had me worried: You don’t split up forces if you’re running for a narrow exit.

But you might if you’re setting up an ambush. I looked at the forbidding walls below and opposite me, visualizing what a perfect target a man would be as he slowly climbed down those ladders.

I shook my head. It didn’t make sense. You don’t ambush the State Police. It would be suicidal; the best you could hope for, even in a perfect spot like this, would be to delay things for a while. I chewed on that for a bit, and finally snapped my fingers silently: That was the whole point-to delay things and attract attention, divert the chase long enough for one of them to get away. A lover’s leap. That’s when I heard the stone fall from somewhere below me. It rattled and bounced and ended as a tiny, distant splash.

I began listening so hard I almost stopped breathing. The escape gap was to the east. I was to the southwest. From what I could guess, the others with the bloodhound would appear to the southeast, or right between me and the escape gap.

Swallowing hard, I leaned out as far as I could without losing my balance. I was at the top of one of the buttresses, or “ribs.” The ledge below, as narrow as it was, still blocked a full view of the one farther down, which in turn totally hid the rest. I checked to both sides of me, hoping I could get over enough to see the cliff face from another angle. The trees growing out to the edge ruled that out-it would take me too long and I would make too much noise trying to gain a proper viewpoint.

Across the pit I could see tiny pinpoints of light flashing among the trees. The search party would soon become a climbing party-and target practice for whoever was below me. If I shouted or fired my pistol to warn them, I’d lose the advantage of surprise and I might scare off my prey: After all, I was just assuming he was boxed in. It was possible he had an escape figured out other than the obvious one of merely climbing back up his set of ladders.

I backed away from the edge and trotted over to the small build %244

ings, looking for something that might help me reach that first ledge.

What I found was a large wooden spool with hundreds of feet of three quarter-inch cable wrapped around it. It was almost taller than I was and probably weighed as much as a truck. I quickly began unlooping cable, thankful I’d packed along a pair of heavy leather gloves.

As quietly as possible, I pulled the cable along behind me, wrapped it around one of the larger granite chunks so the angle would be right, and very quietly paid out about forty feet of cable over the side, making sure the extra twenty didn’t slip over the ledge’s lip. What I couldn’t see was whether the second ladder was standing or had been laid down like the first-the extra cable was insurance. The search party opposite had broken out into the open. That still gave me time. They had to coordinate before deciding to use their own set of ladders, which I’d already noticed had been helpfully left in place.

I checked the cable again. I’d taken mandatory rappelling during some police training course, so long ago now I couldn’t even remember the decade, much less the year. I’d hated it then, even with all the equipment, the safeguards, and the instructors. Now I had none of those. I was going to dangle over four hundred feet of space, the way a boy swings on a rope from an apple tree.

“You are one stupid son of a bitch,” I muttered, as I eased over the side and began to let myself down. I realized I was in trouble one inch after it was too late to do anything about it. Cable, unlike rope, is smooth, and affords no grip for a pair of leather gloves, and as I began to slip faster and faster down the line, I thought that might be the last educational tidbit of my life. I put all my strength into my hands and feet, squeezing as tightly as I could, hoping to at least maintain my speed, if not slow it. It worked, but when I hit the ledge with burning hands, I did so as a solid muscular mass, with no give whatsoever. The shock-wave almost blew the top of my head off. I collapsed into a painful puddle, throbbing from my ankles to my neck, totally oblivious to any noise I might have made.

After lying there for a couple of minutes, my focus returned, along with an absolute, stomach-churning fear. I realized suddenly that not only had I almost killed myself going after someone I only thought might be threatening the others, but that now I was stuck on a horizontal sliver of rock five feet wide with a cliff above and a cliff below. Had I been suspended above a fiery pit by sewing thread, I couldn’t have been more scared. I closed my eyes to concentrate. No point going back now.

Things couldn’t get worse than this. Slowly, I finally got to my hands and knees and peered over to the next landing, hoping I’d find the bastard I was %245 after. Luckily I didn’t-I was fully prepared to shoot him on the spot.

Instead I saw a wooden ladder, its outer rails tapering together into the distance until they reached what appeared to be a dime-sized spot on the ledge below. I was sweating like a pig just looking at it.

The only source of comfort was that the top rung had been attached to the rock with a metal clip. I glanced over to the other side. People were clustered around the top ladder there, obviously preparing to descend. I figured if there was somebody setting them up, he’d wait until he had several of them exposed. I gingerly poked my leg over and felt with my toes for the uppermost rung.

The ladder bounced a little under my weight, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, especially when I remembered to keep my eyes straight in front of me. I also put enormous faith in that clip, probably more than was due, but by the time I set foot on the second ledge, I was convinced nothing shy of dynamite could move that ladder or any of its peers. I’d conveniently forgotten that the top ladder’s attachment had obviously offered no great resistance to my predecessor. I was still scared shitless, but I now figured I could do it. Across the way, one man had already reached the bottom of the first ladder and another was poised to follow him. I quickly looked over the side.

There was a third ledge, but with a difference. Instead of falling off at each end, as mine had, this one wrapped around to the sides. I was on an “rib” clifl, flanked on either side by two “chimneys.” I crawled on my hands and knees to the far end of my ledge-away from the other searchers-and stuck my head over cautiously. Below me, on the same level as the third ledge, was one of the wide stone platforms I’d noticed earlier, cut to support assorted pieces of machinery. More interesting, however, was the fact that the series of ladders I’d been using switched over to this side and continued on down the chimney from that platform. That meant that anyone descending from the platform would be invisible to those across the way. In other words, there was an escape route, but only from that third level below me. By now, convinced I was right, I scuttled over to the other end and took a peek.

There was a matching rock platform, similarly cluttered, including one of those small huts I’d taken to be foremen offices. Daylight was now truly breaking, the weak sun eating away at the darker shadows, but I still couldn’t see any movement. I swore under my breath; I couldn’t believe after all this that I’d been wrong. I looked across the pit again. There were three men on various ladders. If I were a sniper, I’d wait for maybe two more at most, pick off as many as I could %246

quickly, split for the other platform, and climb down my way to freedom.

By the time they saw me running along the edge of the water below toward the exit gap, it would be all but too late. That thought encouraged me about something else: If this wasn’t a suicidal attack, then Julie was still waiting nearby, possibly even at the bottom of the pit, to be joined by her protector. But it was all still theory-I had the plan and the place, but still no shooter. I lay staring at the little hut, the one place that offered good cover. That had to be it. If it wasn’t, however, and I went down there… I interrupted the thought. Slowly, and without a sound, I saw the window facing the opposite cliff swing open. I had him. My earlier fear was flushed away by adrenaline; I trotted back to the ladder and climbed down it quickly to the third level. I knew now I was dealing with a couple of minutes or less. I went over to what I’d mentally coined the escape platform and checked that the ladder going down from it was attached with a clip. It was. I looked around for a tool, something to use as a pry bar. There was a long metal rod lying by one of the machines. I got it under the top rung of the ladder and pulled hard. The wood cracked a little. I repositioned and tried again. This time it split right through, freeing the ladder from the wall. Oblivious to the noise it might make, I shoved the ladder forward, pitching it into the abyss and closing the back door to the shooter. Now, even if I didn’t make it, he could only go back up to those above. There wasn’t much sound, however. The ladder was still sailing through the air by the time I made it back to the narrow connecting ledge, and the first gentle clatters weren’t heard until I’d almost made it to the other chimney’s platform. Still, I was late.

Just as I got to the corner, a rifle shot rang out, deafening against all that rock. I saw a tiny figure-the uppermost one-sag against the ladder and then slowly peel away. I didn’t watch it drop; I didn’t want to waste the time. Instead, I reached around the corner, took aim at the hut with my service.38, and fired two rounds at the shadow behind the window. The glass exploded and the shadow dropped. “This is the police. Throw out your weapon and show yourself.” My eyes shifted to the far wall. I could see minute pale faces looking in our direction. I knew there were binoculars trained on us, so they could see who I was. I also knew they wouldn’t risk firing from there, for fear of hitting me.

I hoped the other guy wouldn’t figure that out, too.

“Come on-give it up.” What he did give up was unexpected. From low on the hut’s wall, a chunk of wood suddenly flew off, blown away by the bullet that %247 smacked into the granite near my head-he’d fired right through the wall.

The rock exploded like a small grenade, spraying my face and eyes with stone splinters. The pain was excruciating. Blinded, I staggered back, tripped and fell on my side. I reached out for support and felt my arm slip over the cliff edge. For a split second, I thought that was it-my body balanced right at the midpoint, undecided on which direction to roll, until I kicked my leg back and swung myself away from the edge. I still couldn’t see well; I could taste the blood seeping over my upper lip. I rubbed my eyes and blinked like mad, knowing it was now or never for my opponent. About every two seconds, I managed to get a half-glimpse of my surroundings before the blood blocked my vision again. I began backing up as rapidly as I dared, keeping one hand on the wall next to me, hoping to get to the shelter of the other platform before the shooter made his move.

I never made it. In one brief clear-eyed second, I saw his figure duck around the corner, carrying his rifle. I heard its blast just as the back of my head collided with the upright ladder behind me. My head exploded with bright light-a blinding, numbing starburst almost matched by the sudden stab of pain in my left side. I knew I was falling, but not in which direction; nor did I know how to counteract it. My arms and legs didn’t respond. I felt almost as if I was falling through water. Only the abrupt contact of my nose to the dusty granite shelf told me I’d fallen on my face. I lay there, motionless, trying to sort out the numbness, the pain, and the dizziness that engulfed me. I heard the other man’s footsteps move around the ladder and disappear to the opposite “escape” platform, out of reach from the State Police. I moved my fingers, trying to feel for my gun. It was gone. I heard him coming back and lay still. He seemed to hesitate, and then began to climb awkwardly to the second ledge, with something clanking and banging against the side of the ladder. I thought, hell; he’s got the pry bar-he’s going to leave me stranded. I rolled onto my back and looked up. My eyes still hurt, and I had to squint, but I could see. He was carrying his rifle, of course, not the pry bar-he no longer gave a damn about me. I got to my hands and knees, and then unsteadily to my feet, pulling myself up with the ladder rungs. I hung there for a few seconds, shaking off the nausea. Even without looking up, I knew he’d reached the next level-the ladder had stopped quivering under his weight. It angered me that he was getting away, it angered me that I still didn’t know who he was, and it angered me to think I’d messed up, that %248 somehow things shouldn’t have turned out this way. I swung myself around to the front of the ladder and began to climb.

The pain in my side brought me to an abrupt halt. I looked down at a broad red swatch that was leaking down my pants leg. His bullet must have hit me just above the belt line. I pressed it with my hand-it hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable, not like the pain in my head, which still gave everything a slightly pink tinge. I continued climbing, slowly, but steadily, hand over hand, foot over foot.

I could hear more shots above me, and several from across the way. We were no longer so close together, and the others could now feel free to try picking him off. But they didn’t have rifles. It didn’t mean their bullets couldn’t reach this far, but any accuracy was reduced to pure luck. By the time I reached the second ledge, he was almost to the top of the first, where the last ladder lay flat. I just hoped to God he was too preoccupied to look down.