He intended to perform a standing hip belay. On a mountain, it was
always possible that a belayer might be jerked from his standing
position if he was not anchored by another rope and a well-placed piton;
he could lose his balance and fall, along with the person whom he was
belaying. Therefore, a standing belay was considered less desirable
than one accomplished from a sitting position. However, because Connie
weighed sixty pounds less than he, and because the window was waist
high, he didn’t think she would be able to drag him out of the room.
Standing with his legs spread to improve his balance, he picked up the
forty-five-foot line at a point midway between the neatly piled coil and
Connie. He had knotted the rope at his navel; now, he passed it behind
him and across the hips at the belt line. The rope that came from
Connie went around his left hip and then around his right; therefore,
his left hand was the guide hand, while the right was the braking hand.
From his anchor point six feet in front of her he said, “Ready?”
She bit her lip.
“The ledge is only thirty feet below.”
“Not so far,” she said weakly.
“You’ll be there be ore you ow it.”
She forced a smile.
She looked down at her harness and tugged on it, as if she thought it
might have come undone.
“Remember what to do?” he asked.
“Hold the line with both hands above my head.
Don’t try to help. Look for the ledge, get my feet on it right away,
don’t let myself be lowered past it.”
“And when you get there?”
“First, I untie myself.”
“But only from this line.”
“Yes.”
“Not from the other.”
She nodded.
“Then, when you’ve untied yourself-l’ “I jerk on this line twice.”
“That’s right. I’ll put you down as gently as I can.”
In spite of the stinging cold wind that whistled through the open window
on both sides of her, her face was pale. “I love you,” she said.
“And I love you.”
“You can do this.”
“I hope so.”
“I know His heart was pounding.
“I trust you,” she said.
He realized that if he allowed her to die during the climb, he would
have no right or reason to save himself. Life without her would be an
unbearable passage through guilt and loneliness, a gray emptiness worse
than death. If she fell, he might as well pitch himself after her.
He was scared.
All he could do was repeat what he had already said, “I love you.”
Taking a deep breath, leaning backward, she said, “Well … woman
overboard!”
The corridor was dark and deserted.
Bollinger returned to the elevator and pressed the button for the
twenty-seventh floor.
The instant that Connie slipped backward off the windowsill, she sensed
the hundreds of feet of open space beneath her.
She didn’t need to look down to be profoundly affected by that great,
dark gulf. She was even more terrified than she had expected to be.
The fear had a physical as well as a mental impact on her. Her throat
constricted; she found it hard to breathe. Her chest felt tight, and
her pulse rate soared. Suddenly acidic, her stomach contracted
sickeningly.
She resisted the urge to clutch the windowsill before it was out of her
grasp. Instead, she reached overhead and gripped the rope with both
hands.
The wind rocked her from side to side. It pinched her face and stung
the thin rim of ungreased skin around her eyes.
In order to see at all, she was forced to squint, to peer out through
the narrowest of lash-shielded slits. Otherwise, the wind would have
blinded her with her own tears.
Unfortunately, the pile of climbing equipment in the art director’s
office had not contained snow goggles.
She glanced down at the ledge toward which she was slowly moving.
It was six feet wide, but to her it looked like a tightrope.
His feet slipped on the carpet.
He dug in his heels.
judging by the amount of rope still coiled beside him, she was not even
halfway to the ledge. Yet he felt as if he had lowered her at least a