“It is because I set it up separately from the others. I can track you using it. How long did it take them to cut the glass?”
“Ten minutes probably. It’ll be harder on the window washing rig, I’m sure, but we’ll be able to kick the glass in so figure roughly the same time.”
“Okay. When you’ve been stationary for ten minutes, I’ll send the gate.”
“It’s going to need to be very precise.”
“Walter will do it, then, we’re still coordinated. Good luck.”
Hung up and my music started again. Olivia Newton-John’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” This wasn’t the “Don’t Stop Believin’” I’d have expected, but Journey wasn’t what I was hearing. Clearly Algar was telling me everyone was still alive. Listened to the lyrics while we pulled on the gloves and got ready. Seemed to be Algar giving me an Atta Girl. Chose to indeed not stop believing that we’d save everyone.
Perky ONJ song over, B.o.B.’s “Don’t Let Me Fall” on as Algar’s choice for hilarious background music, and we were ready to start down.
“Remember,” Siler said, “we’re walking down. You’re going to lie on your stomachs and back through the hole, carefully, so you don’t get cut on the glass. It’s thick, so it should be okay, but we want to be safe.”
Mahin snorted. “Right.”
Siler ignored her. “The moment you’re able to bend at the waist, I want you getting the balls of your feet onto the glass as soon as possible. It’s not that far down, and I’ll be on the rig first to catch anyone, but you don’t want to go too fast. Not too slow, either,” he added, looking at Mahin. “We’re running out of time.”
With that, he did exactly what he’d described. We had a long rope that was tied off around the base of the geometric covering thing. We had another, longer rope that was hooked through the slats on top of the covering, so that we could hold onto one end of the rope in each hand.
The idea was that we were using the hooked rope to get through the hole, and then would transfer and hold onto the stationary rope to get the rest of the way down. The four of us crowded on each side of the hole so we could watch Siler. The lighting on the tower was good, the lights aimed upwards, so we could see him pretty clearly. Naturally, he did this as if he was born to it.
Next we tied the rolling purse to the stationary rope and sent that down. Siler tugged that rope when he had the bag, and now it was the next person’s turn. We sent Abigail next, because White and I could help her through the hole. “I think I hate you guys,” she said as her head made it through the opening and my music switched to “Highwire” by the Gin Blossoms. Clearly Algar was enjoying himself.
Abigail didn’t have all that much trouble, though. White held one of her wrists while she let go and wrapped the stationary rope around her hand like Siler had told her to. She nodded, White let go slowly, she grabbed the rope with her other hand, and she walked her way down to Siler. Looked easy peasey.
Mahin was next, mostly because it was going to take both of us to get her to do this in the first place and, again, we could help her. She was muttering in Farsi, and I realized that I could understand it now that I knew I could. “I didn’t think you knew those words.”
“I know those words and more and, right now, they’re all for you. Everyone had better be alive and well but in mortal peril we’re actually able to save them from, is all I can say.”
Her head through, White did the same for her as he had for Abigail. Mahin took longer to grab the stationary rope, but grab it she finally did. She went down about halfway, then her foot slipped. She smacked into the glass but held on. Couldn’t hear him, but could see Siler shouting to her. Mahin let herself slide a little, and Siler was able to catch her and get her onto the rig. Looked less easy peasey, but still, doable.
I and my purse were up next. White had suggested I send it down with the rolling purse, but I just felt safer with it around my neck. I was used to working this way, after all.
The purse did make it a little harder to get through the opening, but avoiding getting cut was a lot harder than it had looked. White holding onto me was a big help. “This is going to suck for you, Mister White.”
“I’ll be fine, Missus Martini, never fear.”
Felt wind on my lower body, but chose not to focus on it and, instead, ensured that the balls of my feet were on the glass like Siler wanted. I was having a lot of issues managing this, with me doing The Bicycle more than actually getting my feet to stick, but I finally got kind of in the right position.
Once my head was through, I really noticed the wind. It wasn’t pleasant. However, I had to let go of the one rope and grab the stationary rope. Let go and grabbed. And missed. Grabbed again. Missed again. Grabbed a third time and managed to get the rope in my hand. Wrapped it like Siler had shown, and nodded to White, who let go of my other hand.
Started to fall immediately. Because, as it turned out, I’d grabbed the rope I’d been holding originally, the one made to slide, not the stationary rope.
CHAPTER 75
I FLIPPED OVER almost immediately. Tucked my head so when my back slammed into the glass, the back of my head did not. One small favor.
The rope stopped moving. Due to the way I was hanging I could see that White had stepped on it. So, as long as he didn’t move, I was good. This moment’s definition of damning with faint praise.
I was now upside-down, with my purse trying to strangle me because of course it had slipped over my arm and now was only holding on because my chin was acting like a ledge. But not for long. Gravity was a bitch, we were rarely on close terms, and she was all about reminding me that my lower half was heavier than my upper half. My body slid around. Now I was right side up and about to have my right arm wrenched out of the socket, though my purse was now longer trying to fall off. No, now it was just hanging around my neck like the heaviest albatross necklace in the world. My music changed to “Hold On” by Smash Mouth. If only I could.
My wrist was wrapped up in the rope, which was good, because my fingers couldn’t stay closed since the rope was cutting off circulation. I could feel the stationary rope—I was lying on it, meaning it was at my back. And of course, it was more on my right side than my left, meaning I was going to have to twist to grab it. Somehow.
I was too far up to let go willingly and not expect that I’d cause the entire rig to go down when I hit. However, as my wrist started to slide slowly through the rope, realized I didn’t have a choice.