The curse that escaped his lips was snatched away by the wind as the helicopter pirouetted overhead and began to move off, holding the left wingman position in formation with the others. The milling figures on the observation deck shrank into the distance, as the dark emptiness high above the city engulfed him. On the rope above him, one of the commandos was transferring into the open door of the aircraft, while his counterpart was steadily winching himself higher on the line hanging from the opposite side. The forward motion of the helicopter appeared to be causing the paramilitary operators no real difficulty, but for Kismet, literally at the end of his rope, it was like trying to hang onto the slippery tail of a frightened animal. If he couldn’t quickly find a way to relieve some of the strain from his arms….
He didn’t even want to think about that eventuality. The ferocious wind tore at his clothes and whipped his necktie against his exposed face. He managed to catch the offending article between his teeth, and from that minor triumph there was a spark of inspiration.
He pressed his mouth to his hands and succeeded in trapping the tie under his thumb. Without releasing his death-grip on the rope, he managed to work a loop of the silk fabric around the line, securing it with a half hitch. Once more using his teeth, he twisted the knot until it was tight on the climbing line. Then, with more haste than caution, he released the hold of his right hand and transferred it to the tie. He half-expected his desperate scheme to fail at that moment; the silk would be too slippery to hold or too fragile to bear his weight and he would find himself in a final, fatal free fall. But lady luck threw him a bone; the knot held.
Before the invention of the mechanical ascender, which was essentially a titanium handle with a small cam to lock into place on a rope and slide in only one direction, mountaineers used a more basic method to hold their place on a line: the prussik. The prescribed technique was to tie a length of cord around the belay line in a girth hitch, which could then be loosened and advanced up the rope, while the free ends of the cord were tied into hand or foot loops. Kismet’s field-expedient twist of silk was a far cry from anything taught in climbing school, but it was enough to ease some of the strain on his arms.
The flying formation moved diagonally across midtown toward the East River. Kismet could make out the distinctive slab-like dimensions of the UN building looming just to north, and dead ahead, the twinkling lights of vehicle traffic on the massive span of the Williamsburg Bridge. The pilots had dropped the helicopters a few hundred feet since departing the Empire State Building, but the increasing airspeed suggested that the final destination lay somewhere on the other side of the river. Even with his improvised handhold, he could not hope to hang on to the rope much longer. He had to get inside the helicopter.
He relaxed his hold on the knot and shoved it up the rope until his arm was fully extended. The makeshift prussik made the task easier, but it still took raw muscle strength to make the climb. In a matter of seconds however, he had progressed far enough to wrap the line around one of his legs and lock it in place between his feet, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity of effort, he was able to rest first his right, then his left arm.
The victory was short lived. Thirty feet away, framed in the open door of the helicopter, the commando that had preceded him on the same line was peering down intently. With the wind in his eyes, Kismet couldn’t make out any distinctive facial characteristics, but he could see a wicked grin splitting the man’s face. With exaggerated slowness, the commando drew an enormous fixed-blade knife from an inverted sheath on his vest and laid the edge against rope.
Kismet lurched into motion, shinnying to the halfway point before the man could complete a single saw stroke, but it wasn’t enough. There was no way he was going to reach the helicopter before his foe completed the grim task. On the other rope, the second commando had worked his way to the level of the skids beneath the aircraft and was struggling to pull himself inside.
Kismet released his foothold and arched his back, then kicked at the empty air. His body arced under the tail boom but didn’t have enough momentum to reach his objective. He tucked his legs to his chest as the pendulum swung back. Faint tremors rippled through the line as the knife blade split, first the protective sheath, then began parting the braided fibers beneath. Kismet knew he wouldn’t get another chance.
As the second arc brought him back under the airframe, he released his grip from the prussik and flailed blindly for the second rope. When the heavy line bounced off his forearm, he curled it to his body and clutched it in his fist. Before he could release the first line however, it went slack then abruptly wrenched him downward; the commando had succeeded in cutting it, and the strands that had moments before been Kismet’s only lifeline were now a twenty-pound anchor pulling him toward the murky waters of the East River. He let go without a second thought, and wrapped both his free hand and both legs around the secured rope, but his necktie was still knotted around the untethered line. It yanked hard against his neck, cinching tight both the half hitch around the rope and the four-in-one at his throat.
He struggled with the more immediate threat, the noose around his neck, but could not even insert a finger between the silk swath and his shirt collar. The pressure against his throat was considerable but he could still breathe. Abandoning the idea of freeing himself from the stranglehold, he instead grasped the severed rope and wrapped it loosely around his body. It was enough for a momentary respite; moments were all he had left.
Without the added security of the prussik, Kismet found himself once more fighting gravity and fatigue. Yet, for all his exhaustion, he was incrementally winning the battle. The underbelly of the helicopter was tangibly close and he could almost touch the landing skids with his fingertips.
A little closer….
A face appeared above him and this time he was near enough to see the beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead. The commando’s grim smile was not as confident as before, but the determination was still there. So was the knife.
Close enough!
Kismet brought his feet up as high as he dared, clamped them tight on the rope, then thrust his body toward the skid. Although it meant releasing the rope, he stretched out his arms and locked his hands together around the metal frame beneath the helicopter. The commando, busy with trying to cut away the second rope, reacted with a start and fumbled the knife. The glinting steel clattered off the skid mere inches from Kismet’s knuckles then vanished into the darkness. An unheard oath crossed the man’s lips as he leaned out into the night. Kismet now saw an automatic pistol in his right hand; the barrel was lined up with his head.
“Oh, no you don’t!” grated Kismet.
He arched his body again, and like a gymnast on parallel bars, brought his feet up over his head. At the apex of his swing, he brought his legs together, trapping the gun arm between his ankles. He felt a burst of heat through the fabric of his trousers as the weapon discharged and expelled scorching gas against his calf, but that was the limit of injury he sustained from the shot; the bullet whistled away impotently into the night. The gunman didn’t get a second chance. With the man’s arm still snared, Kismet wrenched himself away and took the commando with him. Realizing too late what his foe was doing, the man flailed desperately at Kismet’s leg, but succeeded only in pulling off his left shoe. Then he was gone.
Kismet didn’t spare a thought for the falling man; there were still at least two more on the helicopter eager to finish the job their lost comrade had begun, and for his own part, he was still a long way from safety. He wrapped his legs around the skid and repositioned his hands in order to advance toward the door.