“How do you know that?”
“Not your style,” Patty said. “And don’t ask me how I know, but l do.” She looked down at the papers. “One of Paul’s tricks, imitating handwriting. I used to think it was amusing.” She paused. “Now,” she said, “I think it’s merely childish. And vicious.” She was silent for a time. “Tell me,” she said then, “what is the name for a woman who turns against her husband?”
“Admirable.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
Small and indomitable, Nat thought, willing to face facts squarely even when they hurt. How would Zib react in a similar situation? Probably just pretend that it was all a mistake that had never happened and walk away. But not this one. “You have my word for it,” Nat said.
“Now,” a new voice said from the trailer doorway, “what seems to be the trouble and what do you think we can do about it?”
He was a big man, broad, solid, massively calm—Chief Petty Officer Oliver, United States Coast Guard. He listened quietly while Nat explained, and together they went out of the trailer to stare up at the tops of the buildings—the square flat-topped north tower of the Trade Center and the World Tower itself, its shining spire almost touching the sky.
The chief looked around the plaza at the crowds, the sooty lakes, the writhing hoses and shouting firemen. “Quite a circus,” he said, and squinted aloft again, measuring distances with his eye, his face expressionless. He looked at last at Nat, and slowly shook his head. “It can’t be done,” he said.
“You’ve got guns,” Nat said, “and line—what you call a messenger line, no?”
“We’ve got it all,” the chief said.
“And the distance, man, isn’t all that great.” Nat’s voice was urgent, almost angry. “So it takes half a dozen tries. One line into that Tower Room is all you need, isn’t it? We’ll have the whole bank of windows on that side broken out. You’ll have a target the size of a barn. You—”
“Down here on the ground,” the chief said, “the wind is calm, or near enough. Up there—how high?”
“Fifteen hundred feet.” The anger was suddenly gone. “I see what you mean.”
“Blowing merry hell,” the chief said. “It usually is aloft. See that smoke, how it lays out straight? That’s what we’d have to shoot a line into—” He paused. “And there’s no way we can get it there. Not at that distance.”
Another bad idea, Nat thought, and blamed himself that he had not come up with a good one. Maybe there were no good ideas, but that in no way altered the fact of failure. Bitter thought.
“But,” the chief said, “we’ll give it a try.” He paused. “We’ll do the best we can—even if it isn’t good enough.” For the first time on this disastrous day, Nat thought, he felt the first faint glimmering of hope. It was hard to keep triumph out of his voice. “We’ll give you firemen and cops,” he said, “anybody you need to go up on the Trade Center roof with you and help you do your thing. I’ll see that the windows in the Tower Room are broken out and men are standing by to catch a line if you get it across.” His thoughts were flowing now. “My boss, the architect, is up there. He’ll find structure strong enough to fasten the breeches buoy line to and handle any strain. Then—”
“We’ll try,” the chief said. “That’s all I can promise.” He smiled suddenly. “But it’ll be the damnedest gut-busting try you ever saw.” The smile spread. “And who knows?” He gestured back into the trailer. “Get your people lined up.”
The governor took the call and promptly sent for Ben Caldwell and the fire commissioner to hear the situation report.
“A Coast Guard crew,” Nat’s voice said, “is going to the roof of the north tower of the Trade Center. They’ll try shooting a messenger line over to you—”
Caldwell interrupted. “That means breaking out windows on that side.” He nodded.
“All of them,” Nat said. “Every one. Give them as big a target as you can.” He paused. “We’re having the plaza on that side cleared of everybody. That heavy falling glass can kill.”
“We’ll start on the windows when you give the word,” Caldwell said. He hesitated. “It’s a long way, Nat, from that tower roof.”
“We’ll try. That’s all we can do.” And then, rather than dwell on possible failure, hurrying on, “As I understand it, the gun shoots a weighted projectile carrying a light messenger line. When you get the line you haul it in on signal, and they’ll have secured the heavier line to it. Two lines, actually: the heavy one to carry the load of the breeches buoy, and the smaller line that pulls the breeches buoy across to you and then back down to the tower roof.” He paused.
“Understood,” Caldwell said. He wore a faint smile. “You’re probably way ahead of me,” Nat said, “but I’ll go through it all anyway.” Pause. “Make the heavy line fast to structure that will take a hell of a load, not just to a table or a chair.” Another pause. “And I’d suggest that where the line goes through the window frame you make damn sure all the glass is gone. We don’t want the line to be cut or frayed.” Another voice poke unintelligibly in the background. “Wait a moment—”
In the silence the governor said, “Your man, Ben—”
“The best,” Caldwell said. “If it can be done, he’ll figure out the way and see to it.”
“They’ve cleared the plaza on that side,” Nat’s voice came again into the speaker phone. “You can start on the windows.”
Caldwell looked at the fire commissioner. The commissioner nodded and made a circle of thumb and forefinger. He hurried out of the office.
Nat’s voice said in a different note, “I don’t know how many are hearing this—” He hesitated.
The governor said quickly, “This is Armitage. You can say whatever you want to say.”
“Okay,” Nat said. His voice was solemn. “It’s just this. We don’t want to get your hopes too high because it may not work.”
“Understood,” the governor said.
“But,” Nat said, “if it doesn’t work—” He paused. “Then, goddammit, we’ll think of something else. That’s a promise.” Another pause. “All for now.” He clicked off.
The office was still. Ben Caldwell, smiling faintly, almost apologetically, looked at the governor and Beth. “I’ve found,” he said, “that Nat Wilson’s promises can be depended on.” The smile spread. “I find myself clinging to that thought.”
“We all are,” the governor said. “We can build buildings like this and invent governments and machines and set up systems that can’t fail, but when it comes right down to it, there is no substitute for a man you can depend on.” He paused. “Or a woman.” He smiled then. “That sounds corny, doesn’t it? But it wouldn’t be corny if it weren’t a basic truth.”
From the big room came the sound of breaking glass and a growing murmur of voices.
The governor heaved himself out of his chair. “Show time,” he said. “Let’s bring everybody up to date.”
Nat turned away from the phone and walked the length of the trailer to stand again beside Patty. “Big talk,” he said. His smile was deprecatory. “But I couldn’t just leave them—dangling.”
“You’ll think of something.”
And what did a man say to that? He began to gather the change-order copies, stuff them back into the envelope. “We’ll want the originals of these,” he said. “If we can find them.”