The Face Of Fear Part 31

"We'd make the public think the men were being murdered in retaliation for the murders of the hundred women. "

"Except women don't typically commit crimes like that. "

"Doesn't matter. We're not trying to create a typical situation. "

"I'm not sure 1 understand what sort of situation we are trying to create. "

"Don't you see? There are d.a.m.ned ugly tensions between men and women in this country. Hideous tensions. Year by year, as the women's liberation movement has grown, those tensions have become almost unbearable, because they're repressed, hidden. We'll make them boil to the surface."

"It's not bad. You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Believe me. I know. And don't you see what else? There are hundreds of potential psychotic killers out there. All they need is to be given some direction, a little push. They'll hear about and read about the killings so much that they'll get ideas of their own. Once we've cut up a hundred women and twenty or so men, pretending to be psychotic ourselves, we'll have a dozen imitators doing our work for us. "

"Maybe."

"Definitely. All ma.s.s murderers have had their imitators. But none of them has ever committed crimes grand enough to inspire legions of mimics. We will. And then when we've turned out a squad of s.e.x killers, we'll shift the direction of our own activities. "

"Shift to what?"

"We'll murder white people at random and use a fict.i.tious black revolutionary group to claim credit. After a dozen killings of that sort-"

"We could knock off some blacks and leave everyone under the impression they were killed in retaliation. "

"You've got it. Fan the flames."

"I'm beginning to see your point. In a city this size, there are countless factions. Blacks, whites, Puerto Ricans, Orientals, men, women, liberals, conservatives, radicals and reactionaries, Catholics and Jews, rich and poor, young and old... We could try to turn each against its opposite and all of them against one another. Once factional violence begins, whether it's religious or political or economic, it usually escalates endlessly. " against its opposite and all of them against one another. Once factional violence begins, whether it's religious or political or economic, it usually escalates endlessly. "

"Exactly. If we planned carefully enough, we could do it. In six months, you'd have at least two thousand dead. Maybe five times that number. "

"And you'd have martial law. That would put an end to it before there was chaos on the scale you've talked about. "

"We might have martial law. But we'd still have chaos. In Northern Ireland they've had soldiers on street corners for years, but the killing goes on. Oh, there'd be chaos, Dwight. And it would spread to other cities as-"

"No. I can't swallow that."

"All over the country, people would be reading and hearing about New York. They'd-"

"It wouldn't spread that easily, Billy. "

"All right. All right. But there would be chaos here, at least. The voters would be ready to elect a tough-talking mayor with new ideas. "

"Certainly."

"We could elect one of us, one of the new race. The mayoralty of New York is a good political base for a smart man who wants the presidency. "

"The voters might elect a political strongman. But not every political strongman is going to be one of our people. "

"If we planned the chaos, we could also plan to run one of our men in the wake of it. He would know what was coming; he'd have an inside track. " one of our men in the wake of it. He would know what was coming; he'd have an inside track. "

"One of our men? h.e.l.l, we don't know any but you and me. "

"I'd make an excellent mayor. "

"You?"

"I have a good base for a campaign. "

"Christ, come to think of it, you do. "

"I could win. "

"You'd have a fair chance, anyway."

"It would be a step up the ladder of power for our kind, our race. "

"Jesus, the killing we'd have to do!"

"Haven't you ever killed?"

"A pimp. Two drug pushers who pulled guns on me. A wh.o.r.e that n.o.body knows about. "

"Did killing disturb you?"

"No. They were sc.u.m. "

"We'd be killing sc.u.m. Our inferiors. Animals. " "

"Could we get away with it?"

"We both know cops. What would cops look for? Known mental patients. Known criminals. Known radicals. People with some sort of motive. We have a motive, but they'd never figure it in a million years. "

"If we worked out every detail, planned carefully-h.e.l.l, we might do it. "

"Do you know what Leopold wrote to Loeb before they murdered Bobby Franks? 'The superman is not liable for anything he may do, except for the one crime that it is possible for him to commit-to make a mistake. '"

"If we did something like this-"

"If?"

"You're committed to it?"

"Aren't-you, Dwight?"

"We'd start with women?"

"Yes. "

"Kill them. "

"Yes. "

"Billy... ?"

"Yes?"

"Rape them first?"

"Oh, yes. "

"It could even be fun. " could even be fun. "

Bollinger leaned out of the window, looked both ways along the ledge. Harris was not on the face of the building that overlooked the side leaned out of the window, looked both ways along the ledge. Harris was not on the face of the building that overlooked the side street. street.

Although the pitons were wedged in the stone beside the window, as they had been when he'd fired at Harris, the rope that had been attached to one of them was gone.

Bollinger crawled onto the windowsill, leaned out much too far, peered over the ledge. The woman's body should have been on the street below. But there was no corpse. Nothing but the smooth sheen of fresh snow.

Dammit, she hadn't fallen! He hadn't shot the b.i.t.c.h after all!

Why wouldn't these people die?

Furious, he stumbled back into the room, out of the wind-whipped snow. He left the office and followed the corridor to the nearest stairwell.

Connie wished that she could rappel with her eyes closed. Balanced on the side of the highrise, twenty-three stories above Lexington Avenue, without a safety tether, she was unnerved by the scene.

Right hand behind.

Left hand in front.

Right hand to brake.

Left hand to guide.

Feet spread and planted firmly on the wall.

Repeating to herself all that Graham had taught her, she pushed away from the building. And gasped. She felt as if she had taken a suicidal leap.

As she swung out, she realized that she was clenching the rope too tightly with her left hand. Left to guide. Right to brake. She relaxed her grip on the rope in front of her and slid down a few feet before braking.

She approached the building improperly. Her legs were not straight out in front of her, and they weren't rigid enough. They buckled. She twisted to the right, out of control, and struck the granite with her shoulder. The impact was not great enough to break a bone, but it was much too hard.

It dazed her, but she didn't let go of the rope. Got her feet against the stone once more. Got into position. Shook her head to clear it. Glanced to her left. Saw Graham three yards away on that side. Nodded so he would know that she was all right. Then pushed outward. Pushed hard. Slid down. Swung back. She didn't make any mistakes this time.

Grinning, Graham watched as Connie took a few more steps down the stone. Her endurance and determination delighted him. There really was some Nora Charles in her. And a h.e.l.l of a lot of Nick too.

When he saw that she had pretty much gotten the knack of rappelling-her style was crude but adequate-he kicked away from the wall. He descended farther than she did on each arc and reached the eighteenth floor ahead of her.

He braced himself on the almost nonexistent window ledge. He smashed in the two tall panes of gla.s.s and fixed a snap link to the metal center post. When he had attached his safety tether to that carabiner, he released the main line, pulled it free of the overhead anchor. He caught the rope, tied it to the carabiner in front of him, and took up a rappelling position.

Beside him, nine feet away, Connie was also ready to rappel.

He flung himself into s.p.a.ce.

He was amazed not only at how well he remembered the skills and techniques of a climber, but at how quickly the worst of his fear had vanished. He was still afraid, but not unnaturally so. Necessity and Connie's love had produced a miracle that no psychiatrist could have matched.

He was beginning to think they might escape. His left arm ached where the bullet had grazed it, and the fingers of that hand were stiff. The pain in his bad leg had subsided to a continuous dull throb that made him grit his teeth occasionally but which didn't interfere too much with his rappelling.

In a couple of steps he reached the seventeenth floor. In two more jumps he came to rest against the sixteenth-story window ledge-where Frank Bollinger had decided to set up an ambush.

The window was closed. However, the drapes had been drawn back. One desk lamp glowed dimly in the office.

Bollinger was on the other side of the gla.s.s, a huge silhouette. He was just lifting the latch.

No! Graham thought.

In the same instant that his boots touched the window ledge, he kicked away from it.

Bollinger saw him and pulled off a shot without bothering to open the rectangular panes. Gla.s.s sliced into the night.

Although Bollinger reacted fast, Graham was already out of his line of fire. He swung back to the wall seven or eight feet below Bollinger, rappelled again, stopped at the fifteenth-story window.

He looked up and saw flame flicker briefly from the muzzle of the pistol as Bollinger shot at Connie.

The gunfire threw her off her pace. She hit the wall with her shoulder again. Frantic, she got her feet under her and rappelled.

Bollinger fired again.

41.

Bollinger knew that he hadn't scored a hit on either of them.

He left the office, ran to the elevator. He switched on the control panel and pushed the b.u.t.ton for the tenth floor.

As the lift descended, he thought about the plan that he and Billy had formulated yesterday.

"You'll kill Harris first. Do what you want with the woman, but be sure to cut her up. "

"I always cut them up. That was my idea in the first place. "

"You should kill Harris where it'll cause the least mess, where you can clean up after. " mess, where you can clean up after. "

"Clean up?"