Eric again coiled the rope, stepped to the right to get a better angle, and started the hook swinging once more. This time it sailed up and over the top of the wall. He pulled slowly until the hook grabbed, tugged hard two or three times, then tested it with his full weight. Satisfied, he turned back to Brownley. “You want to go first, or me?”

Brownley shrank back from the extended rope. “I’m not kidding, Eric,” he whispered. “Heights absolutely petrify me. I can’t do it.”

“What?” Eric stepped closer to see if he really was serious. What he saw evidently convinced him, because his eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say something back in camp?”

Brownley forced a weak smile. “And have all the women think I have no machismo?” Then he added quickly. “I kept telling myself I could do it.”

“And you can,” Eric said firmly. “I’ll go up first and then help pull the rope.”

“Look, you don’t need me up there. All you do is uncork the bottles and pour them into the air conditioning ducts.”

“Oh yeah,” Eric retorted. “Heights may frighten you, but that little concoction you put together gives me the jitters. No way am I going to mess with it.”

“Really?” Brownley peered more closely at him to see if Eric was putting him on.

“Really! No way am I going up there alone with that stuff. Besides, we don’t know what we’ll find up there. It may take us both.” Without waiting for an answer, he swung the bag so it hung directly behind him and moved up the side of the building hand over hand.

The moment he cleared the small retaining wall around the edge of the roof, he looked around, then leaned over the edge. “Okay, Don,” he called softly. “Come on up.”

For several anxious moments, Eric didn’t think the middleaged man was going to do it. “Come on, Don!” he urged in a low hiss. “Do it! We’ve got to hurry!”

For several long seconds Brownley stared up, shaking his head, a mindless, unreasoning panic paralyzing him. Then Eric flipped the rope, and it brushed against his face. With a sudden burst of will, he grabbed at it, bit his lip, and muttered, “Otherwise how will I ever face my fans?” He leaped up, pulling on the rough hemp, his eyes shut tight.

“Climb, Don,” Eric urged, the dead weight nearly pulling his arms out of the socket. “Use the building. Help me!” Bracing his feet, Eric started hauling the rope up until Brownley’s head appeared, and one hand shot up to grab the edge of the wall. Eric quickly grabbed that hand, then both hands, and hauled him up and over the top.

“Man,” Brownley gasped, “that’s terrible!”

“You made it! Come on, let’s get moving.”