When he had finished, Everett took something that looked like a television remote control and aimed it toward the winch. There was a click, and suddenly he felt a sharp pull on his ankles-the winch had been turned on.

He quickly lay flat on his back to avoid being yanked off balance, and felt the slow, inexorable pull of the rope as it began to lift him. His heart hammered.

Get a grip, he told himself, and felt himself calming. You can get out of this. You will get out of this. Think.

“I thought Ciara wanted you to wait for her to have all this fun,” he said, as his hips began to feel the pull of the rope.

“She’ll get her turn with Kit,” Everett said absently. He was staring up at the staircase.

The rope went higher, and Alex’s hips left the floor. Change fell out of his pockets, jangling as the coins struck the concrete floor below him. Then his spine and shoulders lifted, and with his blood already rushing to it, his head. His jacket fell around his shoulders and neck, covering his face and dropping pens and his PDA to the floor with a crack. The scent of dried blood on the jacket came to him with every breath. He had visions of being dropped onto the floor headfirst. Let the rope hold. Let the knots hold. Let them hold.

He felt as if he were on the rack, felt the pull of his weight on joints that weren’t meant to sustain it in this direction for long. The rope pinched and abraded his skin, and his injured shoulder began to throb as his arms stretched beneath him. He gritted his teeth as he was pulled higher. The rope began to slowly twist and spin, he with it, in a motion that soon became dizzying.

He heard the winch stop.

Everett had to dodge him-Alex was swaying slowly like a human pendulum, and still spinning as well, about three feet above the sandbags. Alex’s blood had already rushed to his head. He felt the strain on all his joints and was certain that his ankles were going to rip away from his feet. They burned from the pressure of the rope.

“What are you doing to him?” Spooky called.

“I’m okay,” he called back. “Don’t worry.”

“Kit!” Spooky shouted frantically. “Kit!”

For a brief moment, Alex wondered if Kit and his rifle were inside the tower. But the echoes of her shouts faded into silence.

But her cries had distracted Everett, who lost track of Alex swinging near him.

“Look out!” Alex yelled.

Everett quickly ducked to avoid being hit. “God damn it! Don’t!” he screamed.

“What the fuck do you think I can do about it?” Alex shouted, already swinging back toward him.

Everett ducked again and then quickly stood and tucked the gun into a holster at his hip. He planted his feet a little apart, grabbed onto one of the bell ropes, and as Alex came by this time, grabbed onto him. Alex felt the impact and Everett’s loss of balance, felt the young man’s strength as he used his grip on the other rope and Alex’s body to both halt the sway and prevent himself from tumbling over. They tottered back and forth together for what seemed to Alex an eternity. When they finally came to a halt, he was so dizzy, the room still seemed to spin. He clamped down on an urge to vomit. Everett stepped away from him and looked into his reddened face.

“Have a headache yet? Maybe I should kick you in the face for almost knocking me over.” He glanced up.

Alex lifted his head and saw a camera. The red recording indicator light was on. He thought of the videotape from Oaxaca.

Everett pulled a knife from his military-style belt. Alex felt himself go cold. Terrified of the style of torture he had seen inflicted on Everett’s other victims, he considered trying to disarm Everett. Everett had been cautious until now, but he was now within range of Alex’s hands, and Alex might be able to do it. But unless he killed Everett with one blow, Everett was likely to be able to recover a weapon, and Spooky and Chase would remain in danger. Or he might knock Everett onto one of the pressure devices. He prayed that Kit, who had been smart enough to see the trap, would somehow set them free before Everett blew them all to hell. Or before Everett decided to play surgeon with him.

Everett grabbed hold of Alex’s jacket and cut it off of him in a few swift strokes. The knife was sharp. He did the same with his shirt. Alex tried to keep himself still, but when Everett grabbed hold of his belt, he brought his fists up hard toward Everett’s groin.

Everett anticipated it just in time, shoving Alex away from him so that the blow landed on his thigh. Still, he doubled over in pain, his face twisted in anger.

“You stupid asshole!” he shouted as Alex began to swing wildly again. “You stupid fucking asshole!”

Alex closed his eyes. Even if he managed, as he had hoped, to grab onto Everett before he fell onto any of the sandbags, what good would it have done? If Everett took his time killing him, maybe that would allow Kit to get reinforcements here to save Spooky and Chase. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Kit would try to reach the former soldiers who guarded his house-genuine soldiers, not boys playing dress-up like Everett-to help them. He had to keep his head until then and not put Spooky and Chase at risk.

Everett grabbed him roughly and brought the swinging to a halt again. Alex tried to prepare himself for what was to come, to put himself mentally far away. He thought of his last climb, of conquering the hardest part of it, of clinging by his fingertips and nearly nonexistent toeholds. Then he heard a chime and the steady rolling of the next silver ball, and was back in the tower.

But instead of threatening him with the knife, Everett started to set up the stepladder, carefully placing it on marks that Alex could now see beneath him. Everett wiped his hands nervously and again glanced at his watch. He grabbed one of the bell ropes, then looked undecided. It occurred to Alex that he had not planned to be alone when he did this. “Cameron was the rock climber,” he said.

Everett frowned, then climbed down, folded the ladder, and set it on the floor. He stood behind Alex and took hold of Alex’s belt at the back, placed a booted foot on the chain of the handcuffs, and pressed down, so that Alex’s already strained joints felt an even harder pull. His shoulders and elbows were on fire. Alex opened his mouth and exhaled hard, trying not to groan or make a sound that would distress Chase or Spooky. He heard the knife leave the sheaf again, and sweat began stinging his eyes. He felt the prick of the blade between his shoulders, a small, burning cut.

“A little deeper and you could spend the last hour of your life being paralyzed-you understand?” Everett said. “So don’t go talking to me about what I can and cannot do. I can do what I want.”

Alex felt a trickle of blood dampening the hair on the back of his head. He stayed silent.

Everett lifted his foot away and released his hold. He quickly made his way back over the sandbags. Alex tried but couldn’t see the pattern of his steps.

Everett suddenly seemed distracted, as if he had heard a noise. He frowned and pulled the gun out again. He aimed it directly at Alex as he moved nearer to the door and opened it. He stood on the threshold, listening.

Alex heard the same sound Everett must have heard a moment before. Gunfire.