“You’re the boss of the expedition,” Devlin agreed. “But there’s always another boss. A higher boss, with the power to say something like, ‘Maybe we won’t climb Everest this year.’ You know?”
Cicero thought back to the time on the north wall of the Eiger, when an ice screw snapped in two. He dropped sixty vertical feet and swung back into the rock face, shattering one ankle and spraining the other. He didn’t panic back then. Who had the time? It would take all his skill and concentration to get down alive.
After what he’d seen and heard today, Cap Cicero was officially worried.
The Summit Athletic Sports Training Facility in High Falls, Colorado, was nestled amid snowcapped peaks in the Rocky Mountains. Built on a plateau at eighty-five hundred feet above sea level, it was by far the highest such complex in the United States. At that, it was still nearly two vertical miles lower than Everest base camp, and more than four below the summit.
The facility had hosted some famous names from the world of sports — Tiger Woods, Michael Johnson, Kobe Bryant, Tony Hawk, and the entire U.S. Women’s World Cup soccer team. But never had the place seen the kind of workouts that were going on as the nineteen remaining candidates fought to land spots on Cap Cicero’s Summit-Quest team.
For three hours each morning, the class trained in the huge gymnasium. This included weight lifting, aerobic machines, calisthenics, and hours practicing rope techniques on the massive sixty-foot climbing wall built especially for this group. It was a grueling effort, but nothing compared with what was in store for the afternoon. Cicero and his trainers would take them on six-hour hikes over some of the roughest and steepest terrain in North America.
“Cap, I gotta stop,” gasped Cameron Mackie after nine miles under a thirty-pound pack. The trail they were following went up and down so often it had been dubbed the Toilet Seat. Climbers were notorious for nicknaming routes.
“What’s the problem?” asked Cicero, barely breathing hard.
“The problem is we’re dying back here,” Tilt complained belligerently. “If we wrack ourselves up in boot camp, how are we supposed to climb Everest?”
Cicero nodded but never slackened the pace. “That’s the rule for regular mountaineering. For high-altitude ascents in the Himalayas, you go till it hurts, and then work through it. You have to get used to carrying on when your body says quit.”
Sammi looked out over a dizzying precipice. “Man, can you imagine hang gliding from here? What a rush!”
“A rush to the hospital,” commented Bryn wryly. “Once they helicopter your broken carcass out of the trees.”
“You’ll never summit Big E watching your back like that,” Sammi warned.
“I may not get to the top, but I guarantee I’ll make it back to the bottom,” Bryn said seriously. “Climbing is about figuring the angles, predicting the hazards, and avoiding them.”
“In some textbook,” scoffed Sammi. “It’s an extreme world out there. You’ve got to be extreme with it! My boyfriend and I tried bungee last week. Caleb liked it, but I say it’s a little artificial. I mean, once you bottom out, you’re just hanging there.”
“And your folks let you do all this?” Bryn asked, amazed. Her own climbing career was a constant source of conflict between her mother and father. Not that Mom and Dad needed much help to fuel an argument.
She fought off a wave of guilt. They would have split up regardless of whether her hobby was climbing mountains or collecting stamps.
Sammi shrugged. “Dad thinks climbing E will calm me down. But what I really want to do is, there’s this underwater cave off Australia where you can scuba with sleeping sharks.”
Bryn had to laugh. “You never met a risk you didn’t like, right?”
“Just one,” said Sammi Moon. “Living a boring life.”
Lenny Tkakzuk waved a video camera in their faces. He was the guide in charge of documenting the expedition for the SummitQuest Web site.
“Aw, come on!” Cameron rasped.
“You’ve all agreed to give interviews for the site,” the cameraman/guide reminded him.
“You mean on E,” said Sammi. “Who cares what we do in boot camp?”
“We think we can build up some interest in who’s going to make the team. Let’s see a little of that can-do attitude. Say something positive!”
“I’m positive I’m going to throw up,” Cameron supplied.
Tkakzuk, Lenny’s mind-boggling last name, was actually pronounced ka-chook, or, as he himself explained, “A sneeze between two k’s.” A few of the candidates started calling him Sneezy. Not only did the moniker stick, but it sparked a whole Seven Dwarfs nicknaming craze. The zombified kitchen manager became Sleepy. The Web designer, who never looked straight at anybody and whose best friends were probably all computers, was known as Bashful. Andrea Oberman, the expedition doctor, who was also a world-class climber, was Doc. No one was Dopey, or at least not yet. It was Dominic’s opinion that the name was being held in reserve for whoever turned out to be dopey enough to claim it. Dominic felt that the smart money was on Tilt. Surely, the loudmouth was going to open his big yap one time too many and get himself bounced. Others insisted he was such a lock for Grumpy that to call him anything else was almost a crime.
Then there was Happy. He was a fifteen-year-old climber from California who always seemed to be in a good mood. According to Joey, his roommate, he smiled in his sleep. No matter how high Cicero twisted the agony meter on the afternoon marathon, Happy always seemed pretty thrilled about it.
“You think this is hard?” he’d say cheerfully. “This is nothing!” And he’d launch into a story of a killer rock climb in Yosemite.
Happy loved the cafeteria food. He thought the small dorm-style rooms they shared were the ultimate in luxury. Each night he spent hours in the computer lab, E-mailing his hordes of friends back home about how thrilled, excited, rapturous, and generally pumped he was.
“He’s like a ray of sunshine,” commented Joey. “I can’t stand him.”
That left Snow White. By unanimous agreement, the title was awarded to team leader Cap Cicero, because, as Sammi put it, “He’s the unfairest of them all.”
Cicero never seemed to run out of new and exciting ways to take the group through torture. When they got used to the thirty-pound packs, he made them carry forty. When they mastered the rough terrain, he found rougher. One time he led them on mountain bikes thirty miles to the top of a cliff called the Edge of the Earth. There, he had them descend on ropes with the bicycles strapped on their backs.
“You think this is hard?” beamed Happy. “At least it’s cool. One time I got lost in the Pinnacles, and it was one hundred five degrees!”
When the indoor climbing drills became automatic, Cicero had a wrinkle to add to that, too. He led them through the same maneuvers lugging another climber, who was designated injured and unable to help.
“You can forget about me doing this on the real climb,” Tilt grunted, struggling with Todd Messner’s deadweight. “If one of you losers wipes out on Everest, consider yourself lucky if I don’t step on your face on my way to the summit.”
“And if you wipe out?” challenged Bryn, lowering Perry on a rope.
“It’ll never happen,” Tilt replied.
And watching his strength and confidence on the climbing wall, Bryn figured he was probably right.
That afternoon, five hours into a six-hour hike, Happy passed out cold halfway up a rock scramble called the Devil’s Staircase. “You think this is hard?” he began, and then disappeared down the granite wedge.
Joey reached for his receding roommate, but overbalanced and fell. The unconscious Californian slid past Sammi and right between Tilt’s legs. He was just about to drop off the slab when Bryn managed to trap him by pressing her backpack against the rock.
Luckily, Dr. Oberman was right there. After some water and a short break with his head between his knees, Happy was able to finish the workout.
The scare did not
hing to wipe the perma-grin off his face.
MEDICAL LOG — PSYCH PROFILES
Interview with Dominic Alexis
Dr. Oberman: How did you feel when Happy fainted today?
Dominic: I was sorry for him.
Dr. Oberman: Anything else?
Dominic: What do you mean?
Dr. Oberman: Fear, maybe? That it could happen to you?
Dominic: My dad has been training Chris and me. We know all the warning signs — dehydration, exhaustion —
Dr. Oberman: Some of the kids have been complaining that Cap is too hard on them.
Dominic: Cap Cicero is a legend! I’ve read all his books. I practically memorized his 1999 K2 expedition. I can’t believe I got to meet him!
Dr. Oberman: Does it bother you that you’re the youngest and the smallest?
Dominic: I’m used to it. I train with Chris all the time.
Dr. Oberman: Your brother has an excellent reputation. Is that why you were so obsessed with winning the contest? To keep up with him?
Dominic: I don’t think I was obsessed.
Dr. Oberman: The contest people say you showed up with 145 drink caps and 36 energy bar wrappers. You had to know the chances were slim. What made you keep trying?
Dominic: I couldn’t find a V.
Cicero looked up from the folder at Dr. Oberman. “What did you interview him for? I told you he’s not going.”
“I was curious about him,” the doctor admitted. “He’s such an intense little guy.”
“And what did you find out?”
She grinned. “That he’s honest, decent, dedicated, motivated, healthy as a horse — exactly the kind of person you’d want on an expedition.”
“Yeah,” Cicero snorted. “If he was a foot taller, two years older, and forty pounds heavier.”
She laughed. “You might also be interested to know that he’s a huge fan of yours.”
“Good,” said Cicero. “I’ll give him an autographed copy of my memoirs. He’ll need something to read while his brother is busy climbing Mount Everest.”
* * *
The next morning, Lenny “Sneezy” Tkakzuk got up bright and early so he could film the Everest hopefuls coming downstairs for breakfast. He was the first to see the damage.
In the small lobby outside the cafeteria, someone had knocked over an end table, breaking two of its legs and smashing a crystal lamp.
Ten minutes later, Cicero stood beside him, wiping the sleep from bloodshot eyes. “You got me up at six in the morning to show me a pile of broken glass?”
Sneezy looked worried. “Think about our kids, Cap. They’re used to walking knife-edge ridges over thousand-foot drops. They’re not exactly the clumsy type.”
“Don’t talk to me in riddles. I’m not even awake,” complained Cicero. “Are you saying someone did this on purpose?”
“Either that or there was a big fight last night. We’re driving these kids pretty hard, and there’s a lot at stake here.”
Cap sighed. “I could have taken those orthodontists up Nanga Parbat. But no. I had to play hall monitor to a gang of juvenile delinquents!” He ran his hand through his thick, uncombed hair. “All right. I’ll talk to them.”
It was a blinding blizzard, the kind that hit the Colorado mountains in January. The snow began just after dark, and by two A.M., when Cicero hauled the nineteen candidates out of their beds, there were already six inches of new powder on the ground.
“What’s going on, Cap?” asked Chris, half asleep.
“Ever spend a night on the South Col of Everest?” Cicero asked.
“No.”
“Well, this is the next best thing. Grab the tents. Camp-out tonight.”
Bundled into their deep winter gear, they stumbled bleary-eyed into the storm. The biting cold woke them up in a hurry, but the operation of setting up aluminum poles was almost impossible in the blowing squall.
“Let’s move,” called Cicero. “You’ll need to do this after eleven hours on the mountain.” He turned to Sammi, who was flat on her back, napping, using the folded tent as a pillow. “What’s the matter, Moon? I thought you liked it extreme.”
“Yeah, extreme snowboarding,” came the groggy reply. “Not extreme snow.”
The climbing brothers, Chris and Dominic, were used to working together. Theirs was the first shelter up.
“I said hold the flap, idiot!” Tilt roared at Perry.
“Okay, okay.” The red-haired boy did his best to squeeze into what little space was left by Tilt’s bulk.
“What a waste of time!” Tilt raged.
Cicero overheard him. “No, it isn’t,” he said seriously. “Where do you think you’re going, summer camp? Training for hard work and miserable conditions is hard and miserable.”
“So where’s your tent?” challenged Tilt.
“I’ve already done this part of the training,” Cicero replied.
“Easy for you to say,” Tilt muttered under his breath.
“You want to see my diploma?”
Tilt glared back in defiance.
“Fine!” The expedition leader ripped off his left boot and then the sock. “Annapurna, 1989. My helmet lamp malfunctioned, and I had to spend a night at twenty-five thousand feet. The thing about frostbite is, there isn’t any pain. You just feel numb. But it’s worse than pain because you know what’s happening to you.”
The candidates gawked. The two smallest toes were missing from Cicero’s foot. It was a cruel truth of high-altitude climbing. There was only one treatment for the worst kind of frostbite — amputation.
For the Everest hopefuls it was a reality check. They were all accomplished alpinists, but were they ready for the brutal toll that the great mountains could impose? Even Tilt was struck dumb.
“This is Honolulu compared with where we’ll be in a couple of months,” Cicero informed them harshly. “Aloha.” It would have been an ideal moment to stride dramatically away. But since his boot was off, he had to hop, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the storm.
“There goes one of the all-time legends,” Dominic said admiringly.
“There goes one of the all-time crackpots,” Tilt amended. “Like I need to look at his freak-show foot.”
Chris glared at him. “You may be a good climber, Crowley. But it’s going to take a long time before you’ve got the experience of that man.”
Tilt spread his arms wide. “Forgive me for thinking it’s stupid to freeze out here for nothing.”
“This is exactly the kind of camping we’ll have to do on Everest,” Dominic argued.
“And on Everest, I won’t mind doing it!” Tilt roared. “But not when I’ve got a nice comfortable bed on the other side of that door!”
The tents offered protection from the wind and snow, but not the cold. The candidates snuggled deep in their sleeping bags and tried to stay warm. The space was so confined that they found themselves pressed together like sardines. It made sleep impossible.
“If you don’t get your elbow out of my back, you’re never leaving this tent alive,” Tilt promised Perry.
“I can hardly move,” Perry complained. He tried to get comfortable, but Tilt’s bulk kept him pinned against the sidewall. “Hey —”
“What’s the problem, rich boy? Accommodations not to your liking?”
Perry stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at your stuff. Titanium crampons. The best ice ax money can buy. Gore-Tex everything.” He tweaked the fabric of Perry’s jacket. “Heat panels, right? You’re toasty warm while the rest of us freeze.”
“It was a present —”
“You’re loaded.”
“My dad works at the post office,” Perry insisted stubbornly.
“You mean he owns it.”
Perry sighed. “I’ve got a rich uncle, okay? He’s the one who pays for all my stuff.”
“You should get him to buy you some talent,” the big boy taunted. “You climb like my grandmo
ther.”
Perry wasn’t even insulted. The fact was, he reflected unhappily, if it were possible to purchase mountaineering ability, Uncle Joe probably would have given him that, too, along with the lessons, and the equipment, and the clothes. Money was no object for Uncle Joe.
It was great and terrible at the same time.
And now it was starting to get out of control.
For Perry Noonan, having a billionaire uncle was a lot like playing Twister with an elephant. No matter how well-meaning the animal is, you can’t help but get pushed around a lot. Joe Sullivan’s own alpine dreams were replaced by high blood pressure and a business that took up twenty-five hours of every day. That was when the bachelor CEO had traded in his ice ax and high-altitude gear for weekend climbs with his only nephew in the foothills outside Boulder.
And Perry had said yes. Of course it was yes. What kid would turn down a chance to spend time with the family legend? A man who was constantly in the paper or on TV? Never mind that Perry might have preferred to go to a hockey game with his uncle, or even take him on in a spirited chess match. (Chess — that was something Perry was good at.) But this was Joe Sullivan. If he wanted to hang out with you, out was where you hung. And if that meant climbing, so be it.
Climbing — Perry shuddered. He could do it. He even got pretty good at it. But the unnaturalness of it — the feeling that he was where he wasn’t supposed to be — that never went away.
If God wanted me to get up that rock face, he would have installed stairs. It was an old joke, but Perry truly believed it. To him, there was something in a steep cliff or a rough crag that plainly said: You don’t belong here. Stay away.
Over the years, he had learned to control the uneasiness. Something as simple as not looking down helped a lot. And the rope work kept his mind engaged. Belaying — the placement of bolts, anchors, and cams so that a climber can be secured by a companion in the event of a slip — took a lot of concentration. Because it kept his mind off of where he was and what he was doing, Perry had become a great belayer.