Aces and Knaves

it."
    Stan said this with enough of an edge in his voice so that if I refused it might be interpreted as weakness on my part. Since I was the new guy I had to be careful. I got up slowly—I did have sore muscles—and followed him along the stony path that led between the rocky pinnacles that gave the monument its name.
    After ten minutes of ups and downs and having to watch my step, I said, "You must know this place pretty well."
    "Well enough," Stan replied. "This is my fifth trip. But take heart. We're almost there."
    Something had been bothering me about Stan for several days, but it had remained fuzzy. The uneasy feeling came back to me now that I was alone with him. It had started on the street in San Francisco—when he had picked me up in his BMW. That was it. It had to do with the knowledge that Stan had made a lot of money with Tartan stock options.
    The cliff he stopped in front of was higher than anything I'd tackled so far. The slope at the bottom wasn't so bad, but it became almost vertical at the top. As I mentally gauged the difficulty I felt tired just thinking about doing it.
    "It isn't as bad as it looks," Stan said. "In fact, the bottom part is no harder than anything you've already done. If you don't want to do the top part, just tell me and I'll lower you back down."
    If anybody else had suggested I attempt this I probably would have refused, but for some reason with Stan I thought I had to prove something. Maybe it would give me an edge over him if I made it to the top. Maybe it was his suggestion that I couldn't do it that gave me determination. I decided to prove him wrong.
    As with some of the other rocks, there was an easy walking route to the top. Stan followed that and lowered the rope to me. By now I was an expert at tying bowlines. I pulled the loop snug around my waist and called, "On belay."
    If anything, the first part proved to be easier than the rocks I had already climbed. I temporarily forgot my aches and went about the business of climbing. I didn't have to worry because Stan was belaying me from above.
    I saw another mental picture of Stan: talking about how much James had liked Ned. Stan had acted—what? Jealous? Could Stan have been jealous of Ned? Jealous of the fact that James and Ned had known each other all their lives. That Ned might again assume a major role in the life of James?
    I concentrated on my climbing and made it to the vertical pitch in just a few minutes. But there I got stuck.
    I stood on a narrow ledge, with two decent handholds, so I wasn't in immediate danger. I searched the rock wall with my eyes, looking for additional handholds and footholds. Letting go with one hand at a time, I carefully felt along the rough surface, trying to detect cracks that I couldn't see because I had to keep my head close to the cliff face for balance.
    A rock projected out from the face above me and just within my reach, but it was below an overhang. Even if I had been strong enough to pull myself up onto it I couldn't have kept my balance.
    I also couldn't climb down. The irony of rock climbing is that you can climb up pitches that you could never climb down.
    "How are you doing down there? You haven't moved for a while."
    Stan's voice wasn't far above me. We were close enough to converse easily, even though I couldn't see him. Another picture came to me, the picture of the gangbanger called Rabbit giving me Stan's name. It all fit together now. I had thought James had ordered Ned's murder, but I had been wrong. Stan had paid to have Ned killed, not James. Stan had the money and he had the motive.
    "I can't move. You'd better lower me down." I tried to keep any hint of panic out of my voice.
    "You've almost made it. It would be a shame to stop now. I know the holds are there. You stay where you are. I'll go back down and spot the holds for you. I have a small pair of binoculars."
    "Stan, don't go off belay. I can't stand here much longer." The palms of my hands were suddenly wet with sweat. I couldn't hold onto the rock with slippery hands.
    "It'll just take me a minute to get to the bottom. Belay off."
    I pressed my body against the face of the rock. One small shift of my weight would throw me off balance. That hadn't bothered me when I felt secure, but now my body became my enemy. My left leg started to tremble from having to support my weight in an awkward position. I tried to picture myself glued to the rock and to wipe out all other thoughts.
    It was probably no more