Neal tried not to look down. Sometimes thegusts of wind were strong enough to make him teeter on the ledge.Mostly he just looked out at the rising sun, keeping baby Natashapressed up against his chest. He thought she was asleep now.

He couldn’t believe this was happening tohim. Over a matter of a few days, his life had become a nightmare.The fact that he was causing the movement of all these big,expensive vehicles and all these important people was hard tofathom. He was almost sure he was on TV now—down below, he couldsee large cameras with zoom lenses aimed at him.

He felt ashamed and humiliated. But alsopanic-stricken.

He had no idea why he was up on hisbuilding, or what he really wanted.

“How’s it going?” a voice said from theright.

Neal turned his head. There was a skinny guyin a blue windbreaker leaning out the window. He gave a relaxedsmile, then slung one jean-clad leg over the windowsill andstraddled it. He was wearing Docksiders and olive-colored socks.There was a little headset on his right ear, a small microphonecurving up to the corner of his mouth.

“Nice view from up here,” he commented,leaning back against the window frame, gazing out at the sunrise.He might have been sitting on a log admiring a tranquil lakesomewhere in the mountains.

Neal stared out at the sun. It had turned abright orange, some long, thin pink clouds stretching out on eitherside.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr.Becker? My name is Stan, by the way. Stan Saunders.” He paused.“May I call you Neal?”

“There’s nothing you can do for m-me,” Nealsaid, a gust of wind buffeting him on the last word.

Stan watched him for a long moment. “I’dreally like to help you, if I can. Is there something you want meto get for you? Or your daughter?”

Neal felt tears forming in his eyes.