As the Big Mac landed on the concrete, billowing pink and
purple fumes from the massive engines in its underside, two
armoured Saracen assault vehicles rumbled onto the forecourt
of the gas station. A 'Night Sun', a massive light, was mounted
on each. They were switched on simultaneously, tearing
twinned columns of light through the evening gloom. The
lights swivelled towards the roof of the gas station, casting
a blaze of white.
The SWAT teams in full body armour jumped out of the two
vehicles and adopted classic defence–assault formations. Two
men swung around 360 degrees, sweeping the scene. The others
crouched low and ran for cover. It was a short dash to the stairs
at the side of the gas station. The glass front of the building
was smashed to pieces. Inside, the aisles had been shoved out
of position and resembled a pile of dropped dominoes. Cans of
drink and packets of potato chips and biscuits were scattered
across the wet floor. A freezer unit at the back of the station was
split open, a great plume of water from a burst pipe disgorging
across the mess, pattering on the plastic containers and flowing
out of the building and onto the tarmac.
The SWAT team ascended the stairs and emerged onto the
roof, sweeping the area with their Heckler & Koch UMP 45s.
Within seconds, eight men were on the roof and fanning
out. At the leading edge of the roof they found a pair of M60
7.62 mm machine guns on tripods. Scattered around them
were spent shells, hundreds of armour-piercing M61s.
The SWAT team leader radioed his commander and
transmitted video footage of the scene to an operations
centre in a van parked a mile away from the CCC. 'Scene
has been vacated,' he reported.
The shooter had left not only the guns and spent shell
cases, but also a crate, a box with his unused shells, and
some camouflage netting. They searched around the edge of
the roof, peering down into the darkness at the rear and the
glistening, ruddy light at the front. There were no ropes, no
ladders. Towards the rear of the roof the SWAT team leader
found a rectangle of metal, two feet square. He tried to get
his gloved fingers under the rim. He just managed it, but the
door was stuck fast.
'Escape route located,' he reported.
A second later, the trapdoor rocketed into the air, taking
the team leader with it. The explosion was small, but the
explosive material had been configured precisely to localise
the blast, sending the door skyward. The team leader, his
body shattered by the force of the door hitting him, flew
through the air. In his black assault uniform, helmet and
night-vision goggles, he looked like a huge bat streaking
across the roof and over the edge, onto the forecourt of the
gas station. He landed in the water gushing from the station
store and lay still in the fiery glow.
With professional calm, the Dragon watched the teams
search the roof, waiting for his moment to move. When
it came, the bang was almost disappointing, smothered
as it was by the other sounds all around. But then he saw
the black human shape soaring through the air over the
front edge of the roof, and he belly-crawled through the
undergrowth away from the scene of the disaster. Ahead lay
a narrow verge of scorched grass, and beyond that a line of
trees bordering the highway. Surveying his handiwork with
a final glance, he sprinted across the grass verge to the road,
and – with all eyes on the gas station – he slipped away
unnoticed.
Two minutes later he reached his car. His cell phone
vibrated in the breast pocket of his combat jacket. He pulled
it out and read the message. '
Status
?'
He typed in '
Complete success
.'
A few seconds passed before another message appeared
on the screen. '
Hold position
.'
Dave Golding thanked God he'd risked missing the start of
Foreman's speech to pop some pills. If he hadn't been in
the restroom when the bombs went off, he would surely be
dead.
There was also the fact that the three Vicodin he had
swallowed were all that prevented him from flipping out
completely. Even so, they didn't stop him shaking as he
stared around at the carnage. He was back with the senator,
who was trying to comfort the old man whose wife had just
died from her injuries. Todd's arm was in a really bad way.
Dave had ripped up a T-shirt from his backpack and used it
as a tourniquet, and had also improvised a sling. He then
handed his friend a couple of Vicodin. Todd was so grateful
and so distracted by pain, he didn't even ask where they
came from.
'We can't stay here,' Kyle Foreman said.
'I'm not leaving her . . .' Marty Gardiner croaked.
'Mr Gardiner, I understand, but –'
'I can't.'
Foreman stood up. 'There could be more bombs,' he said
quietly to Dave and Todd.
'We can't take the front,' Todd replied through clenched
teeth. The Vicodin would barely scratch the surface of his
pain, even when they kicked in.
'I realise that.'
'So . . . what?'
The senator did a 360-degree turn. Uniform devastation.
Except . . . Looking closely, Foreman saw that the
destruction wasn't actually uniform. The second blast had
come from under the auditorium, but, he reasoned, the
first bomb must have been hidden close to the reception
desk. He could see this from the pattern of the debris –
rubble, metal, plastic, body parts – which fanned out from
there in all directions. But to the left of Reception and the
gaping hole in the back wall, another concrete wall ran
perpendicular into the Main Concourse. This had taken
a hammering but hadn't collapsed, and behind it was a
lobby and a set of elevators. He could see, just beyond
them, an emergency exit sign.
Foreman knelt on one knee beside Marty. 'Mr Gardiner,
I think you should come with us.'
The old man looked up for a moment, his eyes wet with
tears. 'I'm not leaving her.'
'You can't stay here. The roof could come down. There
could be another bomb.'
'I don't care.'
Foreman didn't know what to say.
'Forty-two years,' Marty murmured. He stroked his dead
wife's hair. It was pure white, almost translucent. 'Not
many marriages last a fraction as long. Certainly not in
these godforsaken times. But this is my fault. I knew Nancy
didn't really want to be here tonight. I railroaded her into
the whole damn eco thing. I know it.'
Foreman touched Marty's arm. 'Mr Gardiner – may I call
you Marty?'
The old man didn't take his eyes from Nancy's face.
'Marty, you can't blame yourself. You don't know for sure
your wife thought that way.'
'Oh, I know. I knew, and I didn't say anything. I was too
damn selfish. Too full of my own opinions. And now look
what I've done.'
Foreman was trying to gather his thoughts. 'Okay, so let's
say you're right. Why do you think she went along with it?
Because she loved you, Marty.'
The old man broke down again, leaning in close to his
wife's body. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
'And you know what?' Foreman continued. 'She wouldn't
have wanted you to stay here. Would she?'
Marty didn't reply. Foreman stood and walked over to
the others, who were looking nervous and clearly wanted
to move.
'I can't do any more,' he told them. 'Come on.'
They turned towards the back of the Main Concourse.
Dave hitched his backpack and they started to weave a path
through the rubble.
'Wait,' a small voice said.
They turned in unison to see Marty Gardiner in the same
crouched position, with his wife's hand in both of his. He
wasn't looking at the senator and the young men. It seemed
like he couldn't break away from the woman he had spent
most of his life with. 'You're right,' he added, still not looking
up. 'You're right.'
He laid Nancy's hands across her chest, ran his fingers
through her hair one last time, and eased himself up. And
without looking back he picked his way over to the others.
The area around the elevators was the clearest part of the
building. But even here lay marks of destruction. One of
the three elevators had been open at the time of the blasts.
The roof had come down on the two people inside, who
were not moving. The doors to the elevator closest to the
blasts were buckled and pitted. They looked like they would
never open again. The elevator at the other end of the row
appeared to be almost unscathed.
The four men walked past them towards the exit sign.
It was flickering on and off, emitting a high-pitched whine
as though it was about to blow. Dave tried the exit door,
pushing on a pivoted horizontal rail. It wouldn't budge.
'It's either locked from the other side or something heavy
is blocking it,' Todd groaned, and lowered himself slowly to
the ground with his back to the wall. He sighed heavily.
Dave gave the door a kick. Nothing. 'If it's locked we'll
just break through,' he said, and surveyed the floor.
A few yards away lay a section of metal beam about four
feet long. Foreman, Marty and Dave tried to lift it, but it
was incredibly heavy. Their combined strength could barely
nudge it a few inches along the ground.
'Useless!' Marty exclaimed.
Then Dave saw something else – a metal pole about a yard
long, half-buried under chunks of concrete. Marty and Kyle
helped him pull the concrete away and Dave snatched up
the pole, strode over to the door and hit it with three heavy
blows close to the handle. The door stayed put. Three more
ineffectual smashes and Dave changed tactic, ramming the
end of the pole into the wood close to the lock.
After four strikes the pole finally went through the wood.
With help from Kyle, Dave pulled the pole out. He widened
the hole with the end of the length of steel, and in a few
seconds they could see the exit door would be useless to
them – behind it lay piles of concrete and steel. It was like a
false door covering a concrete wall.
'Well, that answers that question,' Marty said.
Dave helped Todd to his feet and they returned to the
elevator lobby. It was only then that they noticed the rectangular
metal plate on the wall between two of the elevators.
A simplified schematic of the building was etched into it.
Todd lowered himself to the floor again while Dave and
Foreman studied the diagram. Marty stood a few paces back,
looking on.
'We're here,' Foreman said, stabbing at the diagram.
'Looks like there're emergency exits at the four corners of
the building. Here, here, here and the one we've tried.'
'We can't even contemplate the front ones,' Marty said
from behind them.
'No. And the other rear exit is right over the other side of
the Main Concourse, which would be real hard to get to.'
They studied the schematic in silence.
'So what have we got?' Foreman said after a moment.
'There are ten levels altogether. We're on Ground. Three
floors above us, six below.'
'My vote would be to go down,' Todd said from where he
was sitting.
'Why?'
'Obvious, isn't it? The damage will be far greater up than
down. It's unlikely you'd reach the roof, which is what
you're thinking, right?'
Foreman and Dave were silent.
'He's right,' Marty interjected. 'Besides, even if you could
get to the roof, the sniper could pick us off easy.'
Dave was scrutinising the diagram. 'Yes,' he said slowly.
'Yes . . .'
'What?'
'Well, look at the diagram. This spiral here.'
'What is it?' Marty asked.
'Access to the first level of the car park on B2. You see?
B1 is admin – offices and storage. The five levels beneath it
are all car park. The spiral represents the way into the car
park from the ground level. And then you get between the
lowest four floors by driving up and down these ramps in
the centre of the level. Here, see?'
'So?' Marty asked.
'If we could get to B2, we could go up the ramp to the
surface.'
'Alright,' Foreman said. 'I take your point. But isn't it
academic anyway? How are we going to go up or down?'
'The elevator?' Todd said.
'You're insane!' Marty responded. 'The elevators are the
last thing you use.'
'Well this
is
the last thing, isn't it?' Todd snapped.
'They're not going to work,' Dave exclaimed and stabbed
at the button dismissively.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then they all saw the
light over the door of the undamaged elevator start to blink
on and off. They watched as the figure B5 flashed, then
clicked off. B4 appeared, then B3. For several tense seconds
they kept their eyes fixed on the clutch of LCDs in the strip
above the door, expecting at any moment for the ascent
to peter out because the lift had hit an obstruction. But it
kept going. Amazed, they watched as G lit up and the doors
opened.
'Shit, I hate elevators,' Dave said as the doors shut.
'Since when?' Todd asked, incredulous.
'Like you take a lot of notice. I always take the stairs at
college. Don't trust these things.'
Kyle depressed the B2 button and the elevator began to
move. Dave looked around, extremely uneasy. Todd was
shaking his head, a mocking smile on his face.
'Oh, fuck off!' Dave exclaimed.
The elevator jolted and they heard a sharp cracking
sound, then it stopped suddenly between floors. The lights
went off and flicked back on again. Todd's smile vanished.
Dave gripped the railing that ran around the interior wall.
He caught a glimpse of his own terrified face in a mirrored
panel.
Then the elevator dropped.
It seemed to fall forever. But it was in freefall for no more
than a second. In that interval the four men in the elevator
believed they were living through their final moments. There
was no time to panic. They simply experienced a horrifying
stillness, a sense of utter powerlessness. Their lives were
stripped away. Everything became meaningless.
The elevator shuddered to a stop.
The jolt threw them around inside the tiny space. Foreman
and Dave smashed together. The impact broke the senator's
nose, and blood spurted down his shirt. Todd collided with
the wall and landed heavily on his broken arm, making him
scream in anguish. Marty was propelled headfirst towards
the doors. He just managed to break his fall and quickly sat
up, dazed, his vision blurry.
There was a horrible creaking sound coming from the
centre of the elevator's ceiling. None of them dared move.
Foreman dabbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt,
and soon the expensive Egyptian cotton was coated in
red snot. He slid to the floor, resting his back against the
wall, leaning his head back and pinching the bridge of his
nose.
Nursing his arm, Todd scrambled back against the opposite
wall, his face creased in pain.
Dave was shaking. His face was covered in sweat that ran
in rivulets down his filthy, bloodied cheeks. He was pulling
the backpack off his shoulders and rifling through the bag.
A moment later he had a small plastic container in his fist.
Surreptitiously he tipped a couple of tablets into his palm
and chewed them with practised ease.
Foreman slowly got to his feet and edged to the elevator's
doors. 'You okay?' he asked Marty, helping him to his feet.
'I guess.'
Turning to the two students, he repeated the question.
They nodded. 'Not much worse than I was,' Todd added.
Foreman looked at the keypad and then up at the electric
display above the door. It was flickering between B3 and B4.
'Anyone have a cell phone?' he asked, looking at each of
them in turn.
'Never owned one,' Dave replied.
'I had one,' Todd answered. 'It's back there.' He nodded
towards the floors above. 'In about a hundred pieces.'
Foreman glanced at Marty. The old man shook his head
and looked at the floor of the elevator, the muscles in his
face tightening.
The senator tugged at his own phone. 'This crapped out
earlier, so –' Glancing at the screen, he was startled to see it
was active. But a symbol in the top right of the screen told
him the signal was practically nonexistent.
He keyed in 911. Nothing. Then, barely conscious of what
he was doing, he called up his contact list and speed-dialled
the first number. There was a long silence, then three clicks
followed by an electronic whir. The light on the screen went
out. Foreman lowered the phone to his side, stared at the
floor and let out a heavy sigh.
'Kyle? Kyle – is that you?'
'Sandy!' Kyle screamed, pulling the phone up. He saw
the word
Connected
on the screen, and a timer counting the
seconds –
00:02
,
00:03
. Then the phone died. No light, no
signal, no sound – no power.