“I’ll be right there, Quinn.”
Two couples were in the foyer, arguing with a frightened bellboy.
“Look, son, nobody here knows what’s happening and we’re not waiting around to find out, not one more minute.
There’s no sense waiting in line for the scenic elevator; this one’s just as fast.”
The bellboy was white-faced. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve got my orders and nobody’s supposed to use these elevators.”
“Sonny, I’m not paying the prices they charge up here to argue with the hired help.” He started to push the boy aside, then suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.
“The boy’s perfectly right,” Leroux said quietly. “The elevators aren’t safe. You have to transfer at the sky lobby and from there the elevator will have to travel through the fire zone to get to the first floor. I doubt that it would make it-or if it did, that you would.”
The man turned and glared at Leroux for a moment.
Early thirties, Leroux guessed, about his own size, probably ex-football and out of shape. The other man was the same age, though somewhat smaller; probably played on the same team. Old college buddies taking their wives out for a night on the town. His eyes flicked briefly at the women. Suburban. Too much make-up, girdled and shellacked for the evening. The type of women whose lives didn’t extend beyond their ranch house, two kids, and TV set; this sort lived vicariously through their husbands. They’d give him trouble.
“Frank, I’m not going to stay here one more minute!”
She hung possessively on her husband’s right arm and Leroux half smiled to himself. He waited impassively while the slightly paunchy husband debated his chances of intimidating Leroux. “Who the hell are you?”
“Wyndom Leroux, president of National Curtainwall.
We own the building.”
“Frank, we’re leaving!”
Frank turned slightly. “Shut up, Gale.” Then he faced Leroux, somewhat less belligerent now. The fear in his voice was unmasked and genuine. “I think we ought to get out, Mr. Leroux, as fast as possible. I think we’re cut off-no firemen have come up here to evacuate us.”
“Probably because the inside elevators aren’t working or they’re too dangerous to take,” Leroux said quietly.
The man’s wife paled and he nodded. “You’re . probably right.
So what do we do now?” He was automatically looking to Leroux for orders. Leroux welcomed it; it was a situation he understood, one that he could handle. The flash point for panic in the Promenade Room was probably only minutes away. They were in no immediate danger-the firemen on the scene below knew they were up here.
Even though the phones were out and the inside elevators not functioning, the firemen would have taken the scenic elevator up to evacuate the diners if they had thought it necessary. The diners could still wait it out-it would be the smartest thing to do-but the man’s fear was very real and probably everybody in the room felt the same way. Physically, they were safe where they were.
Psychologically, the situation wouldn’t hold together much longer.
“I think we ought to arrange our own evacuation , Leroux said.
“If there’s panic in the room people will get hurt, and it’s even possible that someone in panic could jam the scenic elevator. If one Of You gentlemen will get the hostess, we’ll figure out a plan of action.”
The smaller of the two men jumped at the chance to be a part of the action. “Sure thing, Mr. Leroux!”
Team spirit, Leroux thought cynically. You could play on it like You would an organ. The man was back with Quinn in seconds.
“Quinn, what’s the capacity of the scenic elevator? I’ve never really noticed.”
“Ten-though You might squeeze in one or two more.”
“All right, circulate through the dining room and tell your guests that we’re evacuating and remind them to pick up their coats from the checkroom. Start with the tables farthest from the elevator; the people sitting at them will feel the least secure, they’re the ones most liable to panic when we start sending groups down.”
He turned and motioned to the two mell behind him.
“I’ll need your help in case there’s any panic or somebody tries to rush the elevator.”
“You can count on it.”
Leroux glanced at their wives standing nervously nearby, “We’ll send your wives down with the first load. My guess is that they’ve transferred all the cars in the basement to a public garage and your wives can pick them up for you.” Their wives had probably pushed them into trying to take the inside elevators in the first place, he thought. Get them off the scene and the men would be easier to handle-if they had to be handled.
He stopped briefly at his own table. “Thelma, Jenny, we’re sending people down on the scenic elevator. Get your wraps.”
“What about you?” Thelma asked.
A smile flickered briefly over Leroux’s face. “I’m running the operation.”
Thelma settled back in her chair. “I’ll leave with you whenever you’re ready to go, Wyndom.
“What about you, Jenny? Craig’s down there.”
“I’d be in his way,” she said stiffly, then managed a slight smile.
“I’ll stay here with you. It won’t be long, will it?”
“Maybe half an hour, not much more.”
“Just enough time to finish my wine,” she said lightly.
Leroux hurried back to the scenic elevator whose entrance was just off the foyer. He introduced himself briefly to those in line, explaining the system of the farthest table first-after the people already waiting in line had gone down, of course. He could see Quinnat the far end of the dining room dutifully explaining the situation.
One by one the farthest tables emptied, the diners going ‘to the foyer checkroom for their wraps and then forming a line. There was no panic. Once people knew they would be leaving shortly and there was a plan and Somebody in Authority was present, the atmosphere in the room brightened considerably.
There we’re minor problems, however.
“I didn’t come up the outside elevator,” one woman announced, her face white. “I’m afraid of heights; I don’t think I could stand it looking at the street from this high up with nothing but glass around me.”
Leroux smiled and handed her firmly to her husband who was already inside the elevator. “Just close your eyes and when you feel the bump, that means the elevator’s at the lobby stop.”
A man in his mid-forties who looked like a wrestler was the next to hang back. “How do we know this will be safe? I heard you telling your friends here that the elevators were running through the fire zone. Why is this one safe but the others aren’t?”
“The scenic elevator runs down the outside of a blank concrete wall all the way to the first-floor lobby,” Leroux explained patiently.
“There’s solid concrete between you and the fire and absolutely no way the elevator can stop at a fire floor.” He pushed the man inside and the elevator doors closed on his next question He was probably actually afraid of heights, like the elderly woman had been.
“Mr. Leroux?”
The dapper little man-who had been at the table directly behind them was standing in the foyer entrance, a worried look on his face.
“Yes?”
“You didn’t notice Miss Mueller get on the elevator, did you?”
Leroux looked blank and the man added, “She was my guest for dinner tonight. I went to the men’s room a few moments ago and when I came back, she was missing.”
Leroux turned to hand some more people into the elevator. Two loads had already gone down since the evacuation had started, but Miss Mueller had not been among them. “I’m sorry, sir, she hasn’t left yet.
Are you sure she isn’t talking to friends at another table?”
The dapper man shook his head, for the moment looking inexpressibly sad. “No,” he said slowly. “I’ve been through the room twice and she isn’t here.”
&
nbsp; Leroux recalled the good time they both had been having and said, “Have Miss Reynolds check the powder room; she may be under the weather.”
The man smiled faintly. “Her father was a brewer. She could probably drink us both under the table.”
He went back into the room for another search of the tables and Leroux wondered briefly what could have happened to the woman. Then the elevator had come back for a third load and he forgot her.
It felt good to be immersed in the shuttle operation, but another half hour, Leroux realized, and he would be down in the lobby and it would be a different kind of reality. His mind couldn’t face it now and he doubted that he could face it then. And he still had no alternative plan of action, he still didn’t know what he was going to do, And then he wondered what Barton was doing down below and how he was holding up. He was probably taking all the gaff that Leroux would have if he had gone down first. But it seemed like a practical idea at the time and might still prove to be.
He also knew that as soon as he got down, he would lose the best employee he had.
CHAPTER 38
Tom Albrecht stirred restlessly in his sleep. He had been very tired when he got home and after putting the children to bed, he and Evelyn retired early. Working late every night on the new satellite instrumentation for the Air Force took more out of him than he had thought. Tonight, fatigue 4 aught up with him after a perfunctory few minutes of making love and his brad had scarcely touched the pillow when he was sound asleep.
Now he was half awake. He punched his pillow and flipped it over, then buried his face in the cool depths of the other. side, at the same time drawing close to the warm body of his sleeping wife. Sound slumber still eluded him. It seemed as if something heavy were sitting on his back, forcing his chest into the mattress’ Still hazy with sleep, he coughed and rubbed absently at his nose.
It was running badly, as if he were suffering from a heavy cold.
He slowly became aware of growing discomfort.
Then he was wide awake.
He turned on his back, staring up into the dart above the bed.
Beside him, Evelyn stirred fitfully and began to cough. The sense of discomfort gradually became more real. Suddenly he realized what was wrong. The air was thick and stifling; he sniffed and smelled the distinct odor of smoke. He fumbled for the switch of the reading lamp on the bed table and flicked it on. The room was filled with smoke, the bed lamp a small firefly in the almost complete darkness.
He sat bolt upright, sudden fear clutching at his heart.
It was the wrong thing to do. The room was layered with hot smoke from the ventilator grill. He fell back on the bed, doubled up in a paroxysm of coughing; he was suddenly afraid that he might start to vomit.
Beside him, Evelyn began to cough violently. He couldn’t hear her but he could sense the vibrations of the bed as her body shook -it.
For one of the few times in his life he tried to scream but no sound came out, indeed, no sound ever had. He shook Evelyn, trying frantically to wake her.
She responded slowly, too slowly. Still coughing, she blinked her eyes, then opened them wide as she recognized the danger. She opened her mouth to scream but even if she had been able to, Albrecht realized he could not have heard her. Before he could stop her, she sat up as he had. Immediately she gasped and began to gag. He pulled her down to the bed and then onto the floor.
The smoke was thinner close to the floor and the air -was somewhat easier to breathe. His coughing lessened.
He made frantic motions with his hands: The building is on fire.
The children, her hands replied.
The smoke was growing thicker and they both were starting to choke.
Don’t get up, his hands said. Stay close to the roar. Partly because of the tearing of her eyes and because of the steadily decreasing visibility she didn’t understand him. She struggled to rise and he pulled her back on the rug, touching her face with his to reassure her.
She began to sob silently.
The children, her hands had said. He felt a terrible panic. They were in the next room, but he had no idea if they were still asleep or if they had awakened and were crying for help. He began to crawl away from the bed, hugging the floor. He felt the lamp cord tangle in his feet and kicked to shake it off. The light went out abruptly; he was in complete darkness. He must have pulled the cord out of the wall socket, he thought. And then with despair: He was now deaf, dumb, and blind.
Sightless in a soundless, voiceless world.
He felt quickly along the floor, touched his wife’s arm and pulled her toward the door. They crawled rapidly forward and then he hesitated. Were they really heading for the door? In the darkness and the confusion of trying to locate Evelyn, he had lost his sense of direction. He reached out, sweeping his arm in a wide arc in front of him; his wrist hit against the leg of the bed. He could tell by the way the covers were tucked in that he was at the foot. They had been crawling parallel to the bedroom door.
Panicked, he rose to his feet and felt as if he had thrust his head into an oven. He threw himself to the floor.
The level of heat halfway down from the ceiling must be close to boiling; the skin on his forehead felt tight and almost shriveled. He crouched low and half crawled toward the wall until he felt it in front of him. Then ran his hands swiftly over the surface, searching for the wall switch. Nothing. He moved a little farther down and suddenly his arm hit something. He felt around with his hand, encountered a doorknob, frantically tugged it open and bolted through. He would find the children and come back for Evelyn immediately.
If only he had the gift of voice, he thought, if only he could cry out to the children. Or if he could only hear them…. He sensed it was somewhat cooler in the room and stood up to fill his lungs. His face was immediately muffled by folds of cloth. A thin, metal object fell on him and when he put out his hands, he encountered smooth drapings of silk. He stumbled around blindly. An unseen hook that protruded from the wall raked across his forehead. Instead of the children’s room, he had stumbled into the closet.
He whirled around, batting away the clothing in front of him.
Coats, dresses, and suits slid to the floor. He found the doorway again and fell immediately to his knees. Where was Evelyn?
He felt around on the floor, then found her near the bed. She was limp. Stiff on his knees, he gathered her up in his arms, his lungs desperately pumping for oxygen. He was too weak to crawl any farther.
The coughing wracked him again and mucus flowed like water from his nose. It seemed like there was no air in the world at all, only endless gusts of hot gases. Evelyn had already slipped from his grasp and he could feel himself collapsing on the floor beside her.
The children, he thought. Dear God, the children …
CHAPTER 39
“A toast?” Harlee Claiborne said. He held out his glass.
Lisolette smiled and held up her glass. They clinked and she took a sip. He was really very-continental? Or was that an old-fashioned word nowadays? She glanced around at the quiet diners who for the most part were talking in hushed whispers or simply not talking at all.
Mr. Leroux had gone to talk to several couples standing at the elevator bank and they seemed to be arguing. She wondered what about and thought she could guess.
“I’m sure there’s no reason to be alarmed, Lisa. The fire is more than forty floors below us and they must certainly be getting it under control by now.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Harlee. It does seem reasonable.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “But something seems to be worrying you nonetheless.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I am, though not for your safety or mine.
It’s something else and I’m not sure what.”
Quinn Reynolds appeared at their table. “May I send over another bottle of wine?”
Claiborne beamed. “Why, thank you, Miss Reynolds.
I can assure you we’ll both enjoy it.”
&n
bsp; “Compliments of the management, of course,” Quinn said and hurried away. A few moments later, their waitress approached with another bottle to fill their glasses.
Her hand shook slightly as she did so and Lisolette glanced up quickly.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, miss. The firemen arrived hours ago and they’ve undoubtedly prevented it from spreading, or we would have heard.”
.”The ambulance arrived hours ago, too, ma’am.” She filled Harlee’s glass. “I’m not even supposed to be on duty tonight. I’m filling in for a friend.”
She left and Harlee lifted his glass to sip at it appreciatively.
“Blast! I’m sorry, Lisa, I’m getting clumsy in my old age.” The waitress had filled his glass too full. A few drops dribbled down his chin to spot the front of his white shirt.
Lisolette dipped her napkin in her water glass and daubed at it for a second. “I have an idea, Harlee. Why don’t you take a salt shaker into the men’s room with you?
Spread some on the shirt; the salt will absorb the wine and a bit of soap and water will complete the job. It will feel damp for a few minutes but it looks like the kind of shirt that will dry quickly.”
“I swear, Lisa, there’s nothing that you miss. I won’t be a moment.”
He pocketed the salt shaker and rose to thread his way through the tables of diners to the rest rooms. Lisolette watched him as he went.
He really is a very handsome man, she thought. So sweet and, more important, fundamentally honest. She wondered if, it were really true that there were warrants outstanding for him in some states. Surely nothing that a good lawyer couldn’t handle with sufficient time and patience.
She let her gaze wander around the room. It had been so enjoyable an evening until they had received word of the fire. Even then, for a time it had been something of a carnival. Until, as the waitress had said, the ambulances had arrived. A few of the diners were still on the promenade watching the activity below. She and Harlee had drifted out for a while, but the sight of the stretcher bearers and the sound of the windows crashing into the plaza below had taken all of the thrill out of it for her.
The Glass Inferno Page 27