The Glass Inferno

by Thomas N. Scortia

  “Essentially self-contained solid rockets,” Barton explained.

  “They give you an oxygen-rich flame, burn for about one minute, and will cut through almost any metal.

  I wanted an oxyacetylene torch, but these will be less clumsy.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Shevelson’ said. “What. do you want them for?”

  “In case we have to cut through elevator cables.”

  Shevelson stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m glad it’s your responsibility and not mine.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Barton said curtly. He turned to Infantino.

  “That leaves us only the fire at the top, right?”

  Infantino nodded and spread his hands. “That’s right, Craig-but beyond waiting for the pumper or the booster pumps to be hooked up, there’s not much that can be done.”

  “There’re five more floors of unfinished apartments for the fire to spread to in the next hour or so,” Barton said.

  “What do you think your chances of saving the building will be then?”

  “We’ll probably save the building,” Infantino said carefully.

  “The top floors will be gutted, of course.”

  “And if there are further explosions in the utility core?”

  “All bets are off then, you know that.” He paused a moment.

  “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you?”

  Barton shook his head and pointed to Shevelson’. “It’s not my idea, it’s his.” He flipped through the drawings to one of the machinery room just below the Observation Deck, and then to the Observation Deck itself: the large Freon tanks, the huge water reservoir for the wet standpipe, the hVAC system on the, machinery floor, and the piping to the rooftop evaporator next to the untenanted penthouse.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Infantino said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You don’t know how much damage explosives will do to the structure of the building itself,” Shevelson objected.

  “None of us are sure,” Barton pointed out. “But we know how much damage the fire is doing, don’t we?” He pointed at the drawings of the Observation Deck with its massive - water and Freon tanks. The supporting metal beams were clearly outlined in the print. “We can take measurements right off the drawing and assemble a Primacord/shape-charge lattice down here. Position three of the charges at beam connections and the others will automatically be in place when the cord is taut. That means we can rupture every supporting member in the floor at the same time when we detonate the charges.”

  “What about the structural integrity of the building?

  Infantino asked.

  “Shape charges are highly directional. So long as we don’t damage the outer skeleton, the floors above will remain intact. They’ll take some beating from the Primacord shock wave, of course. The Punch in Primacord is pretty potent. I hope the lower floors can take, the impact load; that’s a helluva mass of water.”

  “For what you want, the shape charges will have to explode almost simultaneously,” Shevelson objected.

  “That’s why we use Primacord,” Barton explained.

  “The shock wave travels six thousand or so yards a second along it.

  That means the charges win go off within a split second of each other.”

  Shevelson gaped. “Christ, if you, blow the Observation Deck floor, that means …

  “All the water and Freon tanks on the Observation Deck will be dumped on the machinery-room fire below.”

  Shevelson shook his head. “It probably wouldn’t stop there, Barton.

  At least in spots; the explosions and the sudden weight of water dropping down will shatter the machinery-room floor, too.”

  Barton nodded. “That’s the point. A lot of water will cascade through the broken flooring onto the sixty-third floor below, the untenanted apartment floor that’s on fire.

  I’d expect that; I’d hope desperately for it. But I also figure that’s where it will stop-a lot of water will have flowed down the stairwells and the elevator-shafts by then.”

  There was silence for a long moment and Shevelson asked: “What about the rooftop evaporators and the water they hold?”

  “Drop the floor, you break the pipes and that water will drain down on the fire, too.” He turned to Infantino.

  “What about it, Mario? You’re in charge.”

  Infantino shrugged. “It’s a great idea-if it works. If it doesn’t I guess I’m out of a job.”

  CHAPTER 63

  The smoke in the Promenade Room was getting thicker Fifty or so tenants were buddied in a corner, near one of the windows. Someone had managed to break out the thick glass with a chair and there was some ventilation, but the wind outside was coming from the opposite direction. Only an occasional gust blew in through the shattered pane.

  Douglas watched as Quinn moved among the tenants trying to reassure them, but her words seemed to be having less effect. Several of the women were in hysterics and their husbands were close to it.

  Douglas was seized with a sudden attack of coughing.

  He managed to gain control as Quinn walked over and said quietly, “We can’t stay here much longer.” ‘ Douglas loosened his collar.

  Despite the broken window, it was appreciably warmer in the room.

  “I know, Quinn.” He thought for a moment. “What about the penthouse?

  Is there a way over to it?”

  “There’s a staircase hidden just off the corridor to the kitchen.

  It made it easy for anybody who was renting it to take an elevator up here, then slip into the corridor and walk up.”

  Jesus. had come up behind them and heard part of the conversation.

  He shook his head. “No way, man. I been looking around and if it joins the same staircase, it’s solid smoke. You ain’t gonna get these people to go over there.” He turned as Albina, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, hobbled over to him and mumbled some-.

  thing in Spanish. Jesus’ face turned grave. “Mama’s not feeling well; says her leg hurts and she’s getting sick to her stomach.”

  “I I think we all are,” Quinn said.

  Douglas watched Jesus for a moment, who was huddled with his arm around his mother. It had taken Albina a long time to find her son, he thought. And for him to find his mother. He turned back to Quinn.

  “There’s only one way to go, Quinn-up to the roof. we’ll have to take them up through the trapdoor.”

  “It’s an iceberg up there!” Quinn protested. “Ten minutes and we’ll be suffering from exposure!” Douglas spread his hands helplessly.

  “We can stay here, Quinn, but if we do, we’ll die from smoke inhalation-or worse.” He pointed at the rear stairwells, hidden around the corner from the foyer. Heavy smoke. started to drift up from down below and every few seconds there was the dull reflection of flames.

  “If we go up to the roof at least we’ll live a little longer. And if it’s a choice between freezing to death or burning to death, at least freezing is pleasanter.”

  She nodded. “All right. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Gather up all the tablecloths, the coats in the cloakroom, aprons in the kitchen-anything that might serve as a windbreak. We’ll pass them out among the tenants, then help them onto the roof.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I doubt they’ll follow you, Mr. Douglas.”

  Douglas pointed at the stairwell behind her. She turned and could see the occasional lick of flames. “They can argue, Quinn, but after five minutes or so, the argument will be strictly academic.” He turned to Jesus. “Help her gather up the tablecloths, Jesus-and look for anything that’s heavy plastic; it’ll help against the wind.”

  “Sure, man,” Jesus said and followed Quinn to the checkroom.

  Douglas walked over to the group of tenants, who had been intently watching his conversation with Quinn. “The restaurant’s getting too filled with smoke and the fire’s about five minutes awa
y,” he began without preamble.

  “We’re going to have to go up to the roof ‘ “

  “In the snow and that wind?” a man demanded.

  “You’re out of your mind!”

  ‘Miss Reynolds is getting coats and tablecloths and anything else that might help ward off the wind.”

  Somebody laughed. “A tablecloth up there? What are we going to do, dine out?”

  The first man said: “I’m not going anyplace, buddy.

  When I see the fire, that will be time enough.”

  “When you see the fire, it will be past time,” Douglas said quietly.

  “The only way to the roof is up a ladder in the kitchen. Once the fire gets here, there’s no way in the world all of us could make it up the ladder in time.”

  There was silence then. “Can I help Miss Reynolds?”

  a pale-looking teenager asked. Douglas recognized him as the boy who had drunk too much wine earlier in the evening.

  “She’d appreciate that; she’s in the cloakroom.”

  “What happens when we get to the roof?” a woman asked sarcastically.

  Quick change, Douglas thought; she had been having hysterics a few moments before. And then he realized that unless he lied, few of them would leave. But there was always the chance that it might not be a complete lie.

  “The only way to get us off is by helicopters,” Douglas said smoothly, remembering the small K.Y.S-TV news helicopter and the little girl.

  “When they land, we’ll have to be up there waiting. It’ll be a little late to try and scramble up the ladder from the kitchen then-provided you haven’t passed out from the smoke or been burned to death.”

  “Look, Mac, I’m not going!”

  Douglas smiled grimly. “Suit yourself, I can’t force you. You’ve got about five minutes before the fire hits this floor.” He turned and walked toward the checkroom, most of the tenants trailing after him.

  He could hear the man and his wife argue whether or not they were going to go up to the roof. They’d go all right, he thought.

  At the checkroom, Quinn and the young diner were handing out coats, tablecloths, and plastic table liners.

  From somewhere Quinn had found several thick blankets and had cut them roughly into two. “Follow Miss Reynolds into the kitchen-she’ll show you the ladder and trapdoor leading to the-roof.” Most of the tenants lined up silently and followed her into the kitchen hallway.

  Douglas looked around. Albina was still sitting in a chair; Jesus came out of the checkroom with a fur coat and wrapped her in it. Well, he could hardly blame him, Douglas thought. He looked at the fur.

  “Looks like a good fox,” he said noncommittally.

  “Nab,” Jesus sneered, “synthetic-but a nice one.”

  “How can you tell?” Douglas asked curiously.

  Jesus laughed. “Just something I picked up, man. If it was the real thing you could feel where they sewed the skins together underneath the lining. And you take a good look at the quality of the tailoring-the buttonholes and how they sew the buttons on, the details, that sort of thing. It’s like cars, the more expensive they are, the better built they are. They got cheap customers up here; this was the best coat in the whole room.”

  Boosting, Douglas thought. Jesus had his talents, all right.

  He turned for one last look around the dining room. It was empty-no, it wasn’t. Not quite. At a far table, an elderly man was sitting by himself staring out at the flakes of snow swirling down.

  Douglas hurried over. “Mr. Claiborne? It’s time to leave.”

  Harlee Claiborne didn’t move and Douglas could see his eyes were bright with tears. “I thought I’d wait until Lisolette came back,” he said. “I’ll have to tell her where you’ve all gone.”

  Douglas stood there and searched his mind for the right thing to say.

  Finally he said, “Do you think Miss Mueller would want you to wait?”

  Claiborne thought about it for a long moment, then got to his feet, shaking slightly. “No, I guess she wouldn’t,” he said in a sad voice.

  He followed Douglas toward the kitchen hallway.

  Douglas noticed that just before he left the dining room, Claiborne took the carnation out of his buttonhole and dropped it on the floor behind him.

  Douglas pretended that he hadn’t seen.

  CHAPTER 64

  There had to be room for the helicopters to land and discharge their passengers. Barton instructed Garfunkel and Donaldson and the few security and maintenance people still on duty to clear the plaza of its ceramic planters. He watched for a few moments while they struggled to tip them to break the ice seal at the bottom, then slid them over to one side of the building. He estimated the size of the area they would be able to clear, then ran back into the lobby.

  The next ten minutes Barton worked cutting the Primacord to the proper lengths. Then one of the comm men ran over to Infantino.

  “Chief, the lead ‘copter is on mike.”

  “Be right with you,” Infantino said. They were just finishing the last of the complex web of Primacord and shape charges, using the measurements they had taken from Shevelson’s prints. The web was in two sections so that two men could carry the bulky charges. “Pack those up in two musette bags,” he instructed a fireman who had been helping. “Let’s go, Craig.”

  Barton jogged after him toward the comm van, asking the runner: “Any sign of the Sikorsky?”

  “Three or four minutes behind this group.”

  They climbed into the van and Barton heard the crackling hiss of a voice transmission as they entered.

  “This is Burleigh. E.T.A one minute.” Barton grinned.

  Burleigh! The one stroke of good luck during the whole damned night.

  He couldn’t have asked for a better man.

  Burleigh, a crazy Texas chief warrant officer who could put away more scotch than any man he’d ever met. One of the mainstays of their reserve unit, a man with two years’ combat duty in ‘Nam. “Mario, let me speak to him.”

  “It’s your mike, Craig.”

  “Tex, this is Craig Barton.”

  “Didn’t know you were down there, Captain. Where do you want us?”

  “We’ve got about fifty people in the restaurant on top of the Glass House and we can’t get them down. Can you bring in your birds and land on the roof?”

  “How much clearance do we have?”

  “There’s a penthouse and some gardens adjacent to it, the air-conditioning evaporators, and a shed that houses the scenic elevator hoist. I’d say you might get two U.H-1’s onto the roof.

  Certainly you can get one in.”

  “Any television antennas?”

  “No commercial ones; there’s a community receiving one.”

  “Let’s hope for the best, though that could make it tricky. Okay, we’ll move in one at a time.”

  “Tex,” Barton added, concerned. “Do you see any sign of a Sikorsky F-106? We asked City Shuttle to dispatch theirs.”

  “Just a minute, it’s so goddamned dark…. Why the hell didn’t you have your fire at high noon? Yeah, there’s the bird. A couple of miles away, unless I’m watching the wrong lights.”

  “You’ve got the pyrotechnic torches?”

  “I do,” Burleigh said. “where do you want them unloaded?”

  Barton’s voice turned grim. “Tex, that’s part of the problem.

  I’ll need your help. Let the other crews handle the evacuation.

  Have your copilot drop you on the roof.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you.” Barton talked rapidly, explaining his plan.

  Burleigh sounded dubious. “I don’t know, Captain. I’ve got the hardware Colonel Shea asked for. Three splicers, if we can get that many on the cables. One should do it, though.”

  “Can you make the linkup?”

  Burleigh paused. “I think so. But in this weather, it will be touch and go.”

  “
There are at least ten people aboard that elevator,” Barton said slowly. “I have reason to believe one of them is my wife.”

  Burleigh whistled. “I’ll give it everything I’ve got, Captain.”

  He signed off and Barton said to the comm man, “Get me that Sikorsky pilot as soon as you can.” He clicked off the mike and leaned back in his chair, fatigue suddenly washing over him. If anybody could do it Burleigh was the man.

  “I hope it will work,” Infantino said quietly.

  “If you’ve got a better idea tell me now,” Barton said.

  Then, desperately: “Look, Mario, it has to work-we don’t have time to try anything else.”

  CHAPTER 65

  They weren’t going to make it, Douglas thought. They didn’t stand a chance. They couldn’t go back down the ladder to the restaurant; the smoke was far too heavy for that. But twenty.minutes or half an hour on the roof would finish them off from exposure, even if the fire didn’t claw its way up there and eventually force them over the edge.

  The plastic table liner he had wrapped around himself was stiff with the cold and little protection against the wind.

  Some of the tenants had tried to seek shelter in the penthouse, but the smoke had driven them out and they had returned to the roof, huddling against the near wall of the penthouse as partial protection from the wind. At least Larry would be provided for, Douglas thought.

  His insurance would take care of that, perhaps even give Larry a second chance if he wanted to remain in the business. -One of the tenants struggled to his feet and walked over to Douglas.

  “What the hell do you expect us to do, sit here and freeze?”

  Douglas shrugged. “You can go downstairs and burn.

  It’s your choice.”

  The man turned to the group. “Anybody with me? We’ll go back to the restaurant and take the stairs down on the other side.”

  Several of the tenants got to their feet to follow and the others looked uncertain. Douglas swore and stood up.

  “You’ll have to go down past the fire floor!” he shouted.

  “You’ll never make it!”

  “What about the helicopters?” another man yelled.

  “You said there would be ‘copters coming! So he had, Douglas thought, and he’d give five years off the end of his life to have been right.