Classic Novel
Chapter 32
Chapter 32
James
Richard is already here, his face smudged with smoke but talking into a phone as he looks up. Will
Stanton directs operations with a team armed and wearing helmets and flak jackets.
Michael scowls as he sees the Police Commissioner. NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.
Of course, it was Will who planted the idea in Charlotte’s mind in the first place of her acting as bait….
It’s likely to be a while before those two are friends.
Michael heads across to talk to Richard.
High above, helicopters are buzzing the building, the top floors. Straining to look up, I walk slowly
backwards, trying to get the angle to see what is happening.
Where is she?
The sky spits needles of sleet and repeatedly I have to wipe my eyes to see. As it is, sharp points of ice
nip at my upturned face; a bleak contrast to the heated stink of the air in the stairwell. Despite the bitter
gnawing of the winter, I welcome the cold.
I can’t see what’s happening at the penthouse level. I keep reversing away from the building, ignoring
the growing cramp in my neck. Abruptly I find myself backed into the cordon, almost falling backwards
over the rope as police mill around, keeping gawpers at bay.
What is it about crowds that makes people stupid?
“Hey, that's Alexanders…!”
“Catch him quick. Get a comment….”
I turn to find a microphone thrust into my face, a nasal voice making demands. “Mr Alexanders, as a
director of the Haswell Corporation, who do you believe is responsible for this outrage? What have you
to say about these terrible events?”
“Fuck off and get out of my way.” I brush the fool to one side, ignoring his spluttered protests as I return
my attention to the rescue effort going on hundreds of feet above me.
“Get back. Get back….” Police push the moronic reporter back to a safe distance.
Straining my vision to pick out the detail, way up, I see a doll-sized figure being winched away from the
rooftop and into one of the choppers. A minute later, and another follows.
Is that them?
Is she safe?
The clenching in my gut, visceral and nauseous, begs that it be so, but from so far away, I simply
cannot be sure it was Beth and my Green-Eyes I have seen. My breathing is short and shallow.
Deliberately, I take a couple of deep breaths, filling my lungs, trying to clear my head and the smog
around my thinking.
The choppers are sweeping away across the City. As I watch them, something else dawns on me.
Something missing.
Where are they all?
It's an office building. There should be people leaning out of windows. Crying for help. Waving arms.
Screaming.
There is no-one
In the background, I hear the reporter again.
“…. In the wake of what is rumoured to be a terrorist attack on the central headquarter of the Haswell
Corporation, our informed sources are saying that terrible tragedy has been averted. On this Christmas
day, the hundreds of employees and visitors who would normally be expected to be working in the
offices are at home celebrating the season.…”
Christmas Day?
How did that happen?
“James….” A voice calling, shouting my name.
I turn to see Richard, pushing through the crowd, waving a phone in the air and smiling broadly.
“James…. They’ve got them. They’re safe.”
It’s an odd thing, relief from stress. One might think the relief would be instant, the knowledge enough
to give joy, ease the mind….
My breath shudders and I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting against the pricking behind the lids. A little
light-headed, I bend, resting hands on knees for a moment.
Something touches my arm and startled, I look up…. Richard, his hand cupping my elbow.
“You alright?”
“I will be, now.”
“Hey, you!” Richard shouts to a man in white cook’s overalls setting up a mobile burger stand….
Where the fuck did that come from…?
Where there’s a crowd, there’s a penny to be earned….
The man spins around, pointing a finger at his chest. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Do you know who I am?”
Burger-Man nods his head out at the crowd. “The TV crew over there say you’re the big-shot.”
I hide my smile.
“Right. Got it in one. Whatever you’re selling from that van, you’re giving it away today, you hear?”
“But….”
“Police, firemen, medics, anyone involved…. Anyone that needs hot food and hot drinks. Send me the
bill. And first of all, black coffee over here. Right now.”
“Gotcha.” The man scuttles inside, re-emerging a minute later with two paper cups of black coffee.
Richard thrusts one of them at me. “Drink it. Clear your head.” He runs a critical eye over me, then
turns to Burger-Man again. “Got any soup in there?”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t think I could stomach it.”
Richard ignores me, “Soup, whatever you’ve got. Two cups now and get plenty more going. It’s going
to be needed.”
Richard stands by me, sipping at his coffee. “You need more than caffeine. The body can’t run on
empty.”
“Mmmm.”
He faces outwards, apparently watching the fire crews as more engines move into position, hoses now
gushing water into the inferno.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed off,” he murmurs. “I felt just the same when I realised I’d sent Elizabeth
upwards when I should have gotten her out of the building.”
My breathing eases, the iron bands that were clamping my chest beginning to unlock and melt away.
“You sent her to Charlotte.”
“At the time, it seemed the safest place to send her.” He nods across to the Police Commissioner.
“Shall we get the latest?”
Michael is there, listening in, subdued as he drinks at what smells like the soup. A crowd is gathering
around the burger stand….
He’s going to do well out of this….
At least someone’s having a good day….
Then I realise that some of the police team in the flak jackets are among the crush, rubbing hands and
blowing into fingers.
“And the attackers? Where are they?” I ask.
Stanton, with the weary voice of the utterly pissed off, replies, “They seem to have simply faded away.
They attacked, did the damage and….”
He sees the outrage on Richard’s face. Mine too, and holds up a defensive hand. “I’ve got units out
searching, but there’s been a breakdown of the central computer. No-one can coordinate….”
Mmmm….
“A convenient time for a failure,” I comment. “Sabotage? Hackers?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Your spy in the camp again?”
Will nods miserably, his lips a pressed white line.
“Hey! Stretcher-bearers, over here, fast.” One of the fire-crew waves wildly to the medics waiting close
by. “We’ve got one of them.”
Stanton jerks up like a man offered water in the desert. “I’ll be back.” He sets off at a run.
From a maintenance entrance a man, black-clad and hanging limply in the grasp of his rescuer, is
being dragged out of the building
“Can he speak?” shouts Stanton as he sprints across the distance.
Got one of the bastards….
…. Is he alive?
*****