Ground Zero Part 33
Not good. Not good at all.
He rotated it back to neutral and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Is your pal the type to leave his door unlocked?"
"No way." Her hand shot to her mouth. "OhmyG.o.d."
"Go back downstairs." When she shook her head, he pointed down the hall. "At least move away."
She backed up about ten paces.
Three possibilities here: Harris went out but left his door unlocked ... low probability-approaching zero.
Harris home but incapacitated or dead, and his attacker gone ... possible.
Harris home, incapacitated or dead, and his attacker waiting inside to nab or kill Weezy when she walks through the unlocked door ... also possible.
Best to play to the worst-case scenario.
Keeping far to the side of the doorframe, he turned the k.n.o.b and pushed.
Instead of gunfire, a ball of flame exploded into the hallway, propelling the shattered remnants of the door ahead of it and knocking Jack to the floor. He quickly rolled to his feet and ducked away, checking to see if anything on him was burning. No, but the hair on his arms was singed.
Make that four possibilities: Harris home, incapacitated or dead, and the door rigged to explode.
Down the hall, a chalky-faced Weezy crouched and leaned against the wall. Her lips were moving but Jack couldn't hear over the whine in his ears. He didn't have to. He knew she'd be repeating "OhmyG.o.d" over and over.
The fireball dissipated quickly but smoke and flame roiled from the doorway. He fought his way back against the heat and peeked inside. The entire apartment was ablaze. A man who looked a lot like Harris was duct-taped to a chair. The chair lay on its side. His eyes were open but seeing nothing. He showed no signs of life, and no way Jack could get to him through that inferno.
Vaguely he heard fire bells.
Time to go.
He found his cap, jammed it back onto his head, and ran for Weezy. Doors were opening up and down the hall.
"Fire!" he yelled. "Get out! Get out!"
He almost collided with a little old lady in a wheelchair as she rolled out into the hall ahead of him.
"Oh, dear G.o.d!" she cried, staring at the flaming doorway between her and the elevator. Her voice sounded faint and far away. "What do I do?"
As Jack stopped and looked around, Weezy reached him and clutched his arm. She looked ready to go into shock.
Options ... push the old lady's wheelchair past Harris's apartment, but who knew if the elevators were working. A lot of them automatically shut down with a fire alarm.
She was thin and frail looking. Only one thing to do.
He turned Weezy and pushed her toward the EXIT sign. "Go!" Then back to the old woman. "Come on, lady," he said, lifting her out of the chair. He slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back. "Looks like you're going for a ride." A thought hit. "You don't happen to have a dog, do you?"
"No, why?" Her words were faint.
"Just asking."
He got her into the stairwell where a mute, stricken Weezy held the door for them and they all started down.
"Wh-wh-what happened?" the lady said, clinging to him.
"Explosion of some kind."
She touched his cheek. "You're burned."
"Not surprised. I was in the hall when it happened. Knocked me off my feet."
And the truth shall set you free.
"What caused it?"
"No idea. Maybe some terrorist was making a bomb and it exploded."
A little disinformation couldn't hurt.
"Oh, dear G.o.d! A terrorist? In our building?"
"I hear they're everywhere. Then again, someone could have left the gas oven on, then lit a match."
"We're all electric."
"Terrorist, then."
They had the stairwell pretty much to themselves for a few flights until someone slammed onto a landing above and pounded down the steps. A sixtyish man, heavy but in good shape, lurched up behind them.
"Let me by, dammit!"
He shouldered Jack and his burden aside, and b.u.mped Weezy against the wall as he raced ahead of them.
"a.s.shole," the woman said, then louder, "You always were an a.s.shole, Frank!"
Jack's burst of anger dissipated as he laughed. "You tell him, lady."
Firemen were already on the first floor when they reached it.
He leaned close to Weezy. "Don't go out the front. Find a rear exit."
With a deer-in-the-headlights look, she nodded and moved away.
Jack kept his head down as he hurried past the firemen and out the front entrance. He saw an EMS wagon and an ambulance at the curb. He left the woman with them. She was profuse in her thanks and wanted to give him money, but all he wanted was out of here.
He looked around. The car with the two men was gone. A crowd of residents and people from the neighborhood had gathered to gawk at the smoke roiling from a blown-out section of windows on the eighth floor.
He joined the crowd for half a minute, then eased away, walking half backward, trying to look reluctant to leave.
He found Weezy waiting outside the car. He pressed the unlock b.u.t.ton on the remote and they both got in.
"What happened?" she said, blinking back tears.
"Explosion."
"I know know that. What about Kevin?" that. What about Kevin?"
Jack got the car rolling as he tried to think of a gentle way to put it. He came up empty, so he settled for simple and direct.
He shook his head and said, "Goner."
Weezy began to cry. The sound tore at him.
"What have I done? What have I started? This is all my fault. I brought him into this. If I'd just minded my own business-"
"I think the bomb was meant for you."
That stopped the sobs. She looked at him. "What?"
"I think Kevin was already dead." No need to mention that he appeared to have been tortured. "That bomb was set for the next person to come through the door."
"But how could they know it would be me?"
Jack pulled over to let another fire truck howl by.
"Maybe he told them."
"Kevin? He wouldn't do that!"
Looked like torture was going to rear its ugly head anyway.
"Maybe he was persuaded."
"OhmyG.o.d! You think they tortured him?"
"Who can say? Maybe they knew he didn't have many friends and that if anyone came through that door it would be you."
"And it would have been if you hadn't-how did you know?"
"Didn't. Just took precautions."
She was staring at him. "Oh, Jack, look at you. Your skin ... it's scorched."
He leaned right so he could see himself in the rearview. The left side of his face was reddened with a first-degree burn and the tips of the hairs in the left side of his beard were singed.
"I'm okay."
"That was good of you to carry that old woman out."
Well, he couldn't very well leave her up there to cook, especially since he'd been the one who'd triggered the explosion.
"Maybe I'll finally get that Boy Scout badge I've always wanted."
"Don't diminish it. That was very gallant."
The way she was looking at him made him uncomfortable.
"Gallant, h.e.l.l. She made good cover for me."
True, but he hadn't realized that until he'd hit the first floor and saw the firemen.
Weezy folded her arms across her chest. "Right. You've become Mister Hard Guy."
He forced a smile. "And don't you forget it."
17.
"Do we have to do this here?" Hank said as Drexler set the gla.s.ses on the table.
He glanced uneasily at Darryl's still form stretched out inside the Orsa. It looked like some monstrously oversized transparent coffin, and made him feel like he was at a weird wake.
"Most certainly," Drexler said. "No place could be more appropriate."
At Drexler's request he'd moved a couple of chairs and a small folding table down from the bas.e.m.e.nt-a little tight getting through that trapdoor-and set them up about a half dozen feet from the Orsa. Drexler arrived moments later carrying two odd-shaped winegla.s.ses and a bottle of Poland Spring.
Hank pointed to the water. "That's your 'special drink'?"
"Don't be silly." Drexler alighted on one of the chairs. "Please turn off the lights."
"We're going to sit in the dark?"
"Not quite. I promise you illumination sufficient to our needs."
Shrugging, Hank walked over to the light switch by the stairwell and flipped the toggle. He expected to be plunged into darkness, but instead a faint blue light suffused the subcellar.
The Orsa was glowing.
He stared at it as he returned to Drexler at the table. It hadn't been glowing this morning when they first arrived. The light didn't seem to radiate from any point within, but from the very substance of the thing. The only reason had to be ... Darryl, who now looked more than ever like a fly in an ice cube.
"Sit down," Drexler said.
He dropped onto the other chair and watched the man. His air of repressed excitement only compounded the weirdness factor.