Night Passenger

by David Stanley

  When they broke apart, he looked into her eyes.

  “Relax,” he said. “I got this, okay?”

  She nodded.

  Blake looked over the stairwell. The cops had stopped coming up, it looked clear. He started worked his way down, his body hugging the outside wall in case anyone looked up and saw them. Sara picked up what he was doing and did the same. She had no training, but she learned fast. At the half landing, he paused and glanced down to the second floor exit. A female cop stood there holding a 9mm. Her body faced toward him, but her head and arm were turned sideways, at the stair door. She was aiming her gun low at the floor. It was the stance of someone nervous about shooting one of their own by mistake. After a moment, he realized it was the officer he’d flirted with earlier at the elevator. She now wore a bullet-proof vest and a helmet. The vest had an SCPD patch across the front. Cabot had called in a few markers. Still, they had to be stretched thin if they’d left her all alone.

  He pocketed Barnes’ automatic and leaned around the corner.

  “Hey, miss!”

  Her whole body snapped around, weapon aimed at his head.

  “It’s okay, I’m a doctor.”

  She seemed to recognize him, and lowered her gun.

  “You can’t be here, sir. We have a situation.”

  “Can we keep going down?” Blake said. “I need to treat my patient and I’m locked out of critical care. She needs painkillers.”

  The cop looked back and forth between him and the stair door.

  “I guess so.”

  Blake stood from his crouched position and waved Sara over. She put her arm around his neck, and he put his arm around her waist, as if he were helping her to walk. The last time the cop saw them, Sara had been in a wheelchair. As they came down the stairs, the cop ignored them. She was there to guard the door, she couldn’t afford to be distracted. As they passed, her head turned toward him. Her eyes had a smile in them, a sparkle.

  She liked him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Be careful.”

  She didn’t reply, but her cheeks colored. They were past her now, but he kept his arm around Sara and their uneven shuffling gate. They had to keep the descent sounding the same in case the cop heard their step pattern change and became suspicious. It might occur to her later that they hadn’t made that sound as they’d approached, but that would be her problem. Nobody covered the next door and they exited the stairs onto the second floor. The corridor was empty; the code silver had cleared everyone out.

  “I notice you didn’t hit her over the head,” Sara said.

  “She was wearing a helmet.”

  He looked around, orientating himself with the layout of the building then set off, fast, along the corridor. Sara had to half-jog to keep up with him.

  “Admit it,” she said. “You thought she was cute.”

  “There’s no winning with you, is there?”

  “You got that right, mister.”

  They fell into an awkward silence. The cop had looked good with the riot gear on and her gun out, but she was no Sara. He hadn’t thought she was the jealous type, but stress comes out in different ways. He came up to a nurses’ station. It was abandoned like everything else, but someone had left so quickly they’d knocked over their chair. He felt the presence of people everywhere, just out of sight, hiding. Waiting for the all-clear. Sara lagged behind. From her facial expression, he got the feeling this was deliberate, a protest.

  “You know, it’s not going to take them long to realize we’re not on the third floor and if they talk to my girlfriend back there, someone might work it out.”

  “Keep going smart guy. Maybe you’ll wake up dead.”

  “You’re so damn hot when you’re angry.”

  At the end of the corridor he opened a door into wide, brightly lit room. A heavyset woman lay sleeping on a bed. There was an outside chance she was pregnant, but he’d been wrong about such things before. People were all sorts of shapes, and more were her shape than his. Beside her was a long rectangular window.

  “What are we doing here, Aidan?”

  Blake turned to face Sara.

  “Like that detective said, it’s a lockdown. No one in or out.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “No,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

  He walked over to the window and looked down.

  A platform extended out beneath them over the hospital’s entrance. It wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it. The drop was greater than he anticipated, between fifteen and twenty feet. Beyond the platform were lines of police vehicles, their strobes flashing. There were so many of them, it looked like the Fourth of July. Blake found himself thinking about Thorne. His old friend’s mind worked on a different level to his; Thorne saw options and alternatives he couldn’t. Blake knew his strength was his strength, but it was also his weakness. Because he could physically dominate people, he relied on brute force to solve all his problems. This situation called for something else, one of Thorne’s ideas.

  Blake turned to face Sara and his face split in half with a grin.

  Over her shoulder, in the hallway, he saw a sprinkler head sticking out the ceiling. It was perfect. Hospitals feared two things more than any other; fire, and explosions. Evacuating a building like this was a logistical nightmare. Patients could not be easily moved, and there weren’t enough people to move them safely. Were they even allowed to use the elevator?

  Sara frowned. “What you smiling at?”

  “I just had an idea,” he said.

  Her head tilted back, her chin sticking out.

  “No kidding. I guess this is why I never see you smile.”

  The problem was it would be obvious to everyone that a fire alarm was no more than his escape plan. He was going to have to sell it as the real deal. He placed the detective’s Glock and the dog bone on the table in front of the sleeping woman and began to take off the doctor’s white coat. The disguise had served its purpose.

  “See if you can find cleaning supplies. Something flammable.”

  Sara nodded slowly, understanding. He dropped the lab coat onto a chair next to the bed, knowing that when he turned back to the door, Sara would be gone. She liked being involved, but she didn’t like being told what to do. He supposed they had that in common. It had been a mistake to bring her, he’d endangered her for no reason. It would’ve been more difficult without her, but there would’ve been a way if he’d thought about it long enough. He pulled the scrub top off over his head, dumped it on top of the coat, then took off the scrub pants.

  He needed to think clearly, free from irritation.

  The woman on the bed was going to be a problem. There was no chance at all that she’d sleep through what he had planned. He considered using the dog bone on her while Sara was out the room, but dismissed the idea. Sara had a point, it wasn’t right hitting women, particularly if they were asleep. This is how it was when they fought, he’d resent what she said, then realize later she was right. He saw the bed had wheels at the head end. He lifted the foot of the bed up carefully and pulled. The bed was heavy, but it rolled easily enough along the floor. He continued to roll the bed across the room and through the doorway. Out in the corridor, he pushed it in front of the stair doors and wedged it into the space so that it blocked the doorway. If Cabot’s men decided to come this way, it might buy them vital extra time.

  Sara pushing a cleaning cart toward him.

  “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so brought everything.”

  “Perfect.”

  Back inside the room, he took a steel bucket off the cart and put the doctor’s scrubs into it. They took up quite a lot of space, so he pressed them down with his shoe and put the lab coat on top. Might as well get rid of DNA evidence. He looked through the bottles of industrial cleaner and solvent on the cart. He hadn’t heard of any of them, but judging by the labels they all appeared to be flammable. He poured a gallon container over the clothing, making sure there
was an even spread. The fumes rose up into his face, making him cough. When he was through, he took out his knife and cut the plastic bottle into strips.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Burning plastic creates thick smoke and makes the fire last longer.”

  “Nice,” she said. “You learn that in the Marines?”

  “Inglewood.”

  He laid the strips of plastic out over the lab coat, like chicken on a caesar salad. Seeing the bottle lid, he threw that in too. He considered adding the lids from all the other bottles. The plastic used to make lids created the best smoke, but they burned poorly. He decided what he had was enough, he couldn’t risk the fire being smothered by its own smoke. The hotter the fire, the better the smoke would rise and be seen. Blake stood up, his head swimming from the fumes, then carried the bucket out into the hall. If he put it right out in the open, the sprinklers would put it out long before any fire crews showed up. It would also be easy to extinguish using a fire blanket, something well within the grasp of hospital staff.

  He pressed the button for the elevator.

  “Where are we going?”

  He turned to her. “Nowhere.”

  The doors slid open. It was empty.

  “Okay,” he said. “Hold the doors for me.”

  He got in and looked up at the escape hatch in the ceiling. He flipped it open with one hand and lifted the bucket over his head and through the hatch. Above his head it became heavy and difficult to position. His hands shook as they moved the bucket. The door began to close and Sara stopped them and they opened again. He took a paper napkin out his pocket and lit it with his Zippo. The doors closed and chimed as they once again met with Sara’s hand. The elevator was beginning to get pissed off. He tossed the lit napkin into the bucket and heard the fire woof into life. The elevator shaft was lit by flickering orange flames. He closed the hatch and stepped off the elevator. The doors closed, though it didn't move as no buttons had been pressed. Soon, smoke would begin pouring out through the doors on the floor above, where the cops were.

  “You want to do the honors with the sprinklers?”

  Sara smiled. “Hell, yeah.”

  He threw her his Zippo and she caught it one handed.

  “Move fast or you’ll get really wet.”

  She looked at him, deadpan.

  “That never bothered you before.”

  He laughed and turned, so he was walking backward down the corridor away from her. He wanted to increase his distance from the cone of water. She had no idea what was coming. She stood on her toes, right arm extended, and held the lighter’s flame under the sprinkler. It took about ten seconds to go off, and maybe another two for her to cross the floor to where he stood, but it was all it took to soak through her top and make it transparent.

  “Oh my god, that was intense.”

  Blake said nothing. She looked fantastic. He wondered if there’d be a way to replicate this look another time when he was better placed to do something about it.

  She frowned. “Why’s the alarm not ringing?”

  “Some of these systems take up to 40 seconds.”

  He’d only just finished speaking when the alarm rang. It was deafening.

  “Or less,” he continued.

  They ran back to the room. He pulled a fire axe off the wall as he passed it. The axe was light and well balanced. It had a chopping blade, and a pointed end. It was the point he needed. They walked into the room and he crossed the floor to the window. He stood side-on to the glass and took a couple of practice half swings with the axe, like he was warming up for a baseball pitch. He swung for real with all his strength. The window exploded in every direction, hitting him with a blast of air and fragmented glass. Behind him, the door to the room slammed shut like a gunshot.

  “Jesus!” he said.

  His hands were covered in small cuts, and he felt some on his face as well. He checked to see if Sara was okay and saw only anger. He turned away without comment. Any conversation that started now would end in an argument, he knew that much. The rush of air through the opening continued, buffeting him and creating a strange sound inside the room. He used the chopping edge of the axe to clean up the edges of the window frame, then leaned out through the opening and looked down.

  The platform looked farther away than ever.

  Sara came over and stood next to him.

  “Aidan, I’m sorry but there’s no way.”

  Rage was building inside him. Not because she was wrong, but because he knew she was right. He’d gone to all this effort, and it was for nothing. This was his backup plan, and he didn’t have another. The drop was survivable, he was certain of it, but it would certainly break both their legs. Maybe worse. Some falls, you could lose your legs altogether. He’d rather go out in a hail of bullets, than down that route. Over the top of the fire alarm, he now heard the sound of fire trucks. Sirens and honking horns. They’d be here any minute, whatever he was going to do, he had to do it quickly. Blake sighed. If only there was some way to get closer to the platform before they dropped, the rest would take care of itself.

  A smile spread across his face.

  “Have you seen Die Hard?”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Cabot stood looking through the smashed hospital window into the far distance. He’d been standing in the same position for several minutes. At first, he’d been trying to think of anything positive to come out of the situation, but it soon became clear that there was nothing. The whole thing was an unmitigated disaster, and there was no way of putting any of it in a good light. It had probably already hit the news. He imagined Thorne sitting with his feet up, laughing at the television, all his worries over. Then his thoughts turned to Mancuso, the SAC of the FBI field office in San Francisco. There’d be another long telephone call, not just pushing for a seat at the table, but for complete control.

  Is this room where my career ends?

  “You’ve really screwed the pooch this time, Victor.”

  He turned to see Sheriff Carson standing behind him.

  Between them, running across the width of the room, was a fire hose. It ran from the hall, through the door and out the window. It was painfully obvious what had happened, yet he hadn’t foreseen it as an escape route.

  “Let me explain.”

  Carson held up his hand to cut him off.

  “There’s no need, I saw it on television. That woman delayed you and your men in the lobby with her legal nonsense and you were unable to respond in time. Then, while you were searching the building, the Fire Department breached your lockdown and allowed those responsible to escape. Is that about right?”

  It was like music entering Cabot’s ears.

  “That’s it exactly!”

  The crow’s feet around the sheriff’s eyes deepened, his eyes narrowing.

  “I’m not an idiot, Victor. I’m just making sure we’re both on the same page. The last thing the Sheriff’s Office needs is a string of litigation stretching into infinity, which is precisely what we can expect if the truth comes out. Some heat is inevitable, no doubt about it, but we should be OK so long as we keep roughly to the script.”

  Cabot nodded. A whitewash was in both their interests. He hadn’t considered the legal implications of his botched operation, but it was a fair point. It seemed like these days you could trip on a sidewalk and sue some poor sap for a million dollars.

  “I’ll make sure our ducks are in a row.”

  “This needs a light touch, Victor. The press are already sniffing around.”

  With Carson, there was always an extra comment tossed in at the end like a live grenade. A comment that seemed to be there to remind him who was boss, but which added no new information. He clenched his teeth.

  “I got it.”

  “Cabot, I want you to know that I never liked this sting idea of yours. It’s not the kind of operation I want under my command. I’ll admit, I was curious to see how it would play out. I decided that if it went to shit I could us
e it as an opportunity to pass this investigation to Miller and move you into his spot at patrol. But we’re in a dead zone right now. You bungled this thing so spectacularly that my hands are tied. If I drop you, it looks like I’m admitting we screwed up. To cover your mistakes, I have to keep you on the case, isn’t that hilarious?”

  Cabot stared at the sheriff and said nothing.

  “That’s right,” Carson continued. “It’s not. So let me be clear, you got until Monday morning, then you’re done. That will be enough distance from this farce that it’ll appear coincidental to even the softest liberal media types. I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with some other reason for the change in command, your mistakes pile up by the day.”

  Cabot pointed his finger at the other man’s chest.

  “This is bullshit. We nearly closed the case today and you know it. If we’d dropped the net on these two clowns the whole thing would’ve been over. Let’s be honest, you hoped this would fall apart, it was the only reason you approved it. This is about damaging my reputation ahead of the election. It’s no secret I’m planning to run for sheriff, I know you know so you can drop the act.”

  Carson smiled unpleasantly.

  “You have your story, Lieutenant, I have mine.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “That’s the spirit. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other matters to deal with that don’t require me to look at your face.” The sheriff turned and walked away from him toward the door, before turning back. “Oh yeah, I need you to notify Garret’s wife before the press release his name. She’s a teacher over at Gault Elementary. Get it done in the next twenty minutes, I doubt we can keep the lid on his name any longer than that.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  The trees glowed where light burst in along the edge of the tree line. Thorne checked his watch and smiled. They’d made good time; five miles in thirty five minutes and he didn’t feel tired. They entered the clearing with the fallen tree and slowed to a fast walk. The area marked the middle of their run and they typically took a break here before heading back. It was the farthest point from the mansion, and the place where they had the most privacy. The surrounding woodland masked the area on three sides, with the fourth giving a view out over the Pacific. She’d told him once that Ashcroft had never been out this far, and he had no reason to doubt her. Knowing what he had to do, he couldn’t think of a better place.