Westworth nodded and looked up at the building. ‘I might have gone for six.’
‘The building’s abandoned so I’m assuming most combustibles will be out. It’s a standalone building so there’s no immediate risk of it spreading. And no risk of casualties.’
Westworth nodded. ‘Yeah, I hear you,’ he said. He looked over at the hoses being prepared. ‘Do you think two lines of forty-five is enough?’
‘It could do with a covering jet as well,’ she said. ‘It seems to be confined to the bar. We get the boards off the windows and open the door, then attack it front to back. Can you handle the covering jet?’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Westworth. ‘Cops not here?’
‘Probably too busy handing out speeding tickets and hassling people on social media.’ Just as she spoke a police car arrived, siren off but blue lights flashing. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said. She went over to talk to the cops as Westworth walked quickly to the pump ladder.
The driver of the police car was an overweight West Indian woman who was having trouble getting out of the front seat. Vicky tried not to grin as the officer swung her legs out of the vehicle and then used the door to pull herself up. The cop in the front seat was younger and considerably thinner, but looked to be barely out of his teens and his stab vest was a couple of sizes too big for him. ‘The fire looks as if it’s confined to the downstairs bar,’ said Vicky. ‘Can you block off the road and stop all traffic coming down? Also, there’s a crowd of rubberneckers over there, it’d be great if you could move them away.’
‘No problem,’ said the cop. He turned to his colleague. ‘Mary, maybe use the car to block the road, yeah?’
Mary sighed and began lowering herself back into the vehicle as Vicky hurried over to the pump. Mitchell and Wells were dragging hoses out of the fire engine, while Moore was pulling out a Halligan bar. The Halligan bar was a souped-up crowbar, designed and named after a New York fire chief. Hugh Halligan came up with a design back in 1948 that could be used for a multitude of tasks. It was the Swiss Army knife of firefighting kit with a claw, a blade and a tapered pick. It could be used to break open doors and windows, as a crowbar or an axe, and was strong enough to smash through a wall. The claw was perfect for shutting off valves and the pick could bust open any padlock in seconds. Moore was planning to use it to rip off the wooden boards covering the windows and door.
Noller had connected the pump to the hydrant while Beech and Jones were fitting nozzles to the hoses.
Two more police cars arrived and they helped block off the road. The onlookers had been moved back to a safe distance, though there were now more of them, several dozen men and women, most with their smartphones out. Vicky looked back at the building. Smoke was billowing out through the wooden boards over the ground-floor windows but there were no flames that she could see.
‘Where is Stefan?’ shouted a man behind her. Vicky turned around. A bearded man in his fifties was standing with his hands on his head. ‘Stefan!’ he shouted. ‘Stefan!’ He was wearing a heavy leather jacket over stained brown cargo pants.
‘Sir, you have to move away from the area,’ said Vicky, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
‘Stefan!’ he shouted again.
‘What’s wrong?’ Vicky asked him.
‘I think Stefan is inside,’ he said, waving at the building. His accent was Eastern European and from the state of his clothes he was homeless. His nails were bitten to the quick and those teeth that weren’t missing were stained yellow.
‘Why do you think that?’ asked Vicky. The man frowned and so Vicky repeated the question, slower this time.
The man pointed up at the top floor. ‘We sleep there.’
‘You sleep there? How do you gain access?’ The man frowned again. ‘How do you get inside?’ asked Vicky.
‘We break window, round back,’ said the man. ‘Please, you have to find Stefan.’ He pointed at the top floor. ‘Stefan is inside. I know it.’
‘And how many people sleep up there?’ asked Vicky.
‘Five. Six.’ The man shrugged. ‘Sometimes more.’
Vicky waved Westworth over. ‘Frank, we’ve got people in there, top floor,’ she said, before turning back to the man. ‘What is your name, sir?’ she asked.
‘Alexandru.’
‘Okay, Alexandru, I need you to think very carefully. Are you sure Stefan is inside?’
The man nodded. ‘He didn’t feel well. We were working and he came home.’
Vicky frowned. ‘Working? You have a job?’
‘Selling Big Issue is job. That is how we earn money.’
‘Does he have a mobile phone?’
‘Yes. But he not answer.’
‘And you say there are five or six people sleeping up there?’
He nodded again.
‘Is it five?’ asked Vicky. ‘Or six? We need to know for sure.’
‘Sometimes five. Sometimes six. Me. Stefan. Maria. Maria is Stefan’s wife. They have two children.’
‘Are Maria and the children up there?’
‘No, they are working.’
‘It’s after midnight,’ said Vicky. ‘Why are they working so late?’
‘They sell more magazines at night.’
‘And you’re sure Maria and the children aren’t up there?’
‘Sure. They stay out until one o’clock every night.’
‘And who else sleeps up there?’
‘Silviu. But he is staying with his friends tonight. Cristian and Clara, but they went back to Romania.’ His eyes widened. ‘Oh, one of Stefan’s friends went back with him. Dorian. Dorian is probably up there.’
‘So there are two people up there?’
The man nodded. ‘I think so. But it is difficult to be sure. People come and go.’
Vicky went over to the cab of the pump and shouted up at Laffy. ‘Persons reported, Dom,’ she said. ‘Call it in. And make pumps six.’
‘Will do,’ said Laffy, reaching for the transceiver.
Vicky turned to Westworth. ‘We need to clear the upper floors. If they’re not out by now they’re either trapped or overcome by smoke.’
‘We’re going to be short-handed on the lines,’ said Westworth.
‘Four more pumps are on the way,’ she said.
‘Okay, that makes sense’ said Westworth. ‘But I’d advise against sending in a BA team until the rest of the pumps are here.’
Alexandru put a hand on Vicky’s shoulder. ‘You will help?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Vicky. ‘Do you have electricity in there?’
He shook his head. ‘No. But there is still water.’
‘So how do you cook food? What light do you have?’
‘We have a gas stove. And candles.’ He shrugged. ‘It is not easy but at least we do not have to pay rent.’
‘And you sleep on the top floor?’
‘We have a room each,’ said the man.
‘But no one sleeps on the floors below?’
‘Only the top floor.’
‘And where is Stefan’s room? The front or the back?’
The man frowned as he considered the question. ‘Back,’ he said eventually.
‘Would Dorian stay in the same room as Stefan?’
‘I don’t know.’ He looked up anxiously at the top floor of the hotel. ‘Please, you have to help them.’
‘We will,’ said Vicky. Two pumps from Paddington arrived and Vicky hurried over to the lead vehicle. Watch Manager Tony Abbey climbed out. He was a big Mancunian who had inherited his Jamaican father’s build and burnished brown skin and his Irish mother’s sharp tongue. As a senior officer he was wearing a white helmet and had two pips on his shoulder. ‘We have possibly two trapped on the upper floor, guv,’ Vicky said. As senior officer, Abbey was now incident commander in charge of the fire and the first order of business was for Vicky to brief him on the situation. ‘The fire seems to have started on the ground floor but the occupants have been using candles and gas st
oves. I’ve two lines ready to attack the seat of the fire and Frank is setting up a covering jet. I’d like to send teams in with breathing apparatus now that you’re here.’
Abbey looked up at the hotel. ‘You think it’s safe to send BA teams in now?’
‘The fire seems to be confined to the pub,’ said Vicky. ‘The stairs to the hotel floors are to the right with its own entrance. There’s some smoke but no fire.’
‘But if the fire moves across, any BA team would be trapped.’
‘We’ll have all the lines up and running in a minute or so. That should hold the fire back. Sir, there are two men possibly trapped here. Now that you’re in charge I’d like to take a team of four in. That would mean your guys operating my hoses.’
Abbey frowned. ‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Two men trapped. I don’t see we have a choice.’
‘We’re light on manpower.’
‘Two more pumps on the way. I’ve called it six pumps.’
Abbey rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Always leading from the front, huh, Vicky? Have you called in persons reported?
‘Yes, guv.’ The ‘persons reported’ message would automatically trigger an ambulance being sent, along with a command unit and a station manager.
He nodded. ‘Okay, go for it,’ he said. ‘I’ll send my guys over to your pump. Who’s going to be entry control?’
‘I was going to use Dom Laffy.’
Abbey shook his head. ‘It’ll have to be a stage two entry control, which means you’ll have to use a crew manager.’
Vicky wrinkled her nose. ‘Frank is overseeing the jets on the bar.’
‘I’ll send you Dave Potter, he’s crew manager on the Paddington pump ladder.’
‘Thanks, guv,’ said Vicky, throwing him a mock salute.
‘But at the first sign of the fire spreading to the hotel, I’ll be pulling you out. When did you ask for the extra pumps?’
‘Just now.’
‘Euston is closest but they’re attending a burning skip on the Charing Cross Road and a possible false alarm in an office block down the road from them. False alarm or not they’re going to be tied up for a while. I think it’ll be Soho that attends. They’ll be a few minutes yet. Five. Six, maybe.’ He looked back at the hotel. ‘Only two persons in there? You’re sure?’
‘They’re sleeping rough, so there’s no way of being sure how many, but I’m told two.’
‘There are a lot of rooms, Vicky. A BA team could be searching all night if there’s smoke up there.’
‘I’m told they’re in the top-floor rooms, at the back. A team of four should do it.’
Abbey scrunched up his face. ‘Thing is, if we are going to need lines in the hotel we might have to move up to eight pumps.’ He looked over at Vicky. ‘Take two teams of two. That way I only need a two-man crew on standby.’
‘Will do. Two two-man teams it is.’
Abbey nodded. ‘Okay. Get your teams ready. But you’re not to go in until there’s an emergency crew in place.’
‘Yes, guv,’ said Vicky. She hurried over to the pump where Beech and Noller had finished preparing their hoses. ‘Colin, Mark, prepare your BA gear.’ She waved over at Jones. ‘You too, Gary.’
‘What about our lines?’ asked Noller, holding up his hose.
‘Paddington will take over,’ said Vicky. ‘Colin, bring the thermal-imaging camera.’
The hand-held thermal-imaging camera was a relatively new piece of kit and all the firefighters were impressed with it. They had all been trained to search smoke-filled rooms by touch, but the camera enabled them to find casualties no matter how bad the visibility. ‘Righto,’ said Noller. He dropped the hose and went over to the pump where Beech was already pulling out his breathing apparatus from the cab.
Andy Mitchell and Mike Wells were running hoses from the Kilburn pump ladder. The pump was already connected to the hydrant and another hose connected the pump ladder to Vicky’s pump to supply it with water.
Abbey began shouting commands to the Paddington firefighters but they were a well-drilled team and were already setting up their hoses and connecting to the hydrant water supply. Two of the firefighters hurried over to the Kilburn pump to take over from Beech and Noller. Abbey spoke to Dave Potter who went over to his pump ladder to retrieve the control board from the crew cab. The electronic control board was a relatively recent piece of brigade equipment – in the past clocks and pens were used to keep track of who was where in a breathing apparatus operation, and how much air they had left. Now it was all done by computer. Sensors on the firefighter’s equipment sent data on the amount of air in the tank and the firefighter’s breathing rate, and was used to transmit man-down alarms and evacuation acknowledgements. All the firefighters wore man-down alarms – automatic distress signal units – which activated a loud warning after fifteen seconds of no movement and a full alarm after thirty seconds. The ADSU warning would also sound on the board and a light flash, letting the entry control officer know that a firefighter was in trouble.
Vicky joined Noller, Beech and Jones at the side of the cab and grabbed an air cylinder. She slung it on to her back, bending forward as she fastened the straps that kept it in place. She hung her mask from a strap around her neck.
The Paddington firefighters had two of the hoses ready to go and Billy Moore used the Halligan bar to attack the plywood sheets covering the windows so that they could get water inside.
Potter came over, carrying the entry control board. Vicky nodded at him. ‘Good to go, Dave?’
‘Always happy to bail out Kilburn in their hour of need,’ said Potter with a grin.
Vicky looked over at Abbey who was busy supervising his men. Strictly speaking, the incident commander was supposed to brief the BA team, but Vicky had worked with Abbey enough times to know that he’d let her get on with it. ‘Okay,’ said Vicky. ‘We’ll use the hotel main entrance as the one and only entry control point. We’re heading to the top floor, we believe there are two people trapped there, probably in rooms at the back. All good?’
The firefighters nodded as Potter noted their names on the board with a black marker.
‘There’s no fire in the hotel, right?’ asked Noller.
‘Not so far, it’s confined to the bar,’ said Vicky.
They took off their helmets and pulled on their masks, checked that the air supply was working and that Potter could hear them on their radios, then replaced their helmets.
Potter pulled the yellow plastic tally tags from the ADSUs of the four firefighters and slotted them into the side of his board. Immediately the board began displaying the data from the individual units.
Billy Moore had removed the wood covering the windows and the Paddington firefighters began to spray streams of water into the bar. Vicky pointed at the door to the hotel. ‘Get ready to gain access, Billy,’ said Vicky. Moore nodded and headed towards the door.
‘Right, let’s all check our gauges,’ said Vicky.
One by one, Noller, Beech and Jones read out their air readings from their Bodyguard warning and monitoring units. Potter checked that they matched with the numbers he was seeing on his board. The BA sets were charged on average to between 290 and 300 bar. Any lower than 240 bar and the firefighter would not be allowed in. Vicky looked at her air gauge. It was showing just under 300 bar. She did the calculation for her turnaround point in her head. Halfway would be 150 bar. The safety margin was 60, so she needed to halve that for the return. Adding the 150 bar to 30 bar gave 180 bar. When the air gauge read 180, it was time to get out. ‘Three hundred,’ she said, and Potter gave her a thumbs-up.
‘All right, guys?’ she asked.
The three men nodded and flashed her okay signs.
‘Okay, Dave?’ she asked Potter.
‘Ready when you are,’ he said.
‘As soon as we get an emergency crew in place, we’re good to go.’ Just as she finished, two more pumps arrived. As Abbey had predicted, they were from the Soh
o station. They parked up and the crew managers hurried over to Abbey. Vicky watched as Abbey gave instructions to the two crew managers. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered as the two crew managers hurried back to their pumps.
Jones and Beech had a hose connected to the pump and had fixed a branch – what civilians called a nozzle – to the end. Beech was holding the branch and Jones was looking after the hose.
Vicky watched as the Soho pumps were connected to a hydrant and hoses were connected. Two of the Soho firefighters were putting on BA equipment as another firefighter stood ready with a control board. She looked over at Abbey. ‘Okay, guv?’ she shouted.
Vicky looked over at the emergency crew, then back to Abbey. She could tell from the look on his face that he would have preferred to wait until the emergency crew was ready at the door so she flashed him an okay sign. ‘Okay?’ she repeated.
Abbey sighed and waved for her to go in.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
They fitted their facemasks, then pulled fire retardant hoods over their heads before fastening their helmets. Potter checked them one at a time to make sure there was no exposed flesh. ‘Good to go,’ he said eventually.
Moore attacked the boarded-up door with his Halligan bar. The plywood split and shattered with just a couple of blows but the door was solid oak and took half a dozen hits before it sagged on its hinges. He put the Halligan bar down and ripped the door away with his gloved hands. ‘Nice one, Billy,’ said Vicky. She patted him on the shoulder and stepped into the reception area. There was some smoke leaking out from the bar but visibility was still good. The reception desk was ahead of her, with a stairway to the right. Two double doors to the left led to the bar but they were fire doors so were capable of holding the flames back, for a while at least.
Vicky led them up the stairs. There had once been carpets but they had been ripped out to reveal the bare boards and the gripper strips.
The stairs turned to the left and they headed up to the next landing. The smoke was thicker and she figured it must be finding its way up from the bar. She looked down the first-floor corridor and after the third door it was too hazy to see much. ‘Crew now on first floor. Just reached the first floor. Some smoke logging, no fire apparent,’ she said.
The Sh0ut Page 2
