"They're putting all their technicians onto checking the tracks. They want it sorted before they get more passengers than they can handle."
I tapped his shoulder lightly. "The secret to working here is to relax and keep a cool head. So, we've got problems, but at present the passenger flow has not been affected. The metros will quickly clear the excess. Just give it a few minutes. In the meantime, write up the report."
I must say I felt a bit of a hypocrite. I was not as calm as I showed. Rush hour had started barely twenty-five minutes ago, and already we had three problems. Happening to glance at the big screen again, I noticed that another three P&Rs were experiencing level 3 difficulties. That meant fifty-five per cent of the P&Rs were filling up with jam-packed commuter trains.
***
The train was a little less full than usual. Frederic Vandendriesch climbed aboard and managed to find a seat, something that had not happened in a long time. The mass of passengers, waiting on the quay, pushed and shoved to enter the train carriage.
One of the last people to enter was a woman, who by the looks of her, was several months pregnant. Frederic had always wondered how people were able to say exactly by how many months a pregnancy was advanced. It all depended on the size of the woman, and on whether she had a potbelly or not.
This soon-to-be-mother looked too young to have a fat belly, and Frederic had immediately assumed she was pregnant. He had also noticed the way she walked legs slightly apart, as if carrying a heavy load.
Suddenly remembering his manners, he glanced around the carriage for free seats. Now that the train was moving away from the station, commuters who had boarded at the same station had taken the few remaining seats.
He stood up and gently helped the pregnant woman down to his seat. A look of relief crossed her face as she settled awkwardly.
"When's it due?" he asked in Flemish.
"Pardon?"
"I'm sorry, maybe if I spoke English? It's better than my French."
"Yes. I don't speak French, either. I'm Swedish."
"Ok. So when's it due?"
"In under a month. I hope it's going to be a girl," she answered happily.
"Haven't you had a scan? You know? To see what sex it is?"
"No. We, my husband and I, disapprove of that type of thing. We want to keep the surprise for when the baby is born."
"I suppose there is a rationale for that. My sister had a scan both times. I have a nephew and a niece."
The pregnant woman appraised Frederic. "Well, they must be lucky to have an uncle like you. You know, it's the first time since I've gotten pregnant that someone has given his or her seat up for me. Usually, I have to stand up all the way to central station. I know it's only ten minutes, but still."
The train started slowing. Frederic bent down to look out the window. He glimpsed a sign saying 'Wemmel P&R' as it flashed by. "Strange, we're slowing just past a P&R."
Soon, the train came to a complete stop. The loudspeaker came alive.
"Dear Passengers, we apologise for the inconvenience but we have a minor technical hitch. Since we have just passed Wemmel P&R, we kindly ask you to exit the train and use the metro at the P&R. Thank you for your patience."
Frederic helped the woman down to the tracks. They followed the rest of the angry commuters up to the far end of the platform. The crowd rushed through the P&R terminal to lay siege to the metro ticket counters.
Having left the woman on a bench, Frederic went to buy tickets for them both. When his turn came, he studied the metro map, and chose Descartes line, which went directly to central station. He returned to the woman, and helped her down the escalators to the inbound platform for Descartes metro line. The crowd was so large that none of the benches were empty. Frederic looked at the signal board. It said that the next metro train would be arriving in 2 minutes.
Then an apologetic voice came over the loudspeakers "Dear Passengers, owing to a technical failure, the next train has been delayed. It will arrive in six minutes. Thank you for your patience."
***
Martin from Support walked in. He was not so much tanned as peeling; his nose looked like it had been put through a cheese grater.
"Back from sunny Portugal, Martin?"
"No, the French Alps actually. Skiing."
"You didn't break a leg. I would have at least expected that of you." Quite a heavy bloke, Martin had always had a big build, but since his marriage two years ago, he had enjoyed too much home cooking.
He smiled wryly. We were both used to the raillery. While he was still in shifts, ours was one of the best teams. At times, when the pressure of the job got to us, we cracked a joke or two, relieving the tension.
"No, but not for lack of trying."
"Well, at least you got a tan, although you're losing it pretty quick."
He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, working his fingernail under a loose flap of skin. We chatted a while longer before he noticed the big screen. Wrinkles creased his forehead as he tried to make out the picture. During the first ten minutes in the office, I have never known his contact lenses to work. I have been told that it's impossible, but as strange as it may seem, that is what happens. Some people believe in UFOs; I believe Martin. Fortunately, he wore glasses while driving, and only put in his lenses at the office.
Jacques Nys rushed in and threw himself at his desk angrily. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glare at me briefly. So, he had been talking to Schuster. Fine, he was the one who should have attended that meeting, so he could not blame me for what happened, and what really got him going was that he knew it.
Patrick leant over and whispered, "Two more P&Rs down---"
"Great," I said, while I made a quick mental calculation in my head. "Seventy-two percent of P&Rs have all the trains blocked. There's some kind of generalised malfunction on the train tracks."
Continuing where I cut him off, Patrick added, "and now there seem to be problems on the inner city metro--Ring line, Descartes line and Kepler line have had power failures. No metro trains are running along them."
Swearing under my breath, I explained the whole situation to Martin. He was usually the first guy in from Support, and he had not even had his coffee yet. Support was going to have their work cut out for them today.
The red lines on the overhead screen were increasing. "Patrick, call the Descartes and Kepler P&Rs--"
"What?"
"Descartes and Kepler link up directly with P&Rs. Inform the P&Rs linking to Descartes and Kepler metro lines of the power failures if they're not already aware of them. For the moment, get them to put train and metro passengers on the terminal busses."
"But that will increase traffic---"
"We've got no choice," I snapped. Patrick meekly picked up the phone.
Right, that would sort out the P&R terminals, but the real problem was the Ring line. As its name suggested, the Ring metro line circles the centre of the city, and during rush hour it was vital. Not only was it used by incoming passengers from the car-parks and P&Rs, but it shuttled train passengers and people living in the city, too. All the inner city car-parks were either linked to Ring line metro stations, or were within walking distance.
I got onto the blower with the metro maintenance headquarters, who responded immediately by sending out a crew. At least some people were awake today. If the past few minutes were anything to go by, the more alert city services employees today, the better.
As an afterthought, I attempted to get the power company to re-route power to the metro lines. They could promise nothing, although they would see what they could do. In frustration, I slammed the receiver down.
This was not going to be easy. In the space of a few minutes, we had gone from a calm morning to a minor crisis. If it got any worse, it would become a test of our endurance and clear thinking under stress.
Patrick took a break, at my insistence. I needed him as calm and collected as possible. So far, he had been a great help, and I did not want anything to
jeopardise that. Two of us would not be too many to handle this situation.
Fortunately, we were given a small respite. Nothing we could do would speed up the recovery of the train and metro networks. After a cup of coffee, I was again ready to attack the problems at hand.
Enough daydreaming, I silently admonished myself. From here, I could see Martin hard at work outside, hunched over his desk. He finally did find the time for his coffee.
I cast a look at the LCD screen above me. Road traffic inside the city had increased noticeably in the past few minutes. Several major arteries had already become clogged with vehicles, turning yellow. Not out of the ordinary for this time of day, at the height of rush hour, but given the other problems, we had something to keep an eye on.
What was unusual, a short while later, was the predominance of dark yellow roads, in or around inner city car-parks. Dark yellow indicated a high percentage of road usage verging on full capacity. Naturally, this was a cause for concern. Full capacity was total road usage or stationary cars; in other words, a traffic jam.
Trying to ascertain the exact cause, I switched to the city map, and zoomed in. The smaller surrounding roads had nominal levels of road usage. I hoped that a car crash was causing the delays, but the waystations reported nothing untoward. A crash would have been easy to clear up, once the emergency services got there. Failing that, further investigation was required.
The car-parks must be the issue.
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* * *
Chapter Five
7h56 am
Raymond Baudouin drove sedately through the city. He disliked driving during rush hour, and tried to avoid other motorists by reaching the car-park near Madou at least ten minutes before everyone else. That way, he also avoided having to queue to park his car. He found the new car-parks, especially those situated just off the inner ring-road, were a fantastic addition to the urban development of the city centre.
They were automated multi-storey car-parks that, contrary to those of a decade or two earlier, went down rather than up. The city skyline was not affected by the size or ugly architecture of the car-parks. Massive, underground caverns had been dug to cater to the rising demand for city parking spaces. The old system, requiring the motorist to park his own car, was hastily abandoned as inefficient. It was replaced by a revolutionary new type of car-park, one that required little or no effort from the motorist, and spared him such unnecessary trivia as worries about damage or theft. These new car-parks consisted of a tiered configuration of parking spaces, surrounding a central lift shaft. On each level, the spaces were arranged in a circle, each space open towards the centre, towards the lift shaft. A motorist was only required to drive his car into the lift cabin, and the car-park computer took care of the rest. The lift would move down to a level containing a free space, then rotate so that the car could easily be placed in the available space. After that, the lift would rise to the surface to await the next customer. On a motorist's return, the process would be reversed, and he could retrieve his car where he left it, in the lift cabin.
Raymond turned the last corner and headed straight for the lift entrance of the car park. He stopped in front of the automatic barrier, and wound down his window. He had a year's subscription, which supplied him with a pass card that avoided his having to bother with finding exact change. He inserted the passcard, and the automatic barrier lifted. He drove forward and stopped. Making sure he didn't leave the hand-brake on, he exited his car, and locked it.
He walked out of the lift and turned around. The whole of the car-park system fascinated him, and he usually found time to see his car drop in the lift. It gave him a strange kind of feeling that he relished. A sense of safety.
The lift began descending, and then it did something he had never dreamed it capable of. The far end tilted up. He watched in fascination as his car slowly rolled backwards until it had two wheels sticking out of the lift.
The lift continued to descend. Raymond immediately saw what was going to happen. He rushed to the panel, where moments ago he had inserted his passcard. In one corner, there was a big red button labelled 'Emergency stop'. He had seen people use it when they had forgotten their briefcase in their car. He punched the button, and glanced again at the lift. It stopped, making him sigh with relief. Then the lift suddenly jerked and moved down again. The top of the lift crashed down onto the roof of his car, and kept going. The glass of his car blew outwards under the pressure, and the roof buckled.
The hydraulics of the lift creaked as it tried to move further down. A look of despair crossed Raymond's face. The mangled wreck, half inside the lift cage, was a new car he had bought five months ago. Now, he felt a lot less proud than he had leaving the showroom.
***
I checked the car parks thoroughly. Parking space availability appeared to be slightly higher than normal. I grimaced as I noted the time, which was much later than I thought. Time flies when you're having fun. There should have been many more cars parked by now. Something was holding them up, keeping them from the precious free spaces.
The computer at the car park sent the information I had just received. I requested it run full systems diagnosis, but that came up a blank. It insisted it was working to specifications, so I decided to check a few other car parks. Level 1, car traffic, was rising rapidly on roads leading to them, despite their being virtually empty.
A vague, nagging suspicion was forming in my confused mind, when Patrick came back. I brought him up to speed. Going over it again with him, the suspicion coalesced. I placed a call to the security firm that does the video monitoring of the city.
"Good morning. Blue Eye security. How may I help you?"
"Hi. This is Hugh Ryan from the Transport Authority."
"Hello, Mr. Ryan."
"I've got a problem here I hope you can help me with," I said politely. Since they are an independent firm, my brusque manner would slide off him like water off a duck's hindquarters.
"Fire away," he chirped.
"We seem to have a problem with some of the inner city car-parks."
"I see. What kind of problem?"
"Cars can't get in. Something's stopping them from entering. I've checked the computers, but they seem OK."
"Yes?"
Ugh. They are frustrating, with their cool manner and superior attitude. I could be announcing the start of hostilities for World War III, and this guy would still be talking to me like a phone-in psychologist.
Mustering my patience, I asked him sweetly, "What I would like you to do is check the entrance to one car park." He failed to respond, so I added, "Could you do that please?"
"Check the entrance to a car park?"
"Yes," I said. They were frustrating, but this was taking things a bit far.
"OK. We'll do that. We'll call you back."
"Hang on. I'd like to stay on the line, if you don't mind." Otherwise, there is no knowing when he would have gotten around to it. That is one of the many things I have learnt in this job. If you want something done, you have to keep insisting so people will do it, just to get some peace.
"All right." His voice betrayed his reluctance. Another upstart from the Transport Authority was trying to order him about. If my suspicion turned out to be incorrect, I was going to get an earful.
He came back to the phone. "Hugh?"
"Yes."
"I've found your problem."
"Great. What is it?"
"I think the computer is down or something. It's not working normally."
"What is it?"
"You'll never believe me. The entrance gate is stuck in the middle of a car."
I had had enough of this joker. He really was getting on my frayed nerves. "Explain." I shouted so loudly that poor Nys looked up anxiously.
"Hey, keep your hair on. A car drove up to the entrance. The entrance barrier came down. Only the car was passing through at the time. The barrier made this massive dent in the roof. The driver got out, and the lif
t moved down, squashing the car. The rear is sticking out, but the rest of it got mangled inside the lift. Before he claims from his insurance, they're going to have to separate the gate from the car. Believe me, from what I can see, it's not going to be easy."
Cutting him off, I snapped, "Right, well, how about getting someone over there to clear the mess up? We need access to the car park, pronto."
"Hey, no need to get angry, pal. We're all equal under the law. I was going to call them once I had finished with you."
Typical. Stonewalling tactics from a self-professed comic. The velvet glove was coming off, right now. "We'll see just how equal you are when I explain to the Bourgmestre how you single-handedly caused one of the biggest traffic jams in the history of the Transport Authority."
"What? We're only talking about one measly little car park."
"Check the others. You'll see all the car parks are out of order at the moment. If you don't get your backside into gear, we're going to have a major crisis on our hands. Do you understand?"
A bit over the top, maybe, but it worked every time. In theory, we have the Bourgmestre's authority to order people about, but she did not like us abusing the privilege. Tough; if this was a false alarm, there would be a little bit of yelling to face. I could handle that, but by the looks of things it was no red herring.
"OK. Right on it, Hugh," he muttered diffidently. Well, that was some change of attitude.
As it turned out, all the inner city car parks had malfunctioned. In each case, a vehicle was trapped in the lift entrance. Repair teams were on their way. I thanked him, then slammed the receiver down.
Patrick's moustache quivered as, surreptitiously, he pulled away from me. The way I had been behaving lately, it was no surprise.
I smiled at him, and apologised. "Look, I'm never angry at the people here. Always with people on the other end of the phone who don't take their work seriously." My face twisted into a wry smile as I caught him glancing over at Nys. "Oh, yes, and I get angry with him."
If this had not been a crisis before, it certainly was now. We had trains blocked at the P&R terminals, a generalised power failure on the metro system, and broken down car-parks in the city centre. As if that wasn't enough, we had up to four million motorists stranded in the city with nowhere to go, and more to come.
Roadworks Page 6
