At the bottom of the shaft, the elevator door slid open and the heat burst in. That end of the room was what firefighters would call fully involved in the blaze. Was this building too old to have a sprinkler system? Or did Seagrave pay someone off to get around fire safety code violations? Well, it hardly mattered now. Felicity stood by the open door, waving him on. The woman in his arms groggily mumbled, “What’s going on?” He shifted her up onto his right shoulder and started across the floor in a crouch. The woman’s perspiration dripped onto his back, blending with his own. He focused his attention on Felicity’s face and the desperation he saw there.
Morgan had just stepped into the relative cool of the hallway when he heard a moan. It was not from Mrs. Seagrave. It was a deeper voice, and it came from behind him. Turning, his eyes were at first seared by the brightness of the flames. Heat washed over his face making it harder to breathe. Squinting, he sighted in on a figure on hands and knees, following a long shadow across the floor, but much too slowly.
Paul. Shit. Can’t just leave him, Morgan thought.
Before he could put his thoughts into words, Felicity brushed past him. While he looked on, his mouth agape, she took the arm of the man who had kidnapped her and helped him regain his feet. After pulling Paul’s left arm across her shoulders, Felicity shuffled toward the door. Morgan could see the pallor of blood loss and the extra creases of pain on Paul’s face, but there was no time for additional first aid now.
“I can make it,” Paul said in answer to Morgan’s unvoiced question. He tried a smile of thanks.
Felicity passed Morgan in the hall and banged the call button. A long, tense minute passed before the private elevator door opened. The quartet hurried aboard for the short ride down three flights. When the doors opened again, the air was clearer, allowing everyone a deep breath.
“Okay, gang, let’s go.” With that, Morgan spun his load and headed down the hall. “Elevators are suicide in a burning building, I’m afraid. We had no choice before, since Seagrave had the stairs closed off from here up. But from here down we’ve got to take the safer choice.” He pulled the steel door open and started downstairs.
“Wait!” Felicity shouted. “There’s a wire. Six steps down.” In the darkness Morgan managed to pick out the trip wire and carefully stepped over it. Felicity continued talking as they moved steadily down the stairs.
“It’s an old habit,” she said as they moved through the smoky gloom. “Whenever I go up stairs on a caper I leave a wire. If I have to exit quickly, anyone following me gets slowed down some.”
Morgan’s breathing got deeper after each flight of stairs, but the smoke also got thinner and the oven like warmth felt farther and farther away. He could feel Seagrave’s wife beginning to fidget, fighting the drug still coursing through her veins. Paul, on the other hand, was less able to support himself, despite heroic effort. It was increasingly obvious that his weight was almost too much for Felicity to handle. Morgan wanted to help her, but he knew time was escaping them. He didn’t know what businesses occupied most of the building, but Seagrave’s business floors were warehouses filled with shipping materials, enough cardboard and paper to fuel a blast furnace. Beyond the stairwell he could hear the roar of the fire climbing down the building. If it ever got ahead of them, the stairwell itself could become a swirling blast furnace if any of the lower doors had been left open.
Morgan’s thighs were burning as he proceeded downward, and his eyes burned with the sweat he didn’t have time to wipe away. On the nineteenth floor landing Mrs. Seagrave’s legs jerked in an awkward spasm. Thrown off balance, Morgan slumped against a wall. His eyes wandered up the stairs, focusing on the line of red spots Paul was leaving behind. Felicity’s face was ashen and streaked with gray tracks left by her perspiration. Her hair hung in a clump, tangled under Paul’s arm, and her eyes were vacant with concentration. Paul’s face was ominously blank.
Morgan would not have left Paul behind, out of respect. He was still surprised that Felicity, unasked, had tried to rescue him. She had not dropped him yet, but it was obvious that she could not continue for long. He feared they would have to abandon someone, unless providence intervened.
“I think I can walk now.” The woman’s voice behind him took Morgan completely by surprise. Marlene Seagrave squirmed off his shoulder and smiled a woozy smile, trying to square her own proud shoulders and regain some dignity in her silk nightgown.
“Thank God,” Felicity said, barely above a whisper. “This one’s just passed out.”
“Yeah, and I’m smelling more smoke,” Morgan added.
“It is getting warm in here, isn’t it?” Felicity said, nodding with her dramatic understatement. Morgan took three deep breaths and pulled off his light windbreaker, handing it to Marlene. “It is warm, but I thought you might want to cover up some.”
Marlene nodded her thanks and accepted the jacket. Her reaction to his shoulder holster and knife was barely perceivable. Morgan noticed it, and he saw that Felicity did too. Marlene pulled the jacket on without comment. It hung past her hips and covered her hands completely.
Paul replaced Marlene in a fireman’s carry across Morgan’s shoulders, and the group continued descending the long vertical tunnel at a somewhat better pace. Morgan led, with Felicity close behind and Marlene Seagrave following. With each step, Marlene’s mind seemed to become clearer. No one would mistake her for an athlete, but she was working hard to keep up, and to catch up in another sense.
“I have to ask you people something,” she said in a breathless tremor. “I’ve been able to piece together a little of what’s been happening here.”
“I can imagine your confusion, eh...”
“Marlene,” Mrs. Seagrave replied to Felicity’s unvoiced query. “Thanks for verifying that we haven’t met before. I don’t recognize either of you. I know you don’t work for my husband. He makes sure they all know who I am. On the other hand, you hardly behave like police or emergency personnel or anything like that. So the most confusing thing to me I guess is why I’m here. I mean, my husband’s staff all left me behind. Why didn’t you?”
“That would take a bit of explaining,” Felicity said, brushing some long red strands from her face. “It’s a little complex.”
“I think we have time,” Marlene replied, out of breath but still able to manage a small smile.
“Well, alright then. You see, I was in your room earlier and I drugged you. If we left you there, in a fire like that, well, that’d be murder, wouldn’t it?”
Marlene seemed to consider her words carefully, or maybe she was just having trouble catching her breath. “But you, well, this might seem a bit wrong to say under the circumstances, but you were there to hurt my husband, weren’t you? ”
Felicity rushed to say, “I was there to rob him.”
Morgan appreciated Felicity’s response. She must have liked Marlene Seagrave just for her straightforward attitude. She was trying not to hurt Marlene’s feelings, but the woman persisted.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Marlene said, “but there are surely easier targets for a robbery. Why Adrian?”
Felicity kept pushing forward, not looking back at Marlene. “Sorry to tell you this, but he cheated me in a business deal. I wanted back what he took. We, eh, had a bit of a conflict with your security guards. Things got a little out of hand is all.”
“The fire?”
“That was an accident,” Felicity said with a raised index finger. After that remark, Morgan could not resist breaking into a grin. If he turned he imagined that he would see Felicity blushing.
Ten steps later, Marlene said, “I know the man your friend is carrying. He’s one of my husband’s business associates. A security specialist I think he said. He’s probably one of the men you had your conflict with.”
“So what?” Morgan asked over his shoulder. “Should we have left him to die?”
“Would he have saved you?” Marlene returned.
“Of course,” Morgan
said, but without much conviction. He wanted to end the conversation, because he found life easier when he did not examine his own reasons too closely. He got along just fine as long as he did what felt right at the time.
Morgan was moving forward on automatic pilot. Time lost meaning as he moved past identical flights of stairs. His back was screaming at him, but he shut it out. All his energy focused on simple tasks. Breathe. Step down. Maintain balance. Do you hear two sets of footsteps behind you? Good. Breathe. Step down. Maintain balance.
Walking in a daze Morgan felt his right foot thump to a halt inches before he expected it to, and he stumbled forward, nearly falling. With a shock, he realized there were no more steps to descend. They had reached the ground floor landing and he could hear sirens. No smoke wafted into the stairwell, but he would not expect any to pass under a fire door, even if noises did. Regaining his balance, he pressed his hand against the steel door. It was slightly warm. Morgan felt like a wrung out dishrag, despite the fact that his clothes were soaked through with his sweat, and the sweat of those he had carried. His lungs burned from dragging in all the air they could hold on his long overburdened descent. Fighting to keep his balance, he turned to face the girls and shifted Paul off his shoulder into his arms like a baby.
Marlene was breathing hard, wheezing like an old window-mounted air conditioner. Felicity held her arm to steady her. Felicity’s eyes seemed a little out of focus, but her mouth was drawn into a hard line of determination he had only seen before on Rangers near the end of an all day road march. She was mad. Not mad at him or anybody in particular, but at the situation, and her anger was carrying her. His mind started playing an old Army cadence call.
Had a dog, his name was Blue.
Blue wanted to be a Ranger too.
They made him march for 28 days.
Now old Blue’s in a zombie haze
He smiled. Felicity wanted to be a Ranger too. Morgan had been there and done that. When people got that tired they didn’t think too well. His new partner was there now, and he had to fill in the thinking for her.
“Now listen,” Morgan said. His words were clipped, his voice terse. “It’s probably all smoke out there. You won’t want your eyes open, but you’ve got to get out. If you get lost in the lobby, you’re dead. Understand? The lobby door is about six paces to the right, then left about twenty. Got it?”
“Right six, left twenty,” Felicity said in a robotic voice. “Right.”
“When I push this door open, take a deep breath and crouch down as low as you can. Hold your breath, clamp your eyes shut and run. Hang on to Mrs. Seagrave and drag her if you have to. There’s nothing in your way. When you hit the door to the outside, you’ll know it. Ready? Go!”
Morgan slammed his back against the door’s lever, swinging it open. Smoke curled in on him. The women slipped past, arms linked. He followed, hefting Paul in his arms. It was a long twenty seconds of darkness, following the sound of Marlene’s feet on the marble floor. He was grateful that she was barefoot because despite her exhaustion, Felicity’s boots were silent. Paul choked and gagged in his arms. Morgan’s eyes smarted from the thick smoke, even with his lids clamped shut. Even his own saliva tasted of smoke while he held his breath.
Strong hands clamped onto his left leg, pulling him off balance. Someone must have gotten trapped in the lobby. It could be an innocent employee, or it might be one of the guards who ran from Seagrave’s meeting room. Morgan didn’t have the luxury of distinguishing. He managed to right himself on his left foot just long enough to manage a single stamp kick. It was enough to free him. He staggered forward, out of breath and out of time. He stumbled, almost dropping Paul. His shoulder hit something hard, but whatever it was, it moved.
The barrier slid aside and a blast of cool air froze the dampness on his face. Two sets of arms stopped him. He gulped fresh air and collapsed. He cracked his eyes open to see that a pair of firemen was helping him walk. Someone clamped an oxygen mask over Paul’s face and lifted him away. The firemen holding Morgan’s arms lowered him to a seated position, leaning against the giant tire of a hook and ladder truck, and went back to work. His head hung between his legs, his eyes burning. Bull horns nearby blasted instructions to bystanders and emergency personnel.
Morgan’s head spun, and the air tasted like water that had been in the refrigerator too long. It was all catching up to him now. His showdown with Paul. The shoot-out in the conference room, so much like a mad minute back in Vietnam. His brief, terrible battle with Monk. The fire. Forty-one flights of stairs, carrying a body all the way, racing against the blaze. And now, after all that, would come the moment of greatest danger.
There he sat, surrounded by police. His windbreaker was wrapped around Marlene Seagrave now, so there was no concealing the loaded gun he was carrying, not to mention three knives. Felicity was still laden with burglar tools and a live hand grenade. The building they just left was ablaze and two charred bodies were stretched out on the pavement around there somewhere. Any minute now, a nurse medical tech would be asking him how he was and what happened upstairs. He and Felicity were left with way too much to explain. What, he wondered, would they be charged with? Breaking and entering? Burglary? Arson? Murder? These days, maybe even terrorism. They were alone, with no witnesses and no defense.
Gathering his remaining strength, Morgan forced himself to his feet and trudged heavily over toward Felicity. She and Marlene Seagrave were talking to a police captain. Morgan had to step over hoses and avoid rushing fire fighters on the way. This scene of confusion, he realized, was all taking place inside a police barricade. Several trucks and emergency vehicles were parked too closely together in an overlapping pattern, like so many red and yellow pick-up sticks. What looked like an army of men was fighting what he could now see was a major fire. He looked around for Monk and Seagrave, but someone must have already cleared that mess away.
When he reached Felicity, he was surprised to find her looking solemn, but not worried or frightened. She raised a palm to Morgan, cautioning him to stay silent. Marlene, still in her nightgown and Morgan’s windbreaker, was speaking to a detective now. Morgan could barely hear her words over the fire fighters’ clopping boots and shouted commands.
“That’s right, Marlene Seagrave,” she said, as a fireman wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She was biting her lip and looking every bit the grieving widow. “My husband is, or was, Adrian Seagrave, the importer. We live, lived, in an apartment in this building. Our offices were here and he insisted on living where he worked.”
“And these people?” the policeman asked.
“These people? Oh, they’re in my husband’s employ as, eh...”
“We’re security personnel, sir,” Felicity said, somehow looking helpful and supportive.
“Yes, that’s right, security,” Marlene said, nodding. “There were others, but they all ran off. This man and this woman risked their lives to save me and that other fellow, and I don’t even know their names.” She gulped back a very sincere and convincing sob. “I’ll be happy to make a more extensive statement to you and the press after my new friends and I get a shower. Can I please go get some clothes on?”
As the police moved away, Felicity turned toward Morgan. Her confident expression melted like a wax mask. Exhaustion washed over her face and she fell into Morgan’s arms. A man standing nearby turned from the police to point a camera at them. His automatic flash stabbed Morgan’s eyes. Morgan twisted away, reflexively trying to avoid being identified.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Daily News,” the man said, not even bothering to offer his name. Instead he pushed a pocket tape recorder toward their faces. “Fires happen every day. You guys are the story here. From what the other woman said, you two are real heroes.”
-34-
On a cool spring evening, a sleek black Corvette slid into a parking space in at an exclusive marina on the ocean side of Long Island. The passenger side door opened and a tall, powerf
ully built black man got out. He appeared vaguely uncomfortable in a navy blue suit and tie. His shoes were hand made Italian slip-ons. He walked around the car and opened the door for the driver, a slender, stately redhead. She was dressed simply in a jade silk gown that matched her eyes.
“That’s her boat,” Felicity said, pointing down a long pier.
“Boat?” Morgan snorted. “Red, when they get into the two hundred foot class, I don’t think you call them boats. They become yachts. This old girl’s two hundred eighteen feet from stem to stern.”
“I just love that nautical talk,” Felicity said. Arm in arm the couple walked slowly up a long gangplank. Its guide ropes were strung with small electric lights. As they got closer to the deck the subdued chatter of polite celebrants greeted them. The vessel ahead was jammed with smiling faces. Felicity scanned the tuxedo and gown crowd, but saw no familiar faces. As they were about to step aboard the vessel, their hostess appeared as if from nowhere.
The Payback Assignment Page 24
