“I don’t think so, Miss Reynolds. The diners are probably as safe as they’ll ever be, waiting right here.” Barton started to object and Leroux glanced at him coldly. “If the firemen can’t control it, they’ll let us know. There’ll be time to evacuate then. If we leave now, we’d have to take the residential elevators to the sky lobby and are both the lobby and the elevators are mobbed. I don’t think it would do anybody any good to add to the confusion.”
“There’s the outside, scenic elevator,” Quinn said.
“True,” Leroux said gently, “but what’s the capacity?”
She hesitated. “At the most a dozen.”
“That would be eleven trips, with the diners left behind getting more and more nervous after each trip. No, I’m afraid if we started to leave now, we’d create a panic.
If we have to go, there’ll be firemen up here to direct the evacuation-it will make it one hell of a lot easier.
As it is, I’d suggest we all stay right here until we’re told to leave. Miss Reynolds, how’s your wine cellar?”
“It was completely stocked when we opened. We have plenty.”
Break it out-make it on the house.” His voice was husky and strained and Barton noticed Thelma watching him” like a hawk.
A bad heart beneath that healthy exterior? he suddenly wondered.
Something else that could be brought on by strain?
A quiet babble began to fill the room. Quinn left the table. to circulate among the other diners and reassure them that everything was under control. Barton and Leroux looked at each other in silence, the older man’s face blank and unreadable. It must be tough on Leroux, Barton thought. He had lost the game, even if the-damage proved to be minor. He had laid elaborate plans to shut up Quantrell, but fate had turned over the wrong card. For all practical purposes, Quantrell’s on-the-air statements about the Glass House were now confirmed.
Jenny suddenly turned to him. “Is it really bad?” she whispered.
“I think it’s exactly as Quinn told us,” Barton said heavily.
“But I’m also afraid that she may have only an early report.” The sensors hadn’t reported the fire to the Fire Department, he thought.
That meant there had been a delay during which the fire might really have gotten a foothold. Had gotten a foothold; Donaldson and Edwards had been driven from the floor.
“Craig.” He looked over at Leroux-who seemed like a man who was coming out of shock. His brain was working again and it was obvious he would spend little time with regrets for the past. “I think you ought to take the scenic elevator down to the lobby and act as liaison with the Fire Department. Until such time as I get down there, you’re in charge. Some of the tenants who have shops and offices in the building will be showing up; they’ll want to talk to someone in authority. I imagine our insurance people will be down there, too.”
“Glad to, boss.” Barton took a breath. “Only one question: Why don’t -you go?”
“I’m hardly afraid of facing whoever’s down there, Craig. But it would be bad public relations. It’d be too much the image of the captain deserting his ship-not a good idea under the circumstances.”
He could buy that, Barton thought, though you could argue it both ways. The papers would get hold of it, or Quantrell, and Leroux could be made to look as if he were not only criminally liable but a coward as well. And then he had another thought.
“Where’s Captain Harriman?”
“Out of state for the holidays.”
“Crandall?”
Leroux looked pained. “Checked out sick at noon. He wouldn’t be any good down below right now anyway.”
“All right, I’m it,” Barton said. “But just out of curiosity, who follows Crandall in the table of organization?”
“He’s out, too,” Leroux said gently. “Griff Edwards.
He was the oldest man in the, organization and I thought it would be a nice gesture; I never imagined it might get down to him.”
Barton stood up to go and suddenly Jenny was hanging on his sleeve.
“Craig,” she said in a little voice, “I think I ought to be with you.”
For a moment he was touched, then shook his head.
“Jenny, this is probably the safest place in the entire building if you stay behind. If you go with me, I’d insist on putting you in a cab for a hotel as soon as we reach the lobby.”
“Then I’ll stay right here with our friends,” she said, something of a chill back in her voice. Then she caught helena’s disapproving look and forced a smile. “How often do you get to see this kind of fire from a ringside seat?” Barton squeezed her shoulder lightly.
“Not very often.”
He pushed back in his chair and started to squeeze past the table behind him when he felt the stocky woman tap his shoulder. “I couldn’t help but overhearing,” she said softly. “How serious is it-precisely?”
Barton shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he reassured her. “A fire in a storeroom. Nobody’s been hurt and the Fire Department’s already here. There’s nothing to worry about-the tenants in the building are being notified.
Frankly, if I were you I would drink your wine and enjoy Late Evening -” He glanced at her escort, who looked slightly pale. “Don’t you agree with me, sir?”
“You’re quite right, the first rule to follow is to stay put until you can assess just how bad the situation is.”
Barton brushed past them toward the scenic elevator.
Odd, he thought. The stocky woman had looked quite serious when she had asked him about the fire but when he had said that the tenants were being notified, she had looked even more worried.
Then he was waiting in the foyer for the scenic elevator, along with a few other diners who had abruptly decided to leave. Despite Quinn’s reassurances, they were grim and white-faced.
CHAPTER 26
It was odd, Mario Infantino thought, how an evening that had started out so well could turn bad so quickly.
The snow was coming down thick enough now that the headlights of other cars were mere fuzzy splotches in the darkness. He could sense by the way the tires lost traction repeatedly that street conditions were bad and getting worse. He ran a red light, then pulled into his reserved space marked “Division Chief” in the lot behind the firehouse and threw his Camaro into park. He yanked the keys from the ignition, tumbled out, and slammed the door behind him. He was halfway across the lot when Chief . Engineer Fuchs’s official car pulled into the lot alongside his own, its red light flashing. He doubled back and ran toward it.
Fuchs rolled down the window and yelled at him. “It’s a hot one, Infantino-made to order for you.”
“Dispatch said it was the Glass House. How bad?”
“The whole seventeenth floor and probably the eighteenth by now.”
The snow had started to sift down Infantino’s neck and he shivered. “I should be there. That’s my district. I should’ve been notified a long time ago.”
“The fire was called in; the beat sensor hookup didn’t work.”
Fuchs spat out the window. “Modern technology, Infantino-it works great when it works and God help you when it doesn’t. Incidentally, when you get there, you’re in charge-the entire operation.”
Infantino stared. “It’s customary for the chief engineer to be in charge of an operation this size.”
“That’s right, and I’ll be right behind you.” There was a hint of malice in his voice that Infantino picked up immediately.
“Chief, we don’t have much time. You better tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Fair enough.” Fuchs got out of his car, pulled his coat up around his ears, and motioned Infantino over to the side of the building. It was cold enough now so his breath came out in little puffs of vapor.
“I want you there for two reasons, Infantino. First and most important, you’re the only man I’ve got who’s a self-trained expert on this type of fire. I would be doing the department an injustice if I to
ok over when I thought there was a man better equipped to handle it than I am.” His voice turned acid. “You might say I’ll be there to learn. I’ll learn if you can do it and I’ll learn if you can’t.
You’ve been sounding off on how high-rise fires should be fought.
All right, mister, here’s your chance to show me.”
“You think I’ve been trying to embarrass you and the department?”
Fuchs salt-and-pepper mustache bristled with fury.
“I’ve seen all of Quantrell’s broadcasts; neither I nor the department come out with very high marks. I don’t give a damn what’s said about me but the department’s something else again. It’s one of the finest in the country; I’ve spent my life with it and I’ve been pallbearer for half the men who started with me as rookies. That television son of a bitch didn’t know any of them; he doesn’t know how they died and he doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, the department is behind the times, sloppy and possibly corrupt. And a lot of his information had to come from you.”
Infantino was red-faced. “That’s a goddamn lie! He pumped me and I walked right into it. So I wasn’t too bright, what should I have done-shut up so he could accuse you of muzzling me? What the hell motive would I have for undercutting you?”
Fuchs’s face was very close to his own, the fog from his breath a small cloud between them. “If I thought you were without personal ambition, Infantino, I would distrust you even more than I do now.”
Infantino controlled himself with effort. “What do you want me to do?”
“I told you-run the fire-fighting operations at the Glass House.”
“In the hopes that I’ll make a mistake?”
The little red veins pulsed in Fuchs’s forehead.”
“if you’re half as good as you think you are, then I’m doing the right thing. If you’re not, there are boards of inquiry and it won’t be my decision alone.
But I won’t deny that I’d be glad to have you out,of my hair.”
“I’ve never complained about the men or the department; it’s the lack of modern equipment.”
Fuchs nodded wearily. “I know your argument, I’ve heard it enough times. But no matter what equipment you’ve got, in the last analysis it’s men who fight fires.
And a fire is like a cancer-sometimes it takes very little to cure it and other times it’s terminal, no matter what you do or what equipment you’ve got.”
“I’ll need your cooperation.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Dispatch said four companies are there now. I’ll probably want more men.”
“We can recall companies as you need them. But I don’t want to strip the rest of the city unless I have to.”
“Have we got fire sketches on the building?”
Fuchs -hesitated. “No,” he said slowly. “A team was going over to make them at the end of the month.”
“But it’s been open for occupancy for three!”
Fuchs exploded. “You expect everybody to see your problems, but you don’t want to see mine, Infantino! You think every snot-nosed kid wants to GROW Up to be a fireman? I’ve got news for you, friend-we rank far behind the Police Department and they’re not exactly overwhelmed with applicants! Damned few people are volunteering for an opportunity to get their brains fried out-not at the salaries and widows’ pensions we pay! I could have all the fancy equipment in the world, and it would just sit there and gather dust because I don’t have the men to man it! You’ve got to have men on the hose, you’ve got to have men driving the pumpers and the ladder trucks, you’ve got to have men to go in with pulldown hooks and hatchets! Men, that’s what you fight fires with!
And we don’t have goddamned near enough! We don’t have the fire sketches because I couldn’t spare the men to send over there. Do you understand?” He paused, shaking with anger. “Most of this city is residential, that’s where most of our fires occur. That’s where most people die. I’ve concentrated on equipment to fight that kind of fire and it’s cost me blood. Sure, I can get money for equipment to fight the big ones-then put it in storage for the rest of the year. But what about salaries? What about more men? What about equipment designed to fight the little fires? Your big banks and industrial firms, they won’t come up with the money for that!”
They glared at each other for a moment, the snow falling quietly between them. “There’s a difference between .1 a house and a high rise,” Infantino said bitterly. “It’s a factor of ten, maybe a hundred, in the number of possible deaths. They don’t have to happen every month, even once would be enough.”
“I’m not without sympathy for your views,” Fuchs spit out. “I resent that you seem to be without any understanding of mine.”
“We’re talking -while the Glass House burns,” Infantino said quietly.
“Can we get the blueprints from the Department of Building and Safety?
Or if they don’t have them, from the insurance company of National Curtainwall itself?”
Fuchs nodded, his anger spent. “I’ll have it checked.
Anything else?”
“We’ll be sending men into tight, sealed rooms and compartments-we’ll need all the respiratory equipment we can get.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.” Fuchs turned to go back to his car, his aging shoulders bent against the wind.
“I’m not through!” Infantino shouted.
Fuchs turned. “You’ve got everything in the city now.”
“In this city, yes. I think we ought to contact the department in Southport. They’ve got new, high-capacity respirators and a hundred-foot tower can throw water to the thirteenth floor.
I’ll put them on the alert, but I’m not going to ask for help at this stage of the game. I doubt we’ll need more equipment; I think we can handle our own dirty work.”
Infantino nodded. He could understand Fuchs’s reluctance to borrow equipment before he absolutely had to.
“Thanks a lot, Chief-you’ve given me everything I’ll need.”
“You think so?” Fuchs said dryly. “I haven’t wished you good luck and I haven’t offered any prayers for you -and you need them both at any fire.” He turned to walk back to his car. “Can I offer you a lift?”
“No thanks,” Infantino said shortly. He hurried into the firehouse, nodding to the house watchman in his tiny booth near the front of the apparatus floor. The four companies that used the firehouse as division headquarters were gone and, except for the house watchman, the station was deserted. A skillet with a dozen half-cooked pork chops was on the back BURNER of the stove in the kitchen, the chops already jelling in their own grease. Scraps of lettuce were scattered over a cutting board.
It took him only a few minutes to slip out of his pants and coat and pull on boots and a turnout suit, fumbling to clip the coat rings tight.
He grabbed up a pair of gloves and his high-impact helmet and ran out into the garage to his service car. He fastened his safety belt and flicked on the ignition and the two-way radio.
The car was immediately flooded with crackling conversations. He listened for a moment, then roared out of the garage, his siren wailing.
The Glass House was going up much faster than he had thought possible. The weather was partly to blame; the difference in temperature between the air outside the building and the air inside was creating a stack effect.
Cold air was heavier and tended to flow into the building through the doors and the numerous small holes and cracks in the Curtainwall, then rise like smoke up a chimney.
At the moment, he thought, the Glass House was the tallest chimney in the city.
CHAPTER 27
The engineer in the control room was drawing his hand across his throat: less than a minute for the tag-off.
Jeffrey Quantrell turned slightly so that he was looking directly into the eye of Number Two camera. His expression was still that of a concerned citizen, shocked and saddened that the fire he had predicted so long for the Glass House ha
d become reality. There was the slightest tinge of I-told-you-so in his delivery.
“Whatever the outcome of the developing disaster on Lee Avenue, this undoubtedly is only the beginning. In its own way, the Glass House is not unusual-there are dozens like it in the city that, due to poor construction practices and outright violations of the building codes, are firetraps in the sky. In the long run, what can be done about it is up to you. For the rest of the evening, of course, K.Y.S will interrupt its regularly scheduled programming from time to time to bring you the latest on the fire that is currently gnawing at the vitals of the Glass House. Thank you-and good night.”
He held his solemn pose until the light winked off and the floor manager signaled him. He had called the shots to the letter, he thought, and he had done a good job of reminding the viewer of just that-without claiming too much credit for himself.
He savored the moment for a second longer. Everybody thought he had been crying wolf but here it was-the biggest disaster the city had seen in years. It didn’t matter whether they canceled his contract now or not; he could get almost any broadcast job in the country tomorrow if he wanted it.
He straightened his necktie and sauntered out of the studio. The floor manager smiled broadly and waved a friendly congratulation.
Quantrell didn’t bother to acknowledge it. The bastard would’ve crucified me six hours ago if he could’ve, Quantrell thought. Half the personnel in the studio would now be buddy-buddy, and be back to waiting for another chance to sink their knives.
Carter, the director, stuck his head out of the booth as Quantrell walked by and said, “Nice going, Jeff-talk about falling into a cesspool and coming up smelling like a rose.”
“Thanks, I like you, too,” Quantrell said casually.
Behind him, he heard Carter shout, “It’s nice to know it hasn’t gone to your head!” Another knife out for him but it didn’t matter any more; it didn’t matter what any of them thought-he wasn’t going to be there that much longer, and not by their choice, by his.
The Glass Inferno Page 18
