Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'My wife thinks there may be three people stuck in one of the other cars,' said Richardson. 'Around the fifteenth level.'

'The three guys who were here earlier?'

Joan nodded.

'In this kind of cold storage they've got no more chance than a bag of T-bones.'

'Fuck,' said Richardson. 'What a fucking fuck-up.' He put his hands on top of his head and walked around in a small circle of frustration. 'Well, we've got to get them out of there. Good drivers aren't so easy to find these days. Declan's practically one of the family. Any thoughts?'

Dukes frowned. His first thought was to call Ray Richardson a selfish motherfucker and remind him that there were two other people trapped with his precious fucking driver. But the man was still the boss and Dukes didn't want to lose his job. So instead he pointed past the elevator doors.

'How about we hit the fire alarm? It's an automatic response from the fire department, isn't it?'

'Worth a try, I guess.'

They walked round the corner, behind the elevators to where a fire hose was located on a wall next to a fire-alarm box. Dukes drew his gun to smash the glass.

'No! Put that thing away!' yelled Richardson, too late.

It was not the fire alarm that was activated now but the security alarm. The sight on CCTV of a gun being waved around the atrium was sufficient for Abraham to initiate automatically the Gridiron's defensive systems. The doors to the emergency stairs locked on every level. A steel portcullis descended from the ceiling, closing off both stairs and elevators. Only when Abraham considered that the upper levels had been rendered impregnable to intruders did the deafening klaxon stop.

'Shit,' said Dukes. 'I clean forgot about that.'

'You fucking idiot,' snarled Richardson. 'Now we're really stuck down here.'

Dukes shrugged. 'So it's the cops who turn up instead of the fire department. I don't see that makes any difference.'

'It would have been nice to have waited for them in comfort,' said Richardson. 'I don't know about you, but I could have used a drink.' He shook his head angrily. 'You're fired. Do you know that? When we're out of this situation, you're history, pal.'

Dukes shrugged philosophically, glanced at the Sig automatic still in his hand and then replaced it in his holster.

'I'll say one thing for you, asshole,' he grinned. 'It takes guts for a man to fire someone with a gun in his hand. Or stupidity.'

The walkie-talkie on Dukes's belt buzzed. Dukes unclipped it and pressed the call-receive button.

'What the hell's happening down there?'

'Mitch?' Richardson snatched the handset away from Dukes. 'Mitch, it's Ray. We're boxed in down here like a Japanese dinner. Dukes drew his gun to break the glass on the fire alarm instead of using the little hammer on the chain. Thinks he's Clint fucking Eastwood or something. It set the defence systems off.'

'Are you all OK?'

'Yeah, we're all right. But listen, did Declan and those two painters make it up there.'

'No. We haven't seen them.'

'Then they must be stuck in the elevator. That wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that somehow the entire air-conditioning output for the building has been re-routed down the goddamn elevator shaft. The car they took must be an ice-box. That's why we were trying to call out the fire department.'

'You can forget that,' said Mitch. 'I think Abraham has been sabotaged.'

'By who, for chrissakes?'

Mitch told him about Allen Grabel.

'If I'm right and Abraham has lost his integrity, then he may have been given a new set of priorities. Somehow I don't think they include calling the public services on our account. We'll have to try and think of something from up here. What about Kay?'

Richardson sighed. 'She's dead.'

'Dead? Jesus, no. What happened?'

'Don't ask me. I found her floating in the pool. I tried to revive her but it was no good.' He paused for a moment and then added: 'Look, what do you mean Abraham's lost his integrity? What's Kenny doing to get the systems back on line?'

'We can't make contact,' said Mitch. 'I'd been hoping you could check out the computer room on your way up.' Mitch explained his theory about the looped video recording. 'Somehow we've got to get into that computer room and cancel all the BMS programs.'

'What about your work-station in the boardroom?' asked Richardson.

'Can't Beech do something from there?'

'Only if Abraham allows it.'

'Jesus, what a fuck-up. What are we going to do?'

'Look, stay cool. We'll try to think of something and then come back to you.'

'Yeah, well don't leave it too long. It's like an oven down here.'

In the brushed aluminium ceiling of each elevator car was a round hole of less than half an inch in diameter. Recessed behind the hole to a depth of several millimetres was the triangular-shaped nut that held the car's inspection hatch in place. To undo the nut and open the hatch required a special socket spanner held by Otis maintenance engineers. Despite the obvious futility of the attempt, Dobbs, the tallest of the three men trapped inside the car, was trying to shift the nut with a small screwdriver from his overalls pocket.

'Gotta be a way of turning this,' he said, through chattering teeth.

'You're wasting your time,' said Declan Bennett, already blue with cold.

'You got a better idea, friend?' said Martinez. 'Let's hear it, if you do,

'cause there ain't no other way out.'

'Damn thing,' said Dobbs. 'Won't budge.' He dropped his aching arms from the ceiling, stared disappointedly at his tool and, as if recognizing its inadequacy, threw it aside in disgust. 'You're right. I might as well stick my dick in there. Then at least I'd die happy.' He laughed bitterly. 'I can't figure this cold. I've heard of a climactic modifier bringing on a chill, but this is ridiculous. Never thought I'd get myself froze to death in LA.'

'Who said anything about dying?' asked Declan Bennett.

'I got me an ice-box at home,' said Dobbs. 'And I read the instructions. I reckon we've got about twelve hours, and then we'll keep fresh right up to Christmas.'

'They'll get us out,' Bennett insisted.

'And who's going to get them out?'

'It's just a computer malfunction. Something wrong with the software. Same as with the front door. I heard Mr Richardson telling his wife. There's a network engineer trying to get everything back on line. Any minute now and this elevator is going to start moving again. You'll see.'

Martinez pulled out his frozen hands from underneath his armpits and breathed on them.

'I don't think I'll ever take an elevator again,' he declared. 'Assuming I survive.'

'I used to be in the British Army,' said Bennett. 'So I know a little about survival techniques. It's possible to survive extremes of cold for several hours, days even, so long as you increase your heart rate. I suggest some running on the spot. Come on. We'll all hold hands for extra warmth.'

The three men joined hands in a circle and started to jog, their breath puffing. They looked like three drunken Eskimos carousing around the steam from a cooking pot. The elevator car creaked slightly under their half-frozen feet.

'We've got to keep the body moving,' said Bennett. 'Blood freezes, y'know. Just like any other liquid. But before then your heart gives out. So you've got to give it something extra to do. Let it know you're still in charge of things.'

'I feel like a fairy,' complained Martinez.

'That's the least of your problems, fella,' said Bennett. 'Just count yourself lucky that you don't suffer from claustrophobia as well.'

'Claustro-what?'

'Don't tell him,' Dobbs told Bennett. 'No point in giving him ideas.' He looked at Martinez and grinned like the other man was a child.

'It's a fear of Santa Claus, that's what it is, you dumb Mexican. Just keep holding my hand and stop askin' stupid questions. You're right about one thing though. From now on, we're both taking the stairs.'

'Could I have your attention please?'

Frank Curtis waited for everyone in the boardroom to grow silent and then started to speak:

'Thank you. According to Mr Bryan, the integrity of this building's management systems has failed. Which, if he will forgive me, is just another way of saying that the computer that controls everything, the machine you people call Abraham, has been sabotaged by a madman. It seems as if your former colleague, Allen Grabel, bears your boss some kind of grudge. Anyway, our situation is this. The phones don't work. The entrances and exits are locked, as are the doors to the emergency stairs. There are three people trapped inside one of the elevators, so we have to assume that they don't work either. And I'm sure you don't need me to remind you that the windows are unbreakable and that it's very hot in here. And there has been another fatality. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your colleague, Kay Killen, has been found dead in the swimming pool.'

Curtis waited a minute to allow the murmur of shock to subside.

'We're not sure how it happened exactly but I think we have to admit the possibility that the computer and Allen Grabel were together responsible in some way.'

Now he had to raise his voice as shock began to give way to alarm.

'Look, I'm not going to bullshit you people, or keep you in the dark about anything. You're all grown-ups. I figure our best chance of getting out of here as soon as possible is that we should all know the full facts of the situation we're in. So here they are. It's possible, even probable, that Grabel was responsible for the murder of Sam Gleig. What I'm sure of is that we have been unable to make contact with Mr Kenny in the computer room and that the elevator car has been turned into an icebox. In other words, it may be that there are already four other people in this building who are dead too. I hope I'm wrong, y'know? But I think it safe to assume that Allen Grabel may have sufficiently corrupted the integrity of your computer so that the building has now become extremely hazardous to the rest of us.'

'I checked the fibre-optic cables in the local equipment room,' announced Willis Ellery. 'As far as I can see there's nothing wrong with them.'

Bob Beech was shaking his head.

'I don't see how Grabel could have done it,' he said. 'If you ask me, Aidan Kenny's more of a proposition. This is his building management system. He was pretty tight on access codes and all that stuff. I don't figure Grabel for this at all.'

It was Mitch who was shaking his head now.

'That doesn't make any sense. Aidan was proud of this building. I can't believe he would sabotage it.'

'Either way, we're going to need your help, Mr Beech,' said Curtis.

'Can you do any thing on the work-station in here? Perhaps to get those guys out of the elevator?'

Beech grimaced. 'The only MMI's a keyboard, so it might be difficult. I'm not much of a typist. I'm used to a speech interface with Abraham. And this is just a dumb terminal, y'know? I can only do what the main computer will let me do.' He sat down at the computer. 'Still, I guess I can try.'

'Right,' said Curtis. 'The rest of you, listen up. Someone is bound to notice before very long that we're not where we're supposed to be. For instance: Mr and Mrs Richardson are supposed to be flying to Europe. And your families will start to wonder where you are. I know mine will. The chances are that we won't be stuck in here for very long, but we ought to take a few precautions, just in case it ends up being longer than we think. So each of us have to assume some basic responsibilities. Mitch?'

'OK. Marty, you'll be in charge of food and water. The kitchen's next door. Find out what we've got.'

'If you think it's necessary.'

'Tony? After Kay, you probably know the plans of this building as well as anyone.'

They're right here, Mitch,' he said. 'On my laptop.'

'All right. Study them. See if you can't figure another way out. Helen? I guess you know who's been working where?'

Helen Hussey nodded, nervously feeding a strand of her long red hair through her lips.

'Maybe you can devote some thought to where we might find tools on this level.'

'I'll start next door,' she said. 'In the kitchen.'

'Detective Coleman?' Mitch handed him the walkie-talkie unit. 'Maybe you could keep in touch with the people down on the atrium floor. Let us know if they need anything.'

'Sure thing.'

'Sergeant Curtis will liaise with all of the relevant personnel. If you've got some information, then you tell him. David? Willis? Let's put our heads together and see if we can come up with a way to get those people out of the elevator car.'

'One more thing,' added Curtis. 'From what I've heard, Kay Killen was a strong swimmer. Yet something caused her to drown. Something unexpected, perhaps. So, whatever you do, wherever you go, please be careful.'

'What would you like me to do, Mitch?' asked Jenny.

Mitch squeezed her hand and tried a smile. It made his mouth start to bleed again.

'Just don't say I told you so.'

Ray Richardson picked the handmade shirt off his chest and tried to flap some air into the space between the sodden material and his sweatcovered skin. Outside the steamed-up doors and windows of the Gridiron it was dark. But for the bright lights, the smell of shit and the incessant piano music, he might have tried to sleep.

'How hot do you think it is?' asked Joan, shifting uncomfortably on one of the big leather sofas.

Richardson shrugged.

'It's not the temperature so much. Without the AC the tree makes it very humid down here.'

Dukes stood up and started to peel off his dark blue shirt.

'You know what? I'm going to take a swim.'

'How can we?' growled Richardson. 'You locked the door that led to the swimming pool.'

Then he realized that Dukes was talking about the fishpond that surrounded the tree.

'Not a bad idea at that,' he admitted, and began to undress.

Wearing just their shorts, the two men collapsed into the water. The salmon-sized, brightly coloured fish darted away in all directions. Joan regarded the water uncertainly.

'Come on in,' urged her husband. 'It's just like swimming in the Amazon.'

'I don't know,' she said. 'What about those fish?'

'They're Koi carp,' said Richardson, 'not piranha.'

Joan leaned forwards and splashed some water on her face and chest.

'I can't believe you're bashful,' teased Richardson. 'Not after that picture in LA Living. Keep your blouse on if you're shy.'

Joan shrugged and began to pull at the zipper of her calf-length skirt. She dropped it to the floor, tied the ends of her blouse together and stepped into the water.

Richardson sank underneath the surface of the water, and then surfaced again like a hippopotamus. He floated on his back for a moment and looked up at the inside of the atrium. Now that he was here it seemed like the best place to appreciate the internal geometry of the design: how the shape changed incrementally from oval to slim rectangular as the tower rose, with the atrium tapering past the curving ribs of the galleries and the central spine of the dicotyledon tree. It was, he thought, like being inside a huge white whale.