Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Awesome,' he murmured. 'Just awesome.'

'Yes, wonderful,' enthused Joan, thinking he was talking about being in the water.

'It's just like a fire hydrant in summer,' agreed Dukes.

'I'm glad you persuaded me to come in,' she said. 'Do you think that it's safe to drink the water? I mean, has it been treated with Choke Water like the fountain outside?'

'I should hope not,' said Richardson. 'Not with these fish in it. They cost fifteen thousand bucks a piece. The water has to be especially dechlorinated and purified for them.'

'But what if the fish have, you know — gone to the bathroom in it?'

Richardson laughed. 'I don't think a little fish shit will do you any harm, love. Besides, I don't see we have much choice in the matter.' He swallowed a mouthful of the warm brackish water by way of confirmation.

The water had not been as deep as Joan had expected when she got in, but as she sat on the oil-smooth floor of the pool it seemed that the level was decreasing.

'Hey,' said Dukes, 'did someone let the plug out?'

He stood up. It had been waist deep when he climbed in. Now it hardly passed his knees. He looked around desperately for some kind of container and, seeing nothing that could do the job, began to scoop handfuls of their now rapidly dwindling supply into his mouth. Richardson sat up sharply. He was beginning to think that Mitch might have been right: that someone really did mean to harm them. Why else would he have chosen to drain the pond now if it was not to deprive the three of them of water?

He lay on his belly like one of the rejects from Gideon's army, and started to lap at the last few inches of water like a dog. Then he just lay there watching the carp flapping around helplessly.

'Saves trying to catch the fish I suppose,' he said, sitting up at last. 'We might get hungry.'

Joan stood up, hardly caring that Dukes might see her underwear.

'Sashimi makes me thirsty,' she said.

Dukes smiled and watched the water glistening on her half-naked body like the glaze on a clay figurine, dripping in a small potable trickle from the ebony curl of pubic hair that was just visible through her wet panties, wanting to put his mouth under it and drink it as if it came from a spring. Fat or not, he thought, she had a pretty face.

'Me too,' he said.

On the black screen of Tony Levine's laptop computer was the greenline drawing of the outside of the elevator doors. His thumb rolled the trackball of the mouse so that the view passed from one side of the doors to the other and the drive system above them. Willis Ellery took out his pen and pointed at what looked like the chain of a bicycle.

'OK,' he said, 'this is a high speed, fully adjustable MRDS. It uses this controllable DC motor to operate these two struts that pull the doors apart and then push them shut again. Near the top of the doors the force keeping the doors together will be greater than at the bottom. So that's where we'll try and force them apart: the bottom. That way we divert all that modified air product back into the main body of the building and away from the three men stuck inside the car. At the very least it should stop them freezing to death. Then maybe we can think about climbing down the shaft and opening the hatch on top of the car.'

'Sounds good to me,' said Mitch. 'But we'll need some kind of a knife or a screwdriver. David, why don't you ask Helen what she's got?'

Arnon nodded and went off to look for her.

'Even if we don't get the doors very far apart,' added Ellery, 'there are sensors incorporated in the drive mechanism. Some kind of a light tray. If we breach the beam we ought to be able to actuate the reverse door movement.'

'You mean open them?' grinned Curtis.

'That's right,' Ellery said quietly. Shocked by the death of Kay Killen, he failed to see how any of what was happening could be considered amusing. The news that they were trapped in the Gridiron had left him with a distinct feeling of nausea, as if he had eaten something disagreeable for lunch. He sighed with very obvious impatience.

'Look, I'm giving this my best shot,' he said.

'Sure you are,' said Curtis. 'We all are. So we ought to keep our spirits up, right? Let's not allow what's happened to get to us. You know what I mean?'

Ellery nodded.

Arnon came back with a selection of carving knives, kitchen scissors and wooden place mats.

'We can shove the mats in the space we create with the knives,' he explained. 'To keep the doors wedged open.'

'OK,' said Mitch, 'let's get started.'

The four men walked along the corridor to the elevators.

'Which one?' said Ellery.

Mitch touched the elevator doors gingerly. They were, as Richardson had said, freezing cold.

'The middle one on this side.'

Ellery selected a long bread knife and dropped on to his belly. Where the two doors met, he placed the tip of the knife and started to shove. Levine stood over him and, further up the height of the doors, tried to force another knife into the join. Neither man made any noticeable progress.

'It won't go in,' grunted Ellery.

'Careful you don't cut yourself,' said Curtis.

'There's no give at all. Either the drive system is stronger than I thought, or it's jammed solid.'

Levine broke his knife and narrowly missed severing a finger.

Curtis stepped forward with a pair of open scissors and took Levine's place.

'Let me try.'

After a couple of minutes he too stepped away and peered more closely at the entire length of the join. Then he rubbed his thumb across the join near the very top of the doors and, taking the blade of the scissors prised it into the connection. Something broke away, only it was not a piece of metal.

'The doors are not jammed solid,' he said grimly. Curtis bent down to collect the fragment off the carpet and then held it out on his palm for everyone to see. It was a shard of ice. 'They're frozen solid.'

'Shit,' breathed Levine.

'I hate to say it, gentleman,' said Curtis, 'but anyone on the other side of these doors is almost certainly dead already.'

'Those poor guys,' said Arnon. 'Jesus, what a way to get it.'

Ellery stood up and took a deep, unsteady breath. 'I don't feel so good,' he said.

'Is that it?' said Levine. 'We're just giving up?'

Curtis shrugged. 'I'm open to suggestions.'

'There must be something we can do. Mitch?'

'It's like the man said, Tony. They're probably dead already.'

Levine kicked the door in frustration and let out a whole stream of curses.

'Take it easy,' said Mitch.

'There are four, maybe five, people dead in this fucking place and you're telling me to take it easy? Don't you get it, Mitch? We're history, man. No one's going to get out of here. That shit Grabel's going to take us out one by one.'

Curtis took Levine firmly by the shoulders and forced him back hard against the wall.

'You'd better start dealing with this,' he said. 'I don't want to hear any more of your bullshit.' Releasing Levine from his powerful grip, he smiled and added, 'There's no point in upsetting the ladies.'

'Don't worry about them,' said Arnon. 'They've got the balls for anything — even if they did belong to someone else first. Take it from me, Sergeant, they're fireproof.'

'Would you excuse me, please?' Ellery said weakly. 'I have to go to the bathroom.'

Mitch caught him by the arm. 'Are you OK, Willis? You look kind of pale.'

'I don't feel so good,' admitted Ellery.

The three men watched Ellery walk up the corridor to the boardroom.

'Dave's right,' sneered Levine. 'Ellery and Birnbaum are the only ladies who'll get upset around here.'

'You think he'll be all right?' Curtis asked Mitch, ignoring Levine.

'He was fond of Kay, that's all.'

'We were all fond of her,' said Arnon.

'Could be he's a little dehydrated,' said Curtis. 'We'd better make sure he drinks something.'

They returned to the boardroom and shook their heads silently when the others asked about the three men in the elevator.

'So it's serious,' Marty observed dryly. 'Well, at least we won't starve or die of thirst. I've prepared a list of our supplies, although I fail to see why I was given such a menial task. I am the senior partner here, you know, Mitch? By rights it ought to be me who's in charge.'

'You want to take over?' said Curtis. 'Hey, be my guest. This isn't an ego thing with me, I don't have a burning desire to inflict my will on other people. If you think you can get us out of here, go right ahead, I won't stand in your way.'

'I didn't say that. I was just pointing out that the normal hierarchy seems somehow to have become inverted.'

'Well, that's what happens in a crisis, Marty,' quipped Arnon. 'The old class structures no longer mean anything. Survival is often based on the possession of certain practical skills. Like being an engineer. Having an intimate knowledge of the terrain. That kind of thing.'

'Are you suggesting I don't know anything about this building, David?

Exactly what do you think a senior partner does on a job like this?'

'Well, you know something, Marty? I've been asking myself that very question for months now. I'd love to hear the answer.'

'Well, really.' Birnbaum's indignation made him stand to attention, like a man making a plea before a court. 'Tell him Mitch. Tell him — '

Curtis cleared his throat loudly. 'Why don't you just read the list?' he said. 'You can argue about your job descriptions when we're out.'

Birnbaum frowned, then, sulkily, he started to list their supplies:

'Twelve two-litre bottles of sparkling mineral water, twenty-four bottles of Budweiser, twelve bottles of Miller Lite, six bottles of a rather indifferent California Chardonnay, eight bottles of freshly squeezed orange juice, eight packets of potato chips, six packets of dry-roasted peanuts, two cold poulets, a cold ham, a cold salmon, six French sticks, several pieces of cheese, fruit — there's plenty of fruit — six Hershey bars and four large Thermos flasks of coffee. The ice-box isn't working, but there's still running water.'

'Thanks a lot, Marty,' said Arnon. 'Nice work. You can go home now.'

Birnbaum coloured, thrust the list into Curtis's hands and marched back into the kitchen, followed by David Arnon's cruel laughter.

'Plenty of food, anyway,' Curtis said to Coleman.

'I could sure use a beer,' he replied.

'Me too,' said Jenny. 'I'm thirsty.'

'My stomach's rumbling like the San Andreas fault,' said Levine. 'Bob?

You want something from the kitchen?'

Bob Beech pushed himself away from the dumb terminal, stood up and went over to the window.

'Bob?' said Mitch. 'Is there something we need to know about?'

Appetites went on hold as Beech replied: 'I think we need to revise our expectations of rescue,' he said coolly. 'Radically.'

The time was almost nine o'clock.

'None of us is the kind of person who keeps regular hours, right?' said Bob Beech. 'Take me. Sometimes I work until midnight. A couple of times I haven't gone home at all. I'd say that's true of just about everyone in this room. Sergeant Curtis?'

'A cop works all kinds of hours,' he admitted with a shrug. 'Get to the point.'

'Does the name Roo Evans mean anything to you two gentlemen?'

Nathan Coleman looked at Curtis and nodded. 'The black kid from Watts,' he said. 'The drive-by.'

'We're investigating his murder,' said Curtis.

'Not any more, you're not,' said Beech.

'What's that supposed to mean?' said Coleman.

'You're both suspended on full pay and held for questioning at the 77th Street Station by your own internal affairs department on suspicion of being involved in Evans's murder. At least, that's what your Captain Mahoney believes.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' demanded Curtis.

'I'm afraid it's not me who's been doing the talking. Someone has tapped into your central dispatch computer over at City Hall. Done a pretty good job of it, too. If you don't believe me take a look on the terminal there. Nobody's expecting to see you back at your desks in Homicide for quite some time. Maybe never. As far as the rest of your brother officers are concerned, you're both personae non gratae. That's Latin for You're fucked.'

Curtis turned and stared blindly at the computer.

'Are you shitting me?' he said. 'Is this straight up?'

'Believe me, Sergeant, I wish I was.'

'But wouldn't someone from I.A. have to call Mahoney and tell him?' said Coleman. 'Wouldn't they?'

Curtis sighed. 'That used to be how it worked. But now the computer handles everything. It's supposed to guarantee objectivity, y'know? Make sure the criminals get a fair shake at us. That stupid bastard Mahoney will just sit there on his fat ass and accept what's written on the computer print-out like it came down from the Almighty himself. Probably even call my wife and tell her not to expect me home for a while.'

'Like I say,' nodded Beech, 'it gets better. Someone has also faxed the airline and cancelled the Richardsons' seats on that flight to London. Even cancelled your dinner reservation at Spago's, Tony. Thoughtful, huh?'

'Shit. I had to wait four weeks for that lousy reservation.'

'Faxed or E-mailed wives, girlfriends, boyfriends. Told them the phones are down here, that we're all working on through the night to get this mother finished.'

There was a long, stunned silence. Finally David Arnon said, 'Do you think Grabel would call Mastercharge? Wipe out my debt?'

'Nobody is expecting us home tonight?' said Jenny. 'And nobody knows we're stuck here? With a madman?'

'That's about the size of it,' said Beech. 'But it gets even better than that.'

'What could be worse than that?' shrugged Coleman.

'Allen Grabel isn't responsible.'

'What? Who is then?' said Helen.

'Nobody.'

'I don't understand,' said Curtis. 'You said "someone" had tapped into central dispatch…"

'The "someone" we have all assumed is Allen Grabel is Abraham itself.'

'Are you saying that the computer is responsible for what's happening?' said Marty Birnbaum.

'That's precisely what I'm saying.'

'What the… I don't get it,' said Curtis. The only criminal minds I understand are the ones filled with guns, and drugs, and shit like that. Why would a computer do such a thing?'

'Oh come on,' interrupted Marty Birnbaum, 'you can't be serious, Bob. The integrity of the system may, as you say, have failed. But what you're suggesting is absurd. Alarmist, even. You're being quite irresponsible. Really. Why should Abraham intend harm to anyone? I'm not sure you can even talk about a computer having an intention at all.'

'Well, there at least we are in agreement,' said Beech. 'Not why, Sergeant. How. Why implies a motive. This is a machine we're talking about, remember?'