Chapter 28 #2
The shout came from behind them and all three turned around. They saw Bob Oz trying to get past the two uniformed police officers who were holding him back.
“Get that guy out of here!” O’Rourke yelled.
“Wait,” said Kay.
“The ventilation shaft,” Bob shouted. “It’s open!”
O’Rourke looked at Bob. He looked at Kay. He adjusted his helmet. “We’re going in now.”
The leader signaled to one of the SWAT team, who opened the door slightly and rolled in a stun grenade.
Kay could hear the sound of the grenade bouncing across the tiled floor.
The door was closed. She put her hands over her ears, heard two dull thuds and then the SWAT team swarmed in.
O’Rourke went in right behind them, and a few seconds later he was back in the open doorway.
His face told them all they needed to know, but he said it anyway.
“Our bird has flown.”
—
Bob followed Olav Hanson and Kay Myers into the restroom.
He saw at once that next to where the fan was hanging down was a hinged door in the ceiling, above one of the cubicles.
It looked like it was possible to squeeze in through the space.
Bob went over to O’Rourke, who was standing outside the open cubicle.
The bubble wrap lay spread out on the floor in front of the toilet.
Already one of the SWAT people was standing on the toilet lid and feeding the wire with the micro camera through the opening above.
“No one here,” he said to O’Rourke. “Just this.”
He plucked something from the shaft and handed it down to his leader.
“What is this?” asked O’Rourke.
“It’s an insulin needle,” Bob said behind him. “Gomez has diabetes. He’s trying to crawl out through there. Isn’t anyone going to go in after him?”
“How about you, Oz?” O’Rourke handed him the needle. “Or would you prefer to send Myers?”
Bob locked eyes with the SWAT boss.
“No?” said O’Rourke. He pulled off his helmet, unfastened the bulletproof vest, handed his rifle and his pistol to one of his men. “Good thing Bonzo’s up for it, then.”
“Hanson,” said Kay, “find out where these ventilation shafts exit and get some of your men over there.”
“Okay.”
Bob watched as two of O’Rourke’s men helped him up until he grabbed hold of something inside the ventilation shaft and managed to pull himself up into it. Once he was up they handed him his helmet with the headcam and flashlight and his pistol.
“Radio silence?” one of the men asked.
“If he’s there then he’ll hear me coming a mile off,” said O’Rourke. “Just listen in and I’ll try to give you guys a good show.”
They heard a rumbling in the shaft and then O’Rourke was gone.
One of his men held a phone as the others gathered around.
Bob went over and looked at the screen. The mere sight of it gave him claustrophobia.
In the cone of light cast in front of O’Rourke’s camera all that was visible were his hands and the cylindrical walls of the shaft, and now and then the jerking of the light flashed on the pistol he was holding in one hand.
The panting and grunting grew heavier, drowning out any sounds that might be made by someone waiting for him.
Every so often O’Rourke stopped and then everyone listened closely.
But all they heard was a regular whirring noise.
“There’s a fan up ahead,” O’Rourke whispered.
Soon those gathered around the phone saw the same thing, a large fan at the end of the shaft where it split left and right at a T intersection.
“He must have gotten out this way,” said O’Rourke. “The shafts going the other way get narrower.”
The SWAT leader pushed the fan several times before it swung out and down on its hinges. He put his head out. On the screen Bob saw the deserted yard with trucks and loading bays closed up for the night. Two uniformed officers came running into the yard with walkie-talkies crackling and guns drawn.
“Gomez must be a tough guy,” said O’Rourke, turning his head downward so that his audience could see it was a drop of at least twenty-five feet to the pavement. “Either he knows how to fall properly or he’s out there somewhere dragging a broken leg behind him.”
—
I walked quickly through the downtown streets, between the deserted office buildings, past the empty alleyways where it wasn’t safe after dark.
But I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. They were the ones who should have been afraid.
My racing pulse told me only that I was alive, I felt things, and for the first time in a long time.
This was dangerous, enjoyably dangerous.
The only thing that worried me was that I’d made it a little more exciting than necessary.
As though something in me wanted to give them the chance to stop me.
Is that what I wanted? Of course not. I had given myself a task.
Or had I? Was I even really the one who had given me the task?
What I did know was that it had to be completed, that I mustn’t give in to the temptation of peace, of at last being able to sleep in the same bed as you, my beloved, of holding our children.
Nor could I let myself be distracted by moral queasiness and shortsightedness.
The sum total of suffering for all innocents would be so much greater if I failed to complete the task than the suffering it would cause a handful of innocent people.
I had to steel myself. Only two days to go now.
A family came walking toward me along the sidewalk.
Talking and laughing, they sounded happy, maybe they’d been to the movies, or eaten out at a restaurant.
Maybe they thought nothing bad could happen to them because they did everything right; they worked hard, helped out in the community, helped those who carried a heavier burden than themselves.
“Hola,” I called out as I passed them. But got no response, just looks of mild surprise, as though they couldn’t work out if it was some kind of joke.
I swallowed. Had to keep my concentration up. Couldn’t relax. Even a slight mistake could tip the whole thing over. But, afterward, let it all fall down.