Chapter 3

Abby entered the reception area and saw the desk manned by a woman with a shock of bright red hair. She wore a button-down Cleveland Fire Department navy blue uniform top with a single bar on either side of her collar. A TV behind her head was turned onto continuing coverage of Ground Zero in New York City. The plane crash and the collapse repeated endlessly in slow motion.  Abby stared at it, frozen, before the woman dragged her out of her reverie. 

"Present your ID's and state your business," the woman said in greeting. According to the insert in her brother's graduation invitation, one bar was lieutenant, two bars was captain, and any bugle or trumpet was a chief.

"ID? We need ID?" Abby asked. Hank was already taking out his wallet.

"Yes, everyone has to present ID. I'm sure you will understand, considering the situation." The woman's tone allowed no argument.

Abby stifled her annoyance and took out her driver's license. The woman, whose name tag read McClunis, examined them. "Wisconsin and Michigan? What brought you two here? Are you reporters?"

"No, why would we be reporters?" Abby said, getting annoyed. This was a firehouse, not a police station.

Lieutenant McClunis chose not to answer that question. "If you are not reporters, state your business. How can the Cleveland Fire Department help you today?"

"We're looking for a firefighter named…" Hank stopped when he realized he didn't know who Abby was here for.

"Noah. I need to see my brother, Noah Baker. He was assigned here for his rookie year. I need to talk to him."

McClunis kept her face carefully blank. "I am currently substituting from Firehouse 13. I am not at liberty to discuss any locations of our firefighters beyond that Firefighter Baker is not in the firehouse today."

"Where is he?" Abby asked.

The lieutenant's hazel eyes flashed, but she contained herself. "Miss Baker, due to the current unstable situation, I am not allowed to release information on the assignments of our firefighters."

"Does that mean you don't know where he is, or you won't tell me? Did he get fired or something?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss department business. Are you his next of kin or emergency contact?" McClunis said emotionlessly.

"No. My mom is." 

"Perhaps you should call your mother, and she can request information. I'm sure the captain would be happy to send her a fax."

"Leslie, stop it," a voice said further down the hallway. A man in his early forties approached with a school-aged girl. "Anyone who looks that much like Noah is not here to blab to the press."

"Probably not, but the Chief said we couldn't—" McClunis said.

"I know what the Chief said," replied the man who wore the double bars of captain and a nametag of Soto. "And I understand his thinking, but whether it is wise remains to be seen."

The red-headed lieutenant didn't betray her thoughts. "If you would like to conduct this in private, I can put Luna in the lounge."

"Yes, please." His eyes were watching the loop on the nearby TV before coming to rest on McClunis. "I'd prefer she watch the Princess Bride rather than Monty Python or the Godfather again. Definitely not live TV. Follow me."

Soto passed a gym and various supply rooms to a glass walled office with a large desk. McClunis left with the girl, turning off the TV for now. Once the office door was closed, the captain shook Abby's hand, "I am Captain Matteo Soto. By the looks of you, Noah Baker is your brother."

"That's correct. He's my little brother."

"And you?" Soto asked Hank with a faint Spanish accent on his words. Abby would have bet it was Puerto Rican from what she knew of Latino applicants from Cleveland.

"I'm Hank Finster, Abby's… friend," he said easily and placed an arm on Abby's lower back. In most cases, Abby would have viewed this as presumptuous, having met him this morning. However, explaining the situation to Soto, who seemed to be an old school protective man, was unlikely to be well received. 

"I must apologize for Lieutenant McClunis back there.  It's been a difficult time. We had a bomb threat yesterday."

"Some places are having much worse days. I'll feel a lot better after I talk to Noah," Abby said. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. Not officially."

"What does 'not officially' mean?"

"Your brother is no longer assigned to this firehouse. His rookie year ended two months ago, and he is in the midst of his transfer to Firehouse 33. He cross-covered here for Labor Day weekend and is on vacation." Soto’s expression was clouded.

Abby had plenty of experience with people not telling the whole truth. "Vacation?"

"Yes, he's been gone for almost a week."

"Where did he go?"

"I thought you would know where he went, being his sister and all," Soto said.

Abby flushed. "He's a grown man who doesn't carry a cell phone and dislikes his sister badgering him about his plans. He hasn't checked in with me or my parents. Have you heard from him?"

"Not precisely." Soto took something out of his desk. "Please understand, I haven't had much contact with him since he finished his tour with us. I wasn't here Labor Day weekend, and I have my hands full with my niece Luna."

"Not your daughter?" Abby said sharply, failing to see how that had any bearing on his lack of information on Noah’s whereabouts.

"My sister's daughter. Her parents died in a car accident this year. We received this in the mail this morning." Soto gave her a postcard.

It was a postcard of Time's Square with a postmark of Saturday September 8^th, New York, NY 10001. Broadway tonight with The Producers. You should see our hotel! It has a running track with a huge pool on top and breakfast in bed. Way better than your cooking, Jimbo.

The bottom fell out of Abby's stomach and hit her feet. "Did he check in? Anything?"

"Not that I know of. He has friends here, but I didn't hear anything from them yet."

"Let me talk to them."

"I can't."

"Can’t or won't? Are you going to give me bullshit about this being classified information?" she accused.

"No! I'm not hiding anything about Noah."

"Then tell me what the hell is going on!"

Soto sighed. "That's the critical information the Fire Chief wants protected. His friends aren't here. In fact, we've had an unprecedented number of firefighters call in sick."

"Where is Engine 15?" Hank asked suddenly.  

"Officially, out for repairs. Unofficially, it left this morning with multiple members of 15 and 13."

"Your firefighters took a fire engine to New York City?" 

"Per the Fire Chief's orders, I cannot answer that question."

"Do they know about Noah?" Abby pressed.

"No, the postcard arrived after they left." He waved his hand. "I already tried to get them on the radio; they're out of range. Cell phone coverage has been spotty, and there are wide dead zones between here and NYC. Hopefully, they'll check in when they arrive, and we can tell them."

"That's all you can do? Tell them Noah was in the city? Hope they run into each other?"

"Ms. Baker, his not checking in isn't necessarily a shock. If he was in Manhattan, they were evacuated by boat yesterday. The phone lines in New York City are overwhelmed, as is the cell service. If you could be patient—"

"Patient? My brother was in a city during a terrorist attack, and no one has heard from him? Be patient?!" Abby was almost screaming.

"Your brother is a Cleveland firefighter. He was my firefighter, and if I know him, the reason he hasn't checked in is because he is volunteering with the recovery operation. It's who he is… as you should know."

That hurt. Abby would either have to agree or admit how little she had been involved in Noah's life. "This vacation—is there anyone I can get more details from?"

"I am not involved in any of those aspects of his life," Soto said. "Rumor was that he took a road trip with the friend who brought his night school homework here from Cleveland State."

"I'll take whatever you can give me," Abby said.

"I don't have much, honestly. He's a Black guy with a giant Afro and beard, like an ad for Burning Man. Noah called him 'Wills' when he stopped by."

"Dude with an Afro and goes by 'Wills.' Age, height?"

"I'd guess early twenties. Big—in height and weight. Might be six five, two to three inches taller than Noah, but… pudgy. Maybe 270 pounds. Always had a candy bar and potato chips with him."

"Anything else?" Abby said, trying not to show her shock that Soto thought Noah was six-two.

"Huge joker, always talking shit to Noah. Refused to drink coffee, though Noah mainlined the stuff. He drove a red Ford Taurus." 

"I guess that's better than nothing." Abby didn't mention how unhelpful the last part was. "I'd like Noah's address."

"I'll instruct Lieutenant McClunis to give it to you," Soto said. "Noah is probably fine. The reason this is hush-hush is because the Fire Chief doesn't want the city to know that almost a tenth of its firefighters didn't report to work. This is the busiest house in the city, and we had to combine 13 and 15 to field a full shift. Everyone is on edge, and the last thing we need is a panic. Yesterday, the bomb scare—it was on an airplane when they were grounding flights. I would go myself, but I have Luna…"

They walked out to the desk where McClunis was watching the news again. She obeyed her captain and gave Abby Noah's address without commenting on Abby’s ignorance of his living situation. It wasn't far from the firehouse.

Abby took back her ID, and Hank did the same. Even though they knew better, it was difficult to not watch the plane on the screen over and over again. Every cell in her body rejected the idea it was real, but there it was on repeat.

When Soto left, McClunis handed them a map. "This is a map of the World Trade Center grounds. I've heard from a few people that the borders of New York City are closed to everyone except emergency responders."

"You gonna give us credentials from Cleveland FD?" Abby said, wondering if she'd like this woman after all.

McClunis leaned forward. "I can give you a copy of the letter Soto unofficially had me prepare for our team. I wrote their cell phone numbers on the back, too. I don't know if it will be enough to pass through the checkpoints. If you stop by his apartment, he might have some uniform T-shirts."

Abby decided to like her. "I'll find him, don't worry. Thank you."

She started to leave and noticed Hank was still staring at the TV. "Hank?"

"Coming." Hank spoke to McClunis, "If you hear from your team before they get to the site, make sure they wear masks."

"Masks?" McClunis asked.

"Yeah, I've seen as big as a four-story building come down, but 110 stories twice? There's gonna be insane shit in the air. Asbestos, steel, oil, who knows what."

A silent word passed between McClunis and Hank. The lieutenant nodded. "They'll be instructed to wear respirators."