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“Annie, are you there?” Marcus asked.
“No, she’s not,” Roseboro said.
Marcus was confused. “Get her, Carl—put her on the line.”
“I can’t,” Carl said. “She’s not here.”
“Why? Where is she?”
“In the stadium.”
“What for?” Marcus asked.
“She went in with the first responders. I think she’s looking for your mom.”
Marcus feared for all their lives: Annie’s, his mom’s, Maya’s, the Garcias’. But as there wasn’t a thing he could do for them, he knew he had to stay focused on those around him.
“Carl, are the fire-suppression systems in the building working?” he asked, abruptly shifting gears.
“On the floors impacted by the plane?” Roseboro asked.
“Right.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Then how are we going to put out this fire?”
“I’ve got planes and helicopters rushing to the scene with foam.”
“Is that going to be enough?” Marcus asked.
It was a scenario they hadn’t even discussed, much less war-gamed.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Carl, I need to get these people off this building—now.”
“We’re working on it. Give me a few minutes.”
“We don’t have a few minutes.”
“Hang in there, Marcus. We’re going to figure this out. Believe me. I’ll call you right back.”
The line went dead.
The problem was that Marcus didn’t believe Roseboro. He knew his friend wasn’t purposefully lying to him. The man simply had his hands full with a far bigger rescue operation in the stadium. Looking eastward, Marcus could see the chaos unfolding on the ground. Roseboro and the rest of the Joint Task Force were in the throes of trying to evacuate a hundred thousand people from the stadium and doing so amid fires and radioactive material.
Marcus closed his eyes and said a prayer.
He needed wisdom and he needed it now, or they were all going to die.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking at one of six pieces of robotic window-washing machinery. It was far from ideal. It wasn’t going to be fast. But it just might work. More importantly, it was the best chance they had. Actually, Marcus realized, it was the only chance they had.
He dialed Roseboro again but got a busy signal. He called back four more times but didn’t get through. The three direct numbers to the command post that he knew by heart were likewise dead ends. Marcus speed-dialed Annie but couldn’t reach her either. Maybe that was for the best. By his count, the tower had been burning for twelve minutes. That gave him less then eighteen—at best—to get these people off the roof.
As Marcus was putting his phone back in his pocket, it rang. It was the deputy director of security for Willis Tower. Roseboro had told him to give Marcus anything he needed.
“Get me your boss,” Marcus ordered.
“I can’t,” the deputy said.
“Why not?”
“He’s dead, sir.”
“Dead?”
“Everyone in our operations center was murdered,” the man replied. “I would have been too, but they sent me for coffee. When I got back, the door was locked. Someone was in there but wouldn’t let me in. A SWAT team eventually broke in and shot the guy dead.”
Marcus was floored. But that certainly explained why there had been no rapid response to the slayings on the Skydeck until he and his team had arrived on scene.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcus said. “But I need the head of maintenance and I need him fast.”
“All right, sir; hold on.”
But two minutes went by, and he couldn’t be found. Apologizing profusely, the man explained that cell towers and landlines were overwhelmed. And with fires raging between the 82nd and 91st floors, the building’s internal communications system had shut down.
“Forget it,” Marcus said. “I need to know how to operate the window-washing machines. I’ve got forty-five people up here, and I’m going to send them down the sides of the building. So walk me through it yourself.”
“That’s not my area, sir.”
“I don’t care,” Marcus said. “You’ve seen it done, right?”
“Of course, but . . .”
“Listen, I don’t have time for excuses—I’m counting six window-washing machines, right?”
“Right.”
“Are there more?”
“No, just six.”
“And how many people can fit on each one?”
“They’re robotic, sir. They’re not designed for anyone to ride down on them.”
“I’m looking at one right now,” Marcus said. “It’s got a narrow section behind the washing unit itself. There’s a place to stand. And there are places to clip in carabiners. That has to be for maintenance crews, right?”
“Sure, but again, they’re not really built for—”
“Where are the safety harnesses and carabiners kept?”
“Well, uh, there’s a mechanical room in the middle of the tower.”
Marcus turned back, caught Jenny’s eye, and waved her toward him. As she approached, he shouted for her to open the door to the mechanical room.
“It’s locked,” she shouted back.
Marcus took a deep breath to steady himself.
“Where are the keys?” Marcus asked the deputy.
“My boss had a pair. So do I. And the maintenance guys all have—”
“Is there a spare set up here?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“Padlock?” he shouted to Jenny.
“Right.”
“Shoot it off.”