Page 92 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

Sachs could see no flames but smoke flowed from floors about a third of the way up. Two helicopters hovered nearby.

Spencer gripped the dashboard as the muscle car skidded to a stop two blocks away on a deserted street. She wanted to leave the way clear for more emergency vehicles if they were needed.

Sachs and Spencer trotted forward, moving over and around the snaky hoses. Patrol was keeping back spectators and most of the uniforms knew Sachs and, as Spencer was with her and he looked like a gold shield in his undertaker suit, let them both through to the command post.

A panoply of emergency vehicles, fire trucks mostly, sat like discarded toys. Dozens of firefighters were running hoses. The command post was an FDNY van that readBattalion Chiefon the side.

Spencer said, “He knows we’re onto him and he destroyed his workshop?”

Sachs said, “Probably not. Lincoln found a lead to an old locksmith company. Must have some connection to him, though, since I’ll bet he’s behind the fire and wants to erase the evidence he was there.”

She looked at a broken-out window on the top floor. Pulaski’s head was visible, and white smoke flowed past him. Not terrible yet. From here, she could see flames in the windows of the seventh and eighth floors. They were thick, tumbling orange and black masses.

She knew the battalion chief, Earl Prescott. Nodded to her side. “Lyle Spencer, he’s with me.”

A nod to Spencer.

“The situation?”

“It’s bad. I’ve been in touch with your officer. He’s on the top floor, but he can’t get on the roof—it’s sealed—and he can’t go down. All the stairs are burning and it’s too hot. I can’t get my people up there either. We’re pumping fast but the place is a hundred years old. A tinderbox. The building has sprinklers, but looks like the perp shut the water off and the control’s buried under tons of burning debris. No doubt about the arson. We found the remains of a gas can in the loading dock.

“Wish the news was better.” He gestured to the helicopters. “No LZ on the roof. And they can’t lower a rescue team because of the fire. Too much heat turbulence. One crew said they’d try. I vetoed it. I had to. Bird comes down hard here, you can imagine.”

Sachs noted that there were two hook and ladders. The chief followed her gaze and said, “Their reach is only a hundred feet into the air and change. And look.” He pointed to a one-story building, an abandoned storefront, that was under Pulaski’s window. This meant the ladder truck couldn’t get directly beneath him. Because of thatangle, the basket would only get fifty feet in the air, and even then it would not be directly under the window.

“We’re pumping all we can into the higher floors. Maybe it’ll knock down the fire. But even with his head out the window, the smoke’s going to get him soon.”

She made a call on her phone.

A coughing voice answered. “Amelia, I was almost into the office. The locksmithing office.” More coughs. “I couldn’t get in. Was it arson?”

“Had to be. Found a gas can.”

Pulaski: “Means there’s some evidence inside.”

“Don’t worry about it. We just want you down. Are there any other windows you can get to? They can’t get the basket close.”

“This is … the only one.” The voice was a rasp.

“Okay. Save your breath. We’re working on it.”

Prescott said, “There’s a mountain rescue team with the state police. They’re in a chopper on the way. Should be here in a half hour, probably less.”

Spencer was studying the building. “He doesn’t have that kind of time.” He turned to the chief. “You have a line gun?”

The chief looked him over, then glanced to Sachs, who nodded.

“We do, sure.”

The yellow plastic device looked like a child’s toy gun with an eight-inch orange projectile, like a light bulb, on the end. To the tail of this was tied a thin yellow line that fed from a spool. You put a .22 cartridge in the gun and when it was fired, the projectile carried the line to the person needing rescue. The twine was too thin for that purpose, but rescue workers then tied their end to a more solid rope, which could be pulled up by the person in distress.

“He can haul up a Sterling self-rescue,” Spencer said.

Sachs was aware of the device. It was an emergency rappellingunit. It was used as a last resort for firefighters trapped in high floors when—just like now—the stairs were blocked. You donned a harness and hooked one end of the device’s rope to a pipe or beam. Then climbed out the window and using a hand brake lowered yourself to the ground.

He asked Sachs, “Has he ever used one?”

“I have no idea.” She pulled out her phone again and placed the call. “Ron? Have you ever used a …” She looked at Spencer, who said, “Sterling self-rescue.”

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