The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 64

There had to be room for the helicopters to land and discharge their passengers. Barton instructed Garfunkel and Donaldson and the few security and maintenance people still on duty to clear the plaza of its ceramic planters. He watched for a few moments while they struggled to tip them to break the ice seal at the bottom, then slid them over to one side of the building. He estimated the size of the area they would be able to clear, then ran back into the lobby.

The next ten minutes Barton worked cutting the Primacord to the proper lengths. Then one of the comm men ran over to Infantino.

“Chief, the lead ‘copter is on mike.”

“Be right with you,” Infantino said. They were just finishing the last of the complex web of Primacord and shape charges, using the measurements they had taken from Shevelson’s prints. The web was in two sections so that two men could carry the bulky charges. “Pack those up in two musette bags,” he instructed a fireman who had been helping. “Let’s go, Craig.”

Barton jogged after him toward the comm van, asking the runner: “Any sign of the Sikorsky?”

“Three or four minutes behind this group.”

They climbed into the van and Barton heard the crackling hiss of a voice transmission as they entered.

“This is Burleigh. E.T.A one minute.” Barton grinned.

Burleigh! The one stroke of good luck during the whole damned night.

He couldn’t have asked for a better man.

Burleigh, a crazy Texas chief warrant officer who could put away more scotch than any man he’d ever met. One of the mainstays of their reserve unit, a man with two years’ combat duty in ‘Nam. “Mario, let me speak to him.”

“It’s your mike, Craig.”

“Tex, this is Craig Barton.”

“Didn’t know you were down there, Captain. Where do you want us?”

“We’ve got about fifty people in the restaurant on top of the Glass House and we can’t get them down. Can you bring in your birds and land on the roof?”

“How much clearance do we have?”

“There’s a penthouse and some gardens adjacent to it, the air-conditioning evaporators, and a shed that houses the scenic elevator hoist. I’d say you might get two U.H-1’s onto the roof.

Certainly you can get one in.”

“Any television antennas?”

“No commercial ones; there’s a community receiving one.”

“Let’s hope for the best, though that could make it tricky. Okay, we’ll move in one at a time.”

“Tex,” Barton added, concerned. “Do you see any sign of a Sikorsky F-106? We asked City Shuttle to dispatch theirs.”

“Just a minute, it’s so goddamned dark…. Why the hell didn’t you have your fire at high noon? Yeah, there’s the bird. A couple of miles away, unless I’m watching the wrong lights.”

“You’ve got the pyrotechnic torches?”

“I do,” Burleigh said. “where do you want them unloaded?”

Barton’s voice turned grim. “Tex, that’s part of the problem.

I’ll need your help. Let the other crews handle the evacuation.

Have your copilot drop you on the roof.”

“What the hell for?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll tell you.” Barton talked rapidly, explaining his plan.

Burleigh sounded dubious. “I don’t know, Captain. I’ve got the hardware Colonel Shea asked for. Three splicers, if we can get that many on the cables. One should do it, though.”

“Can you make the linkup?”

Burleigh paused. “I think so. But in this weather, it will be touch and go.”

“There are at least ten people aboard that elevator,” Barton said slowly. “I have reason to believe one of them is my wife.”

Burleigh whistled. “I’ll give it everything I’ve got, Captain.”

He signed off and Barton said to the comm man, “Get me that Sikorsky pilot as soon as you can.” He clicked off the mike and leaned back in his chair, fatigue suddenly washing over him. If anybody could do it Burleigh was the man.

“I hope it will work,” Infantino said quietly.

“If you’ve got a better idea tell me now,” Barton said.

Then, desperately: “Look, Mario, it has to work-we don’t have time to try anything else.”