Nick Stephenson - Panic

The consultant nodded. “I think I’ve got a plan. If we can swipe the guard’s key card, we can get down here before he’s even realized it’s gone.”

“It’s risky,” said Jerome. “If it turns out he’s got a radio, or a buddy on patrol with him, they could close on us pretty quick, and we lose our only window.”

“It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice,” said Mary. “We need to find this Cupid sicko as soon as possible, before anything else happens to Christina. We’ve already got one dead body.”

“Agreed,” said Leopold, “we don’t have any other options here.”

“Did you say dead body?” asked Albert, his voice shaking slightly. “So what’s the plan?” asked Mary, ignoring the tour guide’s question.

“I have an idea,” said Leopold, turning to face the police sergeant. “But I’m going to need your help.”

Marty O’Donnell, a campus security guard from Long Island, watched the throng of business and economics students milling around outside Uris Hall enjoying the impromptu break in classes and the chance to enjoy some fresh air. Marty folded his arms and glared at the crowd, watching for any sign of trouble. He knew someone had pulled the fire alarm as a prank, and he was determined to find the culprit.

Marty stood a little over five foot six and weighed upwards of two hundred and twenty pounds, none of which was muscle. He wore a pale blue short-sleeved shirt and clip-on tie, with a nightstick and set of keys clipped loosely to his belt, which was a couple of notches too small for his considerable waistline. His physical appearance hadn’t changed much since childhood, and Marty had developed a mean attitude as a way of coping with the inevitable bullying during high school. Now pushing forty, his attitude had only worsened, and he was itching for an opportunity to exercise some pent-up aggression.

He stared intently at the crowd and focused on a small group of students who had started playing Frisbee. Marty smiled. With the alarm bells still wailing behind him, he strode out toward the lawn and beckoned the students to come over.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Marty.

“Playing Frisbee. What’s wrong with that?” said one of the students, a skinny kid with long hair.

“What’s wrong is we’re in the middle of a possible fire emergency, that’s what’s wrong,” said the security guard, pointing his finger at the skinny kid. “Do you think if the building was on fire right now that playing Frisbee would be a good idea?”

“Yeah, but the building’s not on fire,” said the skinny kid.

“That’s not the point, smartass,” growled Marty. “It’s my job to keep you idiots safe, and that means no goofing off when there’s a fire alarm. You know what I see when I look at you? Trouble, that’s what. And if it turns out someone pulled the fire alarm as a prank, you’re the first person I’m coming for.”

He snatched the Frisbee away, tucked it under his arm, and marched back to his vantage point just in front of the main doors and waited for the alarms to die down. After several minutes of continued racket, the alarms were showing no sign of shutting off and the noise grew even more distracting as a crescendo of sirens began to sound above the shrill clang of the alarm bells.

Marty was confused. The Uris alarm systems weren’t rigged to contact the emergency services; they were too old-fashioned for that, and it was unlikely any of the students would have made the call. Most of them wouldn’t care if the whole place burned down. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as three fire trucks rolled up the campus lawns and stopped just behind the mass of students, tearing deep tracks in the manicured lawn. Marty groaned as he realized he was going to get the blame for the repair bill.

With a growl, the security guard stormed in the direction the fire trucks, pushing past the crowd of students who had all turned around to see what was going on. He shoved a couple of bewildered students to the side and collided with a particularly striking brown-haired woman, causing both of them to stagger backward. The young woman flashed an apologetic smile and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear before glancing up at him.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going with all this commotion. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Marty grunted a response and waved her away. It wasn’t often beautiful women spoke to him, especially those he nearly knocked over. Shrugging, he resumed his stride and walked up to the group of firefighters who had now spilled out onto the grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” Marty shouted over the noise at the firefighter he assumed was in charge.

“Stand back, sir, this area is currently posing a fire risk.”

“What the hell do you mean? There’s no fire here.”

“We received a call a few minutes ago that there was a fire at Uris Hall, Morningside campus of Columbia University. Is this the address?”

“Well, yes.”

“And are those fire alarm bells?”

“Yes. But -”

“Then please let us do our job, sir.”

Marty fumed, but reluctantly stepped back as the fire captain directed his team to the main entrance of the building. The crowd of students parted as the firefighters passed through, each wearing a protective suit and breathing apparatus. Soon the firemen had disappeared into the building and Marty was left to keep the peace outside, a prospect that made him no less irritable than he already was.

He drew the standard-issue nightstick from the holster on his belt and flicked it toward the ground with a snap of his wrist, extending it to full length with a sharp click. He began to walk slowly through the crowd, tapping the end of the weapon against his free palm in a manner he hoped would prove menacing enough to stop anyone from causing any trouble or asking any questions. So far, so good.

After a few minutes, Marty absent-mindedly reached to his belt with his free hand and noticed his set of keys was missing.

“Got it!”

Mary ran into the corridor at full speed, nearly colliding with Albert, stopped sharply in front of Leopold, and held up a white key card attached to a set of metal keys.

“Good work. Did he see you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He was walking around with one hand on his keychain and I could see the card attached by a lanyard. The only chance was to divert his attention, so I walked right into him.”

“Did he notice you take the keys?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, but we still don’t have too much time. He’s going to notice the keys are missing any minute and track us down here.”

They all set off back in the direction of the basement, with Jerome dragging Albert by his collar amid subdued protestations that he should be allowed to go home.

“Keep quiet and you’ll get to go home a lot sooner,” said the bodyguard. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve earned your two thousand dollars.”

“Earned it? I’ve watched you guys break down doors, set off alarms, call out the fire department under false pretences, and to top it all off, there’s at least one dead body nobody’s telling me about. I’d say I’ve earned my money!”

Jerome glared at the tour guide and tightened his grip. Albert took the hint and kept quiet.

A few minutes later the four of them reached the lower-level passageways for the second time, and Leopold opened the heavy mag-locked door with a quick swipe of the stolen key card. The lock released with a muffled clunk and the door opened outwards to reveal an even darker, damper passageway beyond.