Jeffrey Archer - False Impression

Fenston stared across at the World Trade Center from the safety of an office on Wall Street.

He watched in disbelief as a second plane flew directly into the South Tower.

While most New Yorkers worried about how they could assist their friends, relations, and colleagues at this tragic time, and others what it meant for America, Fenston had only one thought on his mind.

He and Leapman had arrived on Wall Street for their meeting with a prospective client only moments before the first plane crashed into the North Tower. Fenston abandoned his appointment and spent the next hour on a public telephone in the corridor trying to contact someone, anyone, in his office, but no one responded to his calls. Others would have liked to use the phone, but Fenston didn’t budge. Leapman was carrying out the same exercise on his cell phone.

When Fenston heard a second volcanic eruption, he left the phone dangling and rushed to the window. Leapman walked quickly across to join him. They both stood in silence as they watched the South Tower collapse.

“It can’t be long before the North Tower goes the same way,” said Fenston.

“Then I think we can assume that Petrescu will not survive,” said Leapman, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t give a damn about Petrescu,” said Fenston. “If the North Tower goes, then I’ve lost my Monet, and it isn’t insured.”

Anna began running flat out, more and more aware with each step she took that everything around her was becoming quieter. One by one the screams were dying, and she knew she had to be next. There no longer seemed to be anyone behind her, and for the first time in her life Anna wanted someone to overtake her, anyone, just so she didn’t feel like the last person on earth. She now understood what it must be like to be pursued by an avalanche at a speed ten times faster than any human could achieve. This particular avalanche was black.

Anna took deep breaths as she forced her body to achieve speeds that she had never experienced before. She lifted her white silk blouse — now black, sodden, and crumpled — and placed it over her mouth, just moments before she was overtaken by the relentless, all-enveloping gray cloud.

A whoosh of uncontrolled air hurled her forward and threw her onto the ground, but she still tried desperately to keep moving. She hadn’t managed more than a few feet before she began choking uncontrollably. She pushed forward for another yard, and then another, until her head suddenly bumped into something solid. Anna placed a hand on the surface of a wall and tried to feel her way along. But was she walking away from, or back into, the gray cloud? Ash, dirt, dust were in her mouth, eyes, ears, nose, and hair, and clinging to her skin. It felt as if she was about to be burned alive. Anna thought about the people she had seen jumping because they felt that must be an easier way to die. She now understood their feelings, but she had no building to jump from and could only wonder how much longer it would be before she suffocated. She took her last step, knelt down on the ground, and began to pray.

Our Father ... She felt peaceful, and was about to close her eyes and give way to deep sleep when out of nowhere she saw a flashing police light. Who art in Heaven ... She made one last effort to get back on her feet and move toward the blue light. Hallowed be thy name ... but the car drifted past, unaware of her plaintive cry for help. Thy Kingdom come ... Anna fell once again and cut her knee on the edge of the sidewalk, Thy will be done ..., but felt nothing. On earth, as it is in Heaven . She clung to the edge of the sidewalk with her right hand and somehow managed a few more inches. She was about to stop breathing when she thought she touched something warm. Was it alive? “Help,” she murmured feebly, expecting no response.

“Give me your hand,” came back the immediate reply. His grip was firm. “Try and stand.”

With his help, Anna somehow pushed herself up. “Can you see that triangle of light coming from over there?” the voice said, but she couldn’t even see where he was pointing. Anna turned a complete circle and stared into 360 degrees of black night. Suddenly she let out a muffled yelp of joy when she spotted a ray of sunlight trying to break through the heavy overcoat of gloom. She took the stranger’s hand and they began inching toward a light that grew brighter and brighter with every step, until she finally walked out of hell and back into New York.

Anna turned to the gray ash-coated figure who had saved her life. His uniform was so covered in dirt and dust that if he hadn’t been wearing the familiar peaked cap and badge she wouldn’t have known that he was a cop. He smiled and cracks appeared on his face as if he was daubed in heavy makeup. “Keep heading toward the light,” he said, and disappeared back into the murky cloud before she could thank him. Amen .

Fenston gave up trying to contact his office only when he saw the North Tower collapse in front of his eyes. He replaced the receiver and rushed back down the unfamiliar corridor to find Leapman scrawling SOLD on a “To Rent” board that was attached to the door of an empty office.

“Tomorrow there will be ten thousand people after this space,” he explained, “so at least that’s one problem solved.”

“You may be able to replace an office, but what you can’t replace is my Monet,” Fenston said ungraciously. He paused. “And if I don’t get my hands on the Van Gogh...”

Leapman checked his watch. “It should be halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

“Let’s hope so, because we no longer have any documentation to prove we even own the painting,” said Fenston, as he looked out of the window and stared at a gray cloud that hung above the ground where the Twin Towers had once proudly stood.

Anna joined a group of fellow stragglers as they emerged out of the gloom. Her compatriots looked as if they’d already completed a marathon but hadn’t yet reached the finish line. Coming out of such darkness, Anna found she couldn’t bear to look up at the glaring sun; even opening her dust-covered eyelids demanded effort. On, on, she stumbled, inch by inch, foot by foot, coughing up dirt and dust with every step, wondering how much more black liquid there could possibly be left in her body. After a few more paces she collapsed onto her knees, convinced the gray cloud could no longer overtake her. She continued coughing, spitting, spitting, coughing. When Anna looked up, she became aware of a group of startled onlookers, who were staring at her as if she’d just landed from another planet.

“Were you in one of the towers?” asked one of them. She didn’t have the strength to answer and decided to get as far away from their gaping eyes as possible. Anna had only covered a few more paces before she bumped into a Japanese tourist who was bending down trying to take a photograph of her. She angrily waved him away. He immediately bowed even lower and apologized.

When Anna reached the next intersection, she collapsed on the sidewalk and stared up at the street sign — she was on the corner of Franklin and Church. I’m only a few blocks from Tina’s apartment, was her first thought. But as Tina was still somewhere behind her, how could she possibly have survived? Without warning, a bus came to a halt by her side. Although it was as full as a San Francisco tram car during rush hour, people edged back to allow her to clamber on. The bus stopped on the corner of every block, allowing some to jump off while others got on, with no suggestion of anyone paying a fare. It seemed that all New Yorkers were united in wanting to play some part in the unfolding drama.

“Oh, my God,” whispered Anna, as she sat on the bus and buried her head in her hands. For the first time she thought about the firemen who had passed her on the stairwell, and of Tina and Rebecca, who must be dead. It’s only when you know someone that a tragedy becomes more than a news item.