Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

Literally.

As the stroller approached, Bourque saw Amanda was playing with something. It was a small rubber airplane, and Amanda was zooming it around, holding it up against the sky, imagining it up there.

Her lips vibrated as she mimicked the sounds of the jet engine.

The lips that tasted her mother’s blood.

Bourque felt his windpipe tighten. He stood up straight, no longer using the tree to support himself. He reached into his pocket for his inhaler. Just one quick shot. That was all he needed. He uncapped it and brought it up to his mouth.

“Hey,” someone said.

Bourque brought the inhaler down and shoved it into his pocket as he turned to find the nanny looking at him.

“Yes?” he said.

“Who are you?” she asked. She enunciated perfectly, but her French accent was impossible to miss.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve seen you before. Are you watching us?”

“No, I’m just waiting here to meet a friend. I—”

“I know I’ve seen you. Next time, I’ll call the police.”

Bourque, feeling his air passages constricting further, said, “I am the police.” He quickly flashed his ID. “I’m keeping an eye on someone farther down the street. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.”

The nanny’s mouth went round in an Oh! gesture. “Sorry,” she whispered, and moved along, red-faced.

Bourque put the inhaler into his mouth and squeezed. He’d initially thought he only needed one shot, but now he took two. He fumbled as he tried to put it back into his pocket and dropped it instead. He bent over, snatched it up off the sidewalk, and dusted it off before tucking it away.

He could never do this again. If the nanny spotted him a second time, he’d have too much explaining to do.

The cell phone in his pocket rang. He brought it out, saw who it was, and put the phone to his ear.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Where are you?” Lois Delgado asked.

“On my way in.”

“Yeah, well, get a move on. We’ve been reassigned.”

“To what?”

“They’re pulling together some kind of task force on the elevator accidents. There’s three now.”

“Three?”

“Yeah. Two might be coincidence. But three’s a clusterfuck. When the captain told them about our Otto guy, they pulled us in.”

“We don’t know that there’s a connection.” He paused. “But we don’t know that there isn’t.”

“I’m hearing Homeland is involved.”

Bourque said nothing. He looked up the street, saw the nanny and Amanda turn the corner.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“I think they must be expecting mass panic. The mayor’s about to make some kind of statement.”

“I feel calmer already,” Bourque said.

Thanks for coming,” Mayor Richard Headley said to the gathered media in the press room at City Hall.

Valerie had emailed all the usual suspects a release saying the mayor would be making an important statement at noon. She offered no further details. At least a dozen reporters and news editors emailed back, asking what he’d be talking about. Valerie did not respond.

That pretty much guaranteed everyone would show up.

The room was jammed with reporters. Print, network, radio. Many of them were chatting, asking each other if they had any idea what was going on. Valerie provided a short introduction that amounted to little more than “Mayor Richard Headley,” before turning over the podium to her boss.

Standing well off to the side were Glover and Vallins. Onstage with the mayor were Police Chief Annette Washington and Martin Fleck, the elevator expert.

The mayor cleared his throat after his thank-you and welcome, and took a drink of water from a glass left for him on the podium. He was about to speak when someone shouted out a question.

“Was the taxi explosion terrorism related?”

The question appeared to throw off the mayor before he’d had a chance to begin reading from his prepared text. That one reporter’s question was a dam burster. Others began shouting questions.

“How many were killed in the explosion?”

“Was the driver a terrorist? Is this a suicide bombing?”

“Was the bomb left in the car by a passenger?”

The mayor held up a hand and waited until everyone had quieted down.

“Any questions about the taxi incident I will leave for Chief Washington here. Right now, I’m going to address another potential concern for the citizens of New York. As you know, there have been three tragic incidents involving elevators in the last three days. The first, on Monday, claimed four lives, including well-known entertainment producer Sherry D’Agostino and lawyer Barton Fieldgate. A terrible loss to the city, and to their families. At the time, it was believed some sort of random malfunction was the cause. But then, on Tuesday, another elevator incident took the life of a renowned Russian scientist, Fanya Petrov, who was here doing work at Rockefeller University. I have been in contact with the Russian ambassador and assured him we are doing everything we can to find out what happened. But even before I could make much headway there, we had another incident this morning in which two people were killed.”

A stirring went through the crowd.

Headley said, “We have reason to suspect that these three incidents are not coincidental and are in fact related.”

“How?” shouted one reporter.

“I’m getting to that,” the mayor said, giving the reporter a harsh shut the fuck up and let me finish look. “Without getting into the details, there is a commonality to all these events that has raised our concern level. So I have directed the city’s inspection force to begin a comprehensive check of all elevators in all five boroughs. Needless to say, this is a time-consuming task, so we are asking for the assistance of property management departments to initiate their own inspections.”

The assembled media was getting increasingly restless. Another reporter shouted out, “So are we talking a mechanical issue here? Some failed part that’s in lots of different elevators across the city? And if so, why are the failures happening at the same time?”

“This is the sort of thing we’re looking into,” Headley said, irritated. The constant interruptions were throwing him off his game. “I can say that—”

“My information is that the FBI or Homeland Security are involved, which would be kind of weird if it’s just a mechanical issue.”

A different voice. Female. Headley squinted, trying to see past the lights to spot who had asked the question.

“Would that be Ms. Matheson?”

“Yes,” said Barbara. “Am I wrong about that? That the feds have taken an interest?”

The mayor paused a moment. “DHS is involved, yes,” he said slowly.

“Was it Homeland Security, then, that was going to the families of the deceased and asking them to keep a low profile? To not ask too many questions, at least at this stage?”

“I’m not in a position to answer that,” Headley said. “We’d need someone from Homeland to field that.”

“Is it because they didn’t want to cause a panic before they had more details?”

“I’d encourage you to give them a call.”

“Oh, I’ve been trying,” Barbara said. “Wouldn’t Homeland’s involvement suggest what you’re dealing with here is, in fact, terrorism? That these elevator malfunctions are actually sabotage? That they’re deliberate acts?”

The buzz that was moving through the room began to grow louder.

A reporter from the Daily News shouted out, “If this is deliberate, who’s doing it? Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

The mayor looked to Chief Washington. She nodded and stepped forward to the microphone.