Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

And not just the first one.

The one that came after.

And the one after that.

And the one after that.

Bourque and Delgado flashed their IDs to get past security and into Top of the Park. Once inside, Bourque stopped, mouth agape, and took in the view.

“Unbelievable,” he said.

“Yeah, pretty,” Delgado said. “Let’s find our boy.”

Bourque approached a security guard, showed his badge again, and told him they were looking for Glover Headley, the mayor’s son. The guard said that pretty much everyone was now on the top floor for the festivities. The guard had seen the mayor come through the lobby, but had no idea what the son looked like.

“Let’s head up,” Bourque said to his partner.

He and Delgado found themselves standing alone in front of the bank of elevators. There were three touch screens positioned atop small, granite pillars between the elevator doors with a notice that read: Enter Your Floor.

“How’s it work?” Bourque asked.

Delgado studied it. “For the fifty-third floor, you tap in five, three...”

“But for the top?”

“Looks like... O, B . For observation deck.” She tapped the OB symbol. A message appeared on the screen: ELEVATOR 2 .

There were numbers atop the elevators, and the second from the left was marked 2.

“That one,” Delgado said, pointing. They positioned themselves in front of those doors.

“What’s your take on all this?” Bourque asked his partner while they waited for their car to arrive.

“I don’t know. Glover’s made himself very hard to find today. He signed out the car used by the man who met with Petrenko. Petrenko ends up dead. What do you think?”

“If you wanted to know everything there was to know about fucking around with a building’s elevator system, someone like Petrenko would be the guy to talk to.”

“Yeah,” Delgado said.

“And if you led him to believe you could hurt his extended family, he’d probably help.”

A soft chiming noise indicated the arrival of their car. The doors opened and, with half a second’s hesitation, they stepped in.

Bourque looked for the panel of buttons to enter their floor and was momentarily alarmed when he didn’t see one.

“I already did it, remember?” Delgado said. “No buttons.”

“It’s like getting into a car without a steering wheel.”

“At least there’s no chance of some smartass kid jumping on, running his hand down all the buttons, and jumping out again.”

“Yeah,” Bourque said. “ That’s what I’m worried about.”

The car began to move, slowly accelerating. Its increasing speed seemed barely perceptible. Then Bourque put his finger to his ear.

“I can feel the pressure changing,” he said, trying to gather some spit in his mouth to swallow.

“I feel it,” Delgado said, touching her own ear. “Should have brought some gum.” She eyed him with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“’Cause... you know. Your breathing is okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said again, this time with an edge to his voice. A few seconds went by before Bourque said, “You actually think it could be him?”

“Glover?”

“Yeah. The mayor’s assistant said he was a techie.”

“Why would the mayor’s own kid decide to kill people by sabotaging elevators?” Delgado asked.

“Maybe we’ll get a chance to ask him,” he said.

They could feel the elevator decelerating.

“Wow, that was fast,” Delgado said. “We’re here already?”

Bourque looked at the digital readout that told them what floors they were passing. “Uh, no. We’re just passing the fiftieth. Fifty-two, fifty-three.”

“But we’re slowing down. I can feel it. We’ve still got more than forty floors to go.”

They both went quiet for a moment, focusing their collective attention on the sense of movement.

Bourque looked at the readout. “Sixty-five,” he said. “We’re holding at sixty-five.”

Delgado looked at the narrow strips of brushed aluminum wall on either side of the doors. “Now I want some fucking buttons. How do I reenter the observation deck?”

“No idea,” Bourque said.

“Maybe it’s voice activated.” She looked up toward the ceiling, as if there were a God of Elevators waiting to hear from her, and said loudly, “Observation deck!”

Nothing happened.

“Maybe you were supposed to say ‘please,’” Bourque said.

“Come on!” she shouted. “Let’s go!”

The elevator did not move.

“I want out,” Delgado said.

“Same here.”

He pressed the button bearing two triangles with their bases touching. The “open door” button.

The doors did not open.

“Try it again,” Delgado said.

Bourque jabbed repeatedly at the button before giving his partner a What now? look.

She pointed to the emergency button. “Give that one a try.”

Delgado stuck out a finger and was about to touch it when, suddenly, the elevator doors parted, giving them a view of a deserted hallway.

“Well,” Bourque said, looking at Delgado. “The elevator seems to be inviting us to leave.”

She hesitated. “We might have to walk up the rest of the way.”

“Or walk down the rest of the way,” he said. “If the elevators are down for the count, I’d rather head down before I start going further up.”

“I vote we get off,” Delgado said, stepping through the opening and into the hallway.

Bourque followed.

The second he’d cleared the doors, he heard the elevator move. He and Delgado spun around in time to see the car — with the doors still open — slowly descend.

“Jesus Christ,” Delgado said.

Once the car had disappeared from view, they found themselves looking directly into the shaft. They both took half a step back.

“What the hell is happening?” Bourque said.

Within seconds, the elevator doors on the far left opened, exposing the shaft. Then the one third from the left, then the fourth, and finally, the fifth.

All five doors were in the open position, but there wasn’t a car at any of them.

They were looking into five open shafts.

For several seconds, they were speechless.

Delgado crept forward to one of the open doorways and peeked over the edge. “That is one fucking long drop down,” she said.

Drop.

“So what now?” she asked. Bourque said nothing. “Jerry?”

Drops.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s think for a second.”

And for several seconds, neither of them spoke.

“Wait,” Delgado said. “What’s that sound?”

“What?” Bourque said.

“Shut up and listen.”

They both listened. Slowly, Delgado turned and looked at Bourque. “It’s you,” she said.

Bourque had started wheezing. He rested a palm on his chest. “Oh shit,” he said. “Shit, shit.”

“Talk to me.”

“It’s... been triggered.”

“Can you breathe?”

“For now,” he said.

“Have you got your thing?”

Bourque’s chin went up and down. He patted the pocket of his suit jacket. He reached in and brought out the inhaler, uncapped it.

“One shot should do it,” he said. “Two at the most.”

Delgado nodded sympathetically. “Sure. Go ahead.”

He was just about to insert the device into his mouth when the first explosion went off.

That first blast, which sounded well above them, was quickly followed by three others, all strong enough that they could feel the building shake ever so slightly.

Bourque was startled enough by the first explosion that he didn’t need the other three to lose his grip on the inhaler.