Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

They both got to their feet and, after taking a second to pull themselves together, walked up the rest of the way to the door marked Floor 98.

They each took a moment to take out their weapons. Once they both had a gun in hand, Bourque grasped the handle of the fire door.

“Kinda wish I’d worn a vest,” Delgado said.

Bourque slowly opened the door.

Richard Headley knew there was no way he’d make it.

He wasn’t using anything as accurate as a stopwatch app on his phone, but he’d been glancing regularly at the Rolex strapped to his wrist, and his twenty minutes were nearly up. And he had some thirty floors to go.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

Those people are all going to die. Because of me.

But even though he knew it was hopeless, he kept going. He’d taken off his bow tie around the twentieth floor so he could open up the collar of his shirt. He was soaked with perspiration. Once he’d hit the thirtieth floor, he slipped off the jacket of his tux and dropped it on the steps, making sure before he did it that he had his phone.

His white dress shirt was translucent with sweat. It was running down his neck and forehead, getting into his eyes and stinging.

Keep going. Keep going.

He glanced again at his watch. The twenty minutes had to be up.

What the hell am I going to—

And then it hit him.

Stall.

He had the messaging app open, the name Vallins at the top of the screen. He stopped long enough to text one word.

Here.

He kept going, looking every few seconds to see if there would be a reply. It came within ten seconds.

Wow. And with 3 seconds to spare.

Headley kept climbing.

Very impressive. Sending your ride to 97.

So the elevator was on the way. But it would be there, waiting for him, long before Headley could get to it.

How long would it take for the elevator to come from the lobby — or wherever else Vallins might have sent it in the interim — to the ninety-seventh floor? A minute?

Headley kept going, one foot ahead of the other.

His phone chimed.

Are you aboard?

Headley stopped, typed his reply with a sweaty thumb.

No.

Several seconds passed. Headley managed to ascend another story.

Get on.

Headley stopped.

Elvtr not here.

Headley knew it was a lie that would not buy him much time. All Vallins had to do was look down the shaft to know the elevator was where it was supposed to be. The elevator car would be one floor below. He’d be able to see its roof.

And then, just as he feared:

Its there.

Think, think, think.

What couldn’t Vallins see?

Headley put his thumb to the screen.

Doors closed. Open the door.

Let him think on that for a moment.

Headley ran past Floor 72.

Still so far to go.

Three dancing dots appeared on the mayor’s phone.

It should be open.

The mayor wrote back:

Its not.

And then the phone in the mayor’s hand rang.

Vallins.

Headley stopped, took the call.

“What do you mean the doors aren’t open?” Vallins shouted.

“I’m right here,” Headley said. “The other four doors are wide open, but the doors in front of the elevator aren’t.”

“That’s not fucking possible!” the man said angrily.

“Look, you’re the guy hogging the remote, not me,” Headley said. “Send me one of the other elevators. And this time, if you’re such a fucking genius, make sure the doors open.” He paused. “Remember, we had a deal. I get back in time, you let everyone go. Well, I made it. Only reason I’m not up there now is you fucked up. That’s on you. Not me.”

Vallins was silent for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then why don’t you bring up another elevator for yourself and come down one floor and see it with your own eyes?”

Headley, waiting for Vallins to reply, passed Floor 76.

“Okay,” Vallins said finally. “I’ll send another elevator. Because I really, really want you to get back here.”

As quietly as possible, Detective Jerry Bourque opened the door to the ninety-eighth floor and slipped in.

He was expecting to hear screams and other sounds of panic, but instead what he heard were soft whimpers and crying, and just one man talking very loudly.

Bourque already had a finger to his lips in case any of the hostages spotted him, which a few did almost instantly. While there were some barely audible gasps, no one did anything stupid like shout: Police are here!

Everyone instinctively understood that the arrival of Bourque and Delgado might be their only hope of getting out of the Top of the Park alive.

The stairwell door was tucked around the corner from the elevators, but they could hear the man continuing to shout.

“That’s not fucking possible!” he said.

Bourque poked his head around the corner, far enough for one eye to take in the scene.

Vallins was by the elevator, gun in one hand, the phone in the other.

Amazingly, the first thing Bourque thought was: This guy is bald . The man who’d been talking to Otto Petrenko by the car had hair. But then again, it had looked like a rug.

On the floor, right by Vallins’s foot, was a black box. Some kind of device.

Bourque wondered whether it could be a bomb. It did not look like one, but then again, how many bombs had Bourque seen in his career? But it looked more like a piece of electronic equipment. The good news, if there was any, was that it was not in Vallins’s hands at this moment.

Bourque, like his partner, had his gun pointing toward the floor, but once they rounded that corner, they would have to be in a firing position. Could he take the shot? Was anyone standing close to Vallins? Anyone directly behind him?

There were some people to his right, a few steps farther away from the open elevator door he was standing beside. But there appeared to be no one behind him.

At one point, as Vallins continued to argue with someone on his phone, he glanced down into the shaft.

No one else is coming, Bourque thought. Lois and I are on our own. Backup is ninety-eight floors away. We might as well be on the moon.

He tightened his grip on his weapon.

Now or never.

It all happened in under ten seconds.

Bourque stepped out from behind the corner, gun raised. “Drop your weapon!” he shouted.

He knew Delgado had moved out, too, and was at his back.

Vallins snapped his head in Bourque’s direction. Dropped the phone. Brought up the arm holding the gun.

And Jerry Bourque thought: Lois is right behind me. Do not duck. Do not dive out of the way. Do not make the same mistake again.

Holding his ground, Bourque fired at the exact same moment as Vallins.

Vallins stumbled backward, the bullet ripping into his right shoulder. As he stumbled, his foot knocked the device closer to the open shaft.

Bourque, hit in the stomach, went down.

Screams.

Her partner having dropped to the floor, Delgado had a clear shot at Vallins, who was still standing despite being hit.

She fired.

Four times.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Vallins jerked spasmodically as the bullets slammed into his thigh, chest, and neck.

One missed and spiderwebbed one of the observation deck windows.

He dropped to the floor, once again knocking the black box.

It skittered several inches closer to the open elevator doors.

A woman holding a cell phone, who’d been standing closest to Vallins, dived forward, actually sailing through the air and landing across his bloodied body, her elbows hitting the marble floor as she scrambled to grab hold of the device before it had a chance to tumble out of sight.