Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Who said anything about dying?' asked Declan Bennett.

'I got me an ice-box at home,' said Dobbs. 'And I read the instructions. I reckon we've got about twelve hours, and then we'll keep fresh right up to Christmas.'

'They'll get us out,' Bennett insisted.

'And who's going to get them out?'

'It's just a computer malfunction. Something wrong with the software. Same as with the front door. I heard Mr Richardson telling his wife. There's a network engineer trying to get everything back on line. Any minute now and this elevator is going to start moving again. You'll see.'

Martinez pulled out his frozen hands from underneath his armpits and breathed on them.

'I don't think I'll ever take an elevator again,' he declared. 'Assuming I survive.'

'I used to be in the British Army,' said Bennett. 'So I know a little about survival techniques. It's possible to survive extremes of cold for several hours, days even, so long as you increase your heart rate. I suggest some running on the spot. Come on. We'll all hold hands for extra warmth.'

The three men joined hands in a circle and started to jog, their breath puffing. They looked like three drunken Eskimos carousing around the steam from a cooking pot. The elevator car creaked slightly under their half-frozen feet.

'We've got to keep the body moving,' said Bennett. 'Blood freezes, y'know. Just like any other liquid. But before then your heart gives out. So you've got to give it something extra to do. Let it know you're still in charge of things.'

'I feel like a fairy,' complained Martinez.

'That's the least of your problems, fella,' said Bennett. 'Just count yourself lucky that you don't suffer from claustrophobia as well.'

'Claustro-what?'

'Don't tell him,' Dobbs told Bennett. 'No point in giving him ideas.' He looked at Martinez and grinned like the other man was a child.

'It's a fear of Santa Claus, that's what it is, you dumb Mexican. Just keep holding my hand and stop askin' stupid questions. You're right about one thing though. From now on, we're both taking the stairs.'

'Could I have your attention please?'

Frank Curtis waited for everyone in the boardroom to grow silent and then started to speak:

'Thank you. According to Mr Bryan, the integrity of this building's management systems has failed. Which, if he will forgive me, is just another way of saying that the computer that controls everything, the machine you people call Abraham, has been sabotaged by a madman. It seems as if your former colleague, Allen Grabel, bears your boss some kind of grudge. Anyway, our situation is this. The phones don't work. The entrances and exits are locked, as are the doors to the emergency stairs. There are three people trapped inside one of the elevators, so we have to assume that they don't work either. And I'm sure you don't need me to remind you that the windows are unbreakable and that it's very hot in here. And there has been another fatality. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your colleague, Kay Killen, has been found dead in the swimming pool.'

Curtis waited a minute to allow the murmur of shock to subside.

'We're not sure how it happened exactly but I think we have to admit the possibility that the computer and Allen Grabel were together responsible in some way.'

Now he had to raise his voice as shock began to give way to alarm.

'Look, I'm not going to bullshit you people, or keep you in the dark about anything. You're all grown-ups. I figure our best chance of getting out of here as soon as possible is that we should all know the full facts of the situation we're in. So here they are. It's possible, even probable, that Grabel was responsible for the murder of Sam Gleig. What I'm sure of is that we have been unable to make contact with Mr Kenny in the computer room and that the elevator car has been turned into an icebox. In other words, it may be that there are already four other people in this building who are dead too. I hope I'm wrong, y'know? But I think it safe to assume that Allen Grabel may have sufficiently corrupted the integrity of your computer so that the building has now become extremely hazardous to the rest of us.'

'I checked the fibre-optic cables in the local equipment room,' announced Willis Ellery. 'As far as I can see there's nothing wrong with them.'

Bob Beech was shaking his head.

'I don't see how Grabel could have done it,' he said. 'If you ask me, Aidan Kenny's more of a proposition. This is his building management system. He was pretty tight on access codes and all that stuff. I don't figure Grabel for this at all.'

It was Mitch who was shaking his head now.

'That doesn't make any sense. Aidan was proud of this building. I can't believe he would sabotage it.'

'Either way, we're going to need your help, Mr Beech,' said Curtis.

'Can you do any thing on the work-station in here? Perhaps to get those guys out of the elevator?'

Beech grimaced. 'The only MMI's a keyboard, so it might be difficult. I'm not much of a typist. I'm used to a speech interface with Abraham. And this is just a dumb terminal, y'know? I can only do what the main computer will let me do.' He sat down at the computer. 'Still, I guess I can try.'

'Right,' said Curtis. 'The rest of you, listen up. Someone is bound to notice before very long that we're not where we're supposed to be. For instance: Mr and Mrs Richardson are supposed to be flying to Europe. And your families will start to wonder where you are. I know mine will. The chances are that we won't be stuck in here for very long, but we ought to take a few precautions, just in case it ends up being longer than we think. So each of us have to assume some basic responsibilities. Mitch?'

'OK. Marty, you'll be in charge of food and water. The kitchen's next door. Find out what we've got.'

'If you think it's necessary.'

'Tony? After Kay, you probably know the plans of this building as well as anyone.'

They're right here, Mitch,' he said. 'On my laptop.'

'All right. Study them. See if you can't figure another way out. Helen? I guess you know who's been working where?'

Helen Hussey nodded, nervously feeding a strand of her long red hair through her lips.

'Maybe you can devote some thought to where we might find tools on this level.'

'I'll start next door,' she said. 'In the kitchen.'

'Detective Coleman?' Mitch handed him the walkie-talkie unit. 'Maybe you could keep in touch with the people down on the atrium floor. Let us know if they need anything.'

'Sure thing.'

'Sergeant Curtis will liaise with all of the relevant personnel. If you've got some information, then you tell him. David? Willis? Let's put our heads together and see if we can come up with a way to get those people out of the elevator car.'

'One more thing,' added Curtis. 'From what I've heard, Kay Killen was a strong swimmer. Yet something caused her to drown. Something unexpected, perhaps. So, whatever you do, wherever you go, please be careful.'

'What would you like me to do, Mitch?' asked Jenny.

Mitch squeezed her hand and tried a smile. It made his mouth start to bleed again.

'Just don't say I told you so.'

Ray Richardson picked the handmade shirt off his chest and tried to flap some air into the space between the sodden material and his sweatcovered skin. Outside the steamed-up doors and windows of the Gridiron it was dark. But for the bright lights, the smell of shit and the incessant piano music, he might have tried to sleep.

'How hot do you think it is?' asked Joan, shifting uncomfortably on one of the big leather sofas.

Richardson shrugged.

'It's not the temperature so much. Without the AC the tree makes it very humid down here.'

Dukes stood up and started to peel off his dark blue shirt.

'You know what? I'm going to take a swim.'

'How can we?' growled Richardson. 'You locked the door that led to the swimming pool.'

Then he realized that Dukes was talking about the fishpond that surrounded the tree.

'Not a bad idea at that,' he admitted, and began to undress.

Wearing just their shorts, the two men collapsed into the water. The salmon-sized, brightly coloured fish darted away in all directions. Joan regarded the water uncertainly.

'Come on in,' urged her husband. 'It's just like swimming in the Amazon.'

'I don't know,' she said. 'What about those fish?'

'They're Koi carp,' said Richardson, 'not piranha.'

Joan leaned forwards and splashed some water on her face and chest.

'I can't believe you're bashful,' teased Richardson. 'Not after that picture in LA Living . Keep your blouse on if you're shy.'

Joan shrugged and began to pull at the zipper of her calf-length skirt. She dropped it to the floor, tied the ends of her blouse together and stepped into the water.

Richardson sank underneath the surface of the water, and then surfaced again like a hippopotamus. He floated on his back for a moment and looked up at the inside of the atrium. Now that he was here it seemed like the best place to appreciate the internal geometry of the design: how the shape changed incrementally from oval to slim rectangular as the tower rose, with the atrium tapering past the curving ribs of the galleries and the central spine of the dicotyledon tree. It was, he thought, like being inside a huge white whale.

'Awesome,' he murmured. 'Just awesome.'

'Yes, wonderful,' enthused Joan, thinking he was talking about being in the water.

'It's just like a fire hydrant in summer,' agreed Dukes.

'I'm glad you persuaded me to come in,' she said. 'Do you think that it's safe to drink the water? I mean, has it been treated with Choke Water like the fountain outside?'

'I should hope not,' said Richardson. 'Not with these fish in it. They cost fifteen thousand bucks a piece. The water has to be especially dechlorinated and purified for them.'

'But what if the fish have, you know — gone to the bathroom in it?'

Richardson laughed. 'I don't think a little fish shit will do you any harm, love. Besides, I don't see we have much choice in the matter.' He swallowed a mouthful of the warm brackish water by way of confirmation.

The water had not been as deep as Joan had expected when she got in, but as she sat on the oil-smooth floor of the pool it seemed that the level was decreasing.

'Hey,' said Dukes, 'did someone let the plug out?'

He stood up. It had been waist deep when he climbed in. Now it hardly passed his knees. He looked around desperately for some kind of container and, seeing nothing that could do the job, began to scoop handfuls of their now rapidly dwindling supply into his mouth. Richardson sat up sharply. He was beginning to think that Mitch might have been right: that someone really did mean to harm them. Why else would he have chosen to drain the pond now if it was not to deprive the three of them of water?

He lay on his belly like one of the rejects from Gideon's army, and started to lap at the last few inches of water like a dog. Then he just lay there watching the carp flapping around helplessly.

'Saves trying to catch the fish I suppose,' he said, sitting up at last. 'We might get hungry.'

Joan stood up, hardly caring that Dukes might see her underwear.

'Sashimi makes me thirsty,' she said.

Dukes smiled and watched the water glistening on her half-naked body like the glaze on a clay figurine, dripping in a small potable trickle from the ebony curl of pubic hair that was just visible through her wet panties, wanting to put his mouth under it and drink it as if it came from a spring. Fat or not, he thought, she had a pretty face.