Panic

The gloss and air conditioning of the public corridors gave way to damp air and bare concrete as Albert, Leopold, Jerome, and Mary made their way to the basement. The dim passageways that led through the older parts of the building were lined with exposed pipes and dim light bulbs that hung loosely from the ceiling. The rumble of HVAC units and the hiss of steam accompanied their footsteps, punctuated every now and again by the whizz and crackle of old circuit breaker boxes.

“It’s not much further,” said Albert, turning his head as he walked. “We should hurry, just in case they decide to run a security sweep down here.”

“Why would they do that?” asked Mary.

“They’ll be wondering who pulled the fire alarm. They usually run a quick sweep in between classes anyway, so chances are they’ll step up their timetable now,” said the tour guide, facing front again as he quickened his pace.

“Let’s make sure they don’t find us then,” said Leopold, leaning in close to Mary so that Albert couldn’t hear. “Otherwise our chances of finding Cupid are shot to hell. It’s only a matter of time before he works out we traced him.”

“Then all he needs to do is wipe the hard drive, and we’ve lost all the evidence linking him to this,” said the police sergeant, whispering.

“Exactly, and he’ll be able to do that remotely within a matter of minutes of finding the tracer we ran. This is our only chance to find this guy and hopefully find Christina. The longer she’s missing, the less likely we find her alive.”

Albert led the group deeper into the lower levels of the building, stopping only to make sure everyone was still behind him. After several minutes, the group reached the end of a narrow passageway and found their way blocked by a heavy metal door. Jerome tried the handle without success.

“Heavy mag-lock,” he said, pulling hard on the handle. “The door won’t budge. Doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to bust our way through this one.”

“Dammit,” said Albert, “this door wasn’t here last time I came down. They must have upgraded security since last time.”

“Why would they have done that?” asked Leopold.

“Well, I may not have mentioned this, but the last time I came down to the tu

“Spit it out,” said Jerome, taking a step closer to their guide.

“Okay, okay. One of the security guards found me down here, maybe a couple of months ago. Nearly caught me too, but I was too fast for him. That must be why they’ve installed this new door.”

“Great, just great,” said Leopold. “How are we going to get through?”

“We need a magnetic key-card,” said the bodyguard. “I’m betting the security guards have them as standard.”

“That’s not going to help us much,” said Mary.

“Wait a minute,” said Leopold, placing his hand on the tour guide’s shoulder. “Albert, when you ran into security last time, how many of them were down here?”

“Just the one.”

“Did he radio for backup?”

“No, he just yelled and ran after me.”

The consultant nodded. “I think I’ve got a plan. If we can swipe the guard’s key card, we can get down here before he’s even realized it’s gone.”

“It’s risky,” said Jerome. “If it turns out he’s got a radio, or a buddy on patrol with him, they could close on us pretty quick, and we lose our only window.”

“It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice,” said Mary. “We need to find this Cupid sicko as soon as possible, before anything else happens to Christina. We’ve already got one dead body.”

“Agreed,” said Leopold, “we don’t have any other options here.”

“Did you say dead body?” asked Albert, his voice shaking slightly.  “So what’s the plan?” asked Mary, ignoring the tour guide’s question.

“I have an idea,” said Leopold, turning to face the police sergeant. “But I’m going to need your help.”

Chapter 24

Marty O’Do

Marty stood a little over five foot six and weighed upwards of two hundred and twenty pounds, none of which was muscle. He wore a pale blue short-sleeved shirt and clip-on tie, with a nightstick and set of keys clipped loosely to his belt, which was a couple of notches too small for his considerable waistline. His physical appearance hadn’t changed much since childhood, and Marty had developed a mean attitude as a way of coping with the inevitable bullying during high school. Now pushing forty, his attitude had only worsened, and he was itching for an opportunity to exercise some pent-up aggression.

He stared intently at the crowd and focused on a small group of students who had started playing Frisbee. Marty smiled. With the alarm bells still wailing behind him, he strode out toward the lawn and beckoned the students to come over.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Marty.

“Playing Frisbee. What’s wrong with that?” said one of the students, a ski

“What’s wrong is we’re in the middle of a possible fire emergency, that’s what’s wrong,” said the security guard, pointing his finger at the ski

“Yeah, but the building’s not on fire,” said the ski

“That’s not the point, smartass,” growled Marty. “It’s my job to keep you idiots safe, and that means no goofing off when there’s a fire alarm. You know what I see when I look at you? Trouble, that’s what. And if it turns out someone pulled the fire alarm as a prank, you’re the first person I’m coming for.”

He snatched the Frisbee away, tucked it under his arm, and marched back to his vantage point just in front of the main doors and waited for the alarms to die down. After several minutes of continued racket, the alarms were showing no sign of shutting off and the noise grew even more distracting as a crescendo of sirens began to sound above the shrill clang of the alarm bells.

Marty was confused. The Uris alarm systems weren’t rigged to contact the emergency services; they were too old-fashioned for that, and it was unlikely any of the students would have made the call. Most of them wouldn’t care if the whole place burned down. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as three fire trucks rolled up the campus lawns and stopped just behind the mass of students, tearing deep tracks in the manicured lawn. Marty groaned as he realized he was going to get the blame for the repair bill.

With a growl, the security guard stormed in the direction the fire trucks, pushing past the crowd of students who had all turned around to see what was going on. He shoved a couple of bewildered students to the side and collided with a particularly striking brown-haired woman, causing both of them to stagger backward. The young woman flashed an apologetic smile and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear before glancing up at him.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going with all this commotion. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Marty grunted a response and waved her away. It wasn’t often beautiful women spoke to him, especially those he nearly knocked over. Shrugging, he resumed his stride and walked up to the group of firefighters who had now spilled out onto the grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” Marty shouted over the noise at the firefighter he assumed was in charge.