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Sachs and Simpson turned and began beckoning the ambulances forward. Sachs was horrified by the spectacle of arms and legs convulsing, muscles frozen, muscles quivering, veins rising, spittle and blood evaporating on faces from the blisteringly hot skin.
Cavanaugh called, "We've got to stop them from trying to get out. They can't touch anything!"
Sachs and Simpson ran to the windows and gestured people back from the doors, but everyone was panicked and continued to stream for the exits, stopping only when they saw the terrible scene.
Cut its head off . . .
She spun to Cavanaugh, crying, "How can we shut the current off here?"
The Operations VP looked around. "We don't know what he's rigged it to. Around here we've got subway lines, transmission lines, feeders. . . . I'll call Queens. I'll cut everything off in the area. It'll shut down the Stock Exchange but we don't have any choice." He pulled out his phone. "But it'll take a few minutes. Tell people in the hotel to stay put. Not to touch anything!"
Sachs ran close to a large sheet of plate glass and gestured people back frantically. Some understood and nodded. But others were panicking. Sachs watched a young woman break free from her friends and race for the emergency exit door, in front of which lay the smoking body of a man who'd tried to exit a moment before. Sachs pounded on the window. "No!" she cried. The woman looked at Sachs but kept going, arms outstretched.
"No, don't touch it!"
The woman, sobbing, sped onward.
Ten feet from the door . . . five feet . . .
No other way, the detective decided.
"Nancy, the windows! Take 'em out!" Sachs drew her Glock. Checked the backdrop. And firing high, used six bullets to take out three of the massive windows in the lobby.
The woman screamed at the gunshots and dove to the ground just before she grabbed the deadly handle.
Nancy Simpson blew
out the windows on the other side of the doors.
Both detectives leapt inside. They ordered people not to touch anything metal and began organizing the exodus through the jagged window frames, as smoke, unbelievably vile, filled the lobby.
Chapter 38
BOB CAVANAUGH CALLED, "Power's off!"
Sachs nodded and directed emergency workers to the victims, then scanned the crowds outside, looking for Galt.
"Detective!"
Amelia Sachs turned. A man in an Algonquin Consolidated uniform was running in her direction. Seeing the dark blue outfit worn by a white male, she thought immediately that it might be Galt. The witness in the hotel had apparently reported that the suspect was nearby and the police had only a bad DMV picture of the attacker to identify him.
But as the man approached it was clear that he was much younger than Galt.
"Detective," he said breathlessly, "that officer there said I should talk to you. There's something I thought you should know." His face screwed up as he caught a whiff of the smoke from inside the hotel.
"Go on."
"I'm with the power company. Algonquin. Look, my partner, he's in one of our tunnels, underneath us?" Nodding toward Amsterdam College. "I've been trying to reach him, but he's not responding. Only, the radios're working fine."
Underground. Where the electric service was.
"I was thinking this Raymond Galt guy, maybe he was down there and Joey ran into him. You know. I'm worried about him."
Sachs called two patrolmen to join her. They and the Algonquin worker hurried to the school. "We have an easement through the basement. It's the best way to get down to the tunnel."
So that's how Galt had picked up the volcanic ash trace, slipping through the exhibit hall of the college. Sachs called Rhyme and explained what had happened. Then added, "I'm going tactical, Rhyme. He might be in the tunnel. I'll call you when I know something. You found anything else in the evidence that might help?"
"Nothing more, Sachs."
