'Forrest, get your people out of there,' Bates ordered. 'You've got hostiles above and below your location. You've got to fight your way to the basement!'
The response was more gunfire, and muffled screams.
'Forrest, do you copy?'
Silence.
'Forrest?'
The channel went dead.
'The basement?' Steve checked his weapon. 'What's in the basement?'
'A way out of here,' Bates said. 'It might be our only chance.'
'But if they blew up the lobby, won't that have taken out the basement levels too?'
'I hope not. If the sprinkler system is still functioning, it should have been activated down there by now. That will help curtail the fires, along with the fireproofing between the floors. And the building's design features should keep the concussion damage confined to the lobby itself.'
'What if you're wrong, Bates?'
'Then I'm wrong and we're dead. But to tell you the truth, Steve, we're probably dead anyway.'
'But your speech-'
'Was designed to give these people false hope,' Bates lowered his voice.
'Look at the odds. Look at what we're facing. We can't win this fight, Steve. But I'll be damned if I'm sending these people to their deaths without seeing them put up a fight. It's how I was trained.'
'So why the charade? Why not just tell everybody about this escape route?'
'Because there are too many of us. Believe me, I'd like to save everybody, but we can't. The more we take, the better the chance that we attract attention. Then we all die.'
Steve was quiet for a moment. Another scream drifted from the radio, and then it went silent again. The hallway slowly filled with smoke.
'That's harsh, Bates-but I guess that's the kind of thinking that will enable us to survive. So what's the plan?'
'You're going to fly us out of here.'
'What?'
'Pigpen says there's a tunnel that goes under the river and leads to the airport. You can still fly a jet, can't you?'
'I've flown commercial and experimental aircraft all of my life. I can fly anything. But that's not the point. You're trusting Pigpen? Come on, man. He thinks his cat is God, for crying out loud. How do we know JFK is safe? Even if we can find a plane, we've got to fuel it and-'
Bates held up his hand.
'Let's just worry about getting out of here first. Quinn and some of the others are busy looking for Mr. Ramsey. I'm going to tell them to cancel the search and meet us downstairs.'
'Do I have time to go to my room?'
'For what?'
'I'd like to get the picture of my son.'
'I'm sorry, Steve.' Bates shook his head. 'I really am. But there's no time, and I need you to stay with me. You're too important to lose.'
He tried reaching Quinn on the radio, but there was no answer. The building shook again, and somewhere on their floor, people began to scream.
Bates sniffed the air. The stench of rotting flesh overpowered the smoke.
'They're here.'
Frankie and Danny stared in horror, the gunshot still ringing in their ears. Blood splattered across Jim's face, chest and arms, bright against his pale skin.
Darren Ramsey's blood.
The pistol clattered onto the floor, and Ramsey followed it. He clawed at the hole in his chest, his face a mask of confusion.
'I don't understand ...' he gasped.
Three men ran down the corridor behind Frankie, Danny, and DiMassi. Jim recognized one of them as Quinn, the helicopter pilot that had rescued them. He didn't know the other two.
DiMassi whirled, keeping Danny in front of him and a knife at the boy's throat.
Quinn and the other two soldiers slid to a halt, their machine guns raised.
'Let the kid go, DiMassi,' Quinn shouted. 'It's over!'
'Hey man,' DiMassi protested. 'I ain't involved with this.'
'Bullshit,' one of the younger soldiers said. 'We heard you when we came down the stairwell, you fat fuck.
