Part 21 (1/2)
Still nothing.
Bollinger had been as thorough with the fire alarm as he had been with the telephones.
The wipers swept back and forth, clearing the snow from the winds.h.i.+eld. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump was getting on his nerves.
Billy glanced over his shoulder, through the rear window, at the green garage door, then at the other three doors.
The time was 10:15.
Where in the h.e.l.l was Dwight?
Graham and Connie went to the magazine's art department in search of a knife and other sharp draftsmen's tools that would make better weapons than the scissors. He found a pair of razor-edged scalpel-like instruments in the center drawer of the art director's big metal desk.
When he looked up from the drawer, he saw that Connie was lost in thought. She was standing just inside the door, staring at the floor in front of a light blue photographic backdrop. Climbing equipment-coils of rope, pitons, etriers, carabiners, klettershoes, nylon jackets lined with down, and perhaps thirty other items-lay in a disordered heap before the screen.
”See what I found?” he said. He held up the blades.
She wasn't interested. ”What about this stuff?” she asked, pointing to the climbing equipment.
Coming from behind the desk, he said, ”This issue we're running a buyer's guide. Each of those pieces was photographed for the article. Why'd you ask?” Then his face brightened. ”Never mind. I see why.” He hunkered in front of the equipment, picked up an ice ax. ”This makes a better weapon than any draftsman's tool.”
”Graham?”
He looked up.
Her expression was peculiar: a combination of puzzlement, fear and amazement. Although she clearly had thought of something interesting and important, her gray eyes gave no indication of what was going through her mind. She said, ”Let's not rush out to fight him. Can we consider all of our options?”
”That's why we're here.”
She stepped into the short, private hallway, c.o.c.ked her head and listened for Bollinger.
Graham stood up, prepared to use the ice ax.
When she was satisfied that there was nothing to listen for but more silence, she came back into the room.
He lowered the ax. ”I thought you heard something.”
”Just being cautious.” She glanced at the climbing equipment before she sat down on the edge of the desk. ”As I see it, there are five different things we can do. Number one, we can make a stand, try to fight Bollinger.”
”With this,” he said, hefting the ice ax.
”And with anything else we can find.”
”We can set a trap, surprise him.”
”I see two problems with that approach.”
”The gun.”
”That's sure one.”
”If we're clever enough, he won't have time to shoot.”
”More important,” she said, ”neither of us is a killer.”
”We could just knock him unconscious.”
”If you hit him on the head with an ax like that, you're bound to kill him.”
”If it's kill or be killed, I suppose I could do it.”
”Maybe. But if you hesitate at the last instant, we're dead.”
He didn't resent the limits of her faith in him; he knew that he didn't deserve her complete trust. ”You said there were five things we could do.” he knew that he didn't deserve her complete trust. ”You said there were five things we could do.”
”Number two, we can try to hide.”
”Where?”
”I don't know. Maybe look for an office that someone forgot to lock, go inside and lock it after us.”
”No one forgot.”
”Maybe we can continue to play cat and mouse with him.”
”For how long?”
”Until a new s.h.i.+ft of guards finds the dead ones.”
”If he didn't kill the guards, then the new guards won't know what's going on up here.”
”That's right.”
”Besides, I think maybe they work twelve-hour s.h.i.+fts, four days a week. I know one of the night men. I've heard him curse the long s.h.i.+fts and at the same time praise the eight hours of overtime he gets each week. So if they come on duty at six, they won't be off until six in the morning.”
”Seven and a half hours.”