THE SPIDER-City of Doom (5 page)

He sprang into the main hall, flung a swift glance about, spotted a red box and sprang to it with an eager cry. He smashed the glass. An elevator operator gaped at him with open mouth.

"Where's the fire?" he demanded.

"This building is going to collapse!" Wentworth snapped. "The steel girders have been cut." He whirled to Ram Singh. "Get downstairs and tell them to stop everyone at the doors and send them away, let the elevators rise empty and take out people as fast as they can." He thrust a courtesy police badge into Ram Singh's hand for authority.

"Operator, take this man down and don't stop until you hit the first floor!"

Wentworth ran for a 'phone, heard Kirkpatrick's crisp voice barking orders into a transmitter in a public booth. His words came out swiftly, but clipped and precise as if he sat in his own office directing activities.

Wentworth stared out the window at the evidence of the wind's power, heard the still mounting volume of its shrieks about the building. Now he was oversensitive to each fractional sway of the skyscraper. He smiled grimly to think that within seconds this huge tower of stone and crumbling steel would crash its hundreds of human souls into extinction.

He was bitter with himself for having failed to guess the answer long before, but he could see no way in which he could have figured it out. It was a piece of murderous criminality without parallel. Even now that he knew what impended, he could discern no motive. What possible reason or profit could there be?

He took a cigarette from his platinum case and smiled grimly at his unwavering hands. They wouldn't shake even in hell! But he was shaking inwardly, not in personal fear, but with dread of the horror that impended for the city's millions. He fought himself to calmness. His eyes gazing past the steady flame of his lighter spotted a NO SMOKING sign. The smile twisted on his lips. He blew out smoke and Kirkpatrick slammed out of the booth. He stopped short at sight of Wentworth calmly smoking, drew in a quivering breath. There was grayness beneath the tan of his face, but Wentworth's steadiness braced him. He nodded in approval.

Both of them must keep their heads, even in the face of this overwhelming catastrophe, if they were to snatch the victims from imminent doom. They must forget themselves . . . . The flame wavered as he lighted a cigarette.

"Suppose you and I take alternate floors and empty them," Wentworth suggested. "We'll clear them until reserves can arrive and take over. I sent word to the business office of the building and they're organizing the elevator banks now."

"I'll take the floor below this," Kirkpatrick agreed. "You take the one below that."

Once more the building swayed and groaned. This time there could be no doubt as to the cause of the sound. Wentworth checked his cigarette half way to his mouth, his eyes widening, his mouth feeling dry. Was this the last sway? Was the building heeling over into the final dive to destruction? Slowly the Sky Tower braced back into the push of the wind; the groan faded into a dim creak. Wentworth found he was holding his breath and he blew it out noisily.

"There's about a forty mile wind now," he said, clearing the hoarseness from his throat. "My guess is that when she hits fifty, the building goes."

They stared into each other's eyes and their smiles were forced. They went swiftly down the steps together. At the floor below, they paused for a moment on the platform, facing each other. Their palms touched briefly in a hand-clasp—two lean-faced men with death upon them, but with small smiles on their lips.

"See you in hell," Wentworth said trying to make it sound like a joke. He snapped his cigarette into a corner, clattered down stairs and into an office. People were standing excitedly; the fire gong was dinning, but they all thought it was a false alarm. How could the Sky Building burn?

"Get out quickly!" Wentworth shouted at them. "There's no danger if you move quickly and in orderly fashion. There'll be an elevator here in a moment. Wait in the hall."

"What's the matter?" a man demanded harshly. He was fat-cheeked and fat-bodied, but his clothes fitted faultlessly. "We have business to do and haven't any time for fire drills."

Wentworth eyed him coldly, his mouth grim. "If your business is more important than your life, by all means stay," he barked. "Your workers are leaving. This whole building will go within ten minutes."

Women squealed; a few men laughed. One said something about being nonchalant and tried to light a cigarette, but the flame danced in his trembling fingers and went out. The workers filed swiftly from the office. Wentworth had no trouble in the other offices. He simply held open the door so that those within could see the other people waiting in the hall. While he was in the second office, the first elevator took on a load.

A PERSISTENT worry thrust through the horror in Wentworth's brain. If the building swayed and failed to come back, the elevators would be blocked even if the structure did not topple at once. Hundreds would be trapped, helpless. The stairs would be too slow . . . .

"Women in the elevators," Wentworth barked. "Men, down the steps!"

A man began to curse shrilly. "Walk down ninety stories! You're a damned fool."

Wentworth drew his automatics, a small white smile on his lips.

"Walk down," he ordered, "or I'll let you have it!"

The men walked; Wentworth's mind kept veering to the tragedy at hand. He tried to estimate the chances of escape for those hundreds and his head jerked in a tense negative. The cords of his neck felt stiff and hard. No matter how rapidly they moved, scores would die—millions of dollars worth of buildings would be ground to powder. And all to satisfy the mysterious criminal plans of some monstrous killer.

When the third cage stopped at his floor, a policeman stepped out and saluted. "I'm taking over, sir," he said.

Wentworth nodded tightly. "I've got the men walking down," he said. "The idea is that as soon as the women are out on all floors, we'll start picking up the men."

"Okay," the policeman said. He turned to the crowd. "Get a move on there," his hearty voice rang out. "Think you got all day? In about ten minutes this building is going to fall down! And boy, oh boy, it will go boom!"

Wentworth forced a laugh and men and women joined. It was nervous laughter and shrill, but it was better than the white-faced silence and fear. Wentworth stopped to light a cigarette before he strolled to the steps. Still his hand did not shake. The women, huddled together, watched him with wide, frightened eyes. He smiled at them and it took all his courage to make that smile genuine. So many of them—and he, too—might never reach the street alive. He lifted his hat politely . . . Kirkpatrick, walking also, met him on the steps.

"The police have taken over," he said sharply. "They're clearing the other buildings and the streets are roped off for twelve blocks around. Ram Singh collapsed and was shipped to a hospital."

Wentworth swore. "I'd forgotten his wound. He was too eager to help to mention it. That man deserves a medal if anyone . . ." He broke off, rigid in his tracks. A shivering groan filled the air about them. A thin white snow of plaster sifted through the air and before their eyes, a crack gaped in the wall of the stairs. A man behind them screamed and bolted downward.

Wentworth pivoted and smacked him down with a right to the jaw.

"Hold it," he ordered sharply, shouting at the men streaming past. "Panic will only jam the stairs and prevent anyone from escaping. Take it easy."

White-faced men were darting down the steps. Panic glistened wildly in the eyes of a few, but Wentworth's blow had had a sobering effect on them. They went more quietly. Wentworth swung the man he had slugged to his shoulder and they went down. When the man recovered, he set him on his feet and allowed him to make his own way. They had reached the fiftieth floor when a policeman stopped them on the steps.

"All the women out, sir. Three cars waiting here," he reported.

Men jammed toward the door with eager shouts. Wentworth drew a deep breath. They had won that many from the maw of death. He turned tensely to Kirkpatrick.

"You get aboard, Kirk," he said. "You've got to direct that bunch downstairs or they'll be trapped."

Kirkpatrick smiled faintly, opened his mouth to speak then shut it again as an abysmal moan of twisted structure beams made deafening noise in the confined stairway. He looked up, watched a hunk of ceiling plaster detach itself and smack to pieces on the floor. When the noise had died, he spoke above the bedlam of terror it caused. His voice was hoarse, tight with enforced calm.

"You're needed, too, Dick," he said quietly. "Don't forget that this is only the beginning of the battle. As usual, I'll be hampered by the confounded laws. We ought to take this Devil Hackerson and torture the truth out of him."

Wentworth pulled up his lip corners with an effort. Death had spoken to all of them in that last groan.

"Quite," he murmured with assumed nonchalance. "Let's recommend it to the
Spider.
"

They went into the hallway and squeezed in behind the last of the men into an already overloaded elevator. They dropped down swiftly. In the lobby, police had formed close-ranked lines and men—all the women had already left—were herded through at a run. If anyone slowed, an officer's nightstick rapped him smartly on the thighs and he speeded up again. The faces of the police were set and grim. Their eyes lifted time and again to the ceilings and the walls that at any moment might come in upon them.

A man ran up to Kirkpatrick. He was in civilian clothes and his face was distraught. "Four main supports of the south side have given away," he reported excitedly. "We can't do a damned thing toward bracing. One more hard gust . . ." He choked off as a terrific cracking roar thundered through the hall. A crack gaped in the ceiling, then slowly, deliberately, half the mosaic ceiling swung down, hinged at one side, and crashed to the floor. Three men went down under it and police instantly leaped to clear them.

A constant stream of men poured from the elevator banks.

"How many floors to clear?" Kirkpatrick barked.

"Fifteen," the starter shouted.

"Two floors cleared every minute," an officer said curtly beside Kirkpatrick. "Seven more minutes to go. Think it will hold off, sir?"

There was strain in all their voices, a strain they tried to hide. Others had heard that question and many eyes were riveted fearfully, hopefully on the engineer's face.

The engineer shook his head dubiously. "I wouldn't guarantee one minute," he said. "These walls are strong, but it's steel that holds them. When that goes, everything will crumple. And it's going damned fast."

A ringing clang as if a cracked bell of enormous size had been struck gonged hollowly through the building.

"There goes another support," the engineer gasped. He drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. The linen was already soggy with perspiration. Kirkpatrick was watching the elevator indicators.

"Have the operators shout at the fifth floor that all below that must walk," he ordered curtly.

A constant stream of white-faced men was belching now from the stairs, the elevators seemed to be moving more swiftly.

"Three floors in the last minute," the Officer beside Kirkpatrick reported. "Guess a lot of them have walked down from those floors."

Wentworth and Kirkpatrick stood stiffly side by side as the seconds ticked by and watched the flashing lights which indicated the flight of the elevators. They had worked down to the eighth floor now. One cage dropped to the fifth and stopped, the lights showed, then plunged straight to the main floor. The door yanked open.

"Fifth floor clear!" he shouted.

"All out!" shouted Kirkpatrick. "And run like hell, to the north. This building will flop to the south. All out!"

A dozen voices picked up his cry and two more gonging explosions told that two more girders had crumpled. One by one the elevators swooped to a halt and their operators fled with the passengers. Policemen were ordered out. They tried to keep panic out of their retreat. One broke and ran. Others followed.

Once more Kirkpatrick and Wentworth faced each other. They nodded. They had done all they could here. They were justified now in trying to save their own lives. They strode swiftly to the door, faces drawn and haggard, turned north amid a stream of other men. The crowd was all ahead of them, pelting away from the danger zone. Wentworth wondered if now, that the work was over, his hand could still hold a flame steadily . . .

But Wentworth and Kirkpatrick did not run. Wentworth bowed his head into the wind. He was thinking now, with death so close, only a single word, a name, Nita. He did not visualize the woman he loved, did not even think of the death that must soon annihilate him, of the tons of debris that would smear him out of existence. He merely thought her name.

Two blocks away, Wentworth stopped to turn and stare upward at the highest building in the world. As he looked, a shuddering gasp of horror went up from the watching crowd, shivering down on the breath of the icy wind. The building seemed to be leaning. For a moment, it was not possible to tell definitely; then the angle became more pronounced. The tall spire was curved slightly at its middle like a woman's back.

"Run, Dick!" Kirkpatrick barked at him.

"No use, Kirk," Wentworth said heavily. "We couldn't gain more than fifty feet and that wouldn't . . . ."

He broke off, sucking in his breath. The bow in the middle of the building had increased. Wentworth realized that the steel-eater had not been applied throughout the building, but only on its major supports. Up there, the beams still held, but it was a useless, futile battle the steel fought with the elements. He saw a speck that was the first huge stone to tear from its seating. He watched it sweep downward, growing larger and larger, saw it strike the roof of a building.

On the top story of that building, the windows burst outward suddenly. Wentworth shook himself. All this was happening in split-seconds, and yet it passed before his lightning swift mind like the movements of a slow-motion camera. His ego seemed to be detached from his body, so that, like a bystander, he watched himself watch this major catastrophe of the world's history that was occurring before his eyes. He realized the millions in damage, knew that hundreds still fought their way downward through nearby buildings and were sprinting up the streets past him toward safety, that other scores could not possibly get free in time.