The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme 7)

"Some announcement," one of her coworkers called.

Duh.

"They keep doing that. Pisses me off. Is it a fire drill?"

"No idea."

A moment later she heard the whoop of the fire alarm.

Guess it is.

After 9/11 the alarm had gone off every month or so. The first couple times she'd played along and trooped downstairs like everybody else. But today the temperature was in the low twenties and she had way too much work to do. Besides, if it really was a fire and the exits were blocked she could just jump out the window. Her office was only on the second floor.

She returned to her screen.

But then Sarah heard voices at the far end of the corridor that led to her cubicle. There was an urgency about the sound. And something else--the jangling of metal. Firemen's equipment? she wondered.

Maybe something really was happening.

Heavy footsteps behind her, approaching. She turned around and saw policemen in dark outfits, with guns. Police? Oh, God, was it a terrorist attack? All she thought about was getting to her son's school, picking him up.

"We're evacuating the building," the cop announced.

"Is it terrorists?" somebody called. "Has there been another attack?"

"No." He didn't explain further. "Everybody move out in an orderly fashion. Take your coats, leave everything else."

Sarah relaxed. She wouldn't have to worry about her son.

Another of the officers called, "We're looking for fire extinguishers. Are there any in this area? Don't touch them. Just let us know. I repeat, do not touch them!"

So there is a fire, she thought, pulling on her coat.

Then she reflected that it was curious that the fire department would use the company's extinguishers on a fire. Didn't they have their own? And why should they be so concerned that we'd use one? Not like you need special training.

I repeat, do not touch them! . . .

The policeman looked into an office near Sarah's workstation.

"Oh, Officer? You want an extinguisher?" she asked. "I've got one right here."

And she pulled the heavy red cylinder off the floor.

"No!" cried the man and he leaped toward her.

Sachs winced as the transmission crackled loudly through her earpiece.

"Fire and containment

team, second floor, southeast corner office. K. Lanam Flooring and Interiors. Now! Move, move, move!"

A dozen firefighters and officers from the bomb squad shouldered their equipment and sprinted fast toward the rear door.

"Status?" Haumann shouted into his microphone.

All they could hear were harried voices over the raw howl of the fire alarm.

"Do you have detonation?" the head of ESU repeated urgently.