The Deliveryman (Lincoln Rhyme 11.50)

She called the backup. "I want to take him here."

"Inside, Amelia? Sure. That's best?"

He's not getting away, Sachs thought. "Yes. Get up here, stat."

"We're moving."

A fast glance inside then back to cover. She still couldn't see him. He must be sitting in the back of the place. She eased to the right and then moved closer to the open archway of the coffee shop. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her.

She and the team would flank--

Suddenly Sachs cringed at the abrupt, piercing scream close behind her. A horrid wail of a person in pain. So raw, so high, she couldn't tell man or woman.

The sound came from the up escalator.

Oh, Jesus...

The top panel of the device, the one that that riders stepped off the moving stairs onto, had popped open and a passenger had fallen into the interior of the machine.

"Help me! No!" A man's voice. Then the words coalesced into a scream again.

Customers and employees gasped and cried out. Those on the steps of the malfunctioning unit, which were still moving, leapt off. The riders on the adjoining escalator, going down, jumped too, maybe thinking it was about to engulf them as well.

Sachs glanced toward the coffee shop.

No sign of Forty. Had he seen her badge or weapon when he, like everyone else, turned to stare at the accident?

She called the backup and told them to cover the exits. Then sprinted to the escalator, noting somebody had pressed the EMERGENCY button. The stairs slowed and then halted.

"Make it stop, make it stop!" More screams from the person inside.

Sachs stepped into the upper part of the platform and looked into the gaping hole. A middle-aged man was trapped in the gears of the motor, mounted to the floor about eight feet below the aluminum panel that had popped open. The motor continued to turn, despite someone's hitting the EMERGENCY button, and she supposed that it merely disengaged a clutch to the moving stairs. The poor man was caught at the waist. He was on his side, flailing at the machine. The gears had dug deep into his body and blood had soaked his clothing and was flowing onto the floor of the escalator pit. He was about forty-five and wore a white shirt with a name badge on it, an employee of one of the stores.

Looking at the crowd. There were employees here, a few security people, but no one was doing anything to help. Stricken faces. Those who were reacting were taking cellphone video.

She called down to him, "We've got rescue on the way. I'm coming down there."

"God, it hurts!" More screaming. She felt the vibration in her chest.

That bleeding had to stop. Now. Just go.

She muscled open the hinged panel--apparently this was the route workmen used for access to the mechanics. A breath. And claustrophobic Amelia Sachs started into the narrow pit, ten feet from the floor to the top of the panel. There was a ladder for workers to use--but it consisted of narrow metal bars, which were slick with the man's blood; apparently he'd been slashed as well when the stairs shoved him into the sharp edge of the panel. She gripped the hand-and footholds hard; if she were to fall, she would land right on top of the man. And she herself might be entangled in another set of gears, which still turned. Once, her feet went out from under her and her arm muscles cramped. Her booted foot brushed a gear, which tugged at her cuff. She yanked it away.

Then down to the floor...Hold on, hold on. Saying, or thinking, this to both him and herself.

The poor man's screams weren't diminishing.

"Please, oh God, oh God..."

Her feet planted on the concrete floor, nearly slipping on the blood. She almost pitched facefirst into the second set of gears. Caught herself just in time.

"I'm a police officer," she told him. "Medics'll be here any minute."

"It's bad, it's bad. It hurts so much. Oh, so much."

Lifting her head, she shouted, "Somebody from maintenance, somebody from management! Shut this damn thing off! Not the stairs, the motor!"

Where the hell's the fire department? She had no idea what to do. She pulled her jacket off and pressed it against the shredded flesh of his belly and groin. It did little to stanch the blood.