Chapter Eleven

Barlow Travis had successfully made it out of the Brent building, but he had run right into the waiting arms of Lieutenant Tragg and Sergeant Brice. Too shaken at his near-brush with death, he did not even care. As Trevor Bartlett made his horrifying announcement moments later, Barlow was sitting, handcuffed, in the back of the squad car.

Tragg turned to face him, his eyes narrowed in an angry glare. "Well, what do you make of that?" he snapped.

"He'll do it, Lieutenant," Barlow asserted. "I know it. He wouldn't have even stopped at killing me just so he'd get Mr. Mason!"

"Yeah, I'm sure of that," Tragg said. "Do you know where the bombs are in the building? We have fifteen minutes to shut them down, without causing Mr. Mason's death!" His expression darkened further. "And if you know anything that might help us, and you withhold it, I promise you the district attorney will charge you as an accessory to murder. Mass murder, if the bombs detonate!"

Barlow shook his head firmly. "I won't withhold anything!" he said. "But I'm not going to be much help. The bombs are on every floor, attached to the middle of the ceiling in the main corridor. There won't be enough time to turn them all off. And only Trevor knows how to shut them all down at once!"

Tragg looked to Sergeant Brice. "Tell the bomb squad about this," he said quietly.

Brice nodded. "They really have their work cut out for them," he said. "They have to find a way to sneak in without Bartlett knowing, disable all the bombs, and fight off anyone Bartlett might have hired to keep them back." He leaned into the car and grabbed the radio's speaker.

Tragg glowered at the front of the building. From his position Bartlett was visible inside the lobby, as was Perry surrounded by the gun-toting assassins. And even in the absence of a loudly ticking clock, Tragg could hear its countdown in his mind.

He clenched a fist. He and Brice had been going to take their unit in through the front. That was impossible now, of course. And if they moved to go in the back, Bartlett would see and likely make good on his threat against Perry. They were stalled. Their only hope now was to distract Bartlett and try to talk him out of this while the bomb squad attempted their entrance from behind the building.

"What's the purpose behind this, Bartlett?" Tragg asked, raising his voice. "What do you believe you will accomplish?"

"I'll have the satisfaction of knowing Mr. Mason will die helpless, unable to save any of the oblivious people in this building," Bartlett answered.

"So you intend to take him with you into death," Tragg said.

"That wasn't the original plan," Bartlett admitted. "But it'll do for now." He shot a quick look at Perry over his shoulder. "I know it's chewing him up inside that he can't do anything about it."

Perry's face was unreadable. He stood where he was, perfectly still and staring at the scene outside the window. The hitmen were also rigid.

"What about your men, Bartlett?" Tragg said. "Do you believe they will be willing to go down with you?" He gripped his gun. If only they could get the assassins to move away, Perry might have a chance!

Bartlett wavered. Apparently that thought had not even crossed his mind. "They'll do as they're instructed," he said at last.

"Really?" Now it was Perry who had spoke up. "They're contract killers, paid to get rid of people. Somehow I doubt they would be willing to essentially take out contracts on themselves. They wouldn't even have the opportunity to enjoy whatever money you've given them if they stay here to die."

Bartlett whirled. "Shut up!" he snarled. "Anyway, they know they're cornered. If they get out alive they'll be going to prison. The whole lot of them!"

One of the assassins turned to face him, his eyes narrowed. "Some of us might escape," he said. "But all of us are going to live, one way or the other. None of us are stupid enough to wait around here for your bombs to blow us all up."

Bartlett took a step back. "What are you saying?" he gasped. "You can't turn against me. I'm your employer, your boss! Anyway, I was going to let you go right before the explosion."

"How nice. You know, we've got what we need from you," said another. He took his gun away from Perry, pointing it at Bartlett instead. All of the others followed suit.

Della, still behind the barrier, tried desperately to lean forward. "What's happening?" she cried in agony. "I can't see a thing!"

"Wait a minute," Paul said, keeping a firm hand on her shoulder. "Maybe Tragg threw in a monkey wrench with that last comment of his."

Burger nodded. "I'm sure of it," he said. "Bartlett was a fool to think anyone would willingly stand by him to die."

Tragg and the other police were moving closer now, their guns drawn. The assassins held still, having surrounded the still-restrained Bartlett with their weapons. One of them started to squeeze the trigger of his rifle.

Perry stepped forward. "Don't kill him," he implored. "Let the police take him into custody."

The assassins had their own ideas. As the police drew closer, some of them whirled and opened fire. The police scattered, taking cover to fire back. A couple went down.

Della stared in new horror. "Isn't one of them Tragg?" she exclaimed.

Paul kept his hands on her shoulders, still worried that she might run out. "It looks like it," he said in concern.

"He's getting up," Burger observed. "I think it just grazed him." That was a relief. But at this point there was too much going on for him to ever hope to relax.

Tragg stumbled behind a squad car, ignoring the burning in his arm. "Perry, get out of the way!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. He ducked as a bullet sailed past, then rose up enough to return fire.

Perry wanted to get out of the way. But he also did not want Bartlett to be killed in the fray. That would be too easy and simple an end for a madman like that. He looked around, finally spotting the wretch diving out of the rain of bullets. Perry ducked behind the receptionist's desk, waiting for it to end.

All the while his mind was whirring. There were still countless innocent people in this building. By now the bomb squad had surely entered via the side and back doors. But what if there was not enough time to disarm every bomb? Each level had to be cleared of people. And were there enough officers to handle the task?

He peered around the desk. The shootout was almost over. Most of the assassins were lying dead or dying. The police were starting to emerge from their places of concealment. Tragg looked to be alright. His right arm was bleeding, but it did not appear serious.

Perry turned, making up his mind. He would try to help evacuate the building. With close to ten minutes now, they would need all possible help.

He hastened towards the back of the room and the stairs. In this crisis, he would not dare to attempt the elevator. It would stifle the amount of time all the more, but it would be safer for everyone.

xxxx

Della stood at attention, watching as the police hauled out the assassins that were capable of walking. Another brought out Trevor Bartlett, who was not wounded at all. His smug behavior and self-satisfied smirk only made Della worry all the more.

"Where's Perry?" she burst out. "He isn't coming outside." Had he been hurt in the fracas?

Hamilton moved to slip through the barrier. "I'll go find out," he offered. It should be safe enough now, at least for the few minutes until the bombs were ready to detonate.

Della was not content to wait. She broke free from Paul and hurried after him.

"Hey!" Paul called. "Wait for me!"

Tragg looked up from snapping handcuffs on one of the assassins when the trio came over. "I had a feeling you wouldn't continue to stay back," he said ruefully.

Hamilton took in the torn sleeve of his coat and the crimson trails down his arm. "You're lucky you weren't seriously hurt," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Tragg nodded. He saw to it that his prisoner got into the back of the nearest squad car. "It would have been so easy for it to be worse." He glanced over at another injured police officer, sprawled on the ground with his partner tending to his wounds.

Della looked at the sight too, in sadness and regret. "Will he be alright?" she asked.

"We're not sure yet," Tragg told her.

Unsettled, Della cast her gaze around in further dismay. "What happened to Perry?" she demanded. "I thought he'd be coming out!"

"I don't know," Tragg had to admit. "When the smoke cleared, we didn't see any sign of him."

Bartlett, being handcuffed by Sergeant Brice, started to laugh. Instantly all concerned eyes turned in his direction. Angry, Hamilton walked up to him.

"What is it you know?" he asked, his voice dark. "Where's Mr. Mason?"

Bartlett smirked at him. "He went off to play hero," he said.

Della's eyes widened. "He's gone to disarm the bombs?" she cried.

Bartlett shrugged. "He was talking about clearing the building before," he said. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say that's what he's off doing now."

Tragg's expression turned grimmer than ever. "Of course," he said. "Perry's gone to help evacuate everyone, in case the bomb squad can't turn off all the bombs in time."

Brice glowered at their captive. "You know how to turn them all off at once, with this," he said, holding up the transmitter. "Only you won't tell us how to do it, will you?"

"No," Bartlett answered.

"You make me sick!" Paul snarled. "And to think you didn't even get hurt in that shootout."

"We can't just leave Perry in there!" Della exclaimed. "How much time is left?"

Tragg glanced at his watch. "Seven minutes," he reported. "I'll call the bomb squad unit and find out if they've seen him." He hurried to his radio.

"There's no way they can disarm all the bombs in time," Bartlett said, not even trying to hide the glee in his voice.

Paul spun around to give him a deathglare. "You'd better shut up if you don't want a punch in the mouth," he threatened.

"Paul . . ." Hamilton shook his head. "He's not worth it."

Paul's shoulders slumped. "I know," he grumbled, "but it would make me feel good to know he wouldn't be talking for a few minutes, anyway."

Della wrung her hands, restless and agonized. "How can we just stand out here when we know Perry is somewhere in there?" she said. Of course, logically she knew they would only make it worse by going inside. They probably would not find Perry and then the police would have to come looking for them, too.

But logic sounded so illogical and flat and heartless when they knew Perry was inside a building that was scheduled to explode in five minutes.

Tragg hung up the radio and straightened. His somber expression said everything Della could not bear to acknowledge.

"They haven't seen Perry," he said. "And there's still three bombs to deactivate. The unit has split up, but with four minutes there may not be enough time."

Della could not hold back the anguished wail. Paul drew her close, sickened by the news. "Don't worry, Beautiful," he said, trying to force a lighter tone into his voice. "This is Perry we're talking about. He's not going to be beat here, now. He'll come out any minute, probably with a bunch of people he found."

Hamilton watched them, his own insides twisting. He had never imagined they would be facing a situation like this. Waiting and watching, knowing there was such a limited amount of time and that Perry could be about to perish, was far worse than looking for him around town and worrying that he might already be dead.

He turned back to Tragg, uneasy and uncomfortable. "There's no chance of sending anyone in there to look for him, is there?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Tragg shook his head. "Not a chance. The police officers already inside evacuating the people are going to look for him along with others. And that's all that can be done."

"No," Della said, looking up in resolution. "There is something else."

Paul stiffened. "Della, you can't go in there!" he burst out.

"If you try it, we'll have to hold you back," Hamilton added.

She managed a slight smile. "That's not what I'm thinking," she said. "I'm going to pray." She bowed her head.

The men exchanged brief, surprised looks at her answer. Then, one by one, they followed suit.

xxxx

The remaining minutes ticked by, unbearably slow and yet far too quick all at once. Tragg looked at his watch every few seconds. The others were keeping track of the time as well. They could not stand to look, but they had to. As horrible as it was, they had to know how much was left.

"One minute," Sergeant Brice said grimly from his position at the squad car.

They waited, tensely watching the front doors. Suddenly Della perked up. "Look!" she exclaimed, pointing ahead. "They're coming out. Perry's with them; I can see him!" She ran forward as the glass doors opened. "Perry!"

Perry, escorting a group of frightened people, looked to her. He smiled, letting the people scatter once they were outside. He kept on a straight path, heading towards Della.

By now the others were hurrying over as well, but Della reached him first. She gazed up at him, her heart swelling with joy. "Perry," she repeated. "Oh Perry, you're safe! Thank God you're safe!" After all that had happened, this seemed too wonderful to be true—the ending she had hoped and longed and prayed for, yet had not thought they would get.

"Of course I'm safe," Perry said, still with the understanding smile. There were other emotions there too. He was relieved, for his safety as well as hers. He was glad it was finally over. But most of all, he was overjoyed to see her and the others all safe and sound. Bartlett had either lied or had not known that they were still alive and well.

"I was so scared," Della confessed, her voice cracking. "I was afraid we wouldn't find you in time. And then when I heard about the bombs . . ." She trailed off, drawing her arms around him in a firm embrace. It was not a usual thing for her to do, but this occasion called for it. Her emotions were spilling out, her anguish and fear at last being transformed into overwhelming happiness and relief.

Perry returned the gesture, slowly at first but then drawing her close. "You shouldn't have come here," he said quietly. "The building could have exploded."

"You shouldn't have gone inside," Della returned. "You could have been in there when it did!"

Paul looked to it. "Hey, it's not going up," he observed. "It must be past the time now. They did it!"

The police realized the same thing. Some of them let out a joyous cheer.

Della broke into a smile. "I'm so glad," she said.

That was when the sight of red flashed in her vision. "Perry, you're hurt!" she gasped, staring at the blood from the wound in his side.

"It's nothing serious," Perry said, hoping he was right. "I'll have it taken care of and be as good as new."

Paul reached them now. "Do you know what you've put us through the last twelve hours?" he exclaimed.

Perry looked back. "No, but I expect to hear all about it," he said.

"Oh, don't worry, you're going to," Paul said.

Hamilton approached him next. "It's good to have you back, Perry," he said. "I was starting to think that I was going to have to find someone else to clash with in court."

Perry smiled. "I have to admit there were some times when I wondered the same thing," he said.

Tragg gave him a stern look. "You always feel the need to go above and beyond what's necessary, Counselor," he said. "Imagine, worrying these poor people as you did." He indicated Della and Paul.

"You weren't worried, Lieutenant?" Perry returned, not missing a beat.

"Well, of course I was worried!" Tragg retorted. "We've all been worrying out of our minds."

He looked to Bartlett. The younger man's eyes were fiery enough to cut through metal. "And as for you, you're going to be charged with enough crimes that it will take half the day to read them," Tragg snapped. "I'm sure Mr. Burger will take great pleasure in prosecuting this case."

"Yes, I will," said Hamilton, glaring at Bartlett.

Tragg leaned on the squad car, peering down at Barlow Travis. "And you'll be facing charges as well, Mr. Travis," he said, "as an accessory to kidnapping. Not to mention the attempted murder of the district attorney."

Perry stiffened. "Attempted murder?" he echoed. "Hamilton, what happened?"

Hamilton looked more embarrassed than anything else. "It's nothing, Perry," he said. "I'll tell you about it later."

"And while we're at it," Tragg continued, taking out a slip of paper from his inside coat pocket, "we would like to question you about the murder of Iola Van Pelt. She was found dead in your house last night."

Barlow looked down at the floor of the car. "Don't bother about that," he mumbled. "I feel awful about it. I had to get some information from her about the transmitters, and the code to the safe at the Altec building, and that kind of thing. She didn't know what it was for, but she was willing to go along with me. She trusted me, especially because of . . . well, nevermind. Then Trevor called and she heard what he was saying and she knew. She wouldn't go along with anything then. She threatened to call the police."

He dug his fingers into his hair as he leaned forward. "We had a fight. I didn't mean for it to happen, but then . . . then she was lying there, not moving." He looked up with stricken eyes. "She was dead. Yeah, I killed her. I didn't mean to, but I killed her!"