"Well, I can't make any promises, this is still a fairly new test but I can certainly give it a try, Inspector."
The hesitant words coming from the other end of the line had sounded divine that morning, possibly putting an end to their frenzied efforts to positively ID the body found in De Haro's grave. And while it wouldn't help push their investigation much further, it would at least prove beyond a reasonable doubt that they weren't after the wrong victim altogether.
Either way, it felt like monumental progress in the making for one tired San Francisco Homicide Inspector.
Steve had barely thanked the professor on the other end of the line and hung up the phone, when a commotion going on behind him disrupted the usually quiet atmosphere of the bullpen.
Several detectives had gotten up from their desks and circled the office hastily, including Mike. When a group of them left through the glass-walled vestibule, shouting could be heard from the nearby corridor.
It was then that Steve could smell the disturbing odor of burning wires and building material quickly filling the office. With his heart sinking at the potential meaning behind it, he decided to grab his belongings and head out of the bullpen to join the others, looking for his partner who had vanished amongst the assortment of plain-clothes detectives evacuating.
As he reached the main corridor, he could see smoke filling the west side of the building, the gray cloud turning gradually thicker and blacker before finally blocking his sight of the elevators. Even the faint odor of burning electronics had now turned into noxious fumes that made his throat burn.
Like a never-ending caterpillar, detectives of various different departments working on the same floor streamed past him toward the stairs, trying to do so in a controlled fashion. Steve pushed himself against the outer wall to make room for them, while keeping an eye out for Mike.
Somebody had activated the smoke alarm, the shrill beeping seemingly coming from everywhere nearly dulling his senses.
Several feet to the right he could see Hassejian talk to Lessing, both men having their backs turned toward him as they gestured at the traffic jam of people slowly building near the crowded staircase.
"That's all for Homicide!", Sekulovich announced as he exited Office 450, their worried stares meeting briefly before the Sergeant joined the masses evacuating the floor.
"Has anybody seen Mike?", Steve yelled at the detectives passing him by, "Williams? Have you seen him? What about you, Thornton?"
The two Bunko undercovers looked up at him briefly, then shook their heads as they continued on.
"Damnit!", Steve cursed, trying to stifle a cough when the toxic fumes took his breath away.
Heat was beginning to build up in the narrow corridor, a mix of the fire along with the large assortment of bodies pushing their way through. The now thick, black cloud seemed to follow everybody and slowly crept toward the stairwell, filling the entire area.
Even though he couldn't see any flames, every fiber in his body could sense them. And just like Mike, Steve had a bad feeling that this might be Osorro's final attempt on their lives- and that of everyone else working here.
As the wave of people evacuating turned into a trickle, he reached for Andrew Swanson's arm, one of the Sergeants normally working with Vice one floor down.
"Andy, did you see Mike back there?"
The stocky man in his mid-fifties glanced up at him worriedly, then shook his head.
"I did not. Didn't he evacuate like the others?"
"I don't know.", Steve admitted, knowing well enough that there was a chance Mike would try to go after the source of the fire, check out where it was coming from and how it might be stopped.
But then again, there was a distinct chance he would be the Captain leaving the ship last if trouble arose.
So much for evacuating with the others.
Steve was about to head closer to the elevators, when Swanson grabbed his arm tightly, his eyes wide in fear.
"Aren't you gonna go down, Keller?", he asked between coughs, "We don't know what's going on. It's best if we get out of here. These fumes…these fumes are bad, really bad…"
"I will.", Steve countered determinedly and pulled free from the unrelenting grasp, "I will just double check to make sure Mike isn't up here."
"Suit yourself. I'll tell the guys downstairs you're still up here…"
Turning around one last time to see Hassejian disappear in the stairwell, followed by Swanson, Steve walked close to the elevators, feeling the heat rise exponentially, the sound of a roaring fire somewhere in the shaft eating away at his nerves. The smoke was solid black now, sneaking through the thin gaps of the metal elevator doors like molten lava, before rising to the ceiling, where it gathered and slowly filled the entire corridor.
"Mike?"
There was no answer to his urgent call, not even the noise of any stragglers leaving the building. As visibility deteriorated to a few feet, Steve bent down, hoping to stay clear of the toxic fumes as he proceeded ahead, leaving a mental note that he'd give himself a couple more minutes before retreating.
Maybe Mike had gone downstairs already, chasing after Osorro before the madman could get away. After all, they'd never be that close to him again. But what if he stayed back, ensuring that everybody had evacuated, eventually passing out from the fumes in the air that were attacking his still damaged lungs?
Two bullpens, a couple supply closets and three private offices separated him from that answer and Steve was about to tackle them, when a big eruption shook the entire building.
