Chapter 6 – Zoning Change
Essential Listening: Battle of One, by 30 Seconds to Mars
0o0
Aaron Hotchner swore, dropping his cell phone on Chief Vega's desk.
Gideon watched him through the open doorway, sorry for him.
"Garcia checked Abby's phone records," said Hotch angrily. "He called Stiles right after I left him."
Gideon nodded, understanding his friend's disappointment, frustration. It was something they all faced, whenever a case got too much for them. But this wasn't over yet; he needed Hotch thinking clearly, not beating himself up over this.
"Well, you saw something in Abby that you identified with," he said.
He watched Aaron's face as he tracked it down in his own mind, the thing that had made him trust Abby.
"I catch killers," he said bitterly, "I save lives – I'm a hero until my key hits my front door and then I'm just the father and husband who's never there."
Jason nodded, thinking of Stephen; his own failed marriage.
"Yeah, I got that one," he said, as if they were comparing scrapbooks.
"Here's the thing," said Hotch quietly. "When I'm home, I'm in this silent panic, because I know I that I have to be as good as I can, as fast as I can, because any minute the phone is gonna ring and my time is up, and that panic is exactly what I saw in Abby."
"Good," Gideon prompted. "You're Abby: you're a dead man walking. You gotta make this right, you have no time left – how do you do it? Come on, don't think about it, you know the answer. What is it?"
"I'd stop him," said Aaron.
"How?"
"I'd burn him… the same way he killed them," he said slowly, thinking it through. "And I'd do it where nobody could get hurt –" he paused, realising how Abby could be tracked. "Which is why I would call it in first!"
He hurried past Jason into the incident room; it was a hive of activity this evening. Everybody was either on the phone or scanning through reports.
Chief Vega span around, handing Hotch a dispatch note.
"We got a nine-one-one anonymous tip for a fire in the Harbour District," he announced; the tone of the activity in the room shifted up a notch, gaining urgency. Agent Pearce and JJ stuck their heads out from what Gideon thought might be a cupboard. They seemed to have been having a heart to heart.
He nodded at JJ, glad to know that his team were looking out for one another.
"Is it a warehouse?" Hotch asked, Gideon a few steps behind him."
"Yeah," Vega confirmed, "six-thousand San Alameida."
"Can you call Garcia?" Hotch asked Morgan.
"Yeah, she's right here," said the younger agent, holding up his phone.
"Hey, Garcia," said Hotch, briskly, "can you check the zoning code on a warehouse at six-thousand San Alameida?"
"Yeah, I certainly can," came the disembodied reply.
"The SFPD chopper circled the harbour twice," said Prentiss, hurrying over. "There's no sign of fire."
"Okay, six-thousand San Alameida is a commercial storage facility," Garcia told them, from inside Morgan's phone. "But it looks like the property was just sold, and the lot was approved for a zone conversion –"
"'CR' to 'ES'," Hotch guessed.
"Yeah, that's right," Garcia confirmed.
"'CR' – Commercial Restricted," said Detective Castro, "what's 'ES'?"
"Elementary School," Hotch called over his shoulder, already leaving. "And there's a leaking benzene tank underneath it. It's not a false alarm."
"There's no fire there!" Detective Castro protested.
"There's about to be," said Prentiss, realising what Abby was up to.
0o0
Stiles turned as he heard Abby clunking down the ramp and into the warehouse proper. The man was splashing kerosene around like an amateur, no style. No style at all.
"I started without you," said Abby.
Stiles eyed the man with distaste; he was getting it all over his clothes. Not that it would matter soon.
Abby wouldn't be leaving here alive.
"This is how you do it, right?" he asked.
Stiles shrugged.
"Yeah, well, a fire's a fire," he said, looking around. There wasn't much that would burn in here, it would take some kindling. "But once it gets going, it don't matter."
Abby paused, dropping the fuel can to the floor.
"That's not… that's not really true, though, is it?" he said, and Stiles grinned automatically, humouring the man. There was something off about Abby's bearing. He couldn't place it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"There's something missing from this scenario, don't you think?" Abby asked, glancing around.
Stiles followed his gaze, wondering where the other man was going with this.
"I'm sorry," he laughed. "You lost me."
"The innocent family," said Abby. "You know – the victims. That's what the suit's for, right? So you can see the terror on their faces as they burn?"
Stiles narrowed his eyes. He hadn't credited Abby with that much intelligence.
"But of course, then you're here to kill me, right?"
"Yeah." They both laughed. "You're dead right."
Stiles took out his gun and aimed it at Abby in confirmation. Not much point in hiding it now.
Still, Abby's behaviour as a little off. Even with a gun in his face he didn't seem all that scared.
It was a little disappointing.
0o0
They were speeding through the Harbour District, lights flashing, sirens blazing – but Gideon well knew that chances were they wouldn't make it.
"We can't put a benzene fire out with water," said Vega, from the driver's seat. Gideon looked at him. "All water does is spread it around. It burns too hot. Contaminates the ground table."
"So you let it burn," said Gideon. If it caught before they reached him they wouldn't be able to help Abby, even if they could stop the spread of the fire. Once it got started, that was it.
"We exhaust the fuel," Vega nodded. "All we can do is cordon it off, stop it from spreading and let the benzene burn out – do you understand?"
"Yeah, I got it," said Gideon grimly, already dialling.
"Does Agent Hotchner?"
"Don't put me on speaker," he said when Morgan answered. "Just listen."
0o0
"Well yeah, you can go ahead and shoot me," said Abby, as though they were merely discussing barbecue recipes. "And then you set this place off like a bomb."
Ah, thought Stiles, and lowered his gun.
"No?" Abby asked, and Stiles glared at him. It didn't matter anyway. Once the fire was under way – assuming he couldn't lock Abby in somehow (it wouldn't take much to overpower him, he was a five stone weakling) – he could simply take the smug prick outside and shoot him in the car park. Not as neat, perhaps, but you couldn't have everything.
"Wh-" Stiles exclaimed as Abby pulled a lighter out of his pocket.
What the fuck did the self-righteous bastard think was going on?
"You know, this suit can handle over 1500 degrees," he explained, watching Abby turn the silvery thing over in his hands. "Benzene burns so fast, I won't go through half my air before it goes out."
Abby smiled and Stiles got a tiny bit worried.
"Oh, you won't even go through that much," said Abby. "See, benzene burns at twice that."
Stiles laughed.
Abby wasn't about to set it off while he was still inside, after all. He'd have time to get out – and then he'd deal with Abby.
"What are you doing?"
Abby smiled again.
"The right thing," he said, and it was almost a joke.
"Why?" Stiles asked, genuinely bewildered. "You didn't know any of those people!"
"Neither did you!" Abby snapped. For the first time since the EDF meeting he looked really angry.
"This fire will spread," Stiles said incredulously.
"Fire Department's on its way," Abby shrugged.
He just didn't get it, did he?
"They can't fight a benzene fire," he told him.
"They'll contain it."
"Seriously, what…" Stiles asked, astonished at the other man's audacity. "How do you plan on getting out of here?"
Abby smirked and flicked the lighter open; Stiles stared at it, mesmerised.
"I don't."
Stiles felt his eyes widen, gripped by a terrible realisation. He made to reach for the lighter – knock it out of Abby's hands – but it was too late; Abby clicked the lighter, staring calmly back at him.
0o0
The explosion rattled the windows of the SUV even as the announcement came over the radio.
"All appliances, confirmed report of major ignition, six-thousand San Alameida."
Gideon watched as Morgan's SUV screeched to a halt; Vega followed suit as Hotch leapt from the car ahead of them.
Gideon and Morgan followed suit, putting themselves in their friend's path.
"Hotch – stop!" Morgan shouted, bodily slowing him down; Gideon grabbed his other shoulder. "Stop! Stop!"
"What, he's burning to death –" Hotch snapped, voice quickly rising.
"Look, I told you man –" Morgan cried as Hotch tried to force his way past him.
"-and we're just going to stand here?"
"Look at it man," said Morgan. "It's over."
Hotch sagged in defeat as another explosion ripped through the Harbour District, making them all jump.
They looked at him, hoping he'd calmed down enough not to make another attempt at passing them.
"He wanted his death to mean something," Hotch said helplessly, and Gideon was surprised to see tears in his usually stoic friend's eyes.
He walked away as the fire down the street began to spread; they could feel the heat from where they were standing, three blocks away.
Gideon watched him go.
"It did," he said, softly. "This way, it did."
0o0
Grace watched through the archway as Chief Vega handed Agent Hotchner the envelope from Evan Abby's car.
His last goodbye.
She well remembered the hopelessness she had felt, sitting on the stairs of her childhood home, watching but not seeing uniformed people swarming over the garden and street…
Hotch's face never betrayed much, but she suspected that he felt much the same now.
She glanced around
Most of them had gone back to the hotel. There wasn't a great deal left to do, and while the Fire Department did their jobs they were mostly just in the way. Grace had stayed to help JJ collect the files they'd need for their reports, but she and Detective Castro were now closeted in Vega's office, going over liaison paperwork.
The team depended so heavily on Gideon and Hotch, and she wondered who it was they went to on their worst days. You could only spend so long in the dark before it started to eat at you.
With this mind she poured out a cup of tea, putting in a dangerous amount of sugar. She dropped it on the desk in front of Hotch, who was still staring at the envelope in his hands, and sat next to him, leaning on the desk.
He shifted his gaze over, not giving anything away. She knew he'd read her file – he'd be no stranger to the circumstances of her father's death.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked, anticipating his answer.
"No, not really," he said, and she nodded, idly watching the members of the San Francisco Fire Department go about their mysterious errands.
She heard him sigh and pick up the tea, but she didn't press him further. Talking about things wasn't really her way, either.