desk.
"After all, I built it."
He rose from the desk and walked back to the window.
"After the multiple terrorist attacks that crippled this city, I built a monument to New York-a monument to America. Eight million square feet of office, retail, research, and living space, resting on solid bedrock and extending far below ground. Ninety-seven stories of reinforced steel and shatterproof windows. Hollow support pillars filled with water to keep them cool during a fire, as well as fireproofing in between the floors and pressurized stairwells that are pumped with fresh air. We've got self-contained air- and water-filtration systems and our own power generator. Ramsey Towers is an impregnable fortress-just the way I designed it. It can survive an earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane, a biological or chemical attack, and, according to the engineers, even a direct hit with an airplane."
Ramsey stared out the window. Far below them, pinpricks of light winked in the darkness.
96
"Look at them. Encamped, circling this building all day and night, yet they cannot get to us. They shoot at the lower level windows-send their birds to attack. Remember when they tried the grenade launcher assault?"
Although Bates didn't respond, Ramsey knew the man remembered all too well. He'd lost four good men in the attack.
"Failed. As has everything else they've tried. Rats from the sewers. Rushing the doors with battering rams. Ladders. Concentrating their fire on one area. It's useless. They can't get in, and we don't need to get out."
Bates drained his wineglass.
"What about a nuclear detonation, sir?"
"What about it?"
"Surely the building couldn't survive that."
"A nuke? Where would they get their hands on one? And even if they did, yes, I believe we could withstand it-unless they detonated it on our doorstep. As long as I remain standing, so does this building."
"What about a truck bomb of some kind, like the one used in Oklahoma City years ago? At the very least, it would breach the exterior."
"Surely you jest."
Bates didn't respond.
Ramsey stubbed the cigar out in the solid gold ashtray on the desk corner and then returned to his seat.
"So, what else have you got for me?"
Bates turned back to the clipboard.
"Maintenance needs to take the air-conditioning offline tonight for routine repairs. It's scheduled for three this morning and should only be out for a half hour, but I imagine the smell from outside will be bad during that time. Branson and Val have been in contact with a group
97
of survivors in the East Village. They're holed up on the second floor of the KGB Bar on 4th Street. They're armed fairly well, and seem to have enough food and water to last them for a few weeks. However, we lost contact with the group sequestered inside Penn Station, so we'll have to assume the worst in their scenario."
"Pity that I couldn't save them." Ramsey sighed. "We must save as many as we can."
Bates glanced back down at the clipboard and continued.
"Dr. Stern says the new family that DiMassi brought in two days ago has tuberculosis. They were quarantined, as always, so there's no risk of them infecting the rest of the building."
"And DiMassi?"
"He had limited contact with anyone else. Arrived back with the family and went straight to his quarters, where he slept for twelve hours. We've quarantined him as well, but so far he shows no signs. The doctors think he'll be fine. Of course, I still had his bed linens and accoutrements destroyed and the helicopter decontaminated, just to be safe."
"Very good. And you've had no further insubordination problems with him?"
"No, sir."
"Excellent. We can't have discord."
"Speaking of the helicopter, we need to find and secure another fueling station for it. Quinn and DiMassi have been using private airfields in Trenton, Brackard's Point, and Head of Harbor, but now all three are overrun with zombies. It's too risky for them to return. The size of the force we'd need to resecure the areas is
"After all, I built it."
He rose from the desk and walked back to the window.
"After the multiple terrorist attacks that crippled this city, I built a monument to New York-a monument to America. Eight million square feet of office, retail, research, and living space, resting on solid bedrock and extending far below ground. Ninety-seven stories of reinforced steel and shatterproof windows. Hollow support pillars filled with water to keep them cool during a fire, as well as fireproofing in between the floors and pressurized stairwells that are pumped with fresh air. We've got self-contained air- and water-filtration systems and our own power generator. Ramsey Towers is an impregnable fortress-just the way I designed it. It can survive an earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane, a biological or chemical attack, and, according to the engineers, even a direct hit with an airplane."
Ramsey stared out the window. Far below them, pinpricks of light winked in the darkness.
96
"Look at them. Encamped, circling this building all day and night, yet they cannot get to us. They shoot at the lower level windows-send their birds to attack. Remember when they tried the grenade launcher assault?"
Although Bates didn't respond, Ramsey knew the man remembered all too well. He'd lost four good men in the attack.
"Failed. As has everything else they've tried. Rats from the sewers. Rushing the doors with battering rams. Ladders. Concentrating their fire on one area. It's useless. They can't get in, and we don't need to get out."
Bates drained his wineglass.
"What about a nuclear detonation, sir?"
"What about it?"
"Surely the building couldn't survive that."
"A nuke? Where would they get their hands on one? And even if they did, yes, I believe we could withstand it-unless they detonated it on our doorstep. As long as I remain standing, so does this building."
"What about a truck bomb of some kind, like the one used in Oklahoma City years ago? At the very least, it would breach the exterior."
"Surely you jest."
Bates didn't respond.
Ramsey stubbed the cigar out in the solid gold ashtray on the desk corner and then returned to his seat.
"So, what else have you got for me?"
Bates turned back to the clipboard.
"Maintenance needs to take the air-conditioning offline tonight for routine repairs. It's scheduled for three this morning and should only be out for a half hour, but I imagine the smell from outside will be bad during that time. Branson and Val have been in contact with a group
97
of survivors in the East Village. They're holed up on the second floor of the KGB Bar on 4th Street. They're armed fairly well, and seem to have enough food and water to last them for a few weeks. However, we lost contact with the group sequestered inside Penn Station, so we'll have to assume the worst in their scenario."
"Pity that I couldn't save them." Ramsey sighed. "We must save as many as we can."
Bates glanced back down at the clipboard and continued.
"Dr. Stern says the new family that DiMassi brought in two days ago has tuberculosis. They were quarantined, as always, so there's no risk of them infecting the rest of the building."
"And DiMassi?"
"He had limited contact with anyone else. Arrived back with the family and went straight to his quarters, where he slept for twelve hours. We've quarantined him as well, but so far he shows no signs. The doctors think he'll be fine. Of course, I still had his bed linens and accoutrements destroyed and the helicopter decontaminated, just to be safe."
"Very good. And you've had no further insubordination problems with him?"
"No, sir."
"Excellent. We can't have discord."
"Speaking of the helicopter, we need to find and secure another fueling station for it. Quinn and DiMassi have been using private airfields in Trenton, Brackard's Point, and Head of Harbor, but now all three are overrun with zombies. It's too risky for them to return. The size of the force we'd need to resecure the areas is
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