know,” Liz said. “That’s what I thought, too. But his cell phone
and
his pager? His secretary can’t find him. Tony LaRossa? He’s the most wired-in guy there is.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,
what?”
she asked, feeling the heat return.
“I agree it’s significant. I can send a patrol unit out to their house. Make inquiries. But more than likely they’re just broken down in a tunnel or on a bridge—somewhere that interferes with reception. Hospitals require you to shut off phones and pagers, which brings us back to the twins. Or maybe it’s batteries. It happens. There’s usually a pretty simple explanation for things like this.”
Either he was trying to calm her or he believed this, she didn’t know which. She told him about having asked Tommy Ling to watch the system for Tony’s use of his access card.
“That’s good thinking,” Lou said. “You must be married to a cop.”
“You’ll send somebody?”
“I’m on it.” He paused and then said, “That’s what you wanted all along, wasn’t it, me to send a unit over there?”
Her breath caught.
Busted
, she thought. She said, “I’m getting Miles and Sarah, don’t forget.”
“Don’t change the subject on me. You just worked me.”
“Thanks for this.” She hung up before giving him a chance to vent.
At 9:55 A.M. her office phone sounded the intercom tone and she picked up.
Tommy Ling said frantically, “Main entrance!”
“Tony’s here?”
“He’s had a heart attack or something. You’d better get down there.”
There were times Liz marveled at the speed and ease of elevators, but this was not one of them. She arrived on the ground floor to a sea of security shirts bent over a pair of legs she assumed to be Tony’s, a throng of employees lined up trying to get in, and chaotic shouting of nearly everyone involved.
She pushed her way through the attendants, enough to first identify and then get a better look at Tony LaRossa. His face was a pale color she’d never seen before, his lips a faint blue. He was either unconscious or dead. He’d made it through one of the two metal detectors, and had collapsed. A black nylon webbed briefcase lay unzipped and opened on the security inspection table. It was common practice for security to search every bag. It appeared that Tony had collapsed in the middle of just such a search.
She established that an ambulance had been called, verified by the sudden distant whine of a siren that grew progressively louder. One of the attendants got Tony’s feet elevated as a woman began CPR on his chest. A male guard pinched off Tony’s nose and administered mouth-to-mouth, a handkerchief placed over Tony’s lips. A low, steady voice counted, “One-two-three-four…” and Liz felt her chest swell and her eyes challenged by tears as this team of trained people tried to save him. Tony’s life seemed to be passing before her eyes, and she silently whispered prayers that Tony not be harmed. She removed all fear, all claims that the images before her could in any way harm him. She fought this her way, while they fought theirs, giving no thought to calling Lou or to anything outside the sphere of this immediate need.
The EMTs swarmed inside with their equipment and wheeled stretcher, and took over the CPR without missing a beat. It looked to Liz so rehearsed and choreographed, and she realized that there were people in this world who did nothing but save other people. Or try to. She marveled at how strange it must be to rise every morning and put on a gray-striped shirt and know you will see death and injury before the sun sets.
“What happened, Dilly?” she managed to ask the guard she knew only by his first name. She saw him twice a day, every day. Dilly was middle-forties and beer-bellied, with an easy disposition.
“Mr. LaRossa. Same as always: got the green light, stepped up to be checked, but tripped the mag going through.” He indicated the metal detector. “And, I don’t know, just
and
his pager? His secretary can’t find him. Tony LaRossa? He’s the most wired-in guy there is.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,
what?”
she asked, feeling the heat return.
“I agree it’s significant. I can send a patrol unit out to their house. Make inquiries. But more than likely they’re just broken down in a tunnel or on a bridge—somewhere that interferes with reception. Hospitals require you to shut off phones and pagers, which brings us back to the twins. Or maybe it’s batteries. It happens. There’s usually a pretty simple explanation for things like this.”
Either he was trying to calm her or he believed this, she didn’t know which. She told him about having asked Tommy Ling to watch the system for Tony’s use of his access card.
“That’s good thinking,” Lou said. “You must be married to a cop.”
“You’ll send somebody?”
“I’m on it.” He paused and then said, “That’s what you wanted all along, wasn’t it, me to send a unit over there?”
Her breath caught.
Busted
, she thought. She said, “I’m getting Miles and Sarah, don’t forget.”
“Don’t change the subject on me. You just worked me.”
“Thanks for this.” She hung up before giving him a chance to vent.
At 9:55 A.M. her office phone sounded the intercom tone and she picked up.
Tommy Ling said frantically, “Main entrance!”
“Tony’s here?”
“He’s had a heart attack or something. You’d better get down there.”
There were times Liz marveled at the speed and ease of elevators, but this was not one of them. She arrived on the ground floor to a sea of security shirts bent over a pair of legs she assumed to be Tony’s, a throng of employees lined up trying to get in, and chaotic shouting of nearly everyone involved.
She pushed her way through the attendants, enough to first identify and then get a better look at Tony LaRossa. His face was a pale color she’d never seen before, his lips a faint blue. He was either unconscious or dead. He’d made it through one of the two metal detectors, and had collapsed. A black nylon webbed briefcase lay unzipped and opened on the security inspection table. It was common practice for security to search every bag. It appeared that Tony had collapsed in the middle of just such a search.
She established that an ambulance had been called, verified by the sudden distant whine of a siren that grew progressively louder. One of the attendants got Tony’s feet elevated as a woman began CPR on his chest. A male guard pinched off Tony’s nose and administered mouth-to-mouth, a handkerchief placed over Tony’s lips. A low, steady voice counted, “One-two-three-four…” and Liz felt her chest swell and her eyes challenged by tears as this team of trained people tried to save him. Tony’s life seemed to be passing before her eyes, and she silently whispered prayers that Tony not be harmed. She removed all fear, all claims that the images before her could in any way harm him. She fought this her way, while they fought theirs, giving no thought to calling Lou or to anything outside the sphere of this immediate need.
The EMTs swarmed inside with their equipment and wheeled stretcher, and took over the CPR without missing a beat. It looked to Liz so rehearsed and choreographed, and she realized that there were people in this world who did nothing but save other people. Or try to. She marveled at how strange it must be to rise every morning and put on a gray-striped shirt and know you will see death and injury before the sun sets.
“What happened, Dilly?” she managed to ask the guard she knew only by his first name. She saw him twice a day, every day. Dilly was middle-forties and beer-bellied, with an easy disposition.
“Mr. LaRossa. Same as always: got the green light, stepped up to be checked, but tripped the mag going through.” He indicated the metal detector. “And, I don’t know, just
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