New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [455]
It was 9:25 when his cellphone rang again. It was a number he didn’t know. He took the call impatiently, wanting to get rid of it as quickly as possible.
“Honey? Can you hear me?”
“Maggie! Where are you?”
“I’m at the World Trade Center.”
“I know. Which tower?”
“South. I’d have called you before but my damn cell cut out, and this nice guy let me use his. Where are you?”
“On Church Street, at Chambers. Maggie, I’m not going to Boston, okay? I was crazy. I love you.”
“Oh thank God, Gorham. I love you too. I’m coming down the stairs, but it’s kinda slow. Some of the building’s got twisted around a little.”
“I’m coming in to get you.”
“Don’t do that, honey. Please. I don’t even know where I am. You’ll never find me, and then we’ll miss, and then I won’t be able to find you. Just wait right there. I’m on my way. It’s not like the building’s going to fall down or anything.”
“Just keep talking to me then.”
“Honey, the guy needs his phone back. I’ll call. Just wait there and give me a big hug when I get out.”
“Okay. But Maggie—” The call had ended. “I love you,” he said to the cellphone.
By 9:40, Dr. Caruso reckoned that if he was going to be of any use to anybody, he’d better look around and make his own assessment. He was in the upper lobby when he heard the first thud. At first he didn’t realize what it was. A few moments later, there came two more.
Bodies. They were coming from the North Tower. He understood what that meant. People must be trapped up there in heat which was becoming unbearable. So you had the choice: burn alive or jump. He’d read accounts of people jumping from buildings, but this was different—these bodies were falling a thousand feet. The math wasn’t difficult. Accelerating at thirty-two feet per second, after falling a thousand feet, a body hits a hard surface very hard indeed. He wasn’t sure if you’d be conscious just before impact, but death would be completely instantaneous. If these were his only options, he reckoned, he’d choose to jump. But the sound it made … He tried not to hear the sound it made.
“There’s my doctor. You thought I’d forgotten you.” The Irish face of the fire chief, looking a little red from exertion. “Like to do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Well then, doc, what I’d like you to do is go over to Trinity Church. There may be some folks over there that need attention, and I believe some of my boys are there too. Would you do that?”
“I’m on my way.”
He went outside onto Liberty and started south down Broadway, glad to have something to do. He’d better call his wife to let her know he was safe. She could call the office. And while she was at it, he suddenly thought, why not call the realtor and tell her they’d changed their minds about that damn Park Avenue building. He didn’t want to live there any more.
It was nearing ten o’clock. What could be taking her so long? Gorham stared at the tower. While the flames were still burning brightly up in the North Tower, the South Tower seemed to have settled into a smokier, more sullen mood. Several times he’d heard explosions from lower down in the towers. Stores of gas or electrical equipment? Or perhaps, he guessed, fuel from the planes might have run down the inside of the buildings, collected again, and suddenly exploded. Who knew? But whatever the causes of these other sounds, it was smoke rather than flame that was to be seen issuing from the South Tower now.
Almost ten o’clock. Surely she must appear any second now.
His cellphone rang.
“Hi, honey, it’s me.”
“Thank God.”
“That was a bit of a journey down.”
“Maggie …”
“What’s up?”
His eyes were fixed on the upper part of the South Tower. Something was happening. The top seemed to be leaning, twisting.
“Maggie, where are you?”
Now the tower seemed to be righting itself, but only because further down, something had snapped or shifted. For suddenly the roof of the great tower was beginning to sink.
“It’s okay,