15. FRIDAY 3:23 PM
Upstairs, the directors are in chaos. Some have handkerchiefs over their faces, and all are trying to get out. Two are heading for the SymaxCorp system mainframe, hoping to dismantle it somehow.
Dr Samphire looks frustrated. It’s not an emotion he’s used to. ‘There must be some way we can shut it down.’
‘You’d have to override the building’s entire power supply,’ one of the other directors explains.
‘Well whose brilliant f*cking idea was that?’
The director smirks mirthlessly. ‘That would be yours, sir.’
Miranda struggles up the stairs after Meera. Clarke is locked around Miranda’s waist, dragging himself behind her like a human anchor. Remembering that she is still wearing her fashionably-pointed shoes, she twists and jams one into Clarke’s gullet. Gagging, he falls away.
Miranda sees Ben hanging over the stairwell, and runs up until she’s level with his head, ripping off his mouth tape. Then she hauls him toward her. As she’s doing so, Clarke makes a fresh grab for her, who is forced to let go of Ben’s chair.
The chair swings dangerously out across the stairwell. Miranda tries to fight off Clarke as Ben’s tape starts to break. Meera tries to grab at the swinging chair, but misses it.
Miranda gives as good as she gets, slamming Clarke into against the stairwell wall. Clarke is feeling no pain, only rage. He grabs Miranda by the throat and lifts her from the ground, choking the life from her. Ben is helpless to save her. Meera is still trying to haul him in.
Miranda is close to blacking out as Clarke’s fat fingers dig in. Ben kicks out hard, swinging the chair on its tape-rope. On his third swing, he slams into Clarke, knocking him back against the wall.
The tape breaks. Meera makes a flying save and grabs the back of Ben’s chair, but it almost pulls her over the railing. Clarke breaks free and uses the confusion to head off up the stairs.
‘Miranda!’ yells Meera. ‘I can’t hold it!’ Miranda grabs Ben just as he tears loose from the chair and Meera lets the chair go. It tumbles down into the stairwell with a clatter. Together, they pull the tape off Ben.
Ben rubs his sore mouth. ‘Where did Clarke go?’
‘Up. He swallowed the door-key.’
They run after him.
Clarke is on the floor above them.
The supervisor reaches Room 3014, and the empty window frame where Meera nearly fell to her death. Meera, Ben and Miranda are close behind, but they shoot past him in the shadowy corridors.
‘Where’s he gone?’ Meera turns. They all turn and look.
As they pass the glass wall at the end of the corridor, Ben sees the empty window-cleaning cradle outside.
‘That’s our way out of the building. Who wants to do this?’
Meera waves the idea off like a bad smell. ‘Forget it. I’ve already been outside the hard way.’
Ben finds a slim door in the wall, opens it and climbs out. He has to walk along a ledge to reach the cradle. Up here, the wind is blowing so hard that the rain is travelling sideways.
‘See if you can get anyone down to the lobby,’ he shouts. ‘I’ll meet you there from the other side, I hope.’ Ben eyes the cradle uncomfortably. He tries to operate the electric panel that works the cradle, which at least is on steel runners down the side of the building, not ropes. He has no idea how to operate it, but gamely takes off the brake.
The steel cage plunges like a roller coaster. For a moment, Ben is freefalling above it, clinging to the handrail, before he can pull himself down to slam the brake back on. The cradle slows and stops. It had dropped one floor. Ben eases off on the brake and the cradle starts to slide slowly down the building, cutting a swathe through the wind and driving rain.
One more floor and the cage suddenly jams and stops at an angle, jarring Ben to the grid floor. Far below him spin giant ventilator blades, sucking fresh air into the building for processing. He slithers to the edge of the tilted cradle, catching the ledge of the building with his outstretched hands.
At that moment, Clarke slams up against the fire escape windows beside Ben, grinning maniacally. For a man with a built-up boot, he has a way of moving damned fast when he wants something. He examines the window for a moment, testing for its weak point, then swings his bat and splinters the glass, which crazes but holds. He pulls the bat free and swings again.
This time the tip gets through, in a shower of crystalline fragments.
The cradle tilts further and Ben is left hanging on the outside of the building.
Clarke reaches through and slams down the bat – but Ben moves his hands before he can connect. The supervisor climbs on board the cradle, his blade spraying a shower of sparks as it connects with the steel braking mechanism.
The cradle unfreezes and races straight down the building, with Ben and Clarke hanging on for their lives. Moments from the bottom, the automatic safety system is triggered and slams in, slowing the cradle abruptly and flattening Ben and Clarke on its floor. As Ben rises to scramble out, Clarke brains him with the butt of the bat, knocking him into semi-consciousness.
Clarke hits the cradle’s up button, sending it skyward and knocking Ben off balance. They fight for the controls. Clarke grips his bat handle and prepares to swing for England. This should be good enough to finish the match.
‘Your innings is over,’ he warns, kicking Ben back with his orthopaedic boot. As the cradle continues its rapid ascent, he starts to push Ben over the side with the sharp edge of the bat. Ben feels a hot line of blood forming through his wet shirt. Pinned like this, unable to move, he knows he is about to die.
He sees Clarke’s raised boot coming at him and grabs it, twisting hard. Clarke screams as Ben lifts it – and him – over and out of the cradle. Leverage always wins over brute strength.
Clarke falls and slams onto the ventilator grating, where he lies stuck above the sucking fans. Ben watches as the lightweight aluminium safety bars slowly bend apart beneath his weight. Mr Clarke, senior supervisor, thirty years of faithful service in the private finance sector, is sucked into the grating, exploding as he hits the first of the fans. The supervisor’s remains hurtle around and up the ventilation shaft to his final destination.
The last of Clarke comes out of the steel rooftop chimney in a spectacular crimson fountain.
Miranda and Meera see Clarke’s minced innards rain down on the outside of the building. As the pulverised remains fall, something shiny and metallic passes them and bounces onto the roof of the atrium below.
‘Jesus,’ Miranda exclaims, ‘the key!’ She and Meera rush back to the stairwell. ‘There must be a service door onto the atrium roof.’
Ben is hanging onto the rising, still-tipped cradle. He looks up. If he doesn’t stop it, he’ll hit the top at incredible speed. He looks for the controls but finds only bare wires. It would appear that Clarke took the hand control panel with him when he fell. Ben can do nothing but wait to be flung from the cradle in the final crash.
Unless.
He sees, coming up, the broken window from which Clarke emerged. He is ascending at an incredible speed. He’ll have just one shot.
The gaping hole shoots past his feet. Ben lets go of the side of the tipped cradle and slides in through the window, just as he passes it.