Memories of Midnight

chapter Thirty-two
In the basement, several hours earlier, Catherine had tried desperately to free her hands. The more she struggled, the tighter the rope became. Her fingers were getting numb. She kept looking over at the dial on the boiler. The needle had reached 250 degrees. When that dial reaches 400 degrees, the boiler will explode. There has to be a way out of this, Catherine thought. There has to be! Her eyes lit on the brandy bottle that Atanas had dropped on the floor. She stared at it and her heart began to pound wildly. There is a chance! If only she could...Catherine slumped down against the post and stretched out her feet toward the bottle. It was out of reach. She slid down farther, the splinters of the wooden post tearing into her back. The bottle was an inch away. Catherine's eyes filled with tears. One more try, she thought. Just one more. She slumped down farther, her back raked with splinters, and pushed again, with all her strength. One foot touched the bottle. Careful. Don't push it away. Slowly, slowly, she hooked the neck of the bottle on the rope that bound her ankles. Very carefully, she pulled her feet in, drawing the bottle closer. Finally, it was next to her.

She looked up at the dial. It had climbed to 280 degrees. She was fighting panic. Slowly, she inched the bottle in back of her with her feet. Her fingers found it but they were too numb to get a grip on it, and they were slippery with the blood from her wrists where the rope had cut into them.

The basement was getting hotter. She tried again. The bottle slipped away. Catherine glanced at the dial on the boiler. 300 now, and the dial seemed to be racing upward. Steam was beginning to pour out of the boiler. She tried again to get a grip on the bottle.

There! She had the bottle in her bound hands. Holding it tightly, she raised her arms and slid them down the post, smashing the glass bottle down against the concrete. Nothing happened. She cried aloud with frustration. She tried it again. Nothing. The dial was climbing inexorably upward. 350! Catherine took another deep breath and slammed the bottle down with all her strength. She heard the bottle shatter. Thank God! Moving as quickly as she dared, Catherine gripped the broken neck of the bottle in one hand and started to saw at the ropes with the other. The glass cut into her wrists but she ignored the pain. She felt one strand snap and then another. And suddenly her hand was free. She hurriedly loosened the rope on the other hand and untied the ropes binding her ankles. The dial had reached 380. Heavy jets of steam were pouring out of the furnace. Catherine struggled to her ankles. Atanas had bolted the basement door. There was no time to escape from the building before the explosion.

Catherine raced over to the furnace and tugged at the block of wood cutting off the safety valve. It was jammed in tightly. 400!

She had a split-second decision to make. She ran for the far door that led to the bomb shelter, pulled it open, and hurried inside. She slammed the heavy door closed behind her. She lay huddled on the concrete of the huge bunker, breathing hard, and five seconds later there was a tremendous explosion and the whole room seemed to rock. She lay in the darkness, fighting for breath, listening to the roaring flames outside the door. She was safe. It was over. No, not yet, Catherine thought. There's still something I have to do.

When the firemen found her an hour later and escorted her out, Alan Hamilton was there. Catherine ran into his arms and he held her close.

"Catherine, darling. I was so afraid! How did you...?"

"Later," Catherine said. "We've got to stop Atanas Stavich."