CHAPTER 13. REICHSTAG FIRE II.
Meanwhile, Naismith and Donna were up in the photocopying room. They weren't photocopying. They were backed up in a corner and Naismith had his hands inside Donna's underwired bra and hers were tugging at his Calvin Kleins. His Brooks Brothers chalk-stripes were already down around his Church's brogues.
"You're marvellous – you should be on page three," Naismith murmured in her ear. "Have you ever applied?"
Donna moaned softly with pleasure. She stood on tiptoes and nuzzled his neck. Her eyes opened wide. "What's that?"
"I think you should know what that is by now," Naismith said, his voice half way between a growl and a chuckle.
"No, not that! I can smell something," she said, trying to free herself from his arms.
"Like it? Tom Ford aftershave. You should – it cost enough," he said in his sexiest growl. "But you're worth it, Donna. You know that," he added.
"No, not that. Is something burning?"
"Yes, my passion for you. I'm burning up inside," Naismith said, using a line he'd used on that other girl, What's-her-name, the new red-head who'd just started in the Environmental Health department. It had worked fine then.
"No, you silly. Something's on fire. Is it one of the copiers? The repair man never come out today," Donna said. She gave Naismith a harder shove and he nearly tripped over his dropped trousers. Freed from his embrace, Donna ducked under his arms and dodged around him readjusting her blouse as she did so.
Donna crossed to the large colour copier/printer which was well known amongst the secretaries as always playing up. As usual, a red paper jam symbol was flashing. Donna lifted the lid and sniffed. She sniffed again, more deeply. Naismith wished he'd brought a line or two of coke with him – they could have snorted it off the glass scanner bed. Maybe that would get the silly mare back in the mood. But all he had was a crisp fifty in his wallet.
Donna leaned forwards and switched off the copier at the socket. Naismith admired the girl's rear end as she bent over. The red light went out. Donna sniffed again. "This machine's okay. It's not overheating, I mean. I wonder if its..." She moved over to the next; an ancient black and white Xerox. It was obsolete now but it was so reliable it had never been scrapped. A bi-annual service was all the old machine needed.
Donna leaned over and felt the back of the machine. It wasn't in operation and so it was cool. Cool as a cucumber. She shook her head. "It's getting stronger."
"It sure is," said Naismith looking down at his crotch.
"Not that! The smell. There's definitely something burning." The girl sounded slightly alarmed now.
Naismith breathed in sharply himself. Perhaps it was only Donna's worries but he thought he could smell the acrid tang of smoke. Sighing, he pulled up his trousers and cinched his Gucci belt. Some you win; some you lose. Tonight was one to the latter. He walked to the door and opened it.
Immediately, the smell of smoke became far, far stronger. Naismith coughed and looked out into the corridor.
"Get out, Donna. There's a fire."
He looked back. Donna was slipping on her slingbacks and picking up her bag. Even in the few seconds delay Naismith saw smoke billowing up from the nearby stairwell. He wondered why the fire alarms hadn't gone off. When had they last been checked? He couldn't remember. That was down to that time-server Winfield in maintenance.
Naismith took hold of Donna's arm. She looked up into his face and winced. "C'mon, hurry," he barked. More smoke was eddying along the corridor. He coughed slightly into his hand. Looking up he saw the ceiling was already greying with smoke.
Donna pulled Naismith towards the lifts. She stabbed the button and stabbed it again in her panic. Remembering his training as one of the Town Hall's fire marshals, Naismith dragged Donna away, just as the brushed steel doors dinged open. Already, tendrils of smoke wisped out from around the lift's compartment.
"No – take the stairs," Naismith called, pulling her further away from danger. Donna shook her head and looked tempted to still use the lift. Using his greater strength, Naismith hauled Donna further down the corridor, past the photocopier room.
Naismith coughed again, as the fumes caught the back of his throat. Even in the short space of time between leaving the false safety of the lift and the start of the stairwell, the smoke was thicker, denser more cloying. At the top of the stairwell, Naismith pushed open the heavy fire door. The stairwell seemed clearer and he took in a deeper lungful of clean air.
"Come on, hurry up," Naismith called.
Donna stumbled past him onto the landing. The stairwell led down to the ground floor. It was lined with cheap yellowing tiles that looked like they had been fitted back in the 1960s and never replaced since.
They took the first flight down and paused on the return. A window overlooked the car park and the scene of normality brought them both to their senses. Naismith coughed again before taking Donna by the arm and down the second flight to the lower fire door. Naismith gripped the handle. It felt warm to his touch.
"Almost there," he said encouragingly. Donna smiled up at him. He was still wondering why the fire alarms hadn't sounded as he pulled open the fire door. To be greeted by a scene straight from Hell. Flames licked up one end of the corridor and black, roiling smoke billowed along the corridor. Naismith and Donna looked on in horror. The heat was tremendous, far hotter than standing in front of an open oven. Even from several feet away, Naismith felt the hair on his head and face singe; the air as hot as a furnace's blast. He stood staring at the blaze for a moment.
"What's that?" shouted Donna above the fire's roar.
Looking at where she was pointing, Naismith saw what looked like the remnants of many cardboard boxes blocking the corridor. There was no reason why that junk should be there.
"No idea! Leave it – let's get out of here before it spreads!"
As if called by his words, the window nearest the inferno exploded outwards with the heat. Above the roar, Naismith heard glass breaking and crashing. For one instant, one instant only, Naismith considered leaping through the broken window. As soon as the idea came to mind, he thrust it away. The fire was too close.
Rejuvenated by the extra oxygen the fire blazed upwards as if it was trying to burn down the entire building in one go. The rush and bellowing of the fire grew much stronger and flames leaped out seeking the pair. For a moment, Naismith felt real fear, terror gripped his heart and his legs felt weak and shaky. Donna clung to him, trying to draw strength from his presence. Thick black smoke flooded along the ceiling. Even as he watched, the smoke pressed lower.
Naismith pulled his linen handkerchief out and with his free hand, pressed it to his mouth and nose trying to form the crudest of gas masks. Donna stood paralysed until Naismith tugged her away from the inferno.
"Other exit," he spluttered, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. The two hurried along the corridor away from the blaze. They passed a pair of red fire extinguishers, one filled with foam the other with carbon dioxide. The blaze was well beyond that stage now. But why hadn't the alarms gone? Why wasn't the air filled with their shrill klaxon? He'd organised enough fire drills to recall their deafening sound. Why, when the alarms were needed most, hadn't they gone off? There was enough heat and smoke for even the most basic alarm. He'd wring that Winfield's neck for him tomorrow.
Donna turned around.
"Back through the basement; we can cut through there to the other exit," Naismith said. He coughed again and again. It felt like his lungs would rip free from their pleural membranes.
"I'm scared," Donna whimpered.
So am I, thought Naismith. I never realised a fire was as fierce as this. But he could never admit that to Donna. He had to play the strong man for her even if he didn't feel brave.
They went back down the stairs to the basement and along the corridor. Naismith felt heat, more heat than he would have expected from the underground storage areas. Surely the boiler and heaters weren't running at night? Unless that incompetent Winfield just left them running 24/7? No wonder the heating bills were so high.
Naismith pulled open a heavy fire door. He and Donna were greeted by a wall of flames. Enlivened by the fresh onrush of air, the fire blazed higher and hotter reaching up to the concrete ceiling. The flames flickered along the ceiling like a vision from Dante's Inferno. For a moment, a paralysing moment, both Donna and Naismith looked on horror struck.
The heat charred their hair and Naismith felt his skin tighten. Donna screamed but Naismith never heard the girl's cries above the greedy roar of the fire. As he slammed the fire door back in place, he felt heat even through the reinforced wood.
"Back," Naismith shouted at the sobbing Donna. "Back the way we came. It's our only chance."
"No, no, I can't. Let's hide in one of these rooms. We'll be safe there," Donna cried. "Wait for the firemen."
Perhaps she was expecting some beefcake hunk to leap down and sweep her off her feet, Naismith thought. Some burly fireman stripped to the waist and covered in baby-oil and sweat who would rescue her. Though if she was expecting to be swept away, he pitied the fireman's back. Donna was a big girl after all. He pushed those thoughts aside. He was wasting time.
"No way – the fire will suck all the oxygen out of the air. We'll suffocate before anyone comes."
Donna looked at him. Naismith wasn't sure if she understood. He pushed her back along the underground passageway leading towards the staircase up to the reception area. As they fled, stumbling and coughing harshly, plumes of smoke and vapour followed them. The smoke outpaced them, thickening, getting heavier and denser. Both were choking as they reached the foot of the stairs.
Naismith leaned on the banisters. "Give me a minute," he gasped. "I can't breathe."
Donna paused a few steps ahead of him. She reached down her arm and touched his shoulder. As if refreshed by her youthful energy, Naismith pulled himself upright and followed the young secretary up the concrete steps. Every tread seemed harder work than the last. They both paused on the return. Only one more flight to go.
"Nearly there," Naismith panted reassuringly. Though whether it was himself or Donna he was cheering on, he wasn't too sure.
Hauling himself up hand over hand along the metal banisters – which felt warmer than normal – Naismith and Donna reached the fire door opening onto the ground floor corridor leading onto the reception lobby. Where they had turned back earlier. Naismith recalled the fire that had been blazing earlier in the corridor. With a bit of luck it might have burned itself out by now.
He wrapped his Irish linen handkerchief around his mouth and nose and then ripped off one of his shirt sleeves. It didn't matter – the shirt was ruined anyway. He tied it around Donna's lower face. Her eyes bulged with fear.
Shielding his eyes, Naismith opened the door. The blaze was worse than before. They were trapped. There was no retreat. Looking around wildly, he saw one carbon dioxide fire extinguisher on a red plinth by the door. Immediately, he unsnapped the blue seal and wrenched out the locking pin, tossing it to the floor. Despite his panic, Naismith remembered enough of his fire marshal's training to know not to grip the plastic horn.
Aiming the nozzle at the base of the fire, Naismith squeezed the lever. Instantly, and with a noise overmatching the fire, carbon dioxide jetted out. The high-pressure gas crystallised on meeting the hot air forming a white stream. Super-cooled ice crystals formed on the black horn frosting it white.
Naismith sprayed the base of the fire but the little extinguisher could not put it out, only clear a narrow path for them. He prayed that would be enough.
"Come on, hurry up," Naismith yelled over the roar of the fire and the scream of pressurised carbon dioxide. Donna hung back clinging to the door, terrified.
The fire fell back, shrinking from the sub-zero carbon dioxide. However, Naismith knew full well that this was the wrong extinguisher to use on this kind of fire. He should be using a larger foam extinguisher as this one was intended for small electrical fires, such as on computers or heaters. But he had to work with what he had.
"Come on, Donna," Naismith yelled again aiming the nozzle at a cardboard box. The secretary edged away from her comfort zone by the door.
The cylinder was lighter now but there was only a thinner gap of fire between them and safety on the far side. Wheeling around, Naismith grabbed Donna and ignoring her screams threw her bodily through the fire. She stumbled, her arms and legs flailing wildly but then she was through. Fire licked along the edge of her skirt and in her hair and Donna beat at the flames wildly, ignoring her blistering palms.
Naismith directed the last of the carbon dioxide at the centre of the passage but then no more ice came out – only the hiss of the last of the propellant. Flinging the now useless cylinder away, Naismith crouched, covered his face with his arms and ran as fast as he could through the rest of the fire.
Without the carbon dioxide checking its progress the fire was now regaining its strength and ferocity. Naismith sprinted like the rugby winger he was in his youth. But his leather soled Church's were not meant for running. Naismith felt his left foot slide and slip. Desperately, he ran onwards, his arms pin-wheeling. Only another few yards to go. He ran, his feet taking impossibly long strides.
He tripped over a piece of card, now little more than ashes, took another step and then fell, measuring his length in the now enlivened blaze. Naismith screamed, drawing superheated air into his lungs. Struggling up, Naismith felt his hands, his arms start to burn. Then he felt rather than saw a shape like the Devil himself fall on him, knocking him back onto the hot cement where the paint was bubbling with the heat.
Donna, still standing where Naismith had flung her to safety watched in horror as a fluorescent strip light crashed down onto the Deputy Mayor's head and back. She took one step forwards, a small tentative step but the heat was too intense for her to bear. The young woman watched in horror for a second and then turned and fled from the nightmare scene.
And then her dreams came true. She barrelled through the final fire door opening into the safety of the reception area and straight into the arms of the hunkiest fireman on the Watch. Unfortunately Fireman Doyle wasn't stripped to the waist, his rippling torso covered with baby-oil like the fireman routine in a male stripper act but instead wore full uniform and breathing apparatus. All the same, the look worked for Donna.
Fireman Doyle staggered backwards as Donna cannoned into him almost knocking him back into Fireman Griffith. Donna gasped and choked, her heart racing fit to burst. The young woman pointed behind herself towards the fire door. "James – he's back there. Some... something fell on him." Then she burst into tears.
Leaving Donna in Doyle's capable and comforting arms, Griffith took a firm grip of his axe and ran through the fire doors followed by a third man. Less than a minute later, they returned carrying Naismith's body between them. Immediately the firemen laid Naismith down on the tiles, ripped off the smouldering fragments of his jacket and shirt and performed emergency first aid.
Meanwhile other firemen ran in carrying hoses while the watch leader cursed as he inspected the dry riser system and wondered where the security guard was with the fire plans. The scene was one of orderly chaos as the newly arriving paramedics dealt with Naismith leaving the firemen to get the blazes under control.
The heroic firemen soon quenched the fires then checked through the building. They noticed the alarms had been disabled, which together with several separate fires, immediately raised suspicions. As well as that, they also woke up the security guard who was flat out and snoring on one of the long sofas in the conference room.
The following day, the old man handed in his resignation but as he was only serving out the last few months on his security licence before retiring, he wasn't that bothered anyway. Especially as he and his wife had a cruise around the Canary Islands to look forward to.