He unlocked it, glanced quickly in both directions, then stepped through the door. The hallway ran the full width of the house. He started toward the center, where he could see a stairway leading down, but stopped when he heard voices coming from below. Scurrying back to the other end, beyond the bedroom, he found stairs going up and took them.
This was a closed-in stairway with no light except that which filtered up from below. He paused beside the door at the top and listened. Standing in the near-darkness, he turned the knob. Slowly, he nudged the door open and stepped through. He had entered the attic, where he found a bit more illumination. The area was floored with random-width boards and, except for a few feet toward the front and rear, he could stand easily.
Quietly, he closed the door and began to examine his surroundings. The attic was obviously seldom used. It was littered with stacks of old magazines, large boxes, rolled-up carpets, a couple of ancient-looking steamer trunks, a pile of old draperies, some odd pieces of furniture draped with sheets. Everything appeared coated with a layer of dust. He took care not to disturb the dust.
Toward one end of the house, he found a powerful electric motor that was connected to a large wheel suspended over a hole in the floor. A strong steel cable ran over the wheel and down into the darkness, looking like a miniature version of the mechanism that powered the lift in a mine shaft. He realized this one powered a small elevator. No doubt it had been installed for the invalid. They had probably used it this morning to bring him up in the wheelchair. The size of the shaft indicated it would accommodate no more than a wheelchair and a couple of passengers.
They would discover he was missing anytime now, and a search would begin. He had to find somewhere to hide. There were two bare light bulbs, hanging by cords, about halfway from the center on either side. He hadn't turned them on, but they would doubtless illuminate most of the attic, leaving little space for hiding. He returned to the elevator shaft. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness by now, and he peered down into the shaft. There was barely enough glow to make out the counterbalancing weights, attached to the cable along the near wall. The weights had stopped only a few feet from the top, indicating the cage was at the bottom. He reached out to touch the cable and pulled back a hand smudged with grease.
The pile of old draperies lay nearby. The cloth was rough and brittle, like the skin of an old man's arm. He ripped off two large pieces of the dark-colored material. Back at the shaft, he crawled over the edge, letting his legs dangle, hooking one foot behind the cable. Wrapping his hands with the heavy cloth, he gripped the cable and slowly slid down until his feet rested on the weights. He flattened himself against the wall and waited, praying no one would want to use the elevator.
It seemed like ages, but was probably no more than ten minutes, before he heard voices and saw the glow of lights on the time-bronzed rafters above. He held his breath as the voices came nearer.
"What's this over here?" someone asked.
"That's the elevator shaft, stupid."
"Could he be in there?"
"If he is, his stomach's damn sure ruptured. That's a helluva drop down there."
"Want me to look down in it?"
"I don't give a shit. We'd have heard him yell if he fell in."
Burke heard a shuffle of feet around the motor nearby.
"I can't see anything. It's too damn dark down there."
"Forget it. Come on. Let's go down and check the basement."
The lights went out, and it was quiet again. Burke breathed an audible sigh and began the struggle to climb back up. The tension on his stomach muscles boosted the pain to a new level. It forced him to pause a minute, arms supported by a protruding metal brace, feet clinging to the cable, before climbing back over the edge to the attic floor. At first he merely sprawled there, breathing heavily, intent on resting and considering the rather gloomy possibilities for escape.
First, he had no idea how many people he might be facing. He had identified three different voices in the attic. The three men from the jet? Probably, but there could be others. Most likely someone outside. He had to get out of the attic, but there was risk of encountering someone at every turn.
Second, even if he made it down to the main floor undetected, there was still a good possibility of being caught on the outside. His chances would be much improved after dark.
Depending on the house's location, and it was a little over an hour's flying time from New Orleans, darkness would probably come between eight and nine o'clock. He glanced at his watch. Two-fifteen. He faced a long wait. Then another disturbing thought bubbled its way to the surface. When they failed to find him downstairs, they would probably return to the attic for a more thorough search, probing the dark corners with a flashlight. This time they would undoubtedly check out the elevator shaft.
There had been mention of a basement. If the shaft extended that far, obviously that's where the elevator sat now. Could he slide down the cable, crawl through the escape hatch into the cage, then exit through the door into the basement? It sounded worth a try, though he would need to wait long enough for the search of the basement to be completed.
He heard a noise, almost like a cannon on a distant hill, and sat up. Then it sounded again, the roar lasting a bit longer. Thunder? As he listened, the rumbling moved steadily closer.
At two forty-five, he decided it was time to make his move. Following the procedure he had used before, he climbed down onto the weights. Grasping the cable that held the weights in one cloth-shrouded hand, he reached the other out to grab the cable centered over the darkened shaft. Then, breathing heavily, his heart thumping like a jungle drum, he swung his legs toward the cable and began a downward slide, Tarzan descending on a vine. With nothing to support his weight, he slid out of control. Finally managing to lock his legs around the bundle of steel wires to halt the drop, he began to lower himself slowly into the chasm. With all the grease it would leave on his clothes, he knew he would resemble a greenhorn auto mechanic, but that was the least of his worries.
By the time his feet touched the top of the metal cage, the thunder had moved close enough that he could feel a vibration in the cable. A direct lightning hit could fry him there like a chicken on a spit. He heard the splatter of rain begin to beat against the roof above. Wind blowing through the attic drew air up the shaft similar to the draft of a chimney. It set up an eerie moaning noise. Stooping down, he felt around and soon located the hatch that lifted to permit escape from a stalled elevator. Enough light spilled around the outside door to show the floor of the cage. Carefully, he slithered through the opening, lowered the hatch, hung there a moment, then dropped to the floor. The cage rattled as he landed, but the sound was muffled by the moan of the shaft and the rumble of thunder. Nevertheless, he paused to listen for any reaction inside the house. Hearing none, he pulled the grillwork barrier open and searched around the outside door until he found a handle. He pulled up on it and watched the door slowly slide aside.
The elevator opened onto a storeroom that contained cleaning supplies and equipment, carpet steamers and floor polishers, stacks of wood for fireplaces and a shelved corner that Burke first took for a food pantry. Light from the overhead fluorescent fixture bathed the area in a soft glow, and as he looked closer, he realized it was an emergency food supply, including large containers of staples with a long shelf life. The house's owner must have believed the warnings of the doom and gloom newsletter writers to be prepared for the worst.