“Please find me that reference, Jusef. Please. Before it’s too late.”
Chapter 32
Decker and Warhaftig drove to Thirty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue and found a parking spot immediately adjacent to the Empire State building. As soon as Decker stepped out of the Discovery, he felt his eyes drawn skyward by the famous New York landmark. The tower was hidden by clouds. Nothing symbolized the city more than this magnificent structure, not even the Statue of Liberty. The building had been immortalized through countless films and photographs — from An Affair to Remember to Sleepless in Seattle. Now that the World Trade Towers were gone, the Empire State building was once again the premier icon of the New York City skyline.
They approached the main entrance on Fifth, and Decker admired the huge stone eagles straddling the entrance; they were perched a good four stories up. What have these limestone sentinels seen? he thought, as he made his way into the lobby. He’d been to the Empire State before, of course, only a few weeks after moving to the city, and he had been amazed by the deco architecture. Now, as he and Warhaftig walked through the lobby toward the Information Desk, he was even more aware of the ornate carvings and relief work. The walls were lined with honey-colored marble. There was an etching of the building near the elevators that seemed to glow from some internal light.
Larry Dobson, Chief of ESB Security, was waiting patiently for them at the Information Desk. He was short and bald, with a wide pasty face and silver aviator glasses. “Agent Decker?” he inquired. He wore a red blazer with the logo of the landmark emblazoned on the front.
Decker and Warhaftig introduced themselves. They flashed their badges, shook Dobson’s hand, and proceeded past the Information Desk toward the security checkpoint.
“We scan everybody,” Dobson said. “Just like the airports.” Dobson waved the agents through. Then they headed up the escalator toward the Observatory Elevators.
“There are only five entrances to the building: on Thirty-third Street, Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth,” he said. “Most visitors use the main entrance on Fifth Avenue, or the one on Thirty-fourth Street for the handicapped. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has to pass through Security, even if they leave the building and return. That’s SOP. Most people then either go to work, or to the Observatory Ticket Office on the Concourse Level. Once they buy their tickets, they take the escalators or an elevator to the second floor. It’s only about 8:30, but there’s already a line for the Observation Deck, even with this weather.”
As they made their way along the corridor toward the Observatory Elevators, Decker noticed a series of modern paintings on the wall featuring the seven wonders of the ancient world. One in particular, the Lighthouse of Pharos, seemed to illuminate the corridor with brilliant hues of green and blue and gold. El Aqrab would appreciate this color scheme, thought Decker. Then he shuddered. I’m starting to think like him. Good.
“The construction of the Empire State Building began on January 22, 1930,” Dobson continued, “and was completed in November, the same year. The framework rose at a rate of four-and-half stories per week.” They stopped beside the Observatory Elevators. One of the cars arrived and a line of people began to gather near the entrance but Dobson waved them off. Then he stepped inside and motioned the agents to follow. “It took seven million man hours to complete,” he added, “and came in under budget. Of course, the advent of the Great Depression halved the costs.” He winked at Warhaftig. “The foundation runs fifty-five feet below the street. And it’s 1,454 feet to the top of the lightning rod which, incidentally, suffers about one hundred lightning strikes per year.”
The door closed and Decker could feel the car begin to rise.
“There are one hundred and three floors,” continued Dobson, “with 1,860 individual steps from street level to the one hundred and second. If you don’t believe me, you can count them.” He laughed a thin laugh and Decker wondered how many times he’d used that same line during his career. “From the sixty-foot setback on the fifth floor, the building soars without a break up to the eighty-sixth floor.”
“How many elevators?” asked Warhaftig.
“Seventy-three, including six freight elevators which run to the loading docks, operating at speeds from six hundred to fourteen hundred feet per minute. In fact, it’s possible to ride from the lobby to the eightieth floor in under forty-five seconds.”
“What about safety protocols?” said Decker. “You know, in case of fire or flood, or… ”
“… or bomb threat,” Dobson finished. He nodded gravely. “A special water system feeds four hundred fire hose connections throughout the building,” he replied. “Plus, a state-of-the-art audio warning and strobe light guidance system was installed in ’98. Of course, it depends on the fire. A lot of people ask me what would happen if a plane were flown into the building, like in the World Trade Towers. Few people remember that a plane actually struck the building in 1945 — a B-25, lost in the fog.
“Lieutenant Colonel William F. Smith, Jr., a decorated veteran of over one hundred combat missions, was piloting the bomber from his home in Bedford, Massachusetts to Newark, before returning to home base in South Dakota. The flight plan called for Smith to put down at LaGuardia. But Smith believed he could maneuver safely through the fog, so he asked for and received clearance to fly on to Newark airport. The last thing the air traffic controller told him was, ‘At the present time, I can't see the top of the Empire State Building.’”
Dobson cackled grimly. “Apparently, neither could Smith. He thought he’d made it to the West Side when he came across the Chrysler Building. Had he kicked left, he would have been okay. Instead, he kicked the rudder right, and headed directly toward the ESB at two hundred miles per hour. Smith tried to climb, but it was already too late. At exactly 9:40 AM, the plane collided with the seventy-ninth floor.
“Luckily, the accident occurred on a Saturday, while only about fifteen hundred people were in the building, compared with the ten to fifteen thousand on an average weekday. And, luckily, the bomber was unarmed. Still, fourteen people died in the accident — eleven in the building, plus Colonel Smith and the other two occupants of the plane. An eighteen by twenty feet hole was gouged out by the bomber, and one of the plane's engines plowed through the building, emerged on the Thirty-third Street side, and crashed through the roof of a neighboring structure. The fuel tanks exploded instantaneously, shooting flames across the seventy-ninth floor in all directions. Those not severely injured had to walk down seventy flights through darkened stairwells. Many reported seeing flaming debris falling down elevator shafts.
“Unaware that the plane’s other engine and part of its landing gear had dropped through one of the elevator shafts, rescue workers began to use the elevators to transport casualties to the street, one of whom was an operator named Betty Lou Oliver. She’d been blown out from behind her post up on the eightieth floor, and badly burned. After receiving first aid, they loaded her into another elevator so that they could transfer her to an ambulance below. But, as the doors closed, rescue workers heard what sounded like a gunshot. It was, in fact, the snapping of the elevator cables weakened by the crash.
Dobson grinned. “The car with Betty Lou inside — now at the seventy-fifth floor — plunged all the way to the sub-basement, a fall of over a thousand feet. Rescuers had to cut a hole in the car to get her out. Miraculously, despite a harrowing experience, Betty Lou survived. As the elevator fell, you see, the compensating cables, hanging from beneath the car, began to pile up in the pit and acted as a kind of spring, softening the impact. Also, the hatchway was high-pressure, with minimum clearance around the car. The air was literally compressed as the elevator fell, creating an air cushion in the lower portion of the shaft.”