Engage. Frank looked up at Ben suddenly and then forced himself to look again into the crevice. He saw that the hand was a well-manicured left hand with no rings on it. Irene had short nails and was never without her wedding and engagement rings.
“It’s not her,” he choked out. “It’s not Irene.”
They radioed in what little description of the dead woman they could provide and set a marker. Removing the dead was, necessarily, a lower priority than looking for survivors. Anna hadn’t found anyone on the first floor and had already moved up to the third. Once Ben was satisfied there were no other victims on this level, they retraced their way to the intact stairwell and were almost up to the fourth floor when Anna radioed that she needed a confirmation. She could see one male victim, but she was not sure if there was a second — in another area, she was getting a vague alert from Devil, the dog she was handling.
When they arrived, she said, “Shouldn’t be hard to ID the one male. He’s wearing an eye patch.”
“Whitey Dane,” Frank said even before he managed to get a look at him. Dane’s chest had been crushed by a section of wall that had fallen in on him. “What the hell was he doing here?” He looked up at Anna. “Myles Volmer or one of his other bodyguards can’t be too far away.”
Frank saw that on this floor, unlike the one below, the connecting door to the newer stairwell was open, although several chunks of concrete lying across it now made it half its normal size. Bingle seemed interested in this space. So while Ben and Anna worked with Devil and Rascal, Frank cautiously crawled into the remaining opening and flashed his light around. He was relieved not to find a long drop on the other side. He was looking at the landing of the newer stairwell now and saw that it had less debris on it than its counterpart in the older building. It formed a cavern of sorts — the stairs above and below appeared to be impassable, but this space was relatively open, making it the largest “void space” he had seen along the stairwell.
He moved through the opening to the landing on the other side of the door, then helped Bingle scramble through. Bingle was no sooner on the landing than he cocked his head back and forth, as if listening to something. He immediately tried to make it up the stairs, whining when he could not get through, then barking sharply. It echoed loudly in the enclosed space.
“Bingle — ¡Quieto!”
The dog looked back at him, then up at the stairs, whining.
Ben’s face appeared at the opening. “What’s going on?”
“I think there’s someone alive on the next floor up,” Frank said, feeling hope rise. “Bingle hears something up there.”
Ben helped Frank lift the dog back through, and soon they were on their way up to the next floor. Ben radioed the USAR team, asking them to meet them at the stairwell of the fourth floor.
They were moving fast now, hurrying down the last corridor. Bingle suddenly halted, though, and cocked his head again. Rascal did the same, then looked back at Ben. Bingle wagged his tail and made a wavering, high-pitched howling sound.
“No…”
“I don’t think he’s howling,” Ben said quickly. “That’s his singing voice.”
Frank had heard Bingle’s famous crooning — the inspiration for the dog’s name — and didn’t think this had been much like it. He wondered if Ben was merely trying to soften a blow.
Bingle and Rascal moved off again, pulling hard at their leads.
“Anna?” Ben said into the radio. “Hurry.”
Hurry, Frank thought. That isn’t what you say if the victim is dead.
“What kind of alert is singing?” he asked, quickening his pace to keep up with Bingle’s.
“It’s not an alert. It’s just one of his tricks. But sometimes he does it when he hears someone else singing.”
As they neared the entrance to the stairwell, Bingle made the sound again, then looked back at Frank. Frank followed him over the debris in the older stairwell. Here the metal door leading to the newer stairs was closed and blocked, but the dog scratched furiously at it. Barking at the door, and then Frank, and then turning back to Ben to bark at him.
Telling the dog he was marvelous and intelligent, Ben called him back to his side. He commanded him to stop barking, but took out the toss-toy and played quietly with him.
At the stairwell door, Frank immediately heard a distinct, rhythmic tapping sound.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” Frank shouted.
There was no answer, but the tapping continued in the same rhythm. Ben was talking into the radio now, telling the USAR team that they had definitely found a live victim and describing the location.
Frank used the end of his flashlight to tap against the door three times.
This time there was a pause in the tapping, and then three taps came back.
Frank tapped again.
A small segment of Morse code came back — three dots, three dashes, three dots — SOS.
Frank tried tapping back in the same code: Are you hurt?
There was a long pause and then the SOS was repeated.
Frank relayed this information to Ben, who passed it along by radio. Frank continued to tap and repeat patterns of tapping, hoping to reassure the trapped person.
Soon the technical rescue team arrived — it had taken them less than four minutes despite the fact that they were also carrying equipment — an exothermic cutting torch, a concrete saw, lift pillows, breathing canisters, first aid supplies, a microphone that could be threaded through small openings, and cribbing wood.
“On to the next floor,” Ben said as the team went to work on cutting the door. “Unless you want to stay here?”
“No, I’ll come along. But—”
“I’ve already asked them to contact you when they learn who it is.”
On the fifth floor, instead of darkness near the stairwell, they found daylight.
The west stairwell bomb had gone off on the seventh floor of the new stairwell, blowing out chunks of concrete that then fell through the roof of the older stairwell — which started at the fifth floor. In addition to forming a crude skylight, the debris completely blocked access between the two stairwells. Dust and dirt from the roof lay everywhere.
But on this floor the dogs had their strongest response yet. Taken near the stairwell separately, all three alerted. Bingle didn’t sing this time, but his interest in getting closer to the new stairwell was plain. Ben frowned, studying the obstacles before them, then said, “Bingle’s the best climber of these three. Let’s see what he wants to show us, Frank. Anna, hold on to Rascal for me, will you? I’ll follow along, Frank, just in case you need help with him.”
As Bingle led them over boulder-sized pieces of concrete and fallen beams, he became more and more excited. Finally he stopped and cocked his head. He stood in the sun near a small opening formed by two large pieces of concrete that had fallen against each other in a tent shape.
For a moment, Frank was afraid the dog was going to try to burrow into the space, but as he came closer, he saw that it was too small even for Bingle to squeeze through. Bingle stuck most of his snout into the opening, snuffling loudly, and began wagging his tail. Abruptly, he pulled his nose out and raised his head up high. Frank braced himself to hear howling, but instead the dog sneezed — then began barking.
Ben had come closer then, too, and once again managed to both praise and reward Bingle while getting him to be quiet. Suddenly, Frank realized why the dogs had been so sure this time — through the opening he could hear the faint sound of a voice.
A familiar voice calling, “Hello! Hello! We’re down here!”
“Irene!” Frank began shouting. “Irene!”
“Frank? In here!” came the faint but clear response. “Oh, Frank! I’m here! Seth and Judge Kerr, too.”
“Irene—” he said, and for a moment couldn’t say anything more. He felt tears on his face and let them fall.