The lobby guard said: "Ain't no other security personnel in the building."
"Well, he had a hat with "Security' written on it, and he was telling people to evacuate the building."
"I don't care what he had on his hat - "
"Oh, for Pete's sake, stop arguing!" Jeannie snapped. "Maybe I imagined him, but if not his life could be in danger!"
Standing listening to them was a girl wearing a man's khaki pants rolled up at the cuffs. "I saw that guy, he's a real creep," she said. "He felt me up."
The fire officer said: "Keep calm, we'll find everyone. Thank you for your cooperation." He walked off.
Jeannie glared at the lobby guard for a moment. She felt the fire officer had dismissed her as a hysterical woman because she had yelled at the guard. She turned away in disgust. What was she going to do now? The firemen ran inside in their helmets and boots. She was barefoot and wearing a T-shirt. If she tried to go in with them they would throw her out. She clenched her fists, distraught. Think, think! Where else could Lisa be?
The gymnasium was next door to the Ruth W. Acorn Psychology Building, named after the wife of a benefactor but known, even to faculty, as Nut House. Could Lisa have gone in there? The doors would be locked on Sunday, but she probably had a key. She might have run inside to find a laboratory coat to cover herself or just to sit at her desk and recover. Jeannie decided to check. Anything was better than standing here doing nothing.
She dashed across the lawn to the main entrance of Nut House and looked through the glass doors. There was no one in the lobby. She took from her pocket the plastic card that served as a key and swiped it through the card reader. The door opened. She ran up the stairs, calling: "Lisa! Are you there?" The laboratory was deserted. Lisa's chair was tucked neatly under her desk, and her computer screen was a gray blank. Jeannie tried the women's rest room at the end of the corridor. Nothing. "Damn!" she said frantically. "Where the hell are you?"
Panting, she hurried back outside. She decided to make a tour of the gymnasium building, in case Lisa was just sitting on the ground somewhere catching her breath. She ran around the side of the building, passing through a yard full of giant garbage cans. At the back was a small parking lot. She saw a figure jogging along the footpath, heading away. It was too tall to be Lisa, and she was pretty sure it was a man. She thought it might be the missing security guard, but he disappeared around the corner of the Student Union before she could be sure.
She continued around the building. At the far side was the running track, deserted now. Coming full circle, she arrived at the front of the gym.
The crowd was bigger, and there were more fire engines and police cars, but she still could not see Lisa. It seemed almost certain that she was still in the burning building. A sense of doom crept over Jeannie, and she fought it. You can't just let this happen!
She spotted the fire officer she had spoken to earlier. She grabbed his arm. "I'm almost certain Lisa Hoxton is in there," she said urgently. "I've looked everywhere for her."
He gave her a hard look and seemed to decide she was reliable. Without answering her, he put a two-way radio to his mouth. "Look out for a young white female believed to be inside the building, named Lisa, repeat Lisa."
"Thank you," Jeannie said.
He nodded curtly and strode away.
Jeannie was glad he had listened to her, but still she could not rest. Lisa might be stuck in there, locked in a toilet or trapped by flames, screaming for help unheard; or she might have fallen and struck her head and knocked herself out or succumbed to the fumes and be lying unconscious with the fire creeping closer by the second.
Jeannie remembered the maintenance man saying there was another entrance to the basement. She had not seen it as she ran around the outside of the gym. She decided to look again. She returned to the back of the building.
She saw it immediately. The hatch was set into the ground close to the building, partly hidden by a gray Chrysler New Yorker. The steel trapdoor was open, leaning