Free False Impression by Jeffrey Archer Page A

bus
stopped on the corner of every block, allowing some to jump off while others
got on, with no suggestion of anyone paying a fare. It seemed that all New
Yorkers were united in wanting to play some part in the unfolding drama.
    ‘Oh my God,’
whispered Anna as she sat on the bus, and buried her head in her hands. For the
first time she thought about the firemen who had passed her on the stairwell,
and of Tina and Rebecca, who must be dead. It’s only when you know someone that
a tragedy becomes more than a news item.
    When the bus
came to a halt in the village near Washington Square Park, Anna almost fell
off. She stumbled over to the sidewalk, coughing up several more mouthfuls of
grey dust that she’d avoided bringing up while she was on the bus. A woman sat
down on the kerb beside her and offered her a bottle of water.
    Anna filled her
mouth several times before spitting out dollops of black liquid. She emptied
the bottle without swallowing a drop.
    The woman then
pointed in the direction of a small hotel where escapees were trooping in and
out in a steady stream. She bent down and took Anna by the arm, guiding her
gently towards the ladies’ room on the ground floor. The room was full of men
and women oblivious of their sex. Anna looked at herself in the mirror and
understood why onlookers had stared at her so curiously. It was as if someone
had poured several bags of grey ash all over her.
    She left her
hands under a flowing tap until only her nails remained black. She then tried
to remove a layer of the caked dust from her face – an almost pointless
exercise. She turned to thank the stranger, but she, like the cop, had already
disappeared to assist someone else.
    Anna limped back
onto the road, her throat dry, her knees cut, her feet blistered and aching. As
she stumbled slowly up Waverly Place, she tried to remember the number of
Tina’s apartment. She continued on past an uninhabited Waverly Diner before
pausing outside number 273.
    Anna grabbed at
the familiar wrought-iron balustrade like a lifeline and yanked herself up the
steps to the front door. She ran her finger down the list of names by the side
of the buzzers: Amato,
    Kravits,
Gambino, O’Rourke, Forster... Forster, Forster, she repeated joyfully, before
pressing the little bell. But how could Tina answer
her call, when she must be dead, was Anna’s only thought. She left her finger
on the buzzer as if it would bring Tina to life, but it didn’t. She finally
gave up and turned to leave, tears streaming down her dust-caked face, when out
of nowhere an irate voice demanded, “Who is it?’
    Anna collapsed
onto the top step.
    ‘Oh thank God,’
she cried, ‘you’re alive, you’re alive.’
    ‘But you can’t
be,’ said a disbelieving voice.
    ‘Open the door,’
pleaded Anna, ‘and you can see for yourself.’
    The click of the
entry button was the best sound Anna had heard that day.

13
    ‘Y ou’re alive,’
repeated Tina as she flung open the front door and threw her arms around her
friend. Anna might resemble a street urchin who had just climbed out of a
Victorian chimney, but it didn’t prevent Tina from clinging to her.
    ‘I was thinking
about how you could always make me laugh, and wondering if I’d ever laugh again,
when the buzzer sounded.’
    ‘And I was
convinced that even if you’d somehow managed to get out of the building, you
still couldn’t have survived once the tower collapsed.’
    ‘If I had a
bottle of champagne, I’d open it so that we could celebrate,’ said Tina,
finally letting go of her friend.
    ‘I’ll settle for
a coffee, and then another coffee, followed by a bath.’
    ‘I do have
coffee,’ said Tina, who took Anna by the hand and led her through to the small
kitchen at the end of the corridor. She left a set of grey footprints on the
carpet behind her.
    Anna sat down at
a small round wooden table and kept her hands in her lap while a soundless
television was showing images of the other side of the