So by the time I got there, the entire wall was gone. It was totally missing. And there was blood all over the place -- spattered everywhere, especially on the ceiling. Most of the lights were still working, and you could see where he had dragged himself all the way back to where the steel casing is. So I followed the trail and found him back there, and he was totally covered with blood because of the way he had dragged himself, so I had no way of knowing where it was all coming from. But he was still alive, so I said to him, "What went wrong? What happened? Who did this?" He was barely conscious, wheezing badly, but he grabbed my tie with all his strength and said, "Three seventeen. Three seventeen." He repeated it like that, and then he died. Right there, just like that, he died. And I'm thinking, "Three seventeen... Was that the time? A flight number? What's three seventeen?" I checked his pockets, but all he had was the combination and a couple of notes in German or Chinese. Well, it turns out that Gaff -- you know, Janeane from downtown -- had been there before me, which explains why he was all the way back by the steel. And she had the other piece. I guess she thought she was being safe by cutting off the supply and turning it back around. But she didn't know that she had only half of it, and I had the other half. And, of course, at that time I didn't know that she had been there and left. I mean, she had already dyed her shoes and no one was talking. Luckily she didn't try the key. So nothing happened for another seven hours, and by then the place had been torched. Burned to the ground with his body still in it. Melted the core. Well, I won't go into how this all worked out, but I think it shows what we're up against. I mean, this is typical. This kind of thing is typical in Minneapolis.