The Hammer of God

The sergeant looked at Hiccock and gave him a nod, setting his chin in the same way Bill’s father did when he saw Bill halfheartedly daring to dive off the high board at Bronx Beach and Pool when he was 9. Bill survived the dive and went on to be a borough-wide swim team champ. If he were wrong, Bronx Beach and Pool and most of New York would be incinerated by his hand. But it was also a 100 % certainty that Brodenchy didn’t come all this way to bluff us. He will detonate.

“General, fire in 12 seconds.”

Just then, the Chief of Staff was handed a note that read “Confirmation. Janice Hiccock held hostage in NYC theater. All agents in detail presumed dead.”

He folded the note, running his fingertip along the new crease. Hiccock and half of New York could be dead in a few seconds. I won’t bother him with this news now.

The General had looked up at the big, digital clock in the Situation Room when Hiccock gave the order to shoot in twelve. That was at 12 seconds on the timer, so he was waiting for 24 before he gave the final command.

Hiccock and Bridgestone had pulled over on 34th and 7th. Bill started flashing his F.B.I. I.D. as they made their way closer to Penn Station and Madison Square Garden directly above. They couldn’t see the U.S. Air Force Strike Eagle circling its prey high above Manhattan, but the blue-and-white half-painted helicopter was right above them to the right. It hovered at about 300 feet above the sports arena.

“Is this going to work, sir?”

“The shot or the formula?”

“The shot’s going to kill that bird, sir. That’s a U.S. Air Force fact, I meant…”

It was Allah’s will that one of Russia’s precious devices-an instrument of the enemy of his family, invaders of his youth, and the drunken Cossacks who raped his sisters, killed his father, and forced him and his brother to become refugees-was transformed, in his hands, to the hammer of God. He was about to be the first of millions who would die in a burst of manmade sunlight. His death in the killing of so many Infidels would fulfill the prophecy, the Caliphate! It would be the supreme act of the Thousand Years War. His name would be hailed, studied, and prayed to in madrassas and mosques for a million-million years! He lifted his head to God, letting the prop wash from the copter cleanse his face in preparation for meeting Muhammad, when a white-hot yellow streak suddenly cracked across the skyline and bent in an arc towards the copter. As he saw the smoke flume racing towards his open door on the chopper, the thought in the younger Brodenchy’s, a.k.a. Jahim El Benhan’s a.k.a. Number 1’s prodigious brain, which had conceived, executed, and was within seconds of accomplishing the greatest terrorist attack in history, was How could anyone have found out? He looked up into the sky and prayed and pleaded in Arabic with Allah, “I am your servant, your will be done. Allah Akbar!” He then awaited either the intervention of God or the face of God.

In the blink of an eye, the AIM-9 Sidewindermissile traveling at three times the speed of sound locked onto the heat plume from the copter’s efforting engine. As the rocket swooped down and in, it aligned with the sun’s reflection off the tinted Plexiglas window of the top floor of Two Penn Plaza, which confused the heat seeking infrared sensor that guided the 20.8-pound HE payload to a target. The missile adjusted and crackled past the copter and slammed into the hot sun glinting off the top floor of the Manhattan skyscraper. The Sidewinder was built to essentially pop a balloon, a pressured fuselage or delicate engine on a plane already going 500 plus M.P.H. Therefore as bombs go, 21 pounds of high explosives wasn’t all that much. The building glass blew out and a small fire started. But because the building was right above Penn Station, evacuation alarms had sounded 20 minutes before, leaving no one on the top floor to be killed. Only minor cuts and scrapes befell those on the ground from the debris.

From the ground, Bridgestone and Hiccock saw the missile veer away.

“How much time left, Bill?”

“Twenty seconds.”

Bridgestone turned and saw he was standing next to a Hercules cop in full battle array to his right. In one smooth move, he elbowed the officer in the throat and grabbed his M-16 as he fell. “Bill, protect me!” was all the Army Ranger said as he released the safety and trained the assault weapon at the copter, now 100 feet above the ground.

Bill pulled out his wallet and started waving his Homeland Security I.D. at other officers who were beginning to turn towards the “armed” man, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Homeland Security! This man is an agent! Hold your fire!”

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