The Hammer of God

Number 1 laughed and cried with joy as the explosion of the building snapped his eyes opened. Allah had swatted away the missile. Now nothing could stop them. In 20 seconds the “Allah Factor” would make New York hot for nuclear detonation. The delicate equation had been unknowingly calculated at Iran’s Nuclear Research Facility under the guise of a theoretical celestial navigational problem. His joy was curtailed by the impact of bullets pummeling the cabin of the copter.

Bridgestone ignored the screaming of “freeze” by some of the cops pointing their guns at him and stayed on target, spraying the copter’s body trying to hit the fuel tanks. Hiccock’s protesting and waving his I.D. was the only hesitation that kept the cops conflicted and Bridgestone alive.

As Number 1 shielded his head from the bullets that perforated the skin and were ricocheting around the cabin of the copter, one of the bullets found the fuel line. The high-pressure hose burst and aerosoled Jet A fuel. A split second later, the next white-hot bullet that entered that area touched off the fumes and the rear half of the copter exploded. The explosion split the copter in two; the fiery body of the copter immediately began to counter-rotate in the opposite direction of the blades. This whirling dervish crashed on 30st Street into a 16-story building that was mostly rental space that musicians used for rehearsal. The plummeting copter had embedded itself five floors down, when the suitcase went off. Witnesses later would say that a secondary explosion shook the building and made the copter and everything else fall through six more floors. Twelve seconds later, the weight of all the debris from the top floors weakened the fifth floor, and the wreckage and the partially exploded suitcase settled in the basement.

NEST sensors and satellite sensors immediately lit up with a radiological impulse emanating from midtown Manhattan.

“Well?” The President asked.

“We’re getting a plume, but that’s more consistent with a radiological device,” the Chairman reported. “I’m not getting any confirmation of detonation.”

As soon as the copter exploded, Bridgestone dropped the weapon and put his hands on his head. Hiccock was now physically holding off cops.

“Is Hiccock still there?” Only static filled the room. “Is Hiccock still in one piece?”

The line cleared temporarily and the President thought he heard the human sounds of people, of Hiccock, dying. His mind raced to the thought of the two men in the street being immolated by radiation and not burning up, but burning out — outwards from within. Turning to ash as they screamed in agony. But the noise started clearing up and became easily discernable as laughter…and relief. Then a voice, Hiccock’s, broke through.

“Sir, the bomb did not detonate; it did not fission. We’re okay. Everyone is okay! Kronos, Peter, you guys hit it right on the numbers.”

“Natra-friggin-lutley….. “

Bill turned to Bridgestone, “Natra-friggin-lutley, Bridge!”

“Roger friggin’ that, Bill,” he said as he kept his hands on his head hoping the cops heard that it was over.

“Bill, this is the President. Get out of that area. They are telling me the radiation is rising.”

“We can help with the evac, sir.”

“God damn it, Bill, we got people to handle that. Besides, there is something else. I’m sorry to tell you that Janice is being held hostage at a theater on 47th Street. We don’t know any details yet, but we are assuming her detail is dead. It’s a real shit-sandwich to hand to someone who just saved eight million people, but I’m sorry… truly I am, Bill… Bill?”

The rear view mirror sheared off at 45 m.p.h. as Bridgestone squeezed the squad car between a delivery truck and the wall of an office building as the siren wailed and the lights flashed on their way up to the theater.

“Why would they take a theater? And why now?”

The Chechins took a theater in Moscow. They’ve got a knack for it. They must have figured it was a strong diversion… or, maybe…

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe they were after you. You’ve ruined a couple of their last soirees.”

“If they touch Janice, I am going to kill them. I will fly to wherever their families are and kill every one of them!”

“Whoa… where did that come from?”

“Burke Avenue. You got a problem with that?”

“No, but listen — when we get there, leave the ball-busting to me. You find and secure your wife.”

“My mom and dad are with her.”

“Shit. We’ll just have to get all of them out.”

“How we going to do this?”

“First, we’ll have to get through our own guys.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Showtime

The squad car careened around 47th and Fifth and into a wall of emergency vehicles.

Bill flashed his White House I.D. and they let the car through. Then they hit the FBI ring. An agent stopped them cold at 47th and 7th.

“Sir, you can’t go further.”

Hiccock fumbled trying to find his FBI I.D. but gave up. “Agent I am … fuck that, who’s in charge?”

Special Agent Burrell, sir.”

“Get her on your radio. Tell her Quarterback is here.”