Down to the Wire, page 25
“And we can’t move the ball.” It wasn’t a question; Quinlan was just thinking out loud.
“The ball has been carefully checked,” the commissioner said. “That can’t be where the bomb is.”
“It’s there,” said Quinlan.
Based on Chris’s revelation that Scott was unconcerned about the jamming of cell and radio wave transmission, Quinlan and Novack were positive that Scott had set a timer to detonate the explosives. And they were equally sure that it was set to go off at midnight.
Which gave them five minutes.
There was not even a place to land the chopper. Obviously, it couldn’t be put down in the street, since all streets were filled wall-to-wall with people. It also wouldn’t work to bring the ball down early, in the hopes that people would think New Year’s had come and gone and would leave the square. There was no time for that, nor was there time to bring in a military helicopter to cart the ball off to an area where the explosion could safely take place.
The military experts consulted expressed the belief that it would likely be worse to keep the ball from dropping and let it explode at the top of the building. The concussive effect on the street below would be devastating and there was a substantial chance that the blast would bring down the building.
Quinlan yelled to the pilot. “Go right to Times Square; hover above the crowd. I want to be able to see the ball.”
The pilot did as he was told, and when the revelers saw it, they thought it was part of the show, since they had no sense that its being there represented any kind of danger to them. Besides, they were more interested in the crystal ball at the top of the building, which was slowly starting its descent.
Chris had watched and listened to all the consultations take place and when it was clear that no remotely acceptable solution had been reached, he stood up. “Shoot the damn thing!” he yelled.
When no one seemed to be paying any attention to him, he screamed, “Shoot it!” as loud as he could. His voice was still raspy and weak from the effects of the tear glass and his efforts would have seemed comical if the situation were not so dire.
“It’ll blow up,” said Quinlan. “It’s better to let it get to the ground.”
“No!” said Chris, desperately trying to be heard above the din of the he li copter and the crowd below. “It needs an electric charge to set it off! Ryder said you could drop it off a building and it wouldn’t explode. If you shoot it, you might be able to destroy the timer. Then there won’t be any charge!”
Quinlan had absolutely no idea if Chris was right, but he made a judgment that there would be little downside to going along with him. He took out his handgun and yelled to the others, “On my command, empty your weapons into it!”
The five agents and Novack took out their weapons and leaned out the side facing the ball. At that distance, it would be impossible to miss.
Quinlan waited until the ball was halfway down the building; if it got much lower, there would be the danger of hitting people with errant shots or ricochets.
“NOW!” he yelled.
The men opened fire and the ball began to shatter with a series of mini-explosions as it continued its descent down the building. It was spectacularly colorful and bright, as if the slow-moving ball had converted itself into a fireworks display.
The sounds of the weapons firing blended into the helicopter and crowd noise, making it impossible for the people on the ground to know what was going on. Most of them assumed that it was some kind of amazing light show and they roared their approval.
The ammunition spent, the men in the chopper watched as the remnants of the ball approached the bottom. They had no way to know if the timer was intact, but they would learn soon enough.
The crowd, watching the clock on the side of the building, chanted down: “TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE . . .”
As midnight hit, the lights on the building came on in a beautiful, colorful display. Everyone in the chopper cringed in anticipation, but there was no explosion. The timer had been destroyed.
“Happy New Year,” said Novack.
CHRIS TURLEY BECAME THE first nonjournalist to win the Pulitzer Prize for journalism.
That is because, by the time the award was announced, he had given notice to the Bergen News and opted not to pursue any of the one hundred and eleven job offers he’d received.
He had become the most famous reporter in the country, which is to say that he had become his father. It turned out that was something that ultimately didn’t appeal to him.
Instead, he accepted a five-million-dollar offer to write a book about the P.T. affair. The idea of doing so was singularly unappealing to him; he had lived it once and didn’t want to experience it again in any fashion.
On the other hand, it was five million dollars.
Chris and Dani decided that the living together thing was working pretty well, so they would keep at it for a while. As of this writing, that “while” is six months long, and neither of them seems inclined to mess with success.
Dani was justifiably considered a hero in her own right and has been fielding her own book offers. To this point, the highest bid has been two million dollars, which she considers highly insulting. Her agent thinks they can raise the price to two-million-five, which Dani figures is a half million dollars less insulting.
Investigators are still trying to dissect the life of Carl Gordon, Scott Ryder’s real name. At this point, they have uncovered years of violent, criminal behavior and believe they have tied him to three other murders and a number of armed robberies.
Peter Randolph’s body has never been found. His chances for a productive life ended the day when as a small boy he watched his father walk out onto the highway.
Agent Nick Quinlan’s star continues to rise in the FBI and, depending on the results of the next election, he is considered a candidate for either director of the FBI or head of Homeland Security. At this point, the idea of taking a desk job like those is not particularly tempting.
Jonathan Novack is also considered a hero for his role in the P.T. saga, and has had three in-depth magazine pieces written about him.
He finds all the attention annoying.
David Rosenfelt, Down to the Wire
