Rashid protested. “No woman. Only man! No woman!”
Brooke turned to a shackled Rashid. “Because women don’t have balls, Rashid? They are beneath you because they don’t have testicles? Well, we can fix that. That call was bad news, Rashid. The President of the United States just gave me permission to remove each one of your balls slowly and feed them to you.” She opened a knife that no self-respecting agent, let alone a woman, should carry. “So, soon we’ll be equals.”
Rashid stiffened.
Agent Warner turned immediately upon the first screams that echoed through the theater and instinctively grabbed Janice and headed for the exit. She was his primary concern due to her security clearance. Unfortunately, he was not responsible for the elder Hiccocks. Janice protested, but he overwhelmed her and got as far as the lower stage-right exit doors. They opened as two men, in long overcoats and brandishing machine guns appeared. Warner pushed Janice safely out of the line of fire and tapped two perfect kills in the foreheads of each intruder. As he reached down for Janice, she saw his chest explode as a fusillade of bullets ripped him from behind. He fell and didn’t move.
Number 4 grabbed Janice. “Your in-laws are dead unless you do everything we say.”
Janice was in shock, yet she noticed men in long coats placing sacks in doorways and stringing wires. Others were herding people at the back of the theater. The Hiccocks were being corralled up the aisle. To her, it was all like a dream in slow motion.
“Where is your husband?”
“He’s not here. Why are you doing this?”
He slapped her. “Shut up. No questions.” He then yelled to two others, “Find him. Try the lavatories.”
“Hey pal, can I use the can?”
“Yes, it’s by the white truck,” Sammy said to Hiccock who hastened his step in the manner of a man responding to nature’s call.
Bridgestone remained and chatted up the caterer. “Egyptian?”
“Yes. Been in America for 12 years now.”
“Good business?”
“I have three trucks and do over 500 meals a day.”
“It smells good.”
“Try this.” Sammy tore off a piece of flatbread and dragged it through some baba ghanoush. He handed this to Bridgestone with a napkin under it.
“Mmmmm, that’s really good. Cumin?”
“Yes, and paprika and dill.”
“That’s really tasty. I can see why you are successful. What’s going on here today?”
“First day of an Iranian film. They are shooting all the exteriors here in New York. Then they’ll go back to Teheran and shoot the interiors. They should be here for a month. That’s why the Halaal food.”
“Who’s the producer?”
“Rashani. Biggest producer in Iran.”
“Which one is he?”
“Over there in the brown jacket by the helicopter.”
Bridgestone looked and something clicked. Bill came over feigning relief, “Thanks, man. What are you guys shooting here?”
“He already told me. It’s an Iranian film. Being made by that guy there, Rashani.” Bridgestone turned back to the caterer. “Mind if we watch for a minute or two?”
“It’s fine by me. If the A.D.s hassle you, just tell them you are with me, Sammy. Here take my card. I also do weddings, bar mitzvahs, graduations….”
Bridgestone turned and concealed a laugh.
“That’s not Rashani,” Bridgestone said to Hiccock as they walked towards the set.
“No, its Jahim El Benhan, Alzir’s brother. His name was Dr. Brodenchy before he converted. He’s a nuclear scientist, or was.”
“No clicks from my counter. The bomb is not here.”
They both watched as the “producer” boarded the helicopter. One of the A.D.s announced, “This is a camera rehearsal! Everybody clear the copter.”
The blades turned and picked up speed.
“What do we do?”
Bridgestone grabbed a kid carrying a film magazine from one of the trucks. “What are they doing right now?”
“They’re doing a test to see how the blades look on camera. If they go too fast we won’t see them.”
“So they’re not taking off?”
“That thing? Nah, it don’t fly, it’s a prop. The action in this shot takes place after it has landed. The second unit will shoot a real helicopter landing from the air tomorrow.”
Then, to everyone’s surprise, the copter lifted off, tilted, and headed for Manhattan.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Come on,” Bill said to Bridgestone. Bill ran to the cop car that was driven here by the now dead cops, got in, and drove over to Bridgestone’s car. “Throw your shit in here. This will get us through.”
The cop car fishtailed out of the parking lot and shuddered as Hiccock floored the accelerator up the ramp to the Whitestone Expressway. “Bridge, find the lights and sirens.”
From the driver’s side, Bill kept one eye on the copter, the other on the road. He took the BQE and jumped off at the LIE. Bridgestone was locked on the copter with his binoculars as they reached the peak of the rise of roadway right before the tunnel entrance. Hiccock took the exit for Van Dam Street in order to take the bridge rather than losing the visual as they went through the tunnel. They lost sight of the copter for a moment as they navigated the streets of this industrial part of Long Island City. Their red lights and sirens cleared the way for them to reach the bridge in record time. From the upper roadway, they re-acquired the copter as it hovered over a building on the edge of the river north of the bridge.
“What’s he doing?” Bill asked as he swerved through one of the separators to take the single outside lane. “Looks like he’s going to land on that white building.
“That’s a hospital. It’s an air med-evac landing pad.”
“Holy shit!”
“What?”
“There’s a flock of helicopters over that way and another over there!”
Bill looked left and saw what looked like a swarm of 20 or so helicopters circling and hovering over a part of midtown. To the right were another 15 or so. He flipped on the police radio. “Why didn’t I think of turning this on before?”
There was a non-stop chain of radio reports and squelching. “Something big must have happened,” Bridgestone said. “They are stepping all over their communications.”
Through all the static and partial sentences, they gleaned that something was happening at Penn Station. A momentary clear allowed the words “NEST team” to jut out of the radio traffic. Both men instinctively knew the acronym: Nuclear Emergency Search Team. Bill then thought he heard “47th and 8th hostage situation.” But it was quickly stepped on.
Joey Palumbo didn’t wait to confirm the information before him. He dialed up Bill’s cell. “Bill, Teva Radiological out of Israel had a Palestinian driver who met B amp;R’s truck driver in the desert. He loaded the
