Bridge was up and scanning now; he started yelling to the hostages, “Get down, Get down…”
They were already scrambling, flattening themselves out and trying to hide. Then he heard a scream. He wheeled around and one of the bearded henchmen had a woman in his grasp and a.45 automatic at her temple. The jittery Middle-Eastern man started to say something in Arabic, but Bridge fired and hit the gun, which in turn smashed into the guy’s face. Immediately, blood started to come from the man’s cheek and his hostage fell to the right. Bridge then hammered the gun into his head by successive shots sparking and clanging off the side of the pistol.
Bill grabbed Janice and got her to focus on him. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Are you okay, baby?” She nodded, shuddering, and then collapsed in his chest.
A scuffle broke out among the hostages. Bridgestone ran to the commotion to see an old guy wrestling with another man. The old guy was detaining him but the younger man socked him in the jaw trying to get free.
The older man yelled, “Shoot him. He’s got a switch under his coat. He’s one of them.”
Bridge didn’t have a clear shot. The old guy was still hanging on to the younger one, grabbing his arm. But then Bridge saw the button flash from under the guy’s coat.
“Shoot ‘em or he’ll kill us all,” the old guy yelled.
Bridgestone crooked his gun to one side and fired back at the two struggling on the ground. From that angle, the bullet went through the old guy’s arm and into the chest of the younger one. Bridgestone knew he got him in the pump because the younger man died in an instant. His fingers never reached the plunger. The old guy grabbing at his wrist rolled out of the way in agony, a bloodstain now also blooming on his shirt by his waist.
“Pop!” Hiccock yelled, rushing to his father’s side.
“We got him, right?” Hank Hiccock said, grimacing through the pain.
“Yeah, Pop. You got him. Don’t move; help will be here soon.”
Bending down to safety the detonator, Bridgestone commented, “Your father? I shot your father?”
“And I thought I liked you,” Bill uttered as he moved to his mother. “You okay, Mom?”
“I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”
He hugged her. “I am so sorry, Ma.”
Hiccock’s mom, unscathed, kissed him on the cheek. “For what, dear? You didn’t start this.” Then she rushed over to comfort her husband. “That was a dang fool thing you pulled, Hank. All these young men here and you had to fight these punks.”
“Don’t scold me in front of the fellas, will ya?” Then he looked up at his pride and joy and grabbed his bleeding arm. “Son, don’t be mad at your friend; it was my lamebrain idea.”
Bridge grabbed Bill’s mother’s scarf and made a tourniquet just above the hole in the septuagenarian’s arm. He looked at Bill and said, “Sorry just don’t seem to cut it, sir.”
“Not so much,” Bill said drily as he took over tightening the usher’s flashlight that they were using as a turnbuckle.
“Except your dad was right. The dead guy could have killed us all with this.” Bridgestone showed Bill the detonator cord, hard-wired to 100 pounds of plastique in a roll-around anvil equipment case.
Hank’s mom grabbed his dad and kissed him square on the lips. “You saved us all. You are, and always were, my hero, Hanky.”
“Icks-Nay on the Hanky-a.”
The instant Bridgestone radioed “Site secured,” the front doors flew off their hinges and were dragged on the end of a chain attached to an NYPD wrecker. Hundreds of SWAT, EMTs, and uniformed cops immediately swarmed in. Most tended to the hostages. Suits and gold braid followed. The suits were the crime scene investigation units, immediately photographing and seizing evidence. The gold braid was there to supervise and prepare reports to the commissioner and the Mayor. Two EMTs came to the elder Hiccock’s aid. He tried to get up on his own but reluctantly accepted Bill’s help as the EMTs joined in and immediately strung an IV and strapped him onto a gurney.
“Pop, you look like who did it and ran. Don’t give these guys any guff, now.”
Hank Hiccock looked at the EMTs. “Fellas, this is my son. He works for the President, telling him all about science. I thought it was a boring, cushy job. But, I’ll tell you what, he damn sure makes it exciting.”
Then Hiccock heard another EMT declare, “We got a pregnant lady here. I need her out of here and on the bus, stat.”
He turned around to see Janice sitting upright, holding her belly. She had a sheepish grin. “My water broke!”
Half-crying, half-laughing, Bill came to her and hugged her until the wheelchair arrived. “When I saw that bastard holding the knife… I went nuts.”
She cried on his shoulder as he held her tight. “You brought the cavalry in the nick of time.” She kissed him as the EMT and Bill helped her into her wheelchair, the Med-tech making a point of Janice not worrying because he’s delivered hundreds of babies in the back of the ambulance… and to keep taking deep breaths.
“Oh by the way, Mom and Dad, I was saving this for dinner, but that’s kinda doubtful so here it goes. Janice and I are going to get remarried. Next week… if we’re all out of the hospital by then.”
“Couldn’t you just have eloped and saved us all this commotion?” the elder Hiccock called as they rolled him out.
“It’s about time, William,” Bill’s mother said as she walked behind Hank’s stretcher.
Bill turned to Janice. “Well, Mrs. Hiccock, besides that how did you like the play…”
Bill’s attempt at lightening the mood only got him a hug. “Bill, you saved me… us. You kept your promise to me.”
“Honey, the guy who really helped all of us is right…” Bill looked around but there was no Bridgestone anywhere.
“He
“Who is?”
“No one. Let’s get you to the hospital. With Pop there too, it’s going to be a busy night.”
Somewhere in the middle of that busy night, while Hank Hiccock was restfully sleeping and being monitored by gadgets, gizmos, and Mrs. Hiccock in the chair alongside the bed, the younger Mrs. Hiccock was giving birth to the older’s new grandson, Ross Bridgestone Hiccock.
In the aftermath of the helicopter crash, there was no attempt made to recover the copter, the device, nor the remains of any of the unfortunate souls who were killed in the building at the time. The entire building was sealed in 10 stories of alternating layers of concrete, lead, and sand. The foundation was also excavated and sealed in a similar method. The device and its deadly plutonium yoke was nestled in a concrete and lead egg, 50 feet thick on either side and 100 feet tall.
The entire midtown south area was decontaminated along with thirty thousand workers who got de-conned right at the scene by Homeland Security’s mobile decontamination centers. Twenty-three tons of clothes were burned and six square blocks of drapes, furniture, and anything porous were trashed. Buildings were scrubbed down and air quality samples taken. Six months after the attack, the only reminder would be the cold concrete obelisk where the building used to be and a small plaque honoring the 18 people who died in the building during the first nuclear attack on American soil.
At the hospital two days after the birth, Bill received an unaddressed envelope left at the front desk.
In it was a simple note that read “For the kid’s sake, it’s Richard.”
Bill went back inside Janice’s hospital room to tell her, but she and little “Richard” Ross Hiccock were fast asleep, safe and peaceful. He had done his job for his country, his hometown, and for his little fledgling family. So with nothing left to do, Professor William Jennings Hiccock, possessing one of the most brilliant scientific minds in the country, just sat and, for what had to be the one-hundredth time in two days, marveled at the miracle before him.
