“Shit!”
Sergeant Kennedy was busily shepherding a group of curious bystanders away from the cart. Officer Sales ran to him and pulled him aside.
“Sergeant!” he said in a hushed tone, “Ali says this is a twenty-kiloton nuke!”
“What!? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
Kennedy stared at Sales in shock and disbelief. He pulled him back to the cart and looked in at the timer, relentlessly counting down. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“I don’t know, but we better assume the worst.”
“Yeah, and pray to God the worst isn’t true! Do you have any idea what a twenty-kiloton nuke would do if it went off right here?” asked Kennedy, throwing his arms wide to indicate the entire National Mall.
“I have a pretty good idea,” Sales answered.
“Yeah, well it would destroy the whole government. It would take out the White House, the Capitol, the Supreme Court—everything! Not to mention killing several hundred thousand people!”
Overhearing them, al-Bedawi laughed and gloated. “I am telling truth, praise Allah! There is nothing you can do, blasphemous infidels!”
“Shut up! We don’t need anymore outbursts from you.”
Sergeant Kennedy got on the radio to dispatch. “Dispatch, this is Sergeant Jim Kennedy.”
“Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“We have the bomber suspect in custody. Put the word out to all personnel on all channels. The suspect says this is a nuclear device — a twenty-kiloton nuclear warhead! We don’t have the ability to confirm or refute that. So we’re assuming it’s true. Do whatever you can to get the word out. We’ve got about twelve minutes, and oh my God, I can see hundreds of people just out here on the mall!”
There was silence on the other end. Finally, a simple “Roger that” came through.
Sergeant Kennedy’s professionalism seemed to be breaking down, which surprised Officer Sales. “Hey, take it easy, Jim. There will be plenty of patrolmen on the mall to clear the crowds. Let’s see what we can do about this bomb.”
Just then, the civil defense sirens came to life and started a mournful wail up and down the beautiful National Mall. It seemed to snap Kennedy out of his shock. “That’s an eerie sound,” he ventured.
“Yeah, I know. I never paid much attention on the days they tested them. Always figured their most likely use would be to warn of a severe thunderstorm or something. This is what they were really intended for — warning of a nuclear attack — but I never thought it would really happen… certainly not like this.”
Kennedy turned to Sales. “There’s no way we can let this happen, Tom. We’ve got to get Ali Baba talking or get this thing disarmed ourselves. This can’t happen!” He ran to al-Bedawi and violently pounded him against the tree. “How do we disarm the bomb?”
Al-Bedawi moaned. “It cannot be disarmed. It is totally sealed in steel casing welded shut. Even if you could disarm bomb, it take many hours to get bomb out of casing.”
Kennedy searched the mall and the surrounding streets. Where in the heck is that bomb squad? The streets were crowded with midday traffic. Patrolmen were clearing pedestrians from the mall, but the drivers on adjacent streets were apparently still oblivious to the danger. Probably thought the sirens were only a test. Just as well; with mass panic, the streets would become totally gridlocked, and then the bomb squad would never get there.
One of the patrolmen stopped and asked if he could help in any way. “Maybe I can get your suspect to safety for questioning later.”
“Good thought,” said Sergeant Kennedy, “but I want to keep him here in case he loses his nerve. He’s the only one who knows how to disarm this thing.”
“Okay. I’m out of here. Good luck to you guys.”
“Yeah,” answered Kennedy. “Good luck to us all.”
Officer Sales peered into the cart to examine the bomb, looking at it from every angle and feeling along its sides with his hands. “It seems to be totally sealed all right. A welder would have to cut this thing out of the cart and then cut the casing open to get at the weapon. It would take hours.”
“Yeah, no time for that. Let me take a look.” Sergeant Kennedy felt around the sides of the cylinder. “I can’t feel anything either… but I can’t reach the bottom because of this darn cart. Let’s turn this thing on its side — I want to see the bottom of the cart.”
The two officers struggled to lay the heavy cart on its side and examined the bottom. It was held in place by eight screws around the edge. Four screws in the center of the bottom apparently held the bomb in place.
“I’ll get ’em Jim,” said Officer Sales, pulling a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and revealing a screwdriver blade. He started to remove a screw on the edge.
“Just get the ones in the center, Tom. That’ll release the bomb, and we can toss this cart.”
“Right.”
When the last screw was removed, they heard the cylinder drop inside the cart onto the side lying on the ground. They each grabbed one of the wheels and, with all their might, lifted the bottom of the cart off the ground. The bomb rolled out the top and onto the grass.
“Ah, just as I thought!” exclaimed Kennedy. On the bottom of the cylinder was a rectangular panel, held in place by a screw at each corner. “I knew Ali Baba was lying. It didn’t make sense to me that there was no access panel to the bomb. How would they have armed it and set the timer? And what would they have done if they couldn’t get it here in time? They couldn’t afford to have this valuable asset detonate out in rural Virginia somewhere.”
“Good thinking, Sergeant.”
“Get started on those screws. Let’s have this thing opened up and ready to go when the bomb squad gets here.”
“Uh, Sergeant? I don’t know anything about explosive ordnance disposal. Shouldn’t we wait for the bomb-squad guys?”
“Ordinarily, yes. But we’ve got less than ten minutes until the heart of Washington DC is nothing but a memory. By the time the bomb squad gets here, there might be only a couple of minutes left. I don’t want them to have to screw around with getting the access plate off.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Kennedy noticed a large black van in the distance careening across the grassy mall toward the officers. The back end slipped from side to side as the driver fought to keep control as he accelerated on the soft grass. “The bomb squad, finally. I guess that’s one way to get around the traffic. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us if this thing really is what Ali Baba says it is.”
A minute later, the van skidded to a stop a few yards away, and two highly armored men jumped out and made their way to the bomb. They both wore helmets and facemasks similar to a welder’s mask. They each carried a box about the size of a carry-on suitcase with straps slung over their shoulders like mail pouches. Extending from the boxes, several flexible steel cables held different kinds of sensors, some shaped like microphones and some like long, narrow probes. Sergeant Kennedy deduced these were not ordinary bomb-squad members — these guys must be from the infamous “anti-nuke” squad, and they carried highly sophisticated radiation-monitoring equipment.