“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 is a ghost…”
“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.
Author's Note:
This book is based in part on my actual experiences that are the basis to the Peter Remo character. I spent much of my life in dread that just the knowledge that the Jesus Factor existed, if broadcast to both the U.S.S.R. and America simultaneously, would instantly spark all-out war, because neither nation would hold its fire during a cusp that favored them.
In early 2007, I was able to spend some time with former President Bill Clinton. I asked him directly about the Jesus Factor and if anyone ever informed him that there were certain days when nuclear war was asymmetrical. His assurances that no one ever said that to him gave me the confidence to go forward with the writing of this book and let the Jesus Factor play its part in the fiction without my divulging any national secrets.
Acknowledgements
The contributions of the following people guided my fingers over the keyboard:
Colonel Michael T. Miklos, US Army, for not only the metal and gunpowder “hard points,” but for embodying the modern warrior/patriot intellect, which so helped me imbue the characters with courage.
Peter Kesselman, my partner in the Demiac 256, who was there with me in ’68, for his insights and remembrances.
Len Watson who gave me the nod that I had a story here that should be pursued.
Anthony Lombardo, Retired First Grade Detective NYPD, for not only his knowledge but for allowing me to tap into his years of courageous service to the city.
My cousin, George Cannistraro, a brilliant writer in his own right, whose astute plot analysis really opened up the second half of this story.
Lia Matthow whose keen editorial sense and notes were the polish on this manuscript.
Monta, who is the joy of my life and believes in me even when I have my doubts.
To all the folks at NBC News, circa ’68–’72, if you find yourself in the book or part of you in a character, it’s because you helped shape the world for a 14-year old kid.
And Lou Aronica of The Fiction Studio, who deposited his three-decades-plus of publishing excellence, throughout this novel without ever leaving fingerprints.
And finally to you, the reader, because you have made it to the end of this book, thank you. Without you, I am writing to myself.
Dear Reader,
Look for more adventures of the Quarterback Operations Group in the third installment of my “thrillogy,” entitled, The God Particle.
Book three, which was inspired by a brief encounter with a famous female writer while I was on a press promotion for book one, The Eighth Day, is more Brooke’s book than anyone else’s. It has more about her — her love life, her work life, her near loss of life, and finding a new life. Along the way we have modern-day pirates, real killer whales, sharks, Euro-disco, killer priests, foiled Pope assassinations, Class One religious relics, an old knights order kicking up dust, a dream weekend at Camp David, exploding Marine Ones, science and religion at each other’s throats, kidnapping, master chess level strategy, the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, and the death of time itself. From the Indian Ocean, to Washington, to Paris, to the Sudanese desert, to the Cote d’Azur, to Geneva, it’s quite a ride. The prologue and first chapter from The God Particle follows.
All three books are centered on my operating theory that what I write is science fact, fictionalized. As always, I rely on my history of having been in TV, worked for Congress, spent time in Washington and had some interaction with America’s Armed Services and defense systems. Of course, my healthy respect for conspiracy theories, obscure science fact, and the insights into human behavior gleaned from decades as a film director all add up to the sum total of what I write.