Milwaukee Deep

The rotors from the helicopter pounded the cabin – the sound deafening as it banked to the right and headed for Central Park.

“Any sign of the boy?” asked Harding into the microphone.

“No, not yet,” replied Agent Cooper, “I’ve spoken to a witness who saw Joel get into a black Cadillac at the university. I’m now reviewing all satellite imaging in that vicinity over the last forty eight hours in an attempt to trace the whereabouts of the vehicle.”

“Good. Now that we’ve found the weapon, put in the call and get as many available agents to help you with the search – we need to find him and fast.”

“Copy that, I’ll call with an update within the hour.”

“You do that,” and Harding ended the call.

“Sir,” said the pilot over the intercom, “our E.T.A is three minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” replied Harding as he again pressed down on the radio button to connect him back to command, “put me through to the President.”

Harding looked down as Central Park came into sight.

“Tom,” Stoker’s voice came through over the headset, “What’s our status?”

“Mr President, we’ve found the weapon. I’m on route as we speak. We have the bomb squad on its way.”

“Thank God, Tom. Good work - you had me worried there for a while.”

“I know, Mr President, I think all of us were.”

“Any news on Joel – have you heard anything as yet,” Stoker spoke quickly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

“Not yet, Sir, but rest assured, now that we’ve found the weapon I can put every available resource on it – don’t worry, Mr President, we will find him and soon.”

“I know you will, Tom, I have every faith in you and your men.”

Harding paused for a moment as the helicopter began its descent.

“Sir, about that,” Harding said, “I need to ask something of you.”

“What is it, Tom?”

“Mr President, I need your authority to allow me to take the weapon away from New York.”

“Of course,” replied Stoker.

“With it still armed, Mr President.”

“What? Why?”

The helicopter touched down safely on the west side of Central Park.

“Sir, I don’t have the time right now to explain, we’ve just landed. I will say this, though, the security of our nation depends on it.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.

“Very well, Tom. I trust you. Keep me informed.”

“Thank you, Mr President. Can I ask that while I make my way to the 86th Street station, that you contact Sergent Turner and inform him of your decision personally? I don’t have the time to spend arguing the authority you’ve granted me.”

“Certainly, Tom, I’m turning Air Force One around and heading back to Washington - I’ll make the call as soon as I inform the pilot to do so.”

“Thank you, Mr President. I will call you within the hour with an update,” said Harding and ended the call.

Lieutenant Ross Bracken of the New York City police department stared at the aluminium briefcase. He’d been trained in dismantling over a hundred different kinds of bombs, detonators and triggers over the years, but none of them had the fire power that sat only inches from him.

“Lieutenant, are you okay?” asked Sergeant Turner

Bracken continued to stare at the case.

“Look, the President told us we should wait for Harding,” said Turner.

The Lieutenant looked over his shoulder at the Sergeant, the look on his face a mixture of apprehension and disdain. He wanted the bomb defused but he knew there were risks in trying to neutralise it.

“And what the fuck is he going to do?” he said – his tone almost shrill.

Turner did not reply.

Bracken turned back to the briefcase.

He took a deep, purposeful breath.

“I’m going to have to drill into the side to get a better look at the locking mechanism – I need to know if it’s been tampered with – we won’t be able to open the case if it has.”

The Lieutenant turned to the leather bag next to him and pulled out a cordless drill. He fumbled inside his bag looking for the right drill bit.

“This is it,” he said as he locked the chosen bit into place.

As Bracken brought the drill down closer to the briefcase he heard a voice behind him.

“That’s as far as you go with that, Lieutenant.”

He turned around.

Harding stood there in the middle of the train looking down at the man holding the cordless drill.

“I’ve got this,” Bracken interjected.

“Sergeant,” Harding turned to Turner, “Has the President called you?”

“Yes,” came the reply.

“Then you know that I have complete command over this situation.”

“Yes I do,” replied the Sergeant.

Harding took a moment.

“Stand down Lieutenant,” he ordered as he turned back to Bracken, “this situation is now under CIA command.”

“But I can disarm this!”

“Let it go, Lieutenant – you have your orders.”

Bracken released a deep sigh and stood up. He turned to Harding.

“Fine - have it your way, Harding – let’s see what you can do with it.”

Harding walked past the Lieutenant and knelt in front of the briefcase.

“Sergeant, clear this carriage – I want every man out of here now,” he said

“You heard the man,” replied Sergeant Turner, “Let’s go, people - let’s clear this area!”