1.Did the bombs go off?
No.
By 4 p.m. Friday afternoon, Dec. 23, everybody on the east coast (Phyllis too) was assembled in Westport in various states of amazement at the successes, both in Vancouver and at the meeting with the District Attorney, and plans were made for Christmas Eve Day, suspected to be the day of the twin bombings. Skip said the FBI wanted him at Bureau Chief Stover’s side by 3 p.m. Stover had called earlier. Stover also told Skip that Gordy had agreed to voluntarily turn himself into the U.S. Marshalls and was in a plane winging towards New York. For a fleeting moment, Skip imagined Susie would also be winging her way east – he was surprised that this thought was accompanied by the tiniest of tugs at his heart string. Skip also reported that Stover wanted “the Rumpkins” to stay put in Westport – not come into the City tomorrow.
“But what about the deal you made that we’re part of the press conference?” Patty asked.
“Yeah, I know,” Skip said, “but Stover basically told me it was more a request than a command. So long as I can tell him precisely where you are at all times, the Fibbie, who would be tailing you, would just follow, but not stop you from coming to attend any press conference.”
“Wait,” Rocky said, “we need three vehicles in the City: The Land Yacht, Huck’s rental, and Phyllis’ – keep our options open.”
“Why would we need any options?” Sally asked.
Patty jumped in: “We’ve only got one thing to do tomorrow. We don’t have to be sleuths or cops or informants or rescuers or anything. We just have to make sure we come out the heroes! Be in the vicinity, so we can make the media conference – if there is one. Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. Here’s what I’ve got outlined for Rumpkins Guerilla Theatre Skit Three . . . ”
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At 3 p.m., on Christmas Eve, the Rumpkins headed into the City. Skip and Steve had already left in Huck’s rental car to meet up with Stover. The Land Yacht left with Max, Huck and Patty. Sure enough, the FBI agent followed the Yacht and didn’t notice Phyllis’s car when it left a few minutes later with Rocky and Phyllis at the wheel. Sally had decided to stay back: “My Patty Hearst days are behind me,” Sally said. “I’ll be here at ‘headquarters’ in case you guys get split up or need help – just call in – and keep me posted.” Skip said he’d call Sally as soon as he knew the media conference details and then Sally could text everybody.
At precisely 3 p.m. on December 24, Skip arrived at FBI headquarters wearing a new hat “Keep America Going FORWARD.” Gordy Ettinger was already there. Skip said to Gordy, “Good to see you, sir. You are doing a great service for your country,” making sure Stover and his army of special agents could hear. “Thanks to you, Mr. Ettinger, tonight we’re stopping a terrorist attack, and cracking a sex trafficking ring – Time magazine should have waited before picking Man of the Year.”
Indeed, Gordy was looking good. Skip remembered him from three months earlier as a bit shaggy, but he’d cleaned up and was wearing a sports coat. Skip noticed, however, he couldn’t quite shed that rough, creased look that comes from too much brooding, too many cigarettes, not to mention time in prison.
When lo and behold! In walked Susie! . . . and Joey . . . and another surprise – Shadya Warsame was brought in, in the custody of U.S. and Canadian Marshalls.
Skip gave Susie a big hug. She felt that certain chemistry and wanted to kiss him.
“Thanks for getting me that lawyer,” Shadya said. “You know I had no idea these guys were into mass murder. Killing Abdul maybe, but . . . well, I’m glad to be of some help.”
“Okay,” Stover said, “enough chit chat. We’ve got surveillance cameras trained on every car entering Manhattan on the bridges or through the tunnels. The subways are posted with cops and as many facial recognition cameras we could muster in 24 hours. You guys keep your eyes peeled for Jane and for Dougherty, aka Rafferty. Especially you Gordy, you know what they both look like, and we don’t have a mug shot of Jane. Susie, you went on a date with Dougherty, I hear. Joey, I know you don’t think you’ve ever met him, but maybe you’ve seen him without being introduced. You keep your eyes peeled too. We’ve had an APB since noon yesterday, but no sightings. We’ve got every bomb sniffing dog in the States of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut going through warehouses in Brooklyn, but we’re moving the dogs to the perimeters around St. Pat’s and Rockefeller Center. Gordy, God damn it, you better be right about this. No last word from your mole?”
“The person I flipped has been straight with me on everything so far. Nothing’s for sure, but it’s all we’ve got,” Gordy said.
“Okay. For the rest of you, here are the best photos and sketches we’ve got. Dougherty’s old mug shots from the ‘70s – and here’s an artist rendition of how Susie says he looks now. Aged quite a bit, hasn’t he? In case Furbush is around, here’s his mug shot – from that trial. Wish to hell you guys had some way of tracking these suckers. None of those numbers from your cell led to anything, Gordy.”
“And we’ve got monitors over here,” Stover continued, pointing to another wall in the war room. “Nobody’s getting within 50 feet of our two perimeters without showing up on one of those cameras. Glue your eyes on that wall as we get closer to 5:30. At 5:30 we go into immediate evacuation mode – both places – and seal off this entire damn island. Nobody’s leaving without going through a security check. If they make it here, they won’t make it out. We’ve got better border security here than we have, should I say? – at our northern border.”
Skip interrupted, “The Rumpkins have flown the coop! . . . just kidding Chief. But the Land Yacht is heading to Columbus Circle and parking, until I let them know where to proceed for the press conference. And, apparently, they outsmarted your guy, who was supposed to tail us. We’ve got two in a 2014 Toyota Corolla, PA license plate BGD 911 (no kidding), just cruising around Times Square, until I say otherwise.”
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Killing time, driving around midtown Manhattan, four o’clock, five o’clock, trying to keep the mood light, Rocky was in Phyllis’ car regaling Phyllis with some of his favorite stories.
“To heck with all these old stories, Phyllis,” Rocky said, looking at his watch. “We’ve got the biggest mother-fuckin’-thing any of us have ever been part of going down in what, 20 minutes, and half of New York could be blown to smithereens, and here I am telling stories about my past . . .”
Seconds later, Sally called, breathless with the news: “A bomb has exploded somewhere up by Yankee Stadium, near a water treatment plant! Skip says no one knows if it’s connected or not.”
At that very moment, Rocky points to a car with Montana license plates pulling over to the curb and exclaims, “God-damn it! That’s him! That’s Furbush driving! I recognize him from his trial! Let me out! Phyllis! Tell them I’m on foot heading west on 42nd just a block east of Times Square following some guy who looks like Dougherty! You stay put. Follow Furbush if he takes off!” And indeed, Furbush (if it was Furbush) stayed in park while the other male (maybe Dougherty) started out towards Times Square, with a heavy backpack on his back and a furtive look.
“Oh my God,” Phyllis said, “I’m calling the cops!”
“No,” Rocky said, “we’ve still got 16 . . . 15 . . . minutes ‘til it’s supposed to blast. We don’t want to startle these guys yet.”
And that turned out to be the right move because right at Broadway, just under the three-story red Target sign, whoever it was set the backpack down on a chair and continued walking, picking up his pace.
Meanwhile, back at the war room, things hadn’t proceeded quite as planned.
Nobody had spotted the suspects entering the borough of Manhattan or in the borough of Manhattan. It was just about the time to put the evacuation plan into effect, when someone shouts, “There he is! In the Muslim robe and Kufi hat! Where are those bomb-sniffing dogs!”
And sure enough, looking at one of the monitors, this guy approaches the big Rockefeller Center Christmas tree with something wrapped as a present, and, just as quickly, a swat team has him on the ground, ready to shoot, but one of the cops radios, “There’s nothing in this package! It’s empty! It’s a ruse! Look out for somewhere else!”
Already half the team had raced off to the Bronx by the treatment plant, actually Randall’s Island, and now another squad was racing to the door, when Stover, with sweat beads pouring down his face yells, “Look Mother Fuckers – he’s right – it’s a diversionary tactic . . . stick to your stations!”
And just exactly then, Phyllis calls Skip: “Dougherty has been spotted! Rocky is following him on foot!” and Skip yells, “Stover, it’s gong to be Times Square! Clear that area!”
Back at Times Square, Rocky is racing for the chair where the back pack was placed screaming, “There’s a bomb! There’s a bomb! Call 9-1-1!” and people started scattering fast. But Phyllis, acting on impulse – had already called the cops and all sorts of cops were in the area immediately. “There he goes!” Rocky shouted to the first cop he saw, pointing to the end of the block, “The bomber! That guy running fast! He’s getting away!”
Only then Rocky realized the bomb he was holding in his hand was vibrating, ticking he thought! But again, almost immediately, a bomb squad was on the scene, and a guy leans out the bomb squad window saying, “Easy does it partner. Just hold steady, we got a robot arm coming out the door here . . . Just stay steady . . . We’ll take it out of your hands and get it inside the detonation chamber in no time . . . juuuustt . . . a . . . second now.” And they did.
There was hardly any citizenry left around Times Square for the cops to clear. Just Rocky, the cops, and, a few minutes later, in hand-cuffs, a person later positively identified by Susie as our “John Dougherty.” (Really “Jamie Rafferty,” Gordy said when identifying him, “my old cellmate.”)
Meanwhile, Phyllis, even as she was calling the cops with one hand, was steering with the other, as Furbush (not yet identified as Furbush) pulled away from the curb. Her adrenalin pumping, she was in contact with Skip: “The Montana car is speeding away, heading to FDR Drive . . . (pause) . . . OK, the cops are after him . . . (pause) . . . I see they’ve set up a roadblock . . . (pause) . . . Oh My God! He’s turned the wrong way onto an exit ramp! Holy Christ, he’s crashed into the wall . . . (pause) . . . They’ve got him.” “Him” was positively identified later as Furbush by Susie and Joey.