THE call for calm that the networks mostly kept replaying that night was Isabel’s, not the official candidates’ nor even President Joe Biden’s, his own beamed from Air Force One, since he was mid-flight on his way back from a G20 meeting in Bonn when it happened.
Foster, who was until then poised as the clear winner would spend the next three weeks clambering back from his slapstick debacle.
Hank’s performance would largely absolve his involvement in the safety code violations causing the Railcar nightclub fire and more, turn him into a mildly heroic figure.
And Isabel? Once again, she demonstrated her calibre; that she stood high above the others, with the mettle and the stature—though not the legal status—to lead the nation.
DESPITE Isabel’s soothing message, by 10:30 PM Manhattan’s 1.7 million residents, and the million commuters still stuck there were sagging. Not even the news that President Biden was diverting his flight to New York did much to lift spirits.
Around countless kitchen tables, hands were gratefully clasped. Bars and cafés were full, but hushed. Houses of worship across the nation, of all faiths, were open and overflowed. And parks and streets and neighbourhoods were alive with voices and restrained singing.
Midnight drew closer. A glittering sea of candles being waved aloft flickered across the city. Hundreds of thousands of citizens spilled out of their apartment buildings and out of Central Park and filled the grid, washing slowly down Broadway, Sixth Avenue, Park Avenue, as though sucked, toward the Twin Towers memorial. Police helicopters shone their spotlight beams over the crowds, not in search but respect. Arms locked in arms.
Manhattan’s heart was beating back at the dark, refusing to die.
Behind all this, emergency services were tallying the damage and the casualties. Remarkably, despite the mass panic, and the hundreds of commuters who had been admitted to hospitals suffering bruises, cuts, shock and, in numerous cases, fractured ribs or limbs, there had still been only four fatalities directly attributable to the panic, apart from the five Muslim men in Strawberry Mansion and six seniors who suffered heart attacks after hearing the news.
One of the direct fatalities had been crushed to death at the 42nd Street subway station. The brave Maxine Powers.
HANK phoned Isabel, before the press got hold of it, to let her know that Karim Ahmed was one of the dead terrorists. He was surprised that she already knew, but he had bigger things to worry about, so he rang off.
“Ahmed got his just desserts,” Ed continued, “for what he did to you alone.” But what caught Ed a little short was that for the first time, Isabel agreed with him about Karim. No more defending him, nor dredging up spurious excuses for his behaviour.
Ed rubbed the stubble on his cheek, wondering what made her change her mind.
39
NAKED, DIANA TWISTED around and preened in front of her mirror. Her get-up as a dishevelled Philly drunk in the gutter had been good, but this was better. Squinting for one last careful inspection, she was satisfied every scrape of body paint was gone; it had been harder to remove than she’d expected. Her new sidekick, Daniel, had done too good a job applying it in the hard-to-get-to places, but then he seemed to be enjoying it.
“Perfectly executed,” Isis had said. Like Jax had been, finally, though Diana didn’t want to remind herself about that. She crooked her freshly shaved and moisturised leg over the lip of the bathtub and as she started to repaint her toenails, she mentally walked back through the operation:
Tuesday night, 2100 hours: Check equipment. Complete attire and make-up.
Wednesday, 0100 hours: Diana and Daniel drop in Philadelphia, two blocks north of suspect row house.
0115: Fix small (but loud) explosive canister under burnt-out abandoned car one block north, to be activated remotely later.
0130: Arrive at suspect house. (Even for the vagrant she had role-played, this was a filthy hovel; she shuddered just thinking about it and smudged a toenail.)
0131: Enter and check all rooms—Daniel upstairs, Diana downstairs. Find four men asleep in bedrooms and on sofas. Surprise one man hunched over on toilet, and pop him with a jab from a Clip’n’Drip pack. Pop the remaining men. Pocket all the used Clip’n’Drip packs. Forced sleep for all five men for eight hours straight. Dress all five of them. Another spasm of disgust… they were living like filthy pigs… and the guy squatting on the john… ugh! Carry them to the living room. (Daniel was useful.)
0150: Seat men according to plan: Karim Ahmed plus one at coffee table, three others under window. Plug laptop into wall socket and power up. Check wireless broadband link in full operation. Check and open links to subway video cameras. Check link to detonators. Remove weapons from carryalls and check ammunition magazines half-loaded. Place self-destructing bullet-launchers on inside of window casement facing street. Check loaded. Check remote sensor is operative.