"Boom!"
A brilliant mushroom cloud rolled into the sky, its glow visible across much of Manhattan. Car alarms blared in a chaotic chorus throughout the streets.
Danny, bracing himself on his elbows against the ground, trembled slightly. As a veteran, he instinctively adopted the proper prone position to avoid the blast. This posture, similar to a plank, kept his chest elevated from the ground, minimizing the impact of shockwaves traveling through the earth that could otherwise fatally damage internal organs.
Debris carried by the shockwave pelted the patrol car Danny had driven, making sharp, metallic sounds. Despite being over 600 meters away, the heat wave from the explosion was palpable, reminding everyone just how close they had been to the epicenter.
Jack scrambled to his feet, brushing shards of glass off his clothes. Ignoring the stinging cuts, he opened the shattered rear door of the patrol car and dragged a still-dazed Danny inside.
Moments later, the car's roof was bombarded by falling debris—remnants of the ambulance and rubble flung into the air by the blast, now returning to earth under gravity's pull.
Jack had experienced bomb detonations before, but this was his first time witnessing a mushroom cloud. It was a pity it was nighttime, he thought; in daylight, the sight would have been awe-inspiring.
With a sharp "click," Danny lit a cigar, the acrid scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. Inhaling deeply, he felt transported back to the battlefields of Afghanistan, his PTSD almost triggered.
The brief calm that followed was soon disrupted by the wailing of sirens. Dozens of fire trucks stationed nearby rushed into Central Park, spraying water over trees ignited by the explosion.
"This year, New Yorkers won't have a place for sunbathing or picnics. Bethesda Fountain is probably gone, too. I hope the animals at the zoo are okay. My sons are going to hate me for this," Danny muttered, staring at the blast site.
Jack shrugged. "Burns' and Columbus' statues probably didn't survive, either. Beethoven's might be fine, but the carousel is definitely going to need major repairs."
Danny smacked his forehead in frustration. "Good thing my kids are grown up. Sean used to insist on riding that carousel every week before he turned five."
"Hopefully, no homeless people got hurt," Jack said, exhaling a smoke ring. His pounding heart was finally beginning to settle.
The NYPD had done an excellent job. By the time Jack drove the explosive-laden ambulance into Central Park, the officers had already evacuated the area and designated a section for the detonation, minimizing potential damage.
The chosen site was a small, flat grassy area known as Sheep Meadow—a favorite spot for New Yorkers to picnic and sunbathe from May to October.
As Jack barreled through the southern gate of Central Park in the ambulance, Danny was already there, signaling and leading the way with his patrol car.
The two vehicles arrived at Sheep Meadow in tandem. Jack jumped out of the ambulance and dove into Danny's patrol car. Without hesitation, they sped off, taking cover behind a small hill just before the explosion.
The entire process wasn't as cinematic as a Hollywood action movie, but it was terrifying enough. That night, the deafening blast likely woke countless New Yorkers from their sleep. The falling debris would surely damage countless trees and gardens.
Jack hadn't driven the ambulance into the lake, Hudson River, or onto a pier to plunge into the sea—scenes that might work in a movie—because the vehicle's speed was simply too slow. Even if he had jumped out at the last moment, he wouldn't have escaped the blast radius.
C4 is known for its stability; it supposedly won't detonate even when burned. But Jack had only seen part of the setup. Who knew if the rest included less stable explosives like oxidizing chemicals?
A single 155mm artillery shell contains about 10 kilograms of TNT, with a blast radius of over 50 meters on open ground. Even without considering the shrapnel, the shockwave alone could destroy lightly armored targets within three meters or collapse brick walls within ten meters.
If the ambulance had hit the water at high speed and detonated upon impact, Jack wouldn't have known what hit him.
A convoy of Suburbans followed the NYPD vehicles into Central Park. FBI agents piled out, and Hannah, like a frightened deer, threw herself into Jack's arms, holding him tightly. Jessica, trailing behind, wasn't as outwardly emotional but wore an expression of quiet longing.
Jack sighed and pulled her into the hug, making Danny's eyes widen in disbelief.
After comforting his two companions, Jack didn't have time to say much before Emily approached with a mischievous grin, planting several lipstick marks on his face. Even their usually composed boss couldn't resist giving him a big hug.
"We should leave here soon," Rossi said, remaining the calmest person at the scene. He gestured toward the long line of vehicles approaching in the distance. Helicopters could already be heard overhead—police choppers as well as those from various news stations.
"Commissioner Reagan, the mayor, and some other big names are probably on their way. But Reagan, you'll need to stay. New York City needs a hero to put on display."
"Me?" Danny pointed at himself, bewildered. He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. He still didn't fully understand what had happened, but with half of Central Park destroyed, he felt like an accomplice.
"Just tell the truth. After all, you risked your life too, didn't you? But Jack probably wouldn't want you to mention his name," Rossi said, opening the driver's side door of a Suburban and volunteering to take the wheel for once.
"Honestly, I wish the FBI would use a wider variety of vehicles. Why are they always black SUVs, and why is it always Suburbans?" Jack, sitting in the back seat, found himself nestled between two warm presences on either side. His mind wandered as the aftermath of the ordeal hit him. He tried to distract himself by striking up a conversation.
"What do you mean?" Dana Moje, sitting in the front passenger seat, seemed unfazed by the scene of three people embracing earlier or their current cozy arrangement.
"Hotchner and Joanna's attack seems to have been incidental. The attackers were targeting federal agents in general, not them specifically. Unfortunately, Suburbans with federal plates are too conspicuous."
Jack's attempt at distraction wasn't entirely aimless.
The plotters had predetermined the location—ensuring the nearest hospital was St. Barclay's—but their victims were chosen randomly. Any federal agent would suffice, whether from the FBI, DHS, or even NSA. St. Barclay's was under Secret Service lockdown, accessible only to federal personnel.
Even if someone other than Jack had been driving, as long as the vehicle carried an injured federal agent, it would have sufficed. The conspirators had even prepared nitroglycerin to simulate a life-threatening condition, leaving little to chance.
Hotchner and Joanna had simply been unlucky. Their government-plated Suburban made them an obvious target.
After 20 minutes, Jack reentered the command center amid cheers and applause. The crowd rose to their feet in a salute, leaving him awkwardly shuffling in place. Once Hotchner had returned from the hospital, he gathered everyone in a small office to review the incident in detail and confirm the final pieces of the puzzle.
(End of Chapter)
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