A RECORD BREAKING CELEBRATION, the Republican National Convention was underway, the final evening. New York City was playing host once again, Madison Square Garden the venue. The mayor had pulled out all stops to ensure safety, security, and festivities. Security was indeed very tight. More than two hundred twenty million dollars - a record, had been spent on safeguards. The alert levels had been increased to their highest, and the days leading up to the kickoff were tension filled. More than half a million protestors let their voices be heard - a record. Two thousand one hundred twenty people were arrested - a record. New York City’s Hercules Teams, more than ten thousand five hundred cops in full riot gear and with automatic weapons, patrolled the streets and subways - a record. There were minor foolish skirmishes, but no riots.
Along with bomb-sniffing dogs, brand new technologies were deployed, including Stoichiometric diagnostic devices that detect specific chemical compositions such as radioactive particles and other explosives. Able to penetrate metal, concrete, or virtually any dense material, the detectors being use by Homeland Security had an accuracy rate greater than ninety eight percent. There had been no bombings. It was the final hours of the last day, and soon all could breathe a sigh of relief.
“The Garden party” had run very smoothly inside the convention walls, as forty-five speakers had stood on the podium to deliver speeches over the course of four days and nights. Some speeches were dull, the speakers robotic. Other speeches were feisty, attacking. Then there were the dramatic speakers, imbued to biblical quotations, evangelical in their delivery. Finally, there were the visionaries, speakers that rallied the masses, emboldening and challenging the Americans to tackle the future head on, without ducking.
Senator Taylor P. Cox, the junior senator from Virginia, was an exceptional orator, adept at communication, and fell into the category of visionary. He rallied the Republican troops, and the Tea Party faithful, the Independents too, a speaker whose knack for vocal expression topped all during the four days leading up to the acceptance speech by the presidential nominee. His eloquence was highlighted in a defining moment when he laid out his vision for the continued war on terrorism using forty words:
“As Americans we must help all those who ask for our help; vigorously defend our shores, borders, and way of life; show magnanimity and benevolence to those who hate us; and without impunity, crush those who seek to destroy us.”
The final ten words got the approval of the delegates and conventioneers, who if not already standing, leapt to their feet, erupting into ovation, one that lasted five minutes. “Cox for VP” signs filled the Garden. He knew he was at the top of the short list.
The call came to his hotel suite at the Marriott Marquis one hour before the nominee’s acceptance speech. Taylor Cox was looking out the window at Times Square. His aide answered the cell phone, handing it to the senator. He listened for one minute without an utterance to the man on the other end of the connection, a person he respected, greatly admired, a former Navy man to boot, and one not given to prattle. At the end of the minute, almost to the second, he was asked a question, an easy one for him. “Taylor, I want you on my ticket – how bout it?”
“Thank you sir, and I accept,” Taylor Cox answered without hesitation.
“Good man, see ya.”
The new Republican ticket stood on the podium amidst the jubilation and confetti, hands joined, arms raised, their families and closest supporters surrounding them, full of patriotism, full of pride. Next came an event that all law enforcement had the most concern for, a fireworks display over the East River rivaled only by the fourth of July. Thirty minutes and sixty thousand stunning explosions, including comet bursts, glittering bursts, and flickering bursts, followed by the grand finale. A million people would be on hand to watch from balconies, rooftops, Battery Park in Manhattan, Liberty Park in Jersey City, from Brooklyn, and on Roosevelt Island. For security reasons, delegates, and conventioneers would watch from giant screens inside Madison Square Garden, the running mates however, would be whisked by motorcade from the Garden to Battery Park, arriving on a stage moments before the grand finale. There the candidates would deliver more rousing speeches to all gathered at the Battery, and those watching on TV. The plan called for coordination between the Secret Service, FBI, the Air National Guard, air traffic control, and local law enforcement, the details worked out well in advance. The fireworks would begin at 10:00 PM.
* * * *
HANIF ZAR WALI, now going by the name of Martin De La Vega, disembarked from the pyrotechnics barge two hours before it was towed to the East River. His work for the time being was done. The load heavier than usual, he’d used a crane to carefully lift the last container of fireworks, part of the grand finale. Final checking the container, he had paid particular attention to one sensor attached to a shell; a sensor ultimately controlled by a pyrotechnician using a fireworks master control board. Martin was confident it would perform flawlessly, but only on his command, not the technician’s. Ensuring its wires were securely connected, he covered the sensor, protecting it from the elements, and went ashore.
When routine pyrotechnic sensors receive electrical impulses, matches on the fireworks shells are ignited, detonating lift charges and launching the pyrotechnic shells hundreds of feet into the air. This independent sensor however, did something very different. Martin would use a hand-held metal box, when opened, revealed a digital remote control that safely sent an impulse to the sensor. At exactly 10:30 PM Martin would press a button on the remote sending the desired signal. When the sensor received the command impulse it would launch the remaining shells of the grand finale, and a split second later fire a uranium bullet down a six-foot barrel hidden inside the container. The bullet would impact a uranium sphere and generator inside a tamper cover, compressing the subcritical masses together, initiating a fission reaction.
Despoina was in a van expecting her brother any moment. He was on time. Together they drove away taking the New Jersey turnpike south, stopping at a rest area. They waited. At precisely 10:30 PM her brother opened the box and pushed the button.
