Tom Colgan, the senior Intel guy, had been raised in Queens and now lived on Long Island. I’d known him for too long. We had a lot in common. He was from a classic Irish Catholic family and had four kids of his own.
Now he said, “So after this guy kicked your ass, he just disappeared into the crowd.”
I nodded. He had summed it up pretty well. Then I remembered when the truck plowed into the crowd and said, “He yelled something before he detonated the bomb in the truck. I didn’t recognize it.”
Colgan said, “Allahu Akbar?”
“No. I’ve heard that before. Frankly, I almost expected him to say that. But this was different.”
Colgan said, “They’re rounding up all the witnesses now. I’m sure more than a few people caught the whole thing on video.” He paused for a minute, then said, “Your family is okay, right?”
“They’re coming to meet me here in a little while.”
Colgan said, “I’m not kidding when I say I’m surprised someone was able to fight you off, then flee.”
“What can I say? The guy had skills.” I looked over and saw that Colgan had taken several pages of notes, including the description I’d already given him. The NYPD Intel detectives were some of the sharpest people I’d ever met. He had more information on two sheets of paper already than I take down on a whole case sometimes.
The uniformed sergeant, clearly a Brooklyn native with a long Italian name, got on the radio and gave out the limited description I had of the driver. He was clear and thorough. That’s exactly what we needed right now. A patrolman was going to drive me down to One Police Plaza to work with a sketch artist.
I could still hear sirens in the distance. Cops were everywhere. The parade was canceled, and everything in a two-block radius was closed off while the bomb squad made sure there were no other nasty surprises. It was complete mayhem.
This was not the Thanksgiving Day I had envisioned.
Chapter 7
I was together with my family by the time darkness fell. Other than when I was at police headquarters, I had been on the phone just about all day with one person or another from the NYPD. There were several still photographs of the bomber holding the detonator where you could see the kids and me in the background. One photo had already appeared on CNN and ABC.
CNN had named the attack “Holiday Terror.” The theme music had just a hint of Eastern influence. I wondered if that was intentional.
Even after seeing all the footage and the news that six were dead and twelve seriously injured, all I could think about was how much worse it could’ve been. I was standing there. I saw the crowds. Just the truck itself plowing into them could have killed twenty people, but the driver hadn’t been able to get to full speed, because he’d had to slow down to get around the dump truck that was blocking off the intersection. Thank God.
The bomb itself caused very little damage. Mainly it ripped apart the truck. The blast didn’t cause any additional injuries. Had the explosive been set properly and the blast spread out in every direction, the result would’ve been very different. Just the idea of it made me shudder. More than one witness interviewed thought it was a miracle the exploding truck didn’t kill many more.
Seamus said, “These people are taking it too lightly. It was miraculous. God did intervene.”
Fiona looked at her great-grandfather and said, “Why didn’t God stop the truck driver in the first place?” It was a simple question asked by an innocent girl, no trap or guile in it.
My grandfather turned and put his hand on Fiona’s cheek. “Because, dear girl, God gave man free will. It’s not something he can turn on and off.”
Fiona said, “I learned about free will at CCD. Does it basically mean we are responsible for the things we do?”
Seamus said, “Exactly.”
I noticed Trent frantically searching something on his phone. Recently he had been making a concerted effort to match his brother Eddie’s intellectual output. A tall task by any measure.
Trent said, “C. S. Lewis wrote, ‘Free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having.’” He turned and gave me a sly smile.
I chuckled and said, “Good job, Trent. Watch out or you might end up studying philosophy.”
Trent said, “Why do you say it like that? You studied philosophy.”
I wanted to say, “Look where that got me.” Instead, I just nodded and said, “And enjoyed every minute of it.”
Finally, we gathered for our Thanksgiving dinner. When we were all around the long table, with one chair left empty for Brian, as had become our custom, we joined hands and Seamus said grace.
“Thank you, God, for this family being safe after what they witnessed. I can ask no more of you at this moment. The fact that we are all here together makes everything else in life trivial. We thank you for your guidance and understanding as we humans try to figure things out.”
The old guy could still make his point in a quick and efficient way.