Promise Me

1: The Woman at City Hall

THE SIREN SOUNDED AT the New York State Police’s Bomb Disposal Unit (BDU) headquarters. The sound every bomb disposal expert secretly liked to hear, but dreaded at the same time.

They trained every day on disarming and disposing of bombs so were keen to show their mettle. Earn their battle scars. Show what they’re made of and prove themselves. But then, it’s the sort of job where one wrong move could mean disablement or death.

Members of the Bomb Squad quickly dropped everything and gathered around the front desk. ‘This is not an exercise, people.’ The State Police’s Deputy Superintendent himself was there to address them. A Colonel in the NYSP, Edgar Holleran was a twenty-year veteran of the Force. His demeanour as he stood in the middle of the room waiting for everyone’s full attention indicated there was serious trouble brewing.

‘There’s a bomb strapped to the chest of a woman, wearing a wedding gown, outside City Hall,’ he said.

‘Is there a Thomas Steel here?’

Someone raised his hand, ‘That’s me,’ he said.

Holleran cast an eye on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal expert. Thomas ‘Easy’ Steel’s reputation preceded him. His nickname, Easy, was bestowed on him by fellow cadets at bomb school. According to legend, he was so easy going, he was almost horizontal even when defusing a live bomb. They often joked that he had no pulse.

But to his wife he was and would always be ‘Tommy.’ To old friends and acquaintances, and people who knew him outside of the Force, he was ‘Thomas’ or ‘Tom.’

‘The call came into my office two minutes ago. The caller said, and I quote, Thomas Steel must attend to it. You were named specifically with the additional threat that if someone else tries to disarm the bomb, he’ll trigger it. That’s it for now. Go! Save that woman.’

The BDU is responsible for disarming improvised explosive devices, recovered military ordnance and commercial explosives and overseeing fireworks throughout the upstate area, the portion lying north of New York City.

This particular incident should, technically, be a job for NYPD Bomb Squad, since it was occurring on their patch, but as the bomber was specific in his demand, NYSP would take the lead in this case. In saving lives, jurisdiction played second fiddle, as it should.

The Colonel passed the baton on to Sergeant Dylan Lane, who said snappily, ‘Let’s go, guys.’ His men and two women were already getting into their bullet-proof bomb squad vans, ready to rock and roll.

THE THREAT WAS A SERIOUS worry for all. Just three minutes had elapsed since the drama unfolded and already the world's eyes were on New York City and this unfortunate woman.

The iconic New York City Hall is in one of the busiest places on earth. The area around it is referred to as the Civic Center, which is smack bang in the middle of Lower Manhattan, between Broadway, Park Row, and Chambers Street.

Most of the Civic Center consists of government offices, City, State and Federal. There are also many upscale residential dwellings converted from old buildings, not to mention architectural landmarks like St. Paul’s Chapel, St. Peter’s Church, the Woolworth Building, the Tweed Courthouse, the Manhattan Municipal Building, and the Park Row Building. The list goes on!

The bomber couldn't have picked a more visible location to make his point.

THEY ARRIVED AT CITY HALL in a scene that resembled the start of a parade. People were four to five-deep in sections. They looked up and saw people practically clinging off roofs’ overhangs. They could only shake their heads.

Uniformed police had managed to secure a wide perimeter to get the many nosy parkers with selfie sticks from harm’s way. Evacuation of surrounding buildings was still in progress, but this was not their concern; this was where NYPD came in, and they would do a quick job of it.

Members of the Bomb Squad stood from a safe distance quietly observing. A uniformed officer gave them a short briefing, ‘She hasn’t moved an inch in fifteen minutes. We’re not sure if she can’t or won’t.’

‘Who phoned it in?’ said Steel.

‘It was an anonymous caller, who said a woman was strapped with a chest bomb, and he demanded Thomas Steel defuse it. I was sent to confirm whether it was a genuine threat or a hoax. I think it’s genuine.’

‘You think?’ asked Steel, his brow furrowing in uncharacteristic contempt.

‘She wouldn’t let me come near, kept repeating, Don’t. He’ll detonate the bomb. She’s absolutely terrified.’

Steel patted the officer on the shoulder, ‘Thanks, buddy. Looks like this job is cut out for me.’

He put on his Kevlar vest, then took a deep breath. The other paraphernalia could wait; first, he had to determine the type of bomb the lowlife had attached to the poor woman; whatever he put on next would depend on what it was.

He walked towards her confidently but felt his knees buckle when he came face-to-face with his wife. She was wearing her wedding gown. Made to wear it.

Bianca’s face was streaked with tears, mascara staining her fair skin. She tried to smile at him, raised her hands from her side. They were shaking. He took hold of them, caressed and kissed them. Sweat was pouring out of her although it was a cool day, leaving a dark, wet patch on her white satin and lace gown.

People at the scene were riveted at what they were witnessing, until Lane said, ‘It’s Bianca.’

‘Who’s Bianca?’ asked one of the forensic technicians.

‘His wife.’

STEEL WAS SHOCKED.

Who could do this to her?

He was determined not to be beaten by fear, but fear was so overwhelming, it threatened his belief in himself. For once, he feared that he might fail to defuse this bomb.

The first thing Bianca said to him was, ‘I love you, Thomas Steel.’

‘I love you Bianca Florentine Steel.’

Then, she said, ‘Whatever happens, promise me you’ll live. If you can’t defuse it, promise me you’ll walk away. Promise me.’

He couldn’t speak. Sweat and tears rolled down his face.

2: Four Hours Earlier

BIANCA PLAYFULLY KICKED her husband under the blanket. ‘Your turn,’ she said in a whisper.

He let out a sleepy ‘Hmm?’ He was pretending to be asleep, but he wasn’t fooling her.

‘Your turn,’ she said again, this time, she pulled the blanket off him.

It generated a reaction, he turned around and looked at her with squinty eyes, ‘My turn to do what?’

‘Feed the dogs.’

April and May, named after the months they were adopted, were outside their bedroom door making a fuss. He was silent for a minute wondering how on earth these two still slept inside the house when he, at great expense and considerable effort, built them a dog mansion. It was out there in the backyard, a barren symbol of his love and devotion to them.

He turned to Bianca, ‘I have a better idea,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘let’s get rid of them.’

She pouted.

‘I’d get rid of you before I get rid of them,’ she said.

‘What did you just say?’.

‘Nothing.’

She rolled out of bed, looking alluringly bedraggled if there was such a thing. She was about to head for the door when she felt a sharp tug on the edge of her nightdress, his old T-shirt, and heard him say, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

She fell back on the bed; he quickly straddled her, ‘You’re not getting rid of me, ever.’

Upon hearing his voice, April, the German-Shepherd, and May, the Yorkshire terrier, got all excited. Turning towards the closed door, he shouted, ‘Shut up’ which excited the dogs even more. She laughed at him, and he smiled at her.

‘What will I get if I feed them?’ He asked. She played with strands of his curly hair, glanced at the time and suggestively said, ‘Tonight.’

Losing the smile, he said, ‘What’s wrong with now?’

‘It’s six. You need to be out of here by seven or else...’

He tilted his head back and groaned, struggling to contain his arousal. Just to torture him, Bianca pulled him towards her and licked his lips.

‘That’s very naughty, Mrs Steel.’

She laughed and pushed him off.

‘Go, have a cold shower. I’ll feed them.’

Half an hour later, he joined her in the kitchen and helped himself to a bowl of cereal, which he drowned in a quarter litre of milk.

‘What are you up to, today Munchkin?’

Her eyes twinkled.

‘I’ve been invited to a reception at City Hall. The City is honouring some of the best forensic scientists in the State.’

He stared at her. Reading his mind, she smiled, ‘No silly... not me. But Imogen Suzuki, my boss. I’m just a tag-along.’

‘And a beautiful one,’ he said as he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I better get going. Need to set a good example for the kids.’ Steel was referring to the three newbies in his team. Not the dogs.

3: Not Just another Day at the Office

HE ARRIVED AT HQ AT eight in the morning for a 09:00 start. Sergeant Dylan Lane was already in, no surprises there. All along, it had been suspected that the Fearless Leader had a hidey hole somewhere in the building.

‘Coffee, Sarge?’

‘That would be nice,’ Lane replied with a smirk.

From behind, Steel produced a cup of Starbucks’ cappuccino. Lane smiled, genuinely, this time.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

Steel sat, stretched his long legs out, and clasped his hands behind his head. Evidently, he was grateful for a chance to have a relaxed chinwag with the Boss.

Lane fired the first question, ‘You’ve been a Team Leader for three months now. So, what do you think?’

Steel leaned forward to tap the table with his long fingers before answering.

‘I like it.  Don’t know why I didn’t fight to get it years ago.  I’d have been promoted to your position by now,’ he said, his trademark grin stretching his face.

‘Don’t get too ambitious, Easy,’ Lane said, adding, with a poker-face, ‘I just finished writing a report on your first quarter performance. Just wrote here that you have no idea. No idea at all.’

Steel gaped at Lane, not daring to draw breath.

His superior