~*~
Frank looked out the window. A freighter had turned from the shipping lanes and was heading straight towards the Secretariat building. “Get out,” he yelled into the phone. “Head across Tudor Village; keep the buildings between you and the UN. Stay out of the streets; the blast might channel through the lower floors of the Secretariat and straight up the cross streets.” He looked over Jess who had approached the window. She turned pale, then left to find the security officer.
“Elle, get as far away as you can, as fast as you can. I love you.” He hung up and ran after Jess, finding her in the hallway with the security detail. Herman Brecker was there and he moved over to Frank.
“We won’t have time to get you out,” he said simply, his German accent more pronounced under the tension. “You’re probably safer up here, even considering the risk of the building toppling over into the river. If we go down now, we’ll just get to the ground floor in time for the detonation.”
“You’re probably right, Herm.” Why does everyone change their accents when they sing or get stressed? he wondered irrelevantly.
“Major,” Herman interrupted the conversation with Jess. “How far out are the fighters?”
“Ten minutes.”
“This’ll be over in six,” He responded. “We need to get those tanks re-deployed from the roadblocks to the bank of the East River.” He saw the glimmer of understanding in the officer’s eyes and he laid out the plan. “They need to load HE and fire on the ship’s bridge. If we can cripple her controls, she might drift back out into the current before detonating.”
The major relayed the plan over his radio and they all ran back to Frank’s office to see if it would have any effect. The ship was angled towards them from the channel running between Roosevelt Island and Manhattan. It looked as if it would lay alongside the river bank before detonating. A sudden dull thudding noise caused them all to crane their necks to the left. The closest M1 Abrams main-battle-tank had reached the bank from its post at 1st and East 47th and had opened fire on the ship with its 120mm main gun.
The round entered through the starboard bridge wing and detonated somewhere in the middle of the bridge, sending a fireball of steel and glass out across the cargo area of the vessel. A few seconds later, a second round went in slightly lower, punching up to detonate closer to the wing.
Almost simultaneously, a second tank began to fire from farther downstream, striking the bridge from a more direct angle. The rate of firing increased as the remainder of the unit brought their vehicles into firing positions. Their secondary armament of .50 caliber machine guns kept up a continuous bass chatter, chewing the flimsy bridge structure to pieces.
The ship finally failed to answer her helm; no mechanical or electrical connections could survive that kind of pounding and she began to crab sideways back out into the river. Everyone in the room looked down at their watches; less than one minute left.