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'Yes.

"Thank you. We had to verify the call. Where will you be if you are

required later?"

"At the Christopher Columbus Hotel," Nancy said. "Where the hell else?"

She hung up.

The police lieutenant debated briefly with himself. He had established

that the call was genuine and not from a crank. But was the information

strong enough to justify emptying the city's biggest hotel, with

resultant chaos, in the middle of the night?

Normally, in the case of a bomb warning-the police received hundreds

every year-the procedure was to send an advance squad, consisting of a

sergeant and two or three patrolmen, to investigate. If they were

suspicious or found merit in the tip, they would phone the operations

center and emergency procedures would begin. (Radio communication was

never used at that stage for two reasons. One, if a bomb existed, a radio

signal might set it off. Two, since police radios were monitored by all

and sundry, the police sought to delay having press and spectators clog

the scene.)

But, if the report just received was genuine, the danger real, there was

insufficient time for normal methods.

In daytime, with emergency forces from the police and fire departments

working together, a big hotel like the Christopher Columbus could be

evacuated in half an hour. At night, however, it would take longer-an

hour if they were fast and lucky. Nighttime evacuation posed special

problems; there were always some heavy sleepers, drunks, skeptics,

illicit lovers unwilling to be discovered, all requiring room-byroom

checks and the use of passkeys.

But there wasn't an hour. The watch lieutenant glanced at the big digital

clock above him: 2:21 A.M. The newspaperwoman had said a bomb or bombs

might go off at 3 A.m. True? False? He wished to hell a more senior

officer could be briefed and make the judgment. No time for that either.

The lieutenant made the only decision be could, and ordered, "Start bomb

evacuation procedures-the Christopher Columbus Hotel."

A balf-dozen phones in the operations center went into use immediately.

Alarm calls were placed to central district police and fire units first;

fire trucks and all available police cars would roll at once. Next, calls

went directly to the police department's night commander and deputy fire

chief who, together, would direct the hotel evacuation. Si-

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multaneously, the police tactical unit, which included the bomb squad, was

being alerted; they would follow other forces quickly. After that: a call to

a nearby Army depot where an explosives ordnance squad would contribute

experts in bomb disarming. Police departments in neighboring municipalities

were asked to aid by rushing their bomb squads too. Ambulances-almost

certain to be needed-were summoned. Continuing to work down a list, major

law enforcement, fire, and city functionaries were notified, most aroused

from sleep at home.

The watch lieutenant was speaking by telephone with the night manager of

the Christopher Columbus. "We have a tip, which we believe to be authentic,

that bombs have been placed in your hotel. We recommend you evacuate

immediately. Police and fire units are on the way."

The word "recommend" was used advisedly. Technically, the lieutenant had no

authority to order evacuation; any such decision must be the hotel

management's. Fortunately, the night manager was neither a hairsplitter nor

a fool. "I'll sound the house alarms," he said, "and our staff will do

whatever you say."

Like a war machine set in motion, the command effect spread rapidly, each

component gathering momentum, each utilizing specialized techniques to

become part of a total effort. The action had already moved away from the

operations center, which would now become a conduit for reports. Meanwhile,

answers remained unknown to two vital questions. First: Would bomb

explosions occur at 3 A.M.? Second: Assuming they did, could the hotel be

effectively cleared in the remaining time-an all-too-inadequate thirty-six

minutes?

Tle suspense would be short-lived. The answers to both questions would be

known soon.

She had done her bit for humanity, Nancy Molineaux decided. Now she could

go back to being a newspaperwoman.

She was still in her apartment though getting ready to leave. In between

throwing on outdoor clothes hurriedly, Nancy phoned the Examiner's night

editor and gave him a fast rundown of what she had. As be asked quick

questions, she sensed his excitement at the prospect of a big, breaking

story.

"I'm going to the hotel," Nancy told him. "Then I'll come in to write." She

knew, without asking, that every available photographer would be dispatched

to the scene at once.

"Oh, one other thing," she told the night man. "I have two tape cassettes.

I bad to tell the police about them, and they're sure to be wanted as

evidence, which means they'll be impounded. Before that happens, we should

make copies."

They arranged that a messenger would meet Nancy at the hotel and collect

the tapes. From there he would rush them to the residence of

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the paper's entertainment editor, a hi-fi nut who had his own sound lab.

The entertainment writer was known to be at home and would be warned that

the tapes were on the way. The copies and a portable playback machine

would be in the newsroom, waiting, when Nancy got there.

Nancy had reached the outer door of her apartment, on the run, when she

remembered one more thing. Racing back to the phone, she dialed the

number of the Christopher Columbus Hotel, which she knew from memory.

When the operator answered, she instructed, "Give me Nimrod Goldman's

room."

In Nim's dream, the GSP & L electric system was in desperate crisis. One

by one, the system's generating stations had failed until only one

remained-La Mission No- 5, Big Lil. Then, exactly as happened last summer

on the day Walter Talbot died, the La Mission No- 5 panel at Energy

Control began emitting warning signals-flashing lights and a high-pitched

ringing. The lights diminished but the ringing persisted, filling all of

Nim's consciousness until he awoke and found the bedside telephone

shrilling. Sleepily, he reached out and picked it up.

"Goldman! Is that you, Goldman?"

Still only partially awake, he answered, "Yeah."

"This is Nancy Molineaux. Listen to mel"

41-Vao?"

"Nancy Molineaux, you idiot!"

Anger fought its way through sleep. "Molineaux, don't you know it's

the middle of the night . . . V,

"Shut up and listen! Goldman, get hold of yourself and come awake. You

and your family are in danger. Trust me . . ."

Raising himself on an elbow, Nim said, "I wouldn't trust you Then he

remembered what she had written yesterday, and stopped.

"Goldman, get your family out of that hotel! Now! Don't stop for

anythingi Bombs are going off."

Now he was wide-awake. "Is this some sick joke? Because if it is .

"It's no joke." There was pleading in Nancy's voice. "Ob, for Cbris-

sakes, believe me! Those Friends of Freedom bastards have planted

bombs disguised as fire extinguishers. Get your wife and kids . . ."

The words "Friends of Freedom" convinced him. Then he remembered the

hotel, jammed with conventioneers.

"What about other people?"

"The alarm's gone out. You get moving!"

"Right!"

"I'll see you outside the hotel," Nancy said, but Nim hadn't beard.

Instead he had slammed down the phone and was fiercely shaking Ruth.

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Only minutes later, with the children crying, sleepily bewildered, and

still in nightclothes, Nim rushed them from the suite. Ruth was right

behind. Nim headed for the emergency stairs, knowing enough to stay away

from elevators in a crisis in case they failed and occupants were trapped.

As they began the long journey down twenty-six flights, be could hear the

sound of sirens from outside, faint at first, then growing louder.

They were three floors down when fire alarm bells throughout the hotel

began ringing stridently.

There were acts of gallantry and heroism that night. Some passed unnoticed,

others were conspicuous.

Evacuation of the hotel proceeded swiftly and, for the most part, calmly.

Police and firemen moved promptly onto every floor; they thumped on doors,

shouted, brushed aside questions with commands, hurried people toward

stairwells, cautioning them not to use elevators. Others from the emergency

force, assisted by hotel staff, used passkeys to check rooms from which

there bad been no response. Through it all, the fire alarm bells continued

ringing.

A few guests protested and argued, a handful was belligerent but, when

threatened with arrest, even they joined the outward exodus. Few, if any,

of the hotel guests knew exactly what was happening; they accepted the

imminence of danger and moved fast, pulling on a minimum of clothing,

abandoning belongings in their rooms. One man, obeying orders sleepily, got

as far as the stairway door on his floor before realizing he was naked. A

grinning fireman let him go back to put on pants and a shirt.

The evacuation was already in progress when the police bomb squad arrived

in three trucks, tires and sirens screaming. The bomb men poured into the

hotel and, working swiftly but carefully, checked every fire extinguisher

in sight. Those which were suspect had ropes looped over them, after

which-paying out rope as they went-tbe bomb men retreated around corners,

getting as far away as was practical. When someone bad made sure the

immediate area was clear of people, the ropes were tugged. This jogged the

extinguishers and toppled themnormally enough movement to set off any booby

traps. However, there were no explosions and, after each extinguisher was

dealt with, a bomb man lifted it and carried it outside. That represented

the greatest risk of all, but was accepted because of the special

circumstances.

From the street in front of the hotel, the extinguisher bombs were rushed,

by a hastily assembled fleet of trucks, to a disused waterfront pier where

they were dumped into the bay.

Soon after deployment of the police bomb squad, they were joined by an Army

ordnance unit of a half-dozen officers and NCOs-bomb experts who helped

speed the removal process.

3.z 6

Twenty minutes after the alarm was given, it became evident to those in

charge that evacuation was going well, and faster than expected. The

chances of having most guests out of the hotel before 3 A.M. looked good.

By now, every street leading to the Christopher Columbus was jampacked with

vehicles-fire equipment, police cars and wagons, ambulances, all with dome

lights flashing. A huge van, operated by the city's Office of Emergency

Services, had just moved in and was setting up an on-site command post. Two

GSP&L heavy-duty service trucks were among recent arrivals, one crew

standing by in case of power problems, the other disconnecting gas service