New York - The Novel

suggestion. Why don’t you tell me what to do first? Then after I’ve got the diagnosis, I’ll look at the patient.”
    “Sounds good to me.” And he launched into a quick appraisal of Caruso’s life expectancy, from an actuarial point of view, and what that meant for his future premiums. Then he launched into a disquisition about how Caruso could save money—in the long run.
    He’d just got going with his proposal, when he started, glanced up at the North Tower and then stared.
    “What the hell is that?” he said.

    “Ms. O’Donnell’s office.”
    “This is her husband. Is she there?”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Master. She’s away at a meeting. You could try her cell, but she probably has it switched off just now. Is there a message?”
    “Tell her I’ll call later. Actually, tell her that I decided not to go to Boston. She’ll understand.”
    He hung up. And he was just wondering whether to walk a few blocks before heading back to his office, when an extraordinary sound caused him to look up. High in the World Trade Center’s North Tower, a huge fire had just broken out, and smoke was billowing from it.
    “What happened?” he asked a man standing nearby.
    “Looks like a bomb,” said the man.
    “A plane went smack into it,” said a young woman. “I saw it. Must’ve gone out of control.”

    “They say we have to evacuate,” said Doug. “I don’t know why. The fire’s in the other building.”
    They went out toward the elevators. There was a crowd of people waiting by them already.
    “Want to take the stairs?” asked Caruso.
    “Twenty and some floors?” said Doug. “Not much.”
    “I guess we’d better be patient then,” said Caruso. “Can we finish this meeting on the sidewalk?”
    “I can finish a meeting in any space known to man,” said Doug, “including numerous bars. But I’d prefer my office.”
    The elevators were all full. “I can’t believe this is necessary,” somebody said.
    A couple of minutes later, a receptionist came out from a neighboring office.
    “They just called to say we don’t need to evacuate,” she announced. “The building’s fine. The building’s secure. You can all get back to work.”
    With a collective sigh, everyone started to file back to their offices.
    “Okay,” said Doug, when they reached his office again, “let’s get back to your life.”

    Gorham was still watching the fire in the North Tower when the second plane struck. A bang like a thunderclap came from the far corner of the building, high, maybe eighty floors up. At almost the same instant, a huge fireball burst out of the side of the building far above. Thinking quickly, Gorham hurled himself toward an entrance to avoid any falling debris.
    He heard screams of fear. People who’d started evacuating the building earlier were coming out of one of the elevators. He was thinking hard.
    This couldn’t be an accident. Two coincidences like that? Impossible. Carefully, he stepped away from the entrance. Black smoke and flame were billowing from both buildings, making blood-colored, oily clouds against the pale blue sky.
    He ran.
    When he’d gone three or four hundred yards north up Church Street, he paused to consider the situation. It seemed to him there could be only one explanation: it was a terrorist attack. What else could it be? After all, back in 1993, terrorists had planted a truck bomb in the World Trade Center garage which had done huge damage, injured more than a thousand people, and might have brought the Twin Towers down. This looked like a similar attempt. And if so, what else was to come?
    A stream of people were coming up the street. It seemed as if everyone was deciding to leave the area.
    His cellphone rang.
    “Mr. Master?” It was Maggie’s assistant again. “Where are you?”
    “Down near the World Trade Center. But I’m fine, I’m not in the building.”
    “We just saw what happened on the television. We just saw the second plane.”
    “I saw it too. Did you speak with my wife?”
    “That’s why I’m calling. I wondered if you did.”
    “No. She probably turned her cell off during her meeting.”
    “Only …” Maggie’s secretary seemed to hesitate a moment. “Mr. Master, that’s where she went.”
    “What do you mean? The meeting got moved to the World Trade Center?”
    “That’s what she told her paralegal just before she left. Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Master, I’m just so worried.”
    “Which tower?”
    “We don’t