DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE

CHAPTER ONE
The day was December 24. It had been four years since the incident in the airport. John McClaine rested his head back on the pillow behind him. It had been even longer than that since he truly became famous. When the Nakatomi building in Los Angeles was invaded by terrorists, he took eleven of them down individually all by himself. That was the day he became relatively famous, and it was so many years ago. Now, he was just another cop fighting criminal scum in the very heart of crime: New York City.
John was riding in a black limousine. He was sitting in one of the seats toward the center of the vehicle. To his left was Inspector Walter Cobb, and every other chair in the limo was occupied by a federal agent.
"Okay," John spoke up, "I've dealt with the FBI before. Now, do you mind telling me what's going on?"
"We were hoping you could tell us," the man behind him said. "The terrorist who blew up Benweed Teller just an hour ago asked for you to show up by the payphone on the corner of 3rd Avenue and Main Street at noon. The guy spoke with a German accent and said if you don't show up he'll blow up something else. Do you know who it is?"
John shook his head. "There was only one German terrorist group that I have ever encountered, and they no longer exist." John felt no need to describe the details any further, and ever since the airport, John didn't really want to be recognized as a hero anymore. All he wanted, like almost everyone else, was to retire and live in luxury for the rest of his life.
"Well you've probably ticked off so many terrorists that you've forgotten half of them," Walter suggested. He always had great comments like that.
Before John could reply, the driver spoke up: "We're already here, with a minute to spare."
John stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the payphone. As soon as he got to it, it rang as if it had been perfectly timed. He picked it up and said, "Hey, I'm here."
"Hello John McClaine of the New York police department. It's so nice to finally meet you. Let me introduce myself. My name is Simon."
"Okay, Simon. What do you want?"
"I'd like to play a game: Simon says. When I tell you to do something, you shall do it or else someone will die, possibly yourself. Now, Simon says that this telephone is wired to a bomb powerful enough to destroy the city block. Simon says that if you try to disarm it or try to run, and the bomb will be set off by a remote detonator."
John had to fight back the urge to run as fast as possible out of there. He knew that if he did, many would die. He was sick of being the hero, but he had no choice. "I promise you I won't do either, but what do I do?"
"Solve this puzzle. I made it simple for you, since you seem to be lacking in mathematical knowledge. The sum of all the numbers between one and one-hundred can be discovered in seconds. I'll give you sixty. Call me back at 555-1 and the square of the digits' sum."
"What? I don't understand." The phone line went dead. John returned the phone to the hook. Okay, he thought, how do I do this? My math teacher in the 8th Grade said something about this. I don't have time to add 1, 2, 3,... and all the numbers up to 100 together, do I? Come on, think, John, think! He scanned his brain for solutions and none were discovered. 1+2+3...+100. Then it came to him. Wait! 1+100 = 2+99 = 3+98! A pair of each of the numbers add up to be 101. Now I just multiply 101 by the number of 101's that there are. Let's see... they all make pairs with each other up to 50 and 51. So, there are fifty 101's in the answer. 50 times 101 equals 5050. Moving quickly, he snatched the phone up as he figured out the rest. 5+0+5+0=10, and 10 squared is 100. Having discovered the number, he dialed 555-1100.
After one ring, Simon answered. "Hello again, John. And your answer is...?"
"5050 is the answer. How could I have figured out your phone number if I hadn't solved it?"
"I'm just making absolutely sure you did it right. I won't spare your life for an extraordinary guess. By the way, you did quite well. Now, I have a similar, yet bigger new assignment for you. I'll tell it in a poem so simple, even you in your stupidity should be able to figure out."
John sighed. "Okay, what is it?"
"Simon says: letter-number of tremendous force is inside youthly inquisition. Alter it from its present course since its single talent shalt cause demolition."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You figure it out, John. Good luck."