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The sun had risen above NY City behind a curtain of clouds that promised heavy rain within the day.
For everyone working at number 82 in Jackson's Heights, it had been a long night, so even the gloomy colours of a rainy day had been more than welcomed.
Upon hearing that there was a bomb underneath the old house, the cluster of people beyond the police barriers had only increased in numbers, despite all warnings about keeping a safe distance.
A new day had begun, and the old house was still standing. Inside, a tired looking fireman reached the top of the basement' stairs and signalled that everyone should stand back.
"Fire in the hole," he flatly announced, pressing a red button.
There was a brief bass sound, sounding almost like a distant car's exhaustion, and the lights on the ceiling lamps swung, threatening to go out. Then a cloud of dust rose from basement, through the opened door and silence returned.
"Clear," the same man yelled, before placing a protection mask over his mouth and nose and leading the way back downstairs.
Most of the destroyed concrete had flown away from the hole on the ground, leaving a new opened space to the right side of the wooden stairs.
The fireman tested the surrounding ground's stability before stepping on it. Satisfied that it would hold his solid 180 pounds, he neared the hole.
"Everyone's ok down there?"
Mac's face came in to view, looking up at the man.
"A bit dusted up, but fine," he replied.
Minutes later, the three CSI's had climbed out of the hole using the rope ladder that the fireman had tossed them.
"The jamming device is still on?" Mac asked one of the bomb squad officers that had joined them in the basement.
The man, with his heavy protection gear on, nodded in reply.
"Until I get to check your handy work, detective, that device is our best friend," he said with a smile. "No offence intended, but…" he quickly added.
Mac cut him out.
"None taken," he replied with a tired smile, offering his right hand. "Thank you for your help."
The second that there had been a visual confirmation on the presence of a second bomb inside the bunker, the bomb squad unit had activated a jamming device, a machine designed to scramble all possible audio frequencies that could come from outside and detonate the bomb.
Then, it had been up to the CSIs inside the bunker to make sure that the bomb was defused.
Mac's experience as a marine and his years in CSI had taught him a bit about bombs, enough to, with a little help from the bomb squad's agents, try to render the device they'd found in the hole behind the picture, useless.
The agent kneeling on the floor, screaming commands in to a tiny hole through the concrete, had felt a bit silly, but in the end it had paid off. The bomb had been stopped long before it could reach zero.
Stella and Aiden, dusting the white powdery concrete dust off their clothes, were already on top, talking to another detective when Mac joined them.
"Any word on Flack and Danny?" He asked, not liking the look he was seeing on both women's face.
The other man, older than Mac, with a heavy moustache under his nose and hair that made him look like he'd just gotten out of bed, replied him.
"Dispatch relayed a 10-10 in an apartment building on Myrtle Avenue, Ridgewood," the man repeated what he'd already told the female detectives. "Two gunshot victims. The DOA was sent directly to OCME. The other had two sluggers in him, was sent to St. John's. Word is that there was an officer involved in the shooting, but we're still waiting on confirmation on who's who."
The older man had to shout his last words. The three CSIs were already on their way to the car they'd arrived in.
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Flack inhale the nicotine from his cigar like a man drinking water after crossing the desert. And it wasn't even the first one he had.
The ride inside the ambulance had been one the most scary experiences in the young detective's life. The paramedics working on Danny had barely succeeded in getting him alive to the hospital.
Don hadn't been able to even grab his friend's hand as he was patched together. The space in the back of the ambulance was too narrow and he would only stand in the way.
He could only watch Danny as transparent tubes were shoved up his arms and down his throat, electrical machines whined in the background and medical jargon flew back and forth like bullets in a battle field.
Flack's path had been cut as soon as they arrived at the hospital's trauma room door, a white sliding piece of double glass that closed on his face and where not even his badge allowed him entrance.
The waiting room was too depressing to withstand alone. Instead, Flack had gone to a newsstand, bought his first pack of cigarettes in two years, and resigned himself to wait outside for awhile. The cold and the nicotine would keep him grounded and alert until it was time to go inside and start begging for news on his friend.
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They'd had to look twice before realizing that the tall guy in blue scrubs smoking outside the ER's door was in fact Flack.
He'd already seen them. He tossed the cigarette's butt to the ground and stepped on it.
"Mac, Stella, Aiden," he greeted them with a smile, "glad to see you guys alright."
None doubted his words, but it was easy to notice that the smile had failed to reach the detective's blue eyes.
"Danny?" Aiden asked.
"Still no word," he said with a tired sigh. "I tried calling you guys a number of times, but the signal couldn't get through."
Mac fished for the cell phone in his pocket. Amidst Flack's failed calls, he had one from his friend in D.C.
"The bomb squad was jamming all signals at the crime scene," he explained. "We've just heard."
Stella neared the young man, one hand rubbing his arm. The detective' skin was cold.
"What happened, Flack?"
Don reached for another cigar. Old habits died hard.
"Donauh was filming you guys. We traced the signal back to Danny's place. I tried to get there as fast as I could, but you know how traffic in this city is," he said with a dry chuckle. There was no humour in his voice. "When I got there, Donauh was already dead. Danny was holding the gun, so I'm guessing he managed to catch the sonovbitch before…"
He stopped, taking a deep breath to control his voice. He was seeing it all again, remembering details that he'd missed the first time around because his focus was on Danny.
"One single shot, that's what I heard before kicking the door open. Donauh's body was facing away from Danny, so I guess he was on his way out when he was killed."
He paused to drag a smoke out of his lit cigar.
"Danny wasn't breathing when I reached him," he finally added.
Stella was blinking away tears and Aiden was so tense that they could see her jaw twitching.
"He'll make it, Flack," Mac's words broke their collective grim thoughts. "He's a tough kid."
Flack was shaking his head slowly. The muscles on his face contorted from grimace to smirk to grimace again, in a constant battle to keep the grief from reaching his eyes.
"He looked pretty bad, Mac."
A nurse in crispy white uniform interrupted them, her presence the saving grace factor that allowed Flack to turn around and wipe his eyes clean.
"Are you from the crime lab?" She asked no one in particular.
Mac nodded.
"I was asked to give these to you people," she said, holding a large paper bag in one hand and a small plastic one in the other. "These are detective Messer's personal things," she handed Mac the large bag, "and this, we're not very sure what it is, but he was holding on to it pretty tight," she handed the small one. "It doesn't match his clothes, so…"
Mac held the plastic against the light. It held a piece of brown cloth. The darker stains in it looked like blood.
"Any word on his condition yet?" Stella asked.
The nurse shook her head, her face sad in sympathy. For those working inside those walls, it was easy to forget how hard it was for those outside to wait on news about their loved ones. She had always tried to keep that in mind.
"They're still working on him," she explained. "As soon as the surgeon leaves the OR, he'll talk to you, ok?"
Stella whispered a thank you and turned to the others, her arms crossed tight over her chest, hugging herself.
"Has anyone called his parents yet?"
Flack nodded.
"They're out of town. They'll try to catch the first plane back."
"Ok," she nodded, her eyes carefully analysing the tall man. She knew that Flack and Danny were friends even before joining the academy. She could imagine how hard this must be to the young detective. "Why don't we go inside?" She suggested with a reassuring smile. "You must freezing cold in those pyjamas."
This time Flack's grin was genuine.
"Not pyjamas, they're OR scrubs," he explained, following her inside. "Apparently I was scaring off people, standing out here in dirty clothes."
No one asked why his clothes were dirty, or what had stained them. They could still see the reddish brown smears in his hands and face. Neither had the courage to tell him that he still had Danny's blood on him.
"Coming, Mac?" Aiden asked, when she noticed that the older man hadn't followed them to the door.
"Need to make a few phone calls," he explained. He was holding the bags that the nurse had given them, "and someone should get these to the lab."
Aiden nodded, following the others to the waiting room. Silently she was thanking him. She wouldn't be able to bring herself to go to the lab before hearing anything on Danny, and yet those where important pieces of evidence that needed to reach the lab quickly.
Mac must've understood that and had taken the task upon himself.
"We'll call the minute we have news, ok?" she turn and called to him.
Mac just nodded and walked away.
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