Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.
A/N: Thanks as always to all those who have written to tell me what they like and didn't like in the story so far. And thanks to those who continue to read along, following the adventures.
Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
The Fall
It shook the very foundations
Of everything I thought my life was about
It entered into my life like an explosion
Shattering my comfortable illusion
That I had any control over whom I was or what I did.
It came out of the blue – a screaming intrusion
From the cool blue sky above
And I was caught in the blast,
Flung out of the shelter I had created for myself.
And now I lie in the ruins of my deception
Waiting for the smoke to clear,
Shaking the ringing out of my ears,
Blinded by the pure clear light of you,
Still falling, suspended in wonder.
SMT2007
Chapter 49: Fighting Fire
At a run, Hawkes slipped under the Crime Scene tape, his badge in hand ready for the uniformed cop who tried to stop him. "CSI. What the hell…?"
"It's okay, Mayer, he's with us," Flack waved Hawkes over and turned to look at the building currently enveloped in flames and smoke. "Beirne, Pulaski, take over here, would you?" Two uniformed officers caught his order and nodded, going over to question eyewitnesses and assist with triage.
Flack clapped Hawkes, who was staring in horror at the building, on the shoulder. "Doc? You with me?"
Hawkes tore his eyes away, "Yeah. Yeah, can you tell me what happened?"
Flack motioned to the building, "Bomb threat was called in at 7:30 am. By the time we had a team here, we had managed to stop the staff from coming in and cleared most of the neighbourhood. Bomb went off at 7:45 – bastard didn't give us much time."
He turned as Mac and Danny appeared on the scene. "Messer, what're you doing here? Thought you were still riding a desk?"
Danny shrugged, "Call out went to everybody, so I'm here." He shot a glance at Mac, who didn't respond, instead focusing his attention on the building in front of him.
"Where are we, Flack?"
As Flack gave a quick recap for Mac and Danny, Hawkes looked around for the clinic partners: Miriam, Kathleen, perhaps, if he was lucky, Nasreen. He spotted a crowd of women standing at a safe distance from the building, being interviewed by the police, and walked towards them.
"Shel? Sheldon? Thank God!" It was Kathleen O'Conal, eyes teary, red curls wild around her head. "Nasreen, have you seen her?"
Hawkes shook his head, grabbing her by the shoulders, "They cleared the building, Kathleen. It's okay."
Miriam came up behind him, wringing her hands, "We can't find her. She's not answering her cell. She wasn't home this morning when we tried to let her know about the bomb threat."
"And she comes in early. Really early, Shel. There are kids, little ones she plays with before school. Shel … have they found any … do you know …" Kathleen was having trouble breathing now, her gasps wrenching through her body.
Hawkes yelled for the paramedics, "Oxygen here!"
Miriam's arms went around her partner, "She tried to get back in – she has asthma and got a lungful of crap."
"Look after her … I'll find Nasreen." Hawkes didn't wait to see the women's grateful nods.
"Flack! Flack, we have to go in."
"Not safe yet, Doc; the site hasn't been secured."
"Dr. Suq. She could be in there. With kids, Don." Hawkes watched in relief as Flack's eyes cleared and turned steely.
"Suit up." The order was clipped.
It didn't take long to get a team ready to go in: two firefighters in full gear to damp down the hot spots remaining, a member of the bomb squad to monitor for a secondary blast, two members of the TAC team. Hawkes was not surprised to see Flack suiting up beside him; the detective never let a member of the team face danger without his backup.
"Where would they be, do you think? We need a direction to start."
Hawkes closed his eyes, although he didn't need to remember the first time he had seen Nasreen. "In the garden. Where we interviewed them all the first time? She liked … likes … to go there with the kids." He swallowed hard at the involuntary admission that his worst fear may be true.
"Let's go, but follow orders or you are out of here."
Hawkes nodded crisply, paying no attention whatsoever.
The team spread out as it hit the door, trying to minimize its impact on the evidence, as well as make the search as quick as possible. Hawkes moved purposefully through the clinic to the back room, barely waiting until a section was clear before moving in a direct line to his goal. The oxygen tank on his back felt heavy, a necessary burden he would just as soon have dropped in favour of speed. They only reason he kept it on, he told himself, was to help the survivors he was determined he would find.
"Flack! This way!" The corridor he was moving down had sustained some serious damage; obviously the bomb had been placed in the centre of the building.
"I need help here – this door is stuck." He turned, too impatient to wait for the proper tools to cut through the door, which was crumpled and melted from the intense heat of the blast.
"Stand back, Hawkes. NYPD! Stand back from the door – we're coming through!" Flack thought he had heard a sound through there as well, so quickly braced himself and kicked through the door.
His gun was in his hand, a mask obscuring his face. Hawkes hoped any children who were unharmed wouldn't be too frightened.
Sweeping the area, Flack stepped through the door first. "Hawkes! Get over here." Through the microphone embedded in his helmet, he snapped, "We need a medic team in here. Bring them in over the back wall if you have to – I have one – no, two – children injured, ages 12 to 15 maybe. Concussion injuries from the blast it looks like." He snapped out more orders as Hawkes moved from one crumpled body to the other, checking vitals, speaking soothingly.
"Flack! This one says there are more over this way." As EMTs poured through the doors, Hawkes leapt to his feet, moving towards the direction the young boy had pointed. "Nasreen? Nasreen? Where are you?"
"Sheldon?"
He could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest, so that his whole body could concentrate on listening for a repeat of that feeble sound.
"Nasreen? Where are you? Can you call, make some noise, something?" A line from a child's book ran through his head: "Yop! … from the smallest Who of all."
He was moving before he even knew what direction it had come from. He was moving before his heart had a chance to beat again. He was moving before he thought through how he had known in which direction to move.
He didn't stop until he was kneeling on the ground beside Nasreen, one hand reaching for hers as he brushed blood from her face. Automatically, he began to evaluate her injuries, barely noticing as Flack and the other police officers began to check out the ten young children, two of whom were young enough to be held in arms of girls perhaps 8 or 9 years old.
He pulled the mask off his face, and put it over Nasreen's, hoping to ease her breathing a little. He was checking her pulse, her reactions, her pupils, all without consciously taking in his own actions. He was waiting, searching desperately, for some response, something that would tell him she knew who he was, what had happened. Under his breath, he was muttering, "Come on, darling. Let's go, sweetheart. Open those beautiful eyes for me, okay?"
Flack squatted down beside him. "Doc, the EMTs can take her now." He waited a minute for Hawkes to show some sign that he had heard.
Hawkes continued his ministrations without reply.
"Hawkes. Shel," Flack's voice dropped sympathetically. "Shel. Let them take over." He put his hand over Hawkes' and repeated himself. "Shel, let them take her."
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY
Stella was waiting, tense and silently aware of every beep and blip from the machines surrounding them, for the information to start streaming in from Danny and Mac out in the field. She had been called in early for her shift and told to go straight to the lab to set up the remote feed. Mac had asked her to call in Lindsay; Danny was going to join him in the field.
"I know, I know." He had forestalled her question. "But Lindsay has no experience with disposal, and she can run analysis of the bomb components."
"And you have us safely out of the way," Stella said dryly. "Since when did you become a closet chauvinist, Taylor?"
"Since my people started getting hurt." The answer was so low, Stella wasn't sure she had heard him properly.
"Just once. Okay, Stel? Just indulge me this once. I promise to throw your ass in the line of fire the next time."
She had hung up without answering.
Now she sat, waiting for Lindsay to show up so they could work their magic in the nice safe lab while the men they partnered, in many senses of the word, were out in the field.
"Stella? What have we got?" Lindsay's voice dragged slightly, as though she was still half asleep, but when Stella turned to examine her, she looked rested enough.
"How did things go last night?" To hell with subtlety.
Lindsay shook her head, "I told him what Ethel Metzger said, about his family, his mother."
"And?"
"He went to sleep." In the bedroom. Alone. She had stayed on the couch for a while, then had snuck out to catch a cab and go home. There had been a message on her cell phone from his number when she woke up; she hadn't listened to it yet.
Stella put an arm around her friend sympathetically, "He needs time. I doubt he knew the whole story. Some of it must have come as a terrible shock."
Lindsay nodded, resting her head on Stella's shoulder for one minute, then shook herself briskly. "Is the data from the blast coming in yet?"
The two women turned as one machine began spitting out numbers, and smoothly moved into analysis-mode. There would be no more time for personal issues until the investigation was complete.
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY
As soon as the building had been declared provisionally safe and the children had been removed to the hospital, Mac and Danny had moved into the building with the bomb squad experts to process what they could of the scene, sending information back to the lab through a link to Lindsay and Stella. They worked quickly, aware that structural damage was likely to drive them out long before they could collect enough information.
Mac snapped his phone shut for the third time with an aggravated sigh. "Where the hell is Adam?" he muttered under his breath.
"Who's in charge here? I need to talk to whoever is in charge." A loud confident voice cut through the dust and debris like a sawblade.
Mac said over his shoulder, "Mac Taylor, Detective with the NYPD Crime Lab. And you would be?" He glanced briefly at the badge thrust under his nose. "Homeland Security. Agent Grant. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but weren't you here investigating this site only a few days ago?"
Special Agent Troy Grant's blue eyes went cold , and his lips thinned at the subtle insult. "We investigated the incident. It was a low risk for repeatability."
"Yeah," Flack said, "Except that, according to witnesses, you failed to find the ringleader. In my mind, that makes it pretty clear who we should be looking for here."
"Look, Detective, the boys who vandalized the place are low-life scum who want to make the world a little less comfortable. They did not have the brains or the balls to pull off a bomb."
"And the leader of this merry little band? Huh? He's managed to avoid your guys for days now. Meanwhile, we got ten kids in hospital and Dr. Suq …" his voice faded. What was the point? He could tell from Grant's arrogant glare that he wasn't getting through. He didn't need Mac's warning look to make him turn away in disgust, shaking his head. He followed the investigative team through the hallway Hawkes and he had chased through earlier.
"Detective Taylor, Homeland Security will need copies of all your findings, all the evidence that you gather."
Mac stared right through the man. "All files will be available when my investigation is complete, Special Agent."
Flack came back in through the door faster than he had gone out. "Everybody needs to get out now! The building is collapsing. Mac! Danny!"
Mac had grabbed the equipment he was using and started to move before Flack had finished his sentence. With a startled curse, Danny did the same and fled behind his boss. Grant stood for a few seconds longer while Flack spun around to speed up other members of the investigative team, but when a support beam shuddered, he was quick enough to follow along behind.
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY
Mac stood watching the building fall in on itself. They had managed to move everyone far enough away that the dust filling the air was of no immediate danger, but he couldn't help but feel sick at the powdery film that covered his skin, the thick choking sensation of it. The image of the Towers going down, never very far from his mind, was seared into his lungs again.
His cell went off, and he checked the Caller ID before swearing and turning from the dying building to take the call.
"Reed? You okay? I'm in the middle of something, so it's not a good time to talk …"
"Mac, it's Natalie."
Mac stopped dead. "Reed – what are you talking about? Where's Natalie?"
He could hear his stepson take a deep breath, "She was here last night. Then she left to go to her film class. She never made it. Mac, she's not answering her phone; she hasn't been to her dorm room. She left our place at 6:05 last night and no one has seen her since."
"Hold on, kid. I'm on my way." Mac hung up, knowing that the surreal calm Reed had displayed would not last long.
"Danny, go to the lab. Secure what evidence we have. Flack, call Stella, and tell her to meet us. We have a missing person."
Flack turned to argue, but swallowed his words when he saw Mac's white face. "Not Reed again?"
"Natalie Chance. His girlfriend. Damn it, Flack, I had a man on her. Why wasn't I informed when she didn't show up at her dorm room?" He fumed as he walked to his car, dialing in a number with stiff short jabs. "Taylor here. I want Sergeant Adams on the line and I want him now!"