“How about amputating his leg? You’d have to secure it to the chair with duct tape so it doesn’t move — if that’s even possible, which I don’t think it is. You’re talking about cutting through a big freakin’ bone. Unless you cut through the knee joint. No,” he said, discounting his own suggestion, “best thing to do is call EOD.”
“This thing’s history in a little over four minutes.”
“Then I’ve got one last suggestion: get the hell out of there.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m sorry, man. If there was something you could do, I’d tell you—”
Uzi ended the call. He bit his lip and stared at the black and red screen as the numbers cascaded downward. Maybe this was just an elaborate joke to scare the hell out of him. Meant to send him a message. Yeah, that’s it. It’s really not a bomb. It’s fashioned to look like one, but it’s really not. It’s really not.
Damn you, Leila. Damn you!
“Uzi,” Rudnick said softly, “you must leave.”
He got down on all fours and peered at the black resin housing. “Can’t do that, Doc. But thanks for your concern.”
“That wasn’t a request, Uzi. It was an order. You need to follow your doctor’s orders.”
Uzi continued to study the device. “Always the joker. Have you always had such a keen sense of humor?”
“Uzi, look at me. Look at me,” he said, schoolteacher stern. “At my eyes.”
Uzi stopped what he was doing and looked up. “I’ve lived seven decades longer than God intended, my friend. I should’ve died as a scrawny kid in Buchenwald. Somehow, I survived and lived a whole lifetime. The time has come for me to join my parents and sisters.”
“No, I can’t just—”
“Yes, Uzi. You can. Promise me one thing — that you’ll be the one to tell my son Wayne at the BSU. Tell him I love him, that you were with me and that I wasn’t afraid.”
“I will. I’ll tell him.” But Uzi was not ready to give up. He searched his brain, trying to think of a solution. He needed something — a stray thought from his training. Or—
“Doc, did they say anything about the bomb? When they were talking to each other. Anything at all.”
“Just that it would take down a good part of the building. And that if I lifted my shoe even just a bit, I’d set it off.” Rudnick hesitated before continuing. “The man was in a hurry, though. I think they were going to plant another bomb, a car bomb.”
Uzi sat up straight. A car bomb? “Where? What makes you think it was a car bomb?”
Rudnick’s gaze tilted toward the ceiling as he struggled to remember. “He said something about the axle, getting it on the axle by the brake. That it’s set to go at two. Whoever gets in that car, Uzi, they’re dead. You have to find out whose car, before more people die—”
Uzi closed his eyes. First things first. Concentrate. He looked at the display: three minutes left. The piercing fire alarm siren blared in the background. He sat there, frozen, watching the numbers tumble lower. There’s gotta be something I can do!
“Uzi, it’s time to go. You must live your life, just as I did. You still have many questions that need answers. But I’m going to leave you with one answer. I usually let my patients figure it out themselves — and I’m sure you would have — but time is a bit short.” He forced a smile. “That question I kept asking you, about committing suicide. I’ll tell you why you didn’t do it. It’s the same reason why I didn’t do it after getting out of the death camp.”
Uzi’s eyes moved from the red numbers to Rudnick’s face.
“I needed to preserve their memories, of my parents and sisters and my aunt and uncle. Because I was the only one left. Inside me, they lived on for another seven decades. I thought about them, told stories about them. Talked to them, if only in my mind.” He fought back tears. “If I’d committed suicide, their essence would have died along with me. Now, Wayne will pass on those memories. Do you understand?”
“Dena and Maya.”
“There isn’t much time,” Rudnick said calmly. “You must go.”
Uzi looked down at the bomb. Ninety seconds left.
“Honor a dying man’s request,” Rudnick said. “Would you do that?”
Uzi could not bring himself to look at him.
“Find the people who did this, Uzi. Find them and make them pay.”
With this uncharacteristic request from such a gentle person, anger welled up in Uzi’s chest. He looked up and met Rudnick’s gaze. He didn’t know if this kind-hearted man actually meant for him to take vengeance, or if it was a clever psychological play to get Uzi to leave. Whichever it was, it worked.
Uzi stood up. His lips started to tremble. Tears sprouted spontaneously, and he cried. He wanted to hug the old man, to give him strength to face what was coming, and to thank him for all he had done for him. But Uzi knew that any movement could set the bomb off prematurely. Instead, he leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’ll keep your memory alive. I’ll tell Wayne. And I’ll find the people who did this to you.”
Rudnick smiled, the kind of grin a proud father gives his son when he has accomplished something of great value.
And then Uzi tore himself away, and he backed out of the room, away from the man who, up until recently was unknown to him, someone he now felt he had known all his life. Someone he had come to respect as much as he had respected his own father.
He turned and ran into the hallway, where the piercing siren was incapacitatingly loud. He hit the fire door with his shoulder and entered the staircase, slipping twice as he turned landings.
Uzi wasn’t sure how much time he had left, but his gut told him it was no more than mere seconds. He counted down from ten as he ran the steps, taking two or three at a time, using the handrail to propel himself forward.
He rounded the second floor when he hit five seconds and kept on going, then reached the lobby at the moment he figured the bomb would go off. A dense crowd packed the area, moving slowly, clearly unaware the building was about to come down.
“Get out,” Uzi shouted, darting toward the glass doors. “Everyone out!”
He hit the sidewalk and ran into M Street just as the EOD van pulled up in front. Farther down the block, a fire engine was approaching, its siren wailing and lights flashing.
The fifth story windows blew out first, a massive explosion sending dust and glass and metal and cement cascading down toward the street below. People darted in all directions, car tires groaning to a stop as the debris rained onto the pavement.
Uzi joined the bomb squad technicians, who had taken cover beside and beneath their truck. Though he struggled to corral his thoughts, to push his sorrow aside, his oxygen-starved voice was nevertheless edged in pain. “I called it in. Device was on fifth floor. Might be another… a car bomb.”
The commander, back pressed against the glossy black truck, asked, “Where?”
“No idea.” Then it clicked. Oh, shit. He took off down the block, heading for the spot where he had left the BuCar.
“Wait!” the commander called after him.
As Uzi turned the corner, he was relieved to find the Crown Vic still there, a ticket flapping against its windshield. He fumbled for his key ring, got in the car, and drove off.
Though he tried to focus on where he was headed, his mind would not let go of Rudnick. The image of him bound to the chair, bravely facing death as Uzi backed out of the room, was too powerful to push aside. It would take time for him to absorb the impact of his loss. He would have an empty space in his life. Again. But now he knew how to get through these things.
Unfortunately for him, he had experience in such matters.