I was there when it finally happened. I was so close to President Byrnes.
Jack and Jill struck with a terrible vengeance.
A bomb went off. The loudest imaginable clap of thunder struck near the stage—maybe even on the stage itself. The explosion was completely unexpected by the bodyguards surrounding the President. It detonated inside the defense perimeter.
Chaos! A bomb instead of gunfire! Even though the auditorium had been swept for bombs just that morning, I was thinking as I rushed forward. I noticed that my hand was bleeding—probably from the earlier tussle with the nutcase, but maybe from the bomb.
The worst imaginable sequence of actions began to unfold and in very fast motion. Pistols and riot-control shotguns were pulled out everywhere in the crowd. No one seemed to know where the bomb had hit yet, or how, or the actual calculations of damage done. Or what purpose the explosion was meant to serve?
Everyone dropped to the floor in the first twenty rows and up on the stage.
Thick black smoke billowed toward the ceiling, the glass roof, and overhanging steel girders.
The air smelled like human hair burning. People were screaming everywhere. I couldn’t tell how many were hurt. I couldn’t see the President anymore.
The bomb had detonated close to the stage. Very close to where President Byrnes had been standing, shaking hands and chatting, just a few seconds before. The ringing was still vibrating in my ears.
I frantically pushed my way toward the stage. There was no way to tell how many people had been injured, or maybe even killed, by the blast. I still couldn’t locate the President or Mrs. Byrnes because of the smoke and the bodies suddenly in frenzied motion. TV cameramen were wading in toward the disaster scene.
I finally spotted a cluster of Secret Service agents huddled tightly around the President. They had him up on his feet. Thomas Byrnes was alive; he was safe. The agents were starting to move him out of harm’s way. The Secret Service body guards acted as a human shield for the President, who didn’t appear to be hurt.
I had my Glock out, pointed up at the rafters for safety. I shouted, “Police!”
Several other Secret Service agents and NYPD detectives were doing the same thing. We were identifying ourselves to one another. Trying not to get shot, trying not to shoot anybody else during the terrifying confusion. Several people in the crowd were crying hysterically.
I kept pushing and pulling my way toward the southwest side exit that the Secret Service had used to bring the President in. The escape route had been established beforehand.
Beyond the glowing red EXIT sign, a long concrete tunnel led to a special visitors’ parking area on the river side of the building. Bulletproof, armor-plated cars were waiting there. What else might be waiting? I wondered. A voice in my head shouted for attention as I moved forward as fast as I could. Jack and Jill have always been a step ahead of us. They missed him! Why did they miss?
They don’t make mistakes.
I was less than a dozen yards from the President and his Secret Service guards when it hit me, when finally I understood what no one else did yet.
“Change the route out!” I yelled at the top of my voice. “Change the escape route!”
CHAPTER
91
NO ONE had heard me shouting. I could barely hear my own voice in the melee. There was too much noise and confusion inside Madison Square Garden.
I pushed ahead anyway, desperately following the phalanx that looked like the rabble at a prizefight from my vantage point. The smoke from the bomb had created a kind of strobe-light effect.
“Change the escape route! Change the escape route!” I shouted over and over.
We finally entered the whitewashed concrete tunnel. Every sound echoed bizarrely off the walls. I was right behind the last of the Secret Service agents.
“Don’t go this way! Stop the President!” I continued to yell in vain.
The tunnel was full of late-arriving special guests and even more security guards. We were pushing forward against a strong tide coming the other way.
It was too late to change the route now. I pushed and shoved my way closer and closer to President and Mrs. Byrnes. I desperately searched the crowd for the face of Kevin Hawkins. There was still a chance to stop him.
Every face I encountered registered shock. The eyes I saw were wide with fear, and they were searching my face. Suddenly, there were several loud pops in the heart of the tunnel. Gunshots!
Five shots seemed to explode inside the tight phalanx of people around the President. Someone had gotten inside the defense perimeter. My body sagged as if I’d been shot myself.
Five shots. Three quick—then two more.