9:09 A.M.
EAST RIVER
NEW YORK CITY
Dewey stood at the console of the Hinckley Runabout 29. It was white, black, quiet—and fast.
Dewey took the boat up the East River from the south, throttling the boat to its max. He moved back and lifted the engine casing, then disabled a green wire—a circuit he’d been trained in—along the side of the big engine. The wire, he knew, was there to protect the engine, but right now Dewey needed speed. He raised the engine and planed out on the water. As the prop lifted so too did the front of the hull and soon the boat was moving at the height of its maximum speed, barely the prop, barely the hull, everything else suspended in forward motion—and the dial soon read 57 knots. The governor gone, he soon had the boat gliding at an arc up the East River.
He gashed the boat up into the cavern of the East River, smoke across the waterfront, and for the first time Dewey spied the top floors of the UN. Then he looked lower. It was in flames.
He was still far away. Yet he saw the city in ruins, and parts of the UN were on fire. Whole sections had been destroyed.
He tapped his ear twice.
“CENCOM.”
“Identify.”
“2495–6.”
“Go.”
“I need to speak with the president,” said Dewey.
A pause, then a high-pitched monotone.
“I’m not getting through,” said the voice.
Dewey waited and waited as he moved up the East River. As he came closer—within sight line of the smoking explosion at the tunnel near the UN, he spoke.
“Anything?” said Dewey.
“I’ve run it repeatedly,” said the CENCOM operator. “No answer.”