JULY 13, 1977
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
The makeshift command center was a large white tent, occupying the width of Broadway as the street cut a diagonal through Times Square. The place was bustling with activity as Gallup led Hopper and Martha in, uniformed police and federal agents mixing with people in civilian clothes and others wearing work overalls and hard hats. This last group were studying plans laid out on large trestle tables. Hopper saw that a military field radio had been set up in one corner, and nearby a diesel generator hummed.
As they walked, Gallup filled them in on the situation.
The entire Con Edison power system was out, the company forced to shut down what little of the network had remained operational after the initial blackout in order to try and rebalance the load and find the fault, although some areas, including a section of Queens and the Rockaways, did have power, through sheer luck—connected not to Con Edison but to the Long Island Lighting Company supply.
Gallup drew Hopper and Martha over to one side, where a large vertical board had been erected and covered with an acetate sheet so people could write on it with marker pen, the board already nearly completely covered with information.
Gallup continued his summary of the situation, but now there was only one single thought looping around in Hopper’s mind, quickly drowning out everything else.
He heard someone speak. He blinked, and the person spoke again.
“Detective Hopper?”
His reverie broken, Hopper looked at Special Agent Gallup.
“Look, I’ve done everything you want, and now you’re going to help me, okay? No more of your bullshit. I need to get home,” he said. “Diane, Sara—it’s time I got back. This whole situation will be tearing Diane apart, and now if all the power is out, even down in Brooklyn.”
Gallup stepped closer to Hopper, and put a hand on his arm. “They’re fine. They’re fine.”
“I…what? What do you mean, they’re fine?”
“Detective Delgado is with them.”
“What? Delgado?”
Gallup nodded. “She came to us yesterday, presenting evidence that she’d been busy gathering while you were away. When we were done, she said she was heading straight down to your apartment, said she had a promise to keep. And lucky she did, too. I don’t have anyone I can spare, now that the power’s gone. She’s still there—she checked in as soon as it went dark.”
Hopper nearly choked on his laugh, the relief the most glorious, wonderful feeling he thought he had ever experienced. To know that his wife and child were safe in the middle of all this chaos…
“I need to go to them.” Hopper looked at Gallup, then at Martha, then gestured to the board. “There’s nothing I can do here. Martha knows more about what’s going on than I do.” At that, he unzipped his bomber jacket and pulled out the folded map of the Vipers’ headquarters. “This will be useful. If the task force raids the Vipers now—”
Gallup held up a hand. “Easier said than done, Detective. The task force isn’t ready. They’re split all over the city, waiting for instructions they won’t get.”
“What do you mean, ‘waiting’?”
“All radios are down,” said Gallup. “With no power, no AM repeaters. Even if you could have gotten to a police radio, you wouldn’t have been able to reach me. I only knew you were coming because a motorcycle cop came down to give an update on what was happening in the Bronx.”
“The Bronx is turning into a war zone, is what is happening,” said Martha.
“Trust me, I know that,” said Gallup. “When the blackout hit—before the phones went down—all police were ordered to attend the precinct closest to where they live.”
Hopper swore. “What? That’s a terrible idea.”
“You can’t blame them for trying, Detective.”
“But cops don’t usually live near their own precincts, and certainly not up in the Bronx!” He turned to Martha. “That explains why we couldn’t find any cops. There weren’t any there.”
“That’s not quite true,” said Gallup. “Those on shift would have been there.”
“Not nearly enough to deal with what we saw,” said Martha.
“In any event,” said Gallup, “we’re getting a backup radio network up and running.” He gestured at the military communications equipment in the corner. “But we have to run it out to the task force teams before they can all link up. It’ll take a little while, but we’ll be able to move on the Vipers soon.”
Hopper turned back to Gallup. “Okay. But look, I need to go. Now.”
Gallup nodded. “Understood. I can debrief with Martha here, and I’ll get a police bike organized for you.”
Gallup turned and called to one of the uniforms nearby. Hopper watched, suddenly feeling…
Guilty?
All their work, all this time, the danger the city faced, Saint John doing who the hell knew what up in the Bronx, and now all he could think was…
Diane.
Sara.
Because while he had a duty to serve and protect the city, he had a duty to serve and protect his family, too.
And he’d done what he had intended to do, what he had been tasked with. Bring back information. And he had, in the form of Martha.
Gallup returned a few moments later, carrying a large military field telephone. “I take it you know how to work one of these?” he asked, handing it over.
Hopper took it. The thing weighed a ton, the long-distance two-way more or less unchanged since he had last used one back in Vietnam.
“I do, thanks,” said Hopper.
“There’s a bike waiting. Good luck.”