"The last bomb could go off at any moment; we're running out of time." Dana Mozé hurried into the operations center, where analysts were already swamped with activity.
"We need to identify the target location immediately. This time, his target isn't likely those gang members. This bomb is designed to cause maximum casualties—12 grenades and various nails and shrapnel stuffed into a pressure cooker. If this pressure cooker bomb goes off, I can't even begin to imagine the scene."
Jubal Valentine brought up several live news feeds on the large screen. "Robert Lawrence will be appearing on CBS tonight for a talk show interview, which would be his perfect alibi. He's scheduled to go live in about two hours."
"Is there a way to narrow down the most likely target location?" Dana didn't think arresting Robert Lawrence now was wise. With only the partial confession they had, his legal team would get him out in no time.
An analyst pulled up several images on screen. "There are three likely locations. First, a protest is underway in the Moletown neighborhood by Black residents, who believe the Hell's Kitchen apartment explosion was a racially motivated attack, and there are hundreds gathered. Second, there's a vigil near the collapsed apartment, with about a hundred people mourning the victims."
"And finally, the Clinton District community meeting, where local minority leaders are gathering to discuss recent conflicts. The meeting time coincides with Robert's appearance on the show."
"That's our target—the indoor venue makes it harder to evacuate, and it's packed with exactly the kind of people Robert despises. You all handle the other two sites and evacuate the crowds; we'll take this one," Dana directed.
Jack pulled out his phone and called Detective Danny Reagan, requesting his help to pick up some equipment from the bomb squad after hearing about the remaining bomb.
"Jack, be careful, and try not to arrest that bastard on live TV," Jubal Valentine advised instinctively as he watched Jack rush out, who only flashed an OK sign as he headed for the door.
As Jack ran out of the federal building, a pickup truck screeched to a halt in front of him, and an exhausted Danny Reagan leaned out of the driver's seat.
"Hey, buddy. By the way, I saw you on the news earlier—nice work! Looks like plenty of New York girls won't be sleeping tonight after that performance."
Jack rolled his eyes and looked into the back of the truck, where a strange contraption resembling a giant globe was mounted on a trailer.
The official term was a "vehicle-mounted blast containment chamber." While you rarely saw these things in TV dramas, it was akin to giving a protagonist a long-range weapon in a road movie—impossible to proceed with the story. The blast containment chamber was similarly overpowered, designed to contain explosives safely unless they were too large or structurally embedded in an immovable object.
——
At 8 p.m., inside the CBS Broadcasting Center on West 57th Street, Manhattan, Danny Reagan stifled a yawn as he glared at Robert Lawrence, who was rambling on before the cameras.
"How much longer is this going to go on? I'm exhausted. Why do we both have two days of no sleep, yet you don't look like it?" Danny grumbled.
Jack kept his eyes fixed on Robert Lawrence in the studio, his face expressionless as he delivered a stinging reply, "Maybe because I'm 25, and you're pushing 50."
"I'm 42! I've got a long way to go before 50, damn it. I actually liked you at first; I was thinking of inviting you to our family's Sunday dinners." Danny pouted, clearly unhappy. Men might not fuss about age the way women do, but he envied the young FBI agent beside him.
Back in the day, Danny had been quite the heartbreaker himself, until he met his wife Linda, who helped him "settle down." With his experience, he could easily foresee the waves Jack would make in New York's "fast life" social scene.
Across the open studio, Robert Lawrence was in the middle of a heated exchange with a Black woman, spurred on by the show's host.
"Am I saddened by the bombing? Of course. But am I surprised? Not in the least."
"So Black people being blown up doesn't surprise you?" The woman was visibly furious.
"That's right. The violence in this community is merely an outward expression of internal chaos, yet no one wants to face that. Instead of vigils and protests, people should confront the root causes."
Danny's fingers tapped impatiently on his gun holster, and he looked ready to shoot the man in the head on the spot.
"Stick to the plan, Danny, don't lose it," Jack muttered, unfazed. Having heard far worse rhetoric, Jack knew that victim-blaming like this was sadly not uncommon.
Finally, during a break, Jack and Danny intercepted Robert Lawrence in the makeup room.
"What are the NYPD and FBI planning to charge me with?" Lawrence sneered arrogantly, his head held high as if he were some kind of bigshot.
"Premeditated murder, and premeditated hate crimes," Danny sneered back.
"Premeditated, huh? So you have no direct evidence, do you?" Lawrence showed not a hint of worry, seemingly unfazed by the law.
"Come with us and find out." Jack had no interest in engaging with him further.
Just then, chaos erupted in the studio as someone announced, "Breaking news: a bomb threat at the Clinton District community meeting."
Lawrence's face twisted slightly as he glanced at Danny's hand on his gun. "I think I should call my lawyer."
"Be my guest," Danny shrugged.
Drawing out his words, Lawrence gestured at his briefcase. "My phone's in there. Can I take it out? You won't shoot me, will you?"
"Want me to call over a cameraman to get this on live TV?" Jack mocked him, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, I'll take that as a yes." Lawrence glanced at the live feed of the chaotic meeting hall, where evacuation efforts were clearly struggling.
Jack and Danny stood by, watching him theatrically reach into his bag and slowly pull out his phone. He even smirked, saying, "Oh, I forgot my lawyer's number. I'll just grab my contact list."
He then reached into his suit pocket for a note, dialed a number, and hit call.
"Oops, wrong number, I guess I'll—" Lawrence's words were cut off as Jack grabbed his hand mid-dial.
Suddenly, a cheerful rendition of Canon in D Major began playing, and Jack pulled out a vibrating old phone from his pocket, held securely in an evidence bag.
"Surprise, you bastard!" Danny growled, slamming Lawrence down and cuffing his hands behind his back.
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