Within seconds of the bombing, the giant television had tilted sideways on the uptown face of One Times Square, where it hung like a crooked picture frame, hundreds of pounds of glass spilling from its shattered screen and fluorescent discharge tubes. The broken glass poured down onto the street in a mangling torrent, lacerating flesh, severing veins and arteries, amputating limbs, slicing people open as if with daggers even as they ran to escape it, claiming dozens of victims before the echoes of the blast had died down. In mere minutes the pavement below had become covered with a grisly slick of blood that overspilled the curb and ran tendrils down to the sewers, backing up at the debris-clogged gratings.

The blizzard of shards came on in waves as more of the screen’s fastenings bent and snapped, shifting it farther to one side, then a little farther, and still farther, tilting it nearly ninety degrees from its original position.

At last, with a final protesting groan, it succumbed to gravity and crashed to the earth.

In the bright glare of the fires sweeping the streets, the shadow of the descending screen spread over the crowd like a huge mantle of darkness. Trapped by their own numbers, the men, women, and children below could only scream as it came plunging down on their heads, crushing many to death under the sheer weight of its thirty-foot-long metal frame and shattered electronic guts, maiming others with a shrapnel storm of steel, wire, and glass.

It was eight minutes into the year 2000 when this happened.

Two minutes later, the first of the satchel charges planted around the square detonated.

“This is the 911 operator, what is the emergency?”

“Thank God, thank God, the line’s been busy, I’m here at a pay phone and I didn’t think I’d ever get through—”

“Ma’am, what is the emergency?”

“My daughter, she’s ... her eyes, oh Jesus almighty, her eyes...”

“Is this a child you’re talking about?”

“Yes, yes, she’s only twelve. My husband and I, we wanted her to be here tonight ... we thought ... oh, shit, never mind that, please, you’ve got to help her—”

“Ma’am, listen to me, you need to calm down. Am I correct that you’re on Forty-third Street and Seventh Avenue?”

“Yes, yes, how did you ... ?”

“Your location automatically shows on our computers—”

“Then get somebody over here, damn it! Get somebody over here now!”

“Ma’am, it’s very important that you listen to my instructions. We are aware of the situation in Times Square. There are rescue teams arriving as we speak, but it will take them some time to reach everyone, and they are going to have to prioritize. I need to know what condition your daughter is in—”

“Prioritize? What are you saying?”

“Ma’am, please try and cooperate with me. A lot of people need assistance—”