He knew, even before he knew what it was. He reached to open the car door and get out before…

Ga-BOOOM!

The ground trembled.

Someone screamed.

Afternoon strollers on picturesque Portobello Road in London’s fashionable Notting Hill suddenly dove to the street and took cover in shops as a beautifully restored Porsche 911 exploded. A ball of black smoke and orange flame rose into the sky. A moment later, the fire reached the gas tank, and a secondary explosion went up.

“Help!” a young woman shouted. “There’s a man! I saw a man!”

People ran toward the site of the explosion, but no one got too close. The flames crackled. The fire raged. It was intense.

“There’s a man inside that car!”

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

4:55 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time

Inova Women’s Hospital Birthing Center

Inova Fairfax Hospital

Woodburn, Virginia

“Okay, Rebecca,” said the doctor, a woman of about fifty. “I think this is it. One last time. Give me a big one. Push!”

Becca screamed, a loud, shrieking wail.

Her hand crushed Luke’s.

“Oh God, Luke, I love you so much!”

“I love you, too, babe. You’re doing great.”

Luke, in surgical scrubs, mask, and gloves like the doctors and nurses, stood watching. He had raced halfway around the world for this. He had dozed on the plane, but poorly. He never imagined he would get to this operating theater in time, but somehow he did. He was nearly out on his feet.

Thank God for a long labor.

He placed his head right next to hers. She was sweating. Her face was red. She was in pain. She was exquisite.

“You’re just doing so good. I am very proud of you.”

Every word he said was true. He was in awe of what Becca’s body could do and the strength she showed. She was never more beautiful or powerful. Luke had seen a lot in his time, but he had never seen anything like this.

He saw a small patch of blond hair pushing its way out. The baby was starting to crown.

I will not freak out. I will not freak out.

“One more, Rebecca. One more big one. Come on. Push!”

“Ahhhnnnhh!”

She crushed his hand again.

What he had thought was the crown was the smallest tip of the tip of the iceberg. The head was emerging, like the moment a giant superheated bubble rises to the surface of a geyser. The head was massive, enormous. It couldn’t be. Something had to be wrong. It was like a cannonball was coming through a drinking straw.

“Is that…?”

He could barely speak. He could barely breathe.

“One more. Push!”

Suddenly, the boy was out. But he was blue. The child was blue.

Is he alive? Why is he blue?

The nurse was wiping off the afterbirth as if nothing was wrong.

“Gunner.”

The baby started crying. He was alive. Oh my God, the baby was alive.