911
By
Ayesha Haqqiqa
Dedicated
to all those whose lives were lost in the tragedy.
Jack McCoy had gotten to work early that Tuesday. He had to finish writing his summation on the Burnett case. Things hadn’t been going well Monday, and he’d decided to go home and sleep on it. Now he was plowing through his notes, sorting things out in his mind.
The phone rang. Jack answered it with an annoyed snort.
“Jack?” It was Jack’s youngest brother, Michael Francis McCoy, who lived in the City and worked as a bond trader in the financial district.
“Yeah?” Jack was irritated at his brother Mickey.
“Look, I just wanted to call because I couldn’t get through to Sheila,” Michael said. “I think she’s at the library doing research.” Sheila McCoy was a freelance writer specializing in history. “Can you check around and find her and tell her I’m ok?”
“Mickey, I’ve told your son I’m not a detective. Do I have to tell you? What’s so important that you can’t find her yourself?”
“Well, Jack, a plane flew into our building and it’s on fire. I’m sort of hanging around helping. I just don’t want Sheila to worry.”
“The World Trade Center?” Jack couldn’t believe his ears. “Yeah, sure, I’ll phone around and find Sheila.”
“Good.” The line went dead.
Jack went into Nora’s office. “I just got a call from my brother at the World Trade Center,” he said. “There’s been some sort of fire.”
Nora, who had just gotten to the office, was putting away her coat. “Yes, I heard something about it on the radio. The fire must be bad—you can see the smoke. Is your brother ok?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “but he asked me to look up his wife and tell her he’s ok. Sheila’s a writer, and is out doing research today.”
Nora looked at him. “Well, why don’t you—“
Her words were interrupted when her secretary, Stacey, ran into the room. “Ms. Lewin, a jet has just slammed into the second tower!”
Stunned, Jack and Nora went to the secretary’s desk, where a small radio was tuned to NPR. They listened in shocked silence as the announcer described the scene.
“Get the Mayor,” Nora told Stacey. She turned to Jack. “This is obviously no accident. Who knows what will happen next? I’m going to check with Guliani and find out what is going on, then probably evacuate the building. You go ahead and try and find your sister-in-law, and then check up on your brother.”
Jack hardly waited to hear the end of Nora’s instructions. He was back in his office, grabbing his helmet and racing for the stairway. He didn’t wear his suits when he rode the Yamaha, but today was an exception. He jumped on his bike and roared out into the street.
His first thought was to go to the Public Library and find Sheila, but once he saw the cloud of smoke rolling over downtown, he turned his bike towards Tribeca. He was going to make sure his brother was safe.
Mickey McCoy had been the jolly one of the family, maybe because he was the baby. He’d done well in school—though not as well as Jack. Mickey had never been as driven as the eldest McCoy. He had a knack for finances, and enjoyed crunching numbers. He’d married his childhood sweetheart and moved to the Big Apple. Jack had been glad; Mickey was his link to the family. The rest of the McCoys still lived in Chicago. Mickey had one child, a son, Mickey Junior, a chip off the old block. Junior loved mathematics, science, and computers. He’d even gotten his old Uncle Jack to enjoy some of his computer games.
Jack felt a tear steal down his cheek as he neared the scene of the disaster. Mickey would be there, somewhere, helping others to safety, not thinking of his own. That was Mickey’s way. Jack thought back on how his brother had taken him in after Claire’s death, insisting Jack stay with them the week after the accident. The Yamaha roared down the street. Jack was determined to find his brother.
He was stopped by yellow tape. The street was blocked off, and only emergency vehicles were being let through. Hastily, Jack parked the bike and started running toward the fire.
“Hey, Counselor, where you going?”
Jack turned to see Lennie Briscoe jogging beside him.
“I’m going to help,” he said. “My brother works in one of the towers.”
“Sounds like us,” Lennie puffed. “We were out on an investigation in Chinatown when we saw the second plane hit. Ed has a cousin that works for the Port Authority, so we took a detour and came over here to see what we could do.”
“Where’s Ed?” Jack asked, looking around.
“Five miles ahead of us,” Lennie said sourly. “Oh, to be thirty again! But these legs will get us there, even if we’re a bit late.”
Lennie and Jack stopped running. They stared in disbelief as one of the massive towers crumbled to the ground. They were rooted on the spot in horror, until they saw people running, followed by an enormous dust cloud. Then the two men joined in the running stream of humanity.
They were overtaken by the cloud a block later. The smoke and ash rained down on them, and they crouched on the ground, choking and coughing. When the debris finally settled, they started towards the disaster again.
Within a block, they came upon Ed Green, covered in ash. He was solemn as he said, “Don’t go on, McCoy. It’s hell in there. And we don’t know when the other tower will collapse.”
“Your cousin—did you find him?” Lennie asked.
“Yeah,” Ed replied. “He was the one who told me to go back. He said to check with Van Buren and find out what we’re supposed to do.”
“Come on, Counselor,” Lennie said, but Jack shook his head.
“I’ve got to find Mickey,” he said, and hurried on towards the devastation. His brother’s tower was still ablaze, and he looked at it in horrified wonder. Then he looked into the anxious faces of the people streaming away to safety. There was one he recognized; Becky, his brother’s secretary. He went up to her.
“Yeah, I saw him this morning,” she said as they moved down the block. “He was going to a meeting on the 90th floor sometime—and then this happened.”
“Mickey McCoy? I saw him in the stairwell,” another woman came up. “He was there, directing traffic, urging others to keep on going. I think he was right behind me. I’m sure he got out.”
“McCoy!”
Jack turned, and saw Mayor Guliani. He went over to the Mayor, who was calm and collected.
“Glad I saw you here,” the Mayor said. “The phone lines aren’t working, and I need to get a message to Nora. She needs to evacuate Hogan Place and tell her staff to go home. We’ll try and get the courts up and running as soon as we can. Can you get the message to her?”
“Sure, Mr. Mayor,” Jack said. He turned away from the inferno and ran back to his Yamaha. He clung to the words of the unidentified woman. Mickey was all right.
He roared back to Hogan Place, only to find the garage half empty. He took the elevator to the tenth floor, where he found Nora staring at the television.
“I saw the Mayor, and he said to evacuate Hogan Place,” Jack said. “He said that the phones were out and—“ He stopped in mid-sentence as he watched the last tower collapse. He turned and looked at Nora, whose eyes were bright with tears. Suddenly, they were in each other’s arms, sobbing.
Jack sat in the gloom of his apartment. The only light came from the television, which was tuned to CNN. It was early Wednesday morning, but he hadn’t gotten any sleep. He’d called Mickey’s house from his office, and was relieved to find Sheila was there. But Mickey wasn’t. He’d gone to Mickey’s place, where he was met by Junior, who was in shock. Sheila wasn’t handling it well either. It was Jack who started phoning the various hospitals. It had seemed like hours before they found out the good news; Mickey was safe. He’d been one of the last ones out of the building before it collapsed, and the force of the implosion had knocked him on the ground, giving him a concussion and several bruises, but nothing serious. Jack had taken the family to see his brother, and was immensely relieved to know he was safe.
But Mickey had a haunted look about him. “Jack, did Becky make it out?” he asked.
“Yes, I saw her,” Jack assured him.
“How about Myron Aldenstein, William Olsen, and Carrie Mitchell?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I don’t know them. They could have been one of the people I passed.”
Mickey closed his eyes. “A lot of good people, Jack, didn’t make it out. I tried—Lord knows I tried—“
Jack patted his brother’s shoulder. “You did well, Mick,” he said. “You did all you could.”
But as he left the hospital room, Jack wondered if he had done all he could. As he walked out of the hospital, he saw a building with a large red cross in the window. There was a line that stretched for about a block. Jack went over and stood in the line, waiting his turn to give blood. He wouldn’t talk to the journalists that milled around, interviewing people. He wasn’t doing anything special. He was just doing his part.
He had gone home, to find his phone ringing off the hook.
“Dad!” It was his daughter Elizabeth. “Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Yeah, I’m all right,” Jack had said, “though your Uncle Mickey was injured in the tower collapse.”
“Uncle Mick? I didn’t realize—how are Aunt Sheila and Junior taking it?”
“I just took them to the hospital. They are fine.” Jack paused. “Elizabeth, no one knows how this is going to turn out, so I want you to know—I love you.”
“I know, Dad.” The silence on the phones spoke louder than words.
After he finished his call to Elizabeth, Jack found himself calling his siblings in Chicago, filling them in on Mickey’s condition. And then he thought of Jamie Ross. And then of Abbie Carmichael. In between his calls, he got one from Serena.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re safe,” she said.
And now it was early morning. Jack had been unable to sleep without waking up from a nightmare. He looked at the screen of what was now being called Ground Zero and made up his mind.
Nora Lewin was not sure how she had gotten through the rest of the week until Friday. The whole justice system had been slowed, and sometimes stopped, because of lack of policemen to investigate crimes or testify at trials. Many on her staff had loved ones who were directly effected by the tragedy, and she had had to work with a skeleton staff. Luckily, the big trials had been postponed due to the emergency. So justice was still being done—but it was tough going.
Especially without Jack McCoy. Nora wasn’t surprised when she didn’t hear from him on Wednesday. But when Thursday rolled around, she had done a little investigating herself. She had found Mickey McCoy’s number and called it.
“Yeah, Mickey’s all right, “ Sheila McCoy said. “Though some of his co-workers weren’t so lucky, I guess. No, we haven’t seen Jack since Tuesday night, when he took me and Junior to the hospital.”
“I’m sure he’s helping someone else out,” Nora said, hoping she hadn’t added to the burdens of the McCoy family. She worried about Jack the rest of the day, and found herself unable to sleep much that night.
Friday morning she got a call from Lennie Briscoe. “Ms. Lewin, in the course of our duty protecting the area around Ground Zero, I’ve come across some information for you.”
“On a case?” Nora was confused.
“Sort of,” Lennie replied. “Have you been missing an executive for a few days?”
“Jack!” Nora exclaimed.
“He’s down here, and won’t go home. We need someone to persuade him. Would you mind coming down and helping out?”
Nora’s limo got as close to Ground Zero as was allowed. She was met by Lennie and Ed, who escorted her to a building run by the Salvation Army.
“He’s in there, drinking coffee,” Lennie said. “The Army people called us because he’s close to collapse. He’s been working here around the clock, it seems, filling in for others who get tired. I went in to talk with him trying to get him to get some sleep, but he won’t listen to me. I thought maybe if he wouldn’t take suggestions, he’d take orders.”
Nora walked in. Jack was there, wearing a canvas coat and heavy boots, obviously borrowed from the fire department. He was hunched over a cup of coffee. His hair was uncombed and he was unshaven. His head was bowed, and Nora could tell it was an effort for him to stay awake. She went over and put a hand on his back. He jumped, and looked up at her with eyes red from lack of sleep.
“Your shift is over, Jack,” she said. “It’s time for you to get some sleep.”
“How can I?” Jack replied in a voice hoarse with grief. “How can we ever get over this nightmare?”
“We can think of the many people we saved. Of the heroes who saved others, who gave their lives to help others. This is our strength, Jack, that we all stand together. We can use this tragedy to learn. The people who did this practice fanaticism and intolerance. We can practice freedom and tolerance. The people who did this took lives. We can give the gift of life—by giving blood and by giving starving peoples of the world food. The people who did this don’t listen to other points of view. We can listen to others, and find out what problems are so that they can be solved early on, before any lives are lost. Come home, Jack. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll start working again.”
Slowly, Jack stood up. Ed and Lennie helped him to the limo, where he was asleep before Nora got in to sit beside him. She held his hand as they drove back to his apartment.