A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [1]
Still more bewildered than alarmed, Eddie moved to his left. His equipment told the same story for other substations. Dunwoodie to Long Island and Ravensbrook in Queens had also been tripped. Goethals and Farragut, controlling the power to large portions of New York City, was down as well. Assuming the readings were all correct, the whole system was unstable, and the largest city in the country was on the verge of something massive and horrible.
Eddie’s first move was a call to the nearest manned station 150 miles north in Albany. Seven rings and an answering machine.
Even an explosion at the facility in Albany would not cause this sort of power loss. Since its inception, NYISO had been closing loopholes in its system to the point where an almost inconceivable number of events had to occur simultaneously to cause any major degree of problems.
But incredibly, those events were happening.
As far as Eddie could tell, his control station was now the only thing standing against a blackout that would engulf most of eastern New York including Long Island and the five boroughs of New York City.
He raced to the phone, got the emergency number of the FBI from a chart on the wall, and began dialing.
That was when he felt the point of a knife press against the back of his neck.
“Set the receiver down, sport,” a man’s husky voice said in an accent that sounded British.
The knife point felt as if it were going to slice straight into Eddie’s spine.
“P-please. That hurts.”
“What’s your name, sport?”
“Eddie. Eddie Gostowski. Please.”
“I’m going to lower the knife, Eddie, but unless you do exactly as I say, you’re a dead man. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“I SAID, HAVE YOU GOT THAT?”
“Yes! Yes! Now pl—”
“Okay, sport, we don’t have much time. You’re going to turn around and look me in the eye. If you fuck with me in any way, any way at all, I’m going to slit your throat. Is that clear? Okay, now swing around.”
Eddie did as he was ordered. Towering above him was a man—six foot three, maybe more, with shoulders that seemed to block out the room. He was dressed in black—watch cap, jeans, and a turtleneck—with black greasepaint covering his face. His eyes were dark and cold. In his hand was a bowie knife—broad and curved at the tip—ten inches long at least.
Behind the man and to his right, arms crossed, feet apart, stood a second man in identical dress and greasepaint.
As frightened as he was, Eddie couldn’t get the notion out of his head of the disaster that would ensue should the brownout that was already in effect be allowed to progress. As if responding to his thoughts, the big man placed the tip of the bowie knife beneath Eddie’s chin and lifted his face up.
“No arguing with me now,” he said. “I want you to use whatever you have here to trip this unit off-line.”
“But—”
The huge man drew the razor-sharp blade across Eddie’s gullet like a violin bow, slicing open a shallow gash from one side of his jawbone to the other.
“I said don’t argue with me, sport! Now, do as I tell you and you won’t be hurt any more. Mess with me and you’ll die in pieces, and we’ll still find the trip switch to take this place off-line.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to Eddie to stanch the flow of blood.
Shakily, Eddie crossed to the adjacent room, hesitated, and then threw the trip. Instantly, the substation went black. Moments later, a generator kicked on and the lights returned.
“Anything else we need to do?” the big man asked the other.
“All four teams have reported in. No problems at all.”
They motioned Eddie back into the control room and down onto his chair.
“That your emergency line, sport?” the man asked, gesturing to a red wall phone.
“Yes,” Eddie managed, continuing to put pressure on the gash. The handkerchief was sodden with blood.
“Is it monitored?”
“Yes, but with the blackout I’m not sure anyone is there.”
“I’m sure this call will be recorded, though, right? I said, ‘RIGHT?’ ”
“R-right.”
“Okay, then. This the number?”
“Yes.… Yes, sir.”
Only then did Eddie realize