New York - The Novel

would have wanted you to keep it—I know he would—but you can consider it a present from me.”
    “Well, thank you.” She fixed her eyes on his. “Think about what I said.” Then, with a mischievous smile, she put it round her waist and tied it. “How do I look?”
    “Adorable.”
    “Well, then I guess I am.” She got into the taxi, and it moved away, as he turned back inside to pay the check.
    “Where to?” the driver asked Sarah Adler, as the taxi started down Park.
    “World Trade Center,” she replied.

    Gorham sat for several minutes alone at their table. He pondered what to do. He glanced at his watch. If he was going to turn up for the meeting at the headhunter’s, he’d better get going. With the drawing under his arm, he went out onto Park, and moments later, he was being driven south.
    It was an easy ride down FDR Drive. The taxi rounded the bulge of the Lower East Side by the Williamsburg Bridge. Manhattan Bridge came next, then the Brooklyn Bridge, and just after that, the South Street Seaport on the waterfront.
    That was where he made his decision. As the taxi came onto South Street and made a right onto Whitehall, he took out his cellphone. He wouldn’t be going to the meeting.
    He didn’t feel like going straight back to his office. He got out of the taxi and decided to call Maggie.

    At approximately 7:59 on the morning of September 11, 2001, American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston to Los Angeles had taken off from Logan International Airport. The plane was a Boeing 767, with ninety-two people on board, including crew. Soon after 8:16, the plane, flying at 29,000 feet, deviated from its scheduled course and failed to respond to repeated calls from Boston Air Traffic Control. For a time, its whereabouts were unclear.
    At 8:26 the plane turned south. By now BATC had heard the leading hijacker giving instructions to the passengers. At 8:37 the plane was spotted.It was flying south approximately along the line of the Hudson River. NORAD was informed and two F-15 fighters were prepared for take-off from the Otis base in Massachusetts.
    At 8:43 the plane made a final turn toward Manhattan.
    Very few people noticed the plane as it approached the city. For a start, there wasn’t much time. Initially, the sight of a plane flying low toward Manhattan would not have seemed so strange. Plenty of planes, if not on quite this flight path, came in low over the city as they approached nearby La Guardia. As it passed over the city, few people in the narrow canyons of the streets would even have seen it. Those on the waterfront, or across the river in New Jersey, did see it, however. Though it did not seem out of control, it was now far too low. Some witnesses thought the pilot must be in trouble and was maybe hoping to crash-land in the Hudson.
    Only at the last moment did the plane level out, appear to accelerate, and head straight for the northern face of the World Trade Center Number 1 Tower. It did not occur to people that this extraordinary flight path was deliberately chosen.
    At 8.46 the plane smashed into the side of the North Tower just above the ninety-third floor and embedded itself deep into the building with a huge explosion. It was traveling at 404 knots and carried 10,000 gallons of fuel.

    At 8:35, Dr. Caruso had been ushered into the office. It was only in the twenties in the South Tower, but the view over the water was splendid. The insurance agent, Doug, an old friend, had told him he’d join him in a minute. Standing at the window, Caruso had glanced up.
    The North Tower loomed just a short distance away. At the top of that tower, on the 106th and 107th floors, was the Windows on the World restaurant. It was a splendid establishment, and the highest grossing restaurant in the USA. When friends from outside the city came to visit New York, he liked to take them there. He probably did this a couple of times a year. And he never tired of it. You could walk round the bar area and look out over Brooklyn on one side, New Jersey the other, north up the Hudson or south across the harbor. You could see for twenty miles. Sometimes, low clouds even passed below you, cutting off sections of the city like a thin veil. He smiled.
    Doug hurried into the room, apologizing for keeping him waiting.
    “I’ve got a bunch of stuff for you to look at,” he said with a grin. “Then I’ll tell you what I think you ought to do.”
    “Great,” said Dr. Caruso as he sat down. “Let me make a