Chapter 18: Concerts, bombs, and heroes

The concert Crystal Lee and I were to give started at eight o'clock. Actually that was the time the cover band, The Hobo Palace, started to play with their cute and sexy little singer Cindy Wonder. Every time I thought of Cindy, I recalled several pleasant sexual interludes we'd shared, usually with others around. Cindy was a pint-sized blond sexpot nymphomaniac, not unlike the rest of the females I hung out with.

Earlier in the afternoon, Crystal and I walked the Aviva Stadium just outside Dublin, getting a feel for the seats and how various attendees would be able to view the stage. Billy our bandleader came with us. We also had a long coordination talk with the audiovisual people supporting the concert with our spotlights, a laser light show, and special effects.

I still got nervous before performing, so I took a walk around the stage, even taking a look under the elevated stage to check its structural integrity and checking the aisles Crystal and I would run down to get to the stage for cracks or anything that would trip us up when we ran those paths with our western boots on. I walked the various corridors of the stadium too, at least those near the stage and the green room. I also guess it was a habit I got into on missions in the Special Forces; I always wanted to know multiple ways into and out of wherever I was. I marveled at how clean, and neat everything was; I learned the stadium had opened in 2010 but even so I could tell the people of the city took care of their jewel.

I noted as I walked the careful attention to security. At the entrance gates, there were metal screening machines, and more subtly to the sides modern equipment to sniff out explosives. A large contingent of police, K-9 units, and special security guards were starting to take up their positions around the arena as well. Later, I'd realize what a false sense of security these machines offered. Much like airport screening equipment, tests running guns, knives, box cutters, and other dangerous weaponry through the security filters missed about twenty percent of the threat.

Guinness breweries hosted a buffet dinner for the singers, both bands, and the rest of our entourage. I must confess that the burnt flavor of the revered brew did not suit my American taste buds. I explained I needed a clear head for the concert, and stuck with Diet Coke. Crystal and Cindy followed my lead as well. Cindy was so cute the way her freckled nose crinkled up at her first taste of the brew.

Just as we finished dinner about six-thirty, the doors opened up and the fans that had been waiting poured into the arena. Terry told us there was a sellout crowd of 51,000. The program would have five parts: starting at eight, The Hobo Palace would play for twenty minutes or so; there'd be an in-the-dark two-minute drill by the roadies to change out band instruments as some random country chords played through the audio system of the stadium; at the end of two minutes, our band would segue in with the opening bars of Texas Dawn, the first song that Crystal and I had done together – now a song that had sold over sixty million copies worldwide. There'd be a buildup of the music, from simple chords on various instruments, to the entire band playing the song's intro, and then Crystal and I would come racing down different aisles with spotlights announcing our arrival, climb opposite stairways, and move together at stage center, just as we needed to start singing. We'd do forty-five minutes; there'd be a fifteen-minute intermission, then we'd do another forty-five plus an eight-minute encore and then exit.

I kept walking around in the lower corridors of the stadium, rehearsing some of the lyrics and holding a vision in my head about what the concert would be like – song by song. I seemed more anxious than usual. Crystal found me about seven-thirty; "Want a blow job, Lover? You seem unusually tense tonight. Anything wrong?"

"No, it's just my usual nervousness, I think. You know how much better I am at this now than when you first got me on stage in Kentucky. You're used to doing this. Remember that up until a couple of years ago, most of my time was spent behind a computer and a keyboard; there weren't 51,000 people I had to please either; only my boss and a dozen or so others that were our clients whom I rarely saw. Oh, and thanks for the offer, but I think I'll save myself for the party later." I ran a finger down her cheek, but she turned and sucked the digit into her mouth in a lewd gesture. After that we kissed.

About fifteen minutes before eight, I heard some canned music come on the PA system. The idea was to get people in the mood. Despite the sound of the music that filled the place, I found a relatively quiet corner. I sat on a bench and meditated, focusing on a small niche in the wall as I let my mind become calm and rise to a higher level of consciousness. I was aware but turned off my mind, my nervousness, my desire to please, everything. Somewhere in the ten-minute period, I felt a surge of chi – spiritual energy, and a sweep of love for all mankind. A sense of well-being also swept into me. When I rose, I felt renewed, as though I'd slept for eight hours and finished an energizing run. My pre-concert jitters were almost gone. I made a mental note to come back to this state during intermission; I was ready for anything at that moment.

I stood with Crystal, and we watched The Hobo Palace open and excite the audience. Cindy sounded like Stevie Nicks, but with a tight trim little body that probably made every male tongue in the place water, and probably many female tongues as well. They belted out five songs, about three or four minutes each. Cindy thanked the audience for their support to a large round of applause, and then the stadium went dark – well, almost dark.

About twenty-five roadies were split almost evenly between getting rid of The Hobo Palace's band instruments and equipment, and getting our Nashville Drifters band set up. The idle music had started, slowly building to the point where our band would take over just after a loud PA announcement about our part of the concert. I moved over to the other doorway I was to burst through. An usher with a walkie-talkie stood beside me to be sure we exited at just the right moment. We'd done this entrance before with great success.

After a squawk on his radio, the usher turned to me, pointed at the door, and said, "GO!"

I burst through the curtains in front of the door and looked across to see Crystal coming out of her portal. Two spotlights picked us up instantly and followed us as we ran the short distance to the stage, touching hands of fans in the VIP section along the way. Cameras flashed. The crowd roared in welcome. The music volume went way up, especially as we climbed to the stage level.

Our timing was spot on. We came together, turned on our wireless mics with a touch at our belts, and started singing the first verse of Texas Dawn precisely on the mark. We gave each other a big smile as we got into the song. Around us some large screen LED displays showed close-ups of Crystal and me, the band members, our backup singers, and various other scenes of excited fans, and other visual eye candy such as tumbleweeds rolling through a western ghost town and the sun rising over a Texas plain.

We did eight songs, but each of the eight ran an average of five or six minutes, plus one of them was a medley. Every song got a standing ovation and huge cheers. Between songs we talked a little about ourselves, our tour, how glad we were to be in Ireland and Dublin, and yet how glad we'd be to get back home in a few more days. Intermission time came, we segued from out last song into some pre-recorded music, and Crystal and I left the stage in darkness with a promise to be back for another set.

Back under the stadium, as Crystal and I walked down one of the corridors, she said, "I need some water. My voice was getting gravelly towards the end of that set."

"Take a bottle back out with you for the next set. No one will care if you use it. These days it's expected."

"Good idea. I think I will."

We went into the green room, and both got some water. I hit the men's room. When I came out, Crystal was pacing. I told her, "Try meditating. I'm going to take five to center myself a little – to pick up some more chi. Get mindful. I'll be right around the corner." I gestured to one wall.

We both routinely meditated and knew the language. She nodded and went to a corner of the room and sat quietly.

I left the room to find the bench and niche in the wall I'd used before the concert started. I found the corner; the place was still quiet, although overhead I could hear the thunderous buzz of the crowd in the first tier of the stadium stands.

I closed my eyes briefly, told my inner clock I wanted three-hundred seconds of peace and chi. When my eyes opened, I locked onto that little niche in the wall, no bigger than the tip of my finger. It was just something to focus on and otherwise held no existential meaning.

Exactly five minutes later, I arose, felt renewed, and started to head back to the green room. Somehow, I'd managed to ignore the five thousand or so fans directly overhead despite all the noise they made. Again, I felt rejuvenated.

As I turned the corridor from my meditation spot I saw a large backpack leaning against the wall of the green room and directly next to one of the main supporting columns for the first and upper tiers of the arena.

It hadn't been there before.

It looked out of place.

My intuition kicked in. My chi.

I went over to it and carefully flipped open the top of the bag and peered in. I remember thinking it odd that no one else was around, yet the bag looked almost new.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The backpack was a bomb. A GREAT BIG FUCKING BOMB! One part of my mind screamed, and the other remained calm and started to list the steps I needed to take to ensure people's safety.

I backed away from the bag and ran into the green room. Crystal, Terry, and a few others were standing around waiting for the cue to go back out.

I yelled, "GET OUT OF HERE NOW; THERE'S A BOMB ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT WALL." I pointed to the one wall. "Get security or the police down here. But get away from here. See whether you can clear the stands above us. Get people diverted away from here. RUN."

We all burst out of the room in different directions.

I went back to the bomb. I had to see if I could defuse it. I had training years ago in Army Special Forces in explosives, although most of the stuff I did involved blowing things up instead of stopping explosions.

I knelt down beside the bag, and carefully examined the bag for trip wires or booby traps. I didn't see any, but my intuition told me there had to be at least one. I carefully unzipped the side of the bag, searching every fraction of an inch for some triggering device. I did love my life, and didn't want to end up in little pieces all over the stadium grounds, nor did I want to take a couple of thousand fans with me – those in the stands directly overhead.

As I bared the guts of the bomb by folding down the zippered flap of the backpack, I could see the bomb was made up of twenty or thirty pounds of PE4, a plastic explosive similar to C4 but with slightly more deadly effects. As I recalled the exit velocity of the explosive particles topped 30,000 feet per second; C4 was about two-thirds of that. Either way, if the bomb you were disarming exploded you were dead – D. E. A. D. and splattered all over creation; there would be no bone or soft tissue fragment larger than a gnat.

Pressed into and around the plastic explosive were multiple detonator caps and scrap metal, such as nails and ball bearings. The shrapnel would add to the deadly nature of the bomb when it detonated.

If the bomb went off, my guess, given the size of the PE4 pack, was that it would clear an area above and around me about a hundred-fifty feet in radius. All in that zone would die instantly. It would vaporize the concrete above us that seated a couple of thousand people. Outside that zone, many others would be hit by the shrapnel and other debris, and end up seriously injured or dead. Because of the bomb's proximity to a major structural column, the upper tiers of stadium would probably cascade down on the lower tiers – not a good thing to let happen. The stage was not that far away from where I squatted; it too would get significant damage.

Behind me, I heard the scuffle of arriving feet. By now, I was lying on my stomach trying to assess the underside of the device by unzipping the bag's flap down to the floor. I had already studied the timer, and the four visible sides of the bag with one side open. Now, I could see a pressure switch on the bottom of the device. If we picked up the bag or lifted the bomb the way it was in the bag, the bomb would detonate.

"What's happening Mr. Mellon," one of the security people asked.

"Just give me a minute. Can you clear the stage and the area above us?"

"How bad is it?"

"Very, very bad. This is about as high powered a device as you can get given its size."

A policeman approached cautiously, "The bomb squad are on their way. They're coming from downtown."

I said, "So, they'll be here in about twenty minutes?"

"Yes, maybe a few minutes longer."

"Good, then they can help pick up the pieces. This bomb is set to go off in fourteen minutes." I glanced at the LED display on the timer.

I heard a dozen people swear behind me. Several ran off.

I carefully reached into the device and started to separate the wires so I could see their colors and where they emanated from.

I turned to a policeman nearest me; "I need wire cutters, a screw driver, tool kit, if you will. Fast!"

Several men ran off in different directions.

I heard the music of the concert gear up through the walls of the stadium. Seconds later, I heard Crystal start her hit song Flirty, Flirty Cowgirl. I knew she'd go about ten minutes with this rendition of the song. I wondered why she'd started singing given the warning I gave everyone in the green room, including her, about the bomb.

I turned to a policewoman about twenty feet away, as though the distance would save her; I said, "I want you to go out by the stage. Take some other police officers with you. When you hear this song end – and in no more than ten minutes from right now – I want you to get Crystal and the band members off that stage and running, and I mean running to the other end of the stadium. If you value your life, you'll run too. I don't care what you have to do, but you do it, even if you have to go on stage and throw her kicking and screaming over your shoulder, but you get her to the far side of the stadium. Understand?" I waved my arm at the ceiling, "And get the fucking area cleared above us!"

She nodded, turned, and sped away at a good pace, taking a nearby colleague with her. I heard her voice talking to a couple of others on her walkie-talkie as she turned a corner – a corner that wouldn't be there in thirteen minutes and a few seconds unless I could stop this thing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone with a camera taking pictures of me and the bomb. 'My God, ' I thought, 'We're about to be blown to bits and the paparazzi are here.' I waved him away, and went back to the bomb.

I talked to myself. I'd been taught to do this. "Red wire comes from the battery pack, runs into left side of timer. White and black wires run in parallel from the timer to blasting caps on left side of bomb. The blue wire runs from the left side of the timer to the battery pack. Green wire comes from the battery pack to the timer. What the hell; this is DC; there shouldn't be a third wire from the battery to the timer. Hold that thought."

"Red and yellow wires goes from the detonator to right side blasting caps ... blasting caps are wired in parallel just as on left. There are no wires on back of bomb that I can see. The bomb must have been assembled inside the bag on top of the pressure-triggering device. Oh yes, there they are; another set of blue and black wires running up middle of bomb from the pressure pad to the timer and detonator; they're hard to reach, but not impossible."

Someone slid in beside me almost like a baseball player sliding into home plate. He was a young police officer who'd stripped off the top half of his uniform down to his t-shirt. He dropped a handful of tools between us. "How can I help? I've had some training in this stuff – in Afghanistan."

"Just hang in with me for a few minutes. You take a look." I immediately called his attention to the pressure sensor as well the extra wire between the battery pack and the timer.

He said, "If we cut the wires from the pressure sensor, we could at least move the bomb. It'd still be active." I enjoyed his thick Irish accent despite the current circumstances.

"Hard to get to." I pointed to the wires near the middle of the stack of explosives. "I'm afraid if we reach in to cut the wires, it'll tilt the timer. There might be a mercury switch inside the timer that would trigger the thing."

He said with some certainty, "Most likely, there are capacitors inside the timer and not a mercury switch. This looks too solid state. If we cut the battery wires, the bomb will still go off when the timer zeroes out. The way it works is the capacitors then fire off their charge right away. Boom boom."

I could see the paparazzi photographer had snuck closer and was taking more photos of the two of us leaning over the backpack.

"How could we cut the wires from the pressure sensor to the timer? If we try to pull them out, they'll pull the sensor too, and the thing will go off."

"I'm Daniel, by the way. I know you're Jim." We spent five precious seconds and shook hands. I thought how civilized we were trying to be in the face of Armageddon.

Daniel said, "Let me take a look from your angle." We shifted positions.

"If I shot through the device at this angle, I think a bullet could sever one or maybe both of the wires."

"Just do one," I said. "With two, you might complete a circuit in that fraction of a second a bullet would hit both wires."

"Ah, good thinking."

Daniel undid his side arm and pulled out a Glock 30. He turned to the men standing behind us and in his thick brogue said, "We're going to try something. If this doesn't work, well, you know ... you'll all join the angels if you stay close by here. If it does work, we'll need a route clear to the nearest outside door and a place to deposit this thing outside where it won't do much damage. May God bless us all."

Four men ran off; walkie-talkie chatter filled the hallway; the others stayed including the photographer who kept taking pictures, now with a telephoto lens.

One of the men who'd run off came back as Daniel and I tried to ensure any ricochet would not come back into the bag. He said, "We've got a path for you cleared to an outside door into the parking area. There's a culvert if you can get the bag that far. One of the other gents will show you. He's waiting by the door."

Daniel started to aim his gun into the side of the bag, steadying the short muzzle with his other hand. I caught a glimpse of the timer as it changed from '6:00' minutes to '5:59'. I thought, well only 360 seconds left to live.

I spoke, "Better do it now. We'll have a chance to get it away from here."

As I spoke I could still hear the happy strains of 'Flirty, Flirty Cowgirl' filtering through the concrete to my ears. I sure hoped things were happening above us that would minimize the carnage.

Daniel sighted down the barrel of the handgun. "Goodbye World," he said, and then I heard the loud retort of his handgun. My ears hurt from the sharp sound. Bits of concrete went flying from the wall behind the bomb where the bullet ricocheted away; a few rained down upon the two of us.

The fact that I had heard something and formed a thought about that fact meant the shot had not detonated the device.

Daniel said, "One wire is cleanly severed, and there's no likelihood they'll rub together as we move the device."

As Daniel started to stand, I reached down, quickly zipped up the side of the bag to contain the bomb, lifted the device with a wince, and broke into a run down the corridor for the door.

Daniel ran faster than I did, as did one of the policemen who directed us to the outside door. I carried the thirty-pound bomb, clutching the backpack to my chest as I ran. It made me unsteady, and by now I knew there couldn't have been any other switch in the bag that would detonate the device if the bag were disturbed.

Daniel held the door for me, as we hit the cool night air. I heard the last verse of Crystal's song start in the distance – that meant I had only two or three minutes to get this thing far away from the stadium. I said a silent prayer of gratitude for my ability to run. Every step I took led me that much further from the people in the stadium. Every step I took meant more people would live. All those morning runs and exercise led me to these few moments and the ability to take the bomb to where it could explode in relative safety.

A policeman up ahead gestured to us. Daniel ran ahead of me; "Head this way," Daniel pointed to a deep drainage ditch that had probably been designed to carry rain runoff from the parking lot to the Irish Sea. We cut through some lanes of parked cars and started to run along the lip of the long trench.

Daniel said, "Look!" He pointed at where the channel dipped into a large culvert – a pipe about four feet across with a coarse wire cage across the end to keep humans from entering. We ran and slid down the side of the gully into a wet bog in front of the large pipe.

I rapidly said, "The bag or bomb are both too large to fit through the holes in the bars."

"No, wait," Daniel yelled. He pulled out his Glock again and aimed it at a large pad lock holding the gate in place. He fired, and the lock disintegrated, the metal parts flying in all directions. I saw one graze his face, leaving a small gash that instantly drew blood.

Daniel swung the large gate open, and I ran about forty feet into the dark concrete watercourse, slogging through ankle deep drainage the whole way. I set the bag down, turned and ran back to the opening splashing every step of the way.

Daniel and I scrambled up the wet slope of the trench, sliding back several times before we reached the edge of the parking lot and level ground.

Several others had been approaching from the same direction we came. Daniel shouted at the top of his lungs, "RUN LIKE HELL! GET AWAY FROM HERE."

We both bore down in our sprint, putting one lane of cars and then a second between the culvert holding the bomb and us.

Just as we sprinted into the third lane of parked vehicles the explosion hit with a HUGE force.

KA-BOOM!!!

I went flying forward between two parked cars because of the pressure wave from the blast. The earth shook as though the planet would crack apart. An immense cloud of debris apparently rose from the explosion in all directions, but mainly out of the open end of the culvert. Shrapnel of all kinds started to rain down upon us. I scrambled under the car I'd fallen beside. I could see Daniel squirming beneath a pickup truck one vehicle over when I looked past the undercarriage of the car I was under. A second later, a rock the size of my head smashed down where I'd fallen seconds earlier leaving a six-inch deep pock mark in the asphalt of the parking lot.

As the shower of rocks and debris slowed and then stopped, I heard the cacophony of hundreds of car alarms triggered by the explosion – maybe thousands. When all seemed clear of falling debris, I slithered out from under the car. My ears ached from the sound of the blast, and I was sure I'd temporarily hurt my hearing. I found I had a bloody nose, and a gash on my forehead, most likely from my fall. My arms and legs ached. My ears were ringing from the sound wave of the blast. My left hand was bloody and ached badly from a severe bruise. I couldn't remember anything specific that happened to it.