As some of you know, I'm a hot shot computer
programmer, so I wasn't too surprised when a patrol car arrived to
rush me to City Hall. It was about 2 pm, and Mayor Kathy Whitmire was
frantic. A terrorist organization had planted a bomb between 610 and
the Southwest Freeway and would explode it at 6 if their demands
weren't met: every non-Houston native be forced to leave the city.
Kathy said "locate the A-Team!" but my computer query reported they
had disbanded. "Where's Rambo?" I hacked into the State Department
computer and discovered that he was on special assignment to the
Indiana National Guard. "Who's left?" I decided to break the tension
with a joke: "there's always me." "Thank you for volunteering."
(Begin music) By 5, I was ready, and the bomb's location had been
pinpointed; it was attached underneath the exit overpass. Within
minutes, I was in a helicopter, zooming towards the deadly
intersection. The helicopter hovered over the stationary traffic as I
climbed down its rope ladder. The bottom rung was about 100 feet
above the freeway so I said a prayer and jumped. As I passed by the edge of
the overpass, I threw out my grappling hook and let out some rope
(ouch).
From where I hung, I could see the bomb, and I began swinging
to it. Higher, closer, ... I could reach the bottom of the overpass
now, and I raised my legs and used the suction cups strapped to my knees
to attach to the cold concrete. Dangling upside down, I could read the
digital display of time left: 4 minutes, 38 seconds. The spaces for
tenths and hundredths of seconds were racing blurs. I took out my
swiss army knife and used the screwdriver to take off the
casing. Just as I got the first screw off, some lousy 18-wheeler
startled me with its horn, and I dropped the knife. Don't panic. I
took off my watch and used its latch to remove the remaining screws.
As the last one came off, the casing plummeted earthward, shattering
the windshield of a car below. (That's my contribution to Houston auto insurance
rates.)
Now I could see the timer and the explosives wired to some batteries.
Wouldn't you know: Energizers. Next, I looked for the 3 wires: one I
had to cut, the other 2, if severed, would cause an immediate explosion. Red
wire, red wire, red wire. Where's the blue wire! In the movies, you
always cut the blue wire. 20 seconds left. I reached for a coin to flip,
but all I had was a $100 bill. 15 seconds: I looked for my wire
cutters -- I found them on the swiss army knife, down there. 10
seconds. I started chewing -- "this wire's tough" -- chew, chew, I've
got it. (flinch) "I'm still here." I looked at the timer; the last
three digits read double-O six.
All right, I'm not James Bond, but when danger needs to be
confronted, and you can't find the A-Team or Rambo, "who you gonna
call?" (stop music). Hey --- not me Man, I already earned my key to
the city.
