Four floors below Manhattan in a bunkerlike room, a vast wall of monitors pulses with fragments of a city's picture; images flicker to life then disappear like bits of dream.
On one of the screens Mrs. Franklin Holt does not move, not one muscle. She has not moved in six hours. Crowds pour in and out of subway trains on the platform where she is standing but she stares ahead like a statue. She does not flinch when a teenager waiting for an overdue train dances around her to get laughs from his friends. She does not respond when a young couple asks her if she is okay. She is transfixed by something in front of her no one...