Nelson DeMille: The Lion

Dutch informed us, "We're talking about a mile, mile-and-a-half blast radius… depending on what they have in that fifty-three-footer."

Tom nodded, but didn't respond.

Dutch also let us know, "If it's a simple detonator-without any tricks-I can defuse it in a few seconds, by cutting some wires or interrupting the power source."

I asked, of course, "And if it's not so simple?"

He replied, "If it looks like it's rigged with a current interruption switch, or maybe a second power source or some other sneaky detonating device… then…" He shrugged and said, "If I had more time, I could dope it out… but we don't have a lot of time, so I just start cutting wires and see what happens."

He went to school for this?

Dutch also let us know, "And maybe it's command detonated. Like, someone is going to make a cell phone call and that trips the switch."

No one had anything to say about that, and Dutch reminded us, "Meanwhile, we got to decide if we're going to open that door-that's step one. I can't defuse it from here."

Bobby, who I thought had shown a lot of patience, said, "I think our time is almost up to get out of here."

Kate said to Tom, "Open the doors."

Tom glanced at his watch.

To help Tom with his decision-before it was too late to run and too late to defuse the bomb-I said, "I'm guessing that Khalil stashed the PA cops' bodies in there, so the doors have already been opened." Recalling that Boris told me he'd never trained Khalil to work with bombs, I concluded, "I don't think Khalil would risk disarming or rearming a booby trap."

Tom looked at me, then at Dutch, and said, "Open the doors."

Dutch said to his partner, "Bobby-do it."

Bobby grabbed the handle on the left door, and Dutch put his hands over his ears. What the fuck is wrong with these people? This is not funny.

The big door swung open, and, just as I predicted, nothing happened. Or I was in heaven now. But Walsh was here.

Dutch was already in motion, and he jumped up into the trailer where a stack of cement bags formed a wall almost to the roof. Bobby gave him a boost, and Dutch scrambled up the bags, lay on the top row, and shone his flashlight into the trailer. For a second, I thought he was going to say, "Just cement," but he said, "Mother of God…"

Oh, shit.

Bobby called up to him, "What do we have, Dutch?"

Dutch replied, "Well, for starters, five bodies. Two PA cops-male and female-and three males in civilian clothing."

Bobby made the sign of the cross, which these guys probably did a lot.

Dutch said, "Also, about eighty… ninety fifty-five-gallon drums… with wires running to them."

Bobby asked Dutch, "Do you think it's a bomb?"

I looked at Tom, who was looking at me. And he thought I was nuts? These guys just lowered the nut bar to ground level.

Kate took my hand, then surprised me by taking Tom's hand, too. Well, we could sort this out in heaven.

Meanwhile, Dutch had some bad news. "I don't see the power source or the timer or the switch."

They're definitely in there, Dutch. Look hard.

Dutch gave Bobby a hand, and Bobby scrambled up to the top of the cement bags and shone his light into the trailer. He said, "It's gotta be over there. See where the wires are running?"

"Yeah… but… it's tight in there…"

Tom called out helpfully, "Four minutes."

Dutch said to Bobby, "Okay, let's walk on barrels."

They both dropped behind the wall of cement bags and disappeared.

I didn't want to rip my stitches, but in about four minutes that would be the least of my problems, so I hopped up onto the bumper, followed by Kate and Tom. We boosted and pulled one another to the top of the cement bags and poked our heads into the dark trailer.

Tom had a flashlight, and below us was a two-foot space between the wall of bags and the first row of drums, and in that space were five bodies piled on the floor. In fact, I could smell them over the chemical smells. The three civilians looked young and burly, and I could see blood on their faces as though they'd each been shot in the head. I assumed, too, that these guys had something to do with the truck and with Khalil.

Tom was shining his light around, and I looked into the trailer and saw the tightly packed rows of fifty-five-gallon drums, each one covered with a lid. I could now see the wires running into the centers of the lids.

Neither Kate nor Tom said anything for a few seconds, then Kate said, "That bastard."

Dutch and Bobby were walking carefully on the rims of the drums making their way toward the front of the trailer, shining their flashlights between the drums as they walked.

Tom asked them, "Is there anything we can do?"

Neither man replied, and I had the sense that even these two were getting a little tense. I didn't want to look at the clock on Kate's cell phone, but I was estimating about two minutes until eternity.

Dutch said, "Here it is."

Good news.

"Hard to reach."

Bad news.

Dutch flattened himself on top of the drums in the far right corner, and Bobby squatted beside him and kept his light trained into the dark space.

Dutch said, "I see the twelve-volt… but I don't see the timer or the switch."

Bobby agreed and added, "They could be anyplace."

I strongly suggested, "Take the fucking cable off the battery."

"Yeah," Dutch replied, "that's what I'm trying to do… thanks for the tip… tight in here… this vise grip was made by the lowest bidder… hope there's not a second battery somewhere…"

So Kate, Tom, and I lay there on top of the wall of concrete bags, peering into the dark, waiting for some positive statement from Dutch.

Also, I was trying to remember why I thought I needed to be here. On that subject, I said to Kate, "Sorry."

She replied, "It's okay, John."

Right. I already saved her life once-so I was allowed one fatal mistake.

Tom was staring at his cell phone and said, very calmly, I thought, "It is now eight forty-five."

No one had anything to say about that.

It got very quiet in the trailer, and I could actually hear the metallic sound of Dutch's vise grip trying to loosen the nut on the positive cable lead.

Dutch said, "Got it."

Bobby said, "That's the wrong one."

They both laughed.

I shut my eyes, and I could hear the bells of nearby St. Paul's Chapel, which chimed every morning at 8:46.