Susan Sleeman - Explosive Alliance

“Be careful, Deputy,” Krista called out.

He felt his stride falter. Not for long. The briefest of moments, really, but long enough for the memory of his fallen teammates to come rushing back.

Stow it, man. Or these people could pay the price for your distraction. Keep calm. In control. Step by step. Work through it.

He could do this. He had to do this. If the bomb was real, it was up to him—him alone—to disarm the device. With fifteen minutes on the timer, neither his squad nor the Metropolitan Explosives Disposal Unit could arrive on time.

If he even had the fifteen minutes to get this done.

More likely he had less.

Putting a cell phone on the bomb said the bomber planned to detonate via a phone call and the timer was likely a fallback. A simple ring of the phone and the bomb could go off in a split second, killing everyone in the blast radius.

He upped his speed, reaching the top tier. He looked for a break in the crowd. A cold bead of sweat dampening his forehead, he shot across the aisle, found the backpack and gently opened it. The sight that greeted him sent his heart plummeting.

He shone his flashlight into the pack, following the detonator wire from the timer now at twelve minutes to demolition blocks stacked neatly inside.

He let out a low whistle, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach followed.

There was nothing fake about this bomb. Nothing at all.

THREE

“No-o-o-o!” Raw fear uncoiled in Krista’s stomach. “Don’t mess with it. Opa first. Please!” Her words came from deep in her gut, but there was no chance Cash could hear her over the crowd.

Was he trying to be a hero? Trying to disarm the bomb himself instead of waiting for a trained technician?

Of course he was. He was a hotheaded cop like the ones who’d railroaded her toward a murder rap. And she’d trusted him. Stupidly. She was the worst kind of granddaughter. She’d left Opa a stone’s throw from a bomb, then trusted the wrong person again.

You’re a fool, Krista.

She was about to charge up there, but Cash turned and headed in Opa’s direction. He squatted in front of him. They talked, Opa responding with his usual animated gesturing. Cash patted Opa’s hand then stood and looked away. Krista waited for Opa to get up, but he sat there watching Cash walk toward the bomb.

What?

“No! What’re you doing?” she screamed.

He took a tool from his pocket and bent over the bomb. He was going to try to disarm it and leave Opa all alone.

Fear skittered down Krista’s spine. She couldn’t stand there any longer and leave her grandfather in extreme peril. She took off, following the trail Cash had left behind, pushing through people like a snowplow. She wouldn’t stop. No matter what. She was going up to Opa’s seat even if the crowd trampled her to death.

* * *

Adrenaline raced through Cash’s veins, leaving him light-headed for a moment. He took in a calming breath. Blew it out and replayed his radio conversation with Jake, the FRS leader. The team had an ETA of ten minutes, but once they arrived, they still would have to fight through the crowd streaming out of the stadium.

Translated, Cash was on his own.

So did he move the bomb? Disarm it? Jake had told Cash to use his gut feeling. His gut, right. His gut couldn’t be trusted. Afghanistan proved that.

He stared at the bomb for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. His best option was to get the device away from people. Center field would be good, but safely moving through the crowd while carrying a bomb would be problematic. So then what?

He checked the timer.

08:29.

08:28.

08:27.

He had to act. Move it or disarm it, which was less risky? He just didn’t know. He used to be so decisive. Until the loss of his team.

He glanced around, assessing the number of people still in the blast radius, and saw Krista urgently climbing over seats to get to her grandfather.

Otto seemed like a fine gentleman. He’d thanked Cash for risking his life to disarm the bomb and for his willingness to sacrifice himself for others, then told him to go ahead with his job and not worry about him. He was counting on Cash to make the right decision. So was Krista. So were all the people in the stadium.

A lump formed in Cash’s throat, but he wouldn’t disappoint them.

He knew what he had to do. He flipped open his Leatherman and went to work on the antiremoval device. Each movement calculated. Precise.

The noise of the crowd. The announcer. The sounds of other officers who’d responded, all fading into the background. It was just him and the device. And the timer.

He wasn’t one for praying. Not since answers to his questions about the loss of his former team remained unanswered, but if any situation called for hope and prayer, this one did.

He sent up a quick request to keep everyone safe. To make his movements sure and true. He took a deep breath, held it and decisively disconnected the device.

With no time to spare, he moved on to the detonator, carefully pulling it from the Semtex and moving it well away from the explosives. The timer continued counting down, but with the detonator removed, it no longer mattered.

“Done!” he called out, then wiped perspiration from his forehead.

Before he could celebrate, in his peripheral vision he caught someone quickly advancing toward him. He was instantly on alert again.

He jerked around, his hand flying to his gun.

Krista raced across the now-deserted aisle.

“What’re you doing?” She rushed up to him, her eyes immediately going to the backpack. “The timer is almost down to zero and you promised to get Opa out of here. Let’s hurry. Now!”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he’d disarmed the bomb, but she flew at him and pounded his chest. He grabbed her hands. They were icy cold and trembling. “We’ve got to go. Now! Help us. Please.”

“Krista,” Otto said calmly from behind them.

Cash continued to clutch her hands as she looked over her shoulder at her grandfather. “Opa, we have to go.”

“But Cash is a bomb technician. He has disarmed the bomb. There is no longer any danger.”

She whirled on Cash. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to.”

She jerked her hands free, looking torn between aggravation with him and relief that her grandfather was safe. She made quite a sight, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Her fiery personality contrasted with her elegant, tailored clothing, which Cash bet cost a pretty penny. Not that he had much experience with such things from his low-income upbringing, but he knew quality when he saw it.

“Let me arrange for someone to stand watch on the backpack, and I’ll assist you with helping Otto down the stairs,” he offered.

“I don’t need your help.” She turned away. “Let’s get you up, Opa.”

“I’m feeling tired,” Otto said, a smile in his voice. “I think it would be better to wait for the nice young man to help us.”

She jerked around to look at Cash again, her frustration with waiting for him rampant in her expression.

Cash stifled a snort and radioed for an officer. She watched him, her jaw jutted out in defiance. She was a tenacious little thing, battling for her grandfather at all costs, a trait Cash admired. By the time the officer arrived and Cash had given him instructions, she had Opa on his feet.

He was clearly in poor health, and today’s scare had likely rattled him more than he was willing to admit. Cash would do his best to help Otto relax.

Cash took the older man’s elbow and winked at him. “Let me know if you catch the eye of a pretty lady. I’ll let go so we don’t ruin your cred as a ladies’ man.”