One… two… one… two. A slow-motion side-shuffle. Her hands gripping her chest, flattening her breasts. One… two… one… two. Her legs trembled with the enormous exertion it required to keep them from jerking away from her. Brushing against the cold damp wall, one, two…
… Up to the water heater, a behemoth, floor-to-ceiling, wall of steel, blasting heat, pilot light twinkling. Easily eight or ten feet long. She reached it, recoiling from the overpowering heat, exhaled.
It bought her ten feet, she thought. Ten free feet. She slid against the wall, quickly now. She felt a prickly flush of heat, and the sweat began to run down her arms, down the inside of her arms, down her breasts, tickling her. Rivulets of sweat ran down her inner thighs. Fluorescent light flickered sickly greenish-white.
She came to the end of the heater, and there was a gap, a space of another five or six feet, before the next shelter, which she now saw was long and rectangular, a tall row of filing cabinets.
Immediately she slowed her pace, inched along. As she edged, she stared at the black box, her eyes glistening with fear, feeling as if the invisible microwaves could feel her, were invading her body, arrogant and intrusive and everywhere. Now, from this angle, she could see a tiny pinpoint of light, a ruby-red dot, on top of the black box. What was it, an indicator? Would it wink at her if it caught her moving? Would it wink in the split second before the building was incinerated, turning her and her little boy into ash? Or would there be no warning at all? Would she move a few inches per second too quickly, enraging the red-eyed monster, and never know anything?
She stared, and she thought about Jared, and she began to formulate a plan, anything to distract her, send her mind elsewhere, anywhere, while she edged along the dank wall to the file cabinets, light flickering fluorescent-green.
Another twenty-five feet to go, and then she would have to move along another wall before she reached the door.
Hugging her chest harder, her clothes soaked through.
Thinking of Jared, cowering in a room somewhere.
She glided along the wall behind the filing cabinets, mindful of the gaps between the cabinets, through which the microwaves could pass. She had to move slowly here too, just as slowly, because of the gaps. Then she came to another open space. This one seemed miles long, seemed to stretch an eternity. Inched now. A muscle twitched, something connecting hip to leg, a slight jerking motion, and she froze. Her heart knocked against her rib cage. Stood still, holding her breath. Waiting for the ruby-red light to wink at her. It didn’t. She exhaled slowly. Moved again to her left. One… two… one… two…
Could hear voices on the other side of the heavy steel door, which was coming closer inch by inch. The NEST men issuing and receiving instructions, setting up their machinery, waiting for her to ease open the door. Her walkie-talkie crackled; she ignored it.
“Cahill, Cahill, ERCP, are you there yet?”
Her arms glued to her breasts, she inched, inched, not answering. Sidled up to the next RF-opaque obstruction, which seemed to be ductwork, but this one was narrow, maybe five feet of relief, which was nothing.
She thought of Brian/Baumann. Flashed on the Identi-Kit sketch, which was a bad cartoon, looked nothing like the real thing. What did Baumann really look like? Did she know? Who was he? She inched along in the next open space, and now she felt the snugness of the corner, cold and damp and pleasantly rounded.
Negotiating this turn was not easy. She swiveled in slow motion, trying to understand the physics of the microwave sensor.
Stared at the unwinking tiny red dot.
Sidled, inch by inch by inch. Hugging herself tighter and tighter. Felt a tickle in her throat. Had to cough. Now it was all she could think about-don’t cough, coughing will cause your head to jerk. The tickle was unbearable.
She inched along; the tickle subsided.
Now the door was close enough to reach out and touch, and it took all of her willpower to keep from doing it. Must keep her arms folded. Must move slowly, inch by inch.
How far was she, how far was the door from the bomb?
Never good at estimating distance, and never was it so important. Fifty? No, more. Sixty? Maybe. Sixty was the cut-off. Within sixty feet, the sensor could read movement. A little more, perhaps. Sixty-five feet?
Hard to know.
Yes. Sixty-five feet.
Voices on the other side of the door grew louder.
Until she had reached the doorframe, sidled her body along until she stood directly in front of the door, and she slowly, slowly eased her hands down, as if caressing her breast, her abdomen, her hips, straightening them, moving them along the contours of her body agonizingly slowly, until both hands grasped the steel doorknob and she turned it, and it didn’t move, and she turned harder, and still it didn’t move, and then a twist of both hands and the knob turned. The door had been jammed so that it couldn’t be opened from the outside, yes, but inside it could be opened, thank God, and, yes, it opened out, not into the room, thank God.
“I’m there,” she said.
“Great,” she heard a voice say. “Well done. Careful, now. No big movements.”
She pushed against the door, gently but firmly.
And slowly.
Agonizingly slowly, she eased it open, inch by inch. Never had she opened a door so slowly.
– and she heard: “Goddammit, it’s going to blow!”
She shouted: “It’s okay! It’s more than sixty feet from here, I’m sure of it!”
She heard shouts, a scream, and she felt the floor come up and smack against the back of her head, as someone forced her to the ground and out of the way of the machinery.
She looked around, saw that the stairwell was empty, realized that the NEST men had moved out of the building, as per procedure.
“All right, Agent Cahill, let’s go! Move it!” came the voice of the man who had pushed her to the floor. He was wearing a bulky green suit, armored with Kevlar panels, and a helmet. “Out of the building!”
“No!” she shouted. “I’m not moving!”
“Get the fuck out of here!”
“Back off!” she shouted. “I’m staying here. My boy’s in there.”
“Move it! Out! You’re not in charge now-we are. Only Suarez can stay here, and he’s operating the machine.”
“Sorry,” Sarah said, steely. “If anything happens, I want to be here to assist. So prosecute me later. I don’t give a shit.”
She saw Lieutenant Colonel Suarez smile. “Yeah, she’s right,” he said. “I might need an assist. Let her stay.”
Suarez aimed the antenna at the bomb and fired off a super-high-powered blast of electromagnetic energy.
There was a loud crackling sound. Sarah, crouching out of the way of the EMP, felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It felt as if the shock were running through her body.
There was a burning smell.
There, some seventy feet away, was the pile of boxes, DetCord looped around them. On top was the fusing mechanism. Its tiny ruby-red LED light was dark.
“Is that it?” Sarah asked.
“I-I think so,” Suarez said. “Uh, the sensor isn’t picking up any microwave emissions. Tom?”
The man in the green Kevlar protective suit said, “Spectrum analyzer finds no evidence of any electric flow. No current flowing through the thing.”
“Approach the device,” Suarez ordered.
The helmeted man in the protective gear lumbered through the doorway.
Sarah held her breath, found herself praying.
Suarez explained to her: “Everything about it seems to be dead, but EMP won’t defeat a mechanical fuse, so he’s got to look for himself.”
Tom approached the device, walking up to it slowly, and did not feel his foot brush against a taut, almost invisible wire. He unfolded a flat, canary-yellow screen and placed it behind the black box, then pointed a small cylindrical object at it.