Nighthawk

59

The rest of the trip to Cajamarca was uneventful. Along the way, Paul and Gamay explained to Emma what she’d missed. It was a roller coaster of emotion. Hearing that Kurt was alive sent her spirits soaring.

In the end, all that mattered was finding a way to stop the bombs from detonating. Meeting up with NSA agents Hurns and Rodriguez at the airport was the first step.

“We have additional fuel cells on the aircraft,” Hurns said. “Is there any chance the containment units themselves have been tampered with?”

Emma shook her head. “The entire unit is sealed. Any tampering or attempt to hide something inside would have caused the mixed-state matter to react. That’s why Urco chose to rig up the replica fuel cells.”

“Then all we have to do is switch them out and dispose of the bombs.”

“Except that we need the bombs,” Emma replied. “The Chinese have been airborne for hours. And barring some incredible stroke of luck, the Russians are flying by now as well. Based on what Urco told Kurt, the bombs are rigged to detonate when the planes descend. The only chance they have is if we figure out what type of detonator they’ve been connected to, how and why it will go off and, more importantly, how to disarm them.”

“Not likely to find a bomb disposal expert in Cajamarca,” Hurns noted.

“I know,” Emma said. “But we can pipe one in. All we need is a 4K video feed and a high-speed Internet connection. And someone can guide us through step by step.”

“Where are you going to find that at this hour?”

Paul spoke up. “We know a place,” he said, “where the caffeine never stops and the Internet is strong.”

After switching the fuel cells at the airport and watching the NSA Gulfstream take off, Paul, Gamay and Emma drove into town. Calls had been made, cooperation arranged and the buildings around the Internet café evacuated.

They’d set up shop in the back of the café, under the lights where they could stream the 4K video feed back to Washington, D.C., and the NUMA headquarters building. Their only safety devices were a twelve-gauge shotgun and a cast-iron pot the café used to cook soup.

In front of a camera, Emma took the fuel cell apart. Her audience watched from the NUMA conference room, where Rudi, Hiram, Priya and a bomb disposal expert named Collin Kane, who stared at one of the high-definition displays and told them what to do next.

“Connect that gray wire to the metal leg of the table,” Kane said. “Make sure the unit is grounded. You don’t want a static spark.”

Emma moved cautiously, doing as she was told.

Paul and Gamay were outside, a hundred yards away, watching on a video feed. If Emma blew herself up, they would use what they’d seen and take the next bomb apart — hopefully, learning from her mistake.

“Where do I start?”

“You’re going to have to reach in and see if you can free the explosives from the case or if they’re attached.”

She grounded herself by touching the leg of the table and then reached in and put her hand on the Semtex. She pulled it slowly from the inside of the unit, stopping halfway out. “It’s hooked to a pair of wires.”

“Do not remove them,” Kane warned. “Most likely, they’re instant arm-and-detonate wires designed to prevent what we’re trying to do.”

She found there was enough length to pull the explosives out and set them on the table without disconnecting the trailing wires.

“What next?”

“Using a sharp knife, cut away as much of the Semtex as possible without touching the wires. Take each section you remove and separate it from the rest. When you’ve cut it down as far as possible, we’ll test the detonator.”

Emma took a sharp knife and did as instructed. It felt like she was cutting into an apple.

She took the sections to the far side of the room.

“Now you’ll have to test the detonator,” Kane told her.

“How?”

“It appears to be a touch screen; tap the front.”

She tapped the detonator and the screen lit up. The scrolling numbers disappeared and a password screen appeared.

Kane suggested a few ways to get around the password screen, but each was blocked. On the third attempt, the screen went dark. Two numbers appeared. A green number read 50000; the second number it flashed was a steady 26000.

Suddenly, the first number began to decrease, rolling down like a clock.

“What’s happening?”

“A second precaution on their part,” Kane said. “A fail deadly.”

Emma stared, tapping the screen, trying to stop whatever she’d done to trigger the countdown.

“Get rid of it,” Kane said.

Emma tried to stop the countdown.

“You’ve got to secure it now.”

“It’s still attached to the case.”

“Use the shotgun,” he said.

Emma grabbed the shotgun, aimed at the detonator and its scrolling numbers and pulled the trigger.

The twelve-gauge blast obliterated the fragile electronic device and scattered the remnants of the Semtex and the fuel cell across the room. There was no explosion, but the room filled with acrid smoke.

Emma lowered the shotgun and sighed.

“Ready to try again?” Kane said.

Emma nodded. “Let’s get the second unit in here.”